“Monkees in Manhattan” Script

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - LOBBY

DAVY:
♪ New York, New York ♪
♪ What a wonderful town ♪
♪ The Bronx is up, and the Battery’s down ♪

MIKE:
Davy.

DAVY:
Uh—

MIKE:
Shh.

DAVY:
Yeah, what?

MIKE:
Cool it.

DAVY:
Sorry.

MIKE:
Excuse me.

BUNTZ:
Yes?

MIKE:
Um, we’re looking for McKinley Baker. He’s a Broadway producer—

PETER:
H-he wrote us and told us we could come and star in his new musical.

BUNTZ:
More show business types. Baker’s at three-oh-four. [on the phone] Now, what were you saying, dear?

MIKE:
Well, could you tell us where the elevators are?

BUNTZ:
Of course. Ha ha ha!

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - HALLWAY

BAKER:
Oh, Monkees! Come on in, fellas.

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - ROOM 304

DAVY:
We got your letter, Mr. Baker.

BAKER:
McKinley. And gosh, when I saw you in that little club out west, I knew I’d found the stars for my rock and roll musical. Well, tell me, did you have a comfortable flight in?

MICKY:
Actually, we came by the bus, The Blim Line.

BAKER:
The Blim Line?

MICKY:
Sure. You know: it’s such a pleasure to take Blim and leave the driving to them.

BAKER:
Well, like I said, I intend to refund your bus fare just as soon as my backer calls.

MICKY:
Well—

BAKER:
Where are you staying?

MICKY:
Well, we, uh—heh heh.

PETER:
We spent all our money on bus fare.

BAKER:
Well, you can stay with me until I get the money; I’ve got lots of room.

DAVY:
Oh, man, that’s alright—

BAKER:
No discussion. Now, put your instruments in there.

MICKY:
Okay.

WEATHERWAX:
Baker, I’m tired of waiting for my rent. I want you out of my hotel in one hour.

BAKER:
Well, where can I go?

WEATHERWAX:
Perhaps you can visit relatives. Distant relatives.

BUNTZ:
Ha ha. That’s very good, chief.

DAVY:
Ooh! Who’s he?

BAKER:
Weatherwax, the manager.

BUNTZ:
Is this a group, or just a bunch of weirdos?

WEATHERWAX:
Now, remember, one hour and out. Now, are there any questions?

PETER:
Can I have the bed by the window?

WEATHERWAX:
Oh.

“(Theme From) The Monkees”

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - ROOM 304

MIKE:
What in the world’s going on?

DAVY:
That was our career going down in flames.

PETER:
Mr. Baker’s being thrown out of his room for not paying his rent.

MICKY:
Where are we gonna stay?

BAKER:
If I can just hang on ’til noon, that’s when my backer’s coming with a check.

MIKE:
We ought to be able to hold the fort for three hours.

BAKER:
You boys are great. Look, you stay here; I’ll sneak out and bring back the money.

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - LOBBY

BUNTZ:
Perhaps, if we wait until tomorrow, Mr. Backer’s baker—I mean, Mr. Baker’s backer would—

WEATHERWAX:
No, Buntz, there’s an important principle involved.

BUNTZ:
A principle?

WEATHERWAX:
Yes, and here he comes now: a big shot for the Rabbit Breeder’s Convention.

CONVENTIONEER:
Well, Waxy, do you have that room ready for me yet?

WEATHERWAX:
Uh, it will be ready in exactly five minutes.

CONVENTIONEER:
I’ll be in the bar.

WEATHERWAX:
Come on, Buntz.

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - HALLWAY

WEATHERWAX:
Your hour is up.

MIKE:
Shh! Please be quiet. You can come in, but you can only stay just a few minutes.

WEATHERWAX:
I can what?

MIKE:
Will you please be quiet?

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - ROOM 304

MICKY:
Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub, lub dub. He’s a very sick boy. Are you his next of kin?

WEATHERWAX:
I am not—

MICKY:
Speak up, I can’t hear you.

WEATHERWAX:
I am not—

MICKY:
Not too loud!

WEATHERWAX:
I am not; I am the manager of this hotel. Get the house physician, quick.

MICKY:
I’m afraid he’s in a lot of pain.

PETER:
Oh.

MICKY:
Bite on this golden bullet, big fellow.

WEATHERWAX:
Well, I’m very sorry, but he’ll have to evacuate this room.

MICKY:
What? Are you mad? I can’t move a case of the plague.

WEATHERWAX:
Plague? Is it contagious?

MICKY:
Have you ever seen a plague that wasn’t?

BUNTZ:
Here’s the hotel doctor.

CORELL:
You know my visiting hours are over.

DAVY:
But it’s nine a.m.

MICKY:
How do you do? I’m Doctor Dolenz. Terrible about Medicare, isn’t it?

WEATHERWAX:
Never mind about that. Examine him, doctor. What I want to know is, is he really sick, or is it merely sham?

MICKY:
Of course, he’s sick; he had sham when he was twelve years old.

CORELL:
Say ah.

MICKY:
Just a minute. If you examine that man, I surrender all responsibility to this case.

CORELL:
Now, take it easy, doctor—

MICKY:
Ah, barging in on a man’s case. Hm-hm. I think the ethics practice committee would like to hear about this.

CORELL:
Well, I don’t want to get involved with them again.

WEATHERWAX:
But is he sick?

PETER:
How’s my heartbeat?

MICKY:
Fine, but the melody don’t make it. Listen, it’s ten o’clock. We got to keep these guys out here ’til twelve.

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - LOBBY

CONVENTIONEER:
Is my room ready yet?

WEATHERWAX:
Any minute, sir. It’s just being made up.

CONVENTIONEER:
I’ll be in the bar.

WEATHERWAX:
There must be some way to get them out. We’ll starve them out. Buntz, call room service and tell them no more food to three-oh-four.

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - ROOM 304

MIKE [on the phone]:
Hello? Um, yeah, listen, can you send a waiter up to three-oh-five? Okay, thank you. Bye.

DAVY:
Hey, Mike.

MIKE:
Hm?

DAVY:
We’re in three-oh-four. What-what are you sending a waiter to three-oh-five for?

MIKE:
Yeah, but they don’t send room service to three-oh-four.

DAVY:
So… I don’t get it.

MIKE:
Well, they’ll send room service to three-oh-five.

DAVY:
Oh, I get it.

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - HALLWAY

GROOM:
Yes?

KOLINOVSKY:
You called for a waiter, sir?

GROOM:
No. I-I think you have the wrong room.

BRIDE:
What is it, poopsie?

GROOM:
Oh, it’s nothing, sweetie.

KOLINOVSKY:
Oh, I’m sorry, sir.

GROOM:
You’re sorry.

MIKE:
Uh, h-hold it. You, you. Look, did you hear him say that?

DAVY:
What?

MIKE:
Say that again. Say, “I’m sorry, sir”.

KOLINOVSKY:
I’m sorry, sir.

MIKE:
Oh, he’s a prince. You are perfect for the, for the role of the prince. Come in. We’d like to talk to you.

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - ROOM 304

MIKE:
How’d you like to be in a Broadway musical?

KOLINOVSKY:
Well, I’ve heard it’s hard to become an actor. What do I do first?

MIKE:
Well, first thing you do is you bring a lot of rye bread and some cold cuts and potato salad—

KOLINOVSKY:
Oh, no. I couldn’t do that; this is three-oh-four.

MIKE:
No, it’s not. It’s five after ten.

KOLINOVSKY:
Well, do you think I show promise?

MIKE:
Pro—? You’ll be a smash. What’s your name?

KOLINOVSKY:
Bronislaw Kolinovsky.

MIKE:
Bronislaw Kolinovsky! I can see it now: in lights, all the way around the theater marquee.

KOLINOVSKY:
Well, I’ve always loved the theater.

MIKE:
Don’t forget the pickles.

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - LOBBY

WEATHERWAX:
Have we starved them out yet?

BUNTZ:
How hungry can they get in half an hour?

CONVENTIONEER:
Is my rim roody yet?

WEATHERWAX:
Any minute, sir.

CONVENTIONEER:
Well, I’ve been waiting and waiting and sitting in your bar drinking and talking to the barmaid, and well, it’s been hours.

WEATHERWAX:
We’re doing our best.

CONVENTIONEER:
No hurry.

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - ROOM 304

MICKY:
Hey, guys, look at this; it’s a song out of McKinley’s play.

DAVY:
Hey, let’s try it on for size.

MICKY:
It doesn’t fit. How about you?

MIKE:
No, E-flat was never was my color.

DAVY:
Ah ha ha. Very funny.

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - LOBBY

WEATHERWAX:
Get the house detective; we’ll throw them out.

“The Girl I Knew Somewhere”

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - ROOM 304

MIKE:
Artichokes and liverwurst, and—oh, just wonderful. You just brought everything.

KOLINOVSKY:
Yeah, but what about Weatherwax?

MIKE:
Oh, no. The liverwurst and artichokes are just plenty.

KOLINOVSKY:
No, sir. I mean, what about the hotel manager?

MICKY:
Let him get his own artichokes and liverwurst.

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - HALLWAY

WEATHERWAX:
I’ll use my pass key and take them by surprise. Alright, you’ve had your hour. Your time is up. Well, I’m, I’m terribly sorry. Take all the time you want. Three-oh-four should be across the corridor.

BUNTZ:
Good thinking, chief.

WEATHERWAX:
They’ve changed the numbers. They’ve changed the numbers.

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - ROOM 304

WEATHERWAX:
Alright, I’ve been very patient with you, and Buntz here will bear me out.

DAVY:
Oh, you don’t have to do that.

PETER:
No, we’ll do that for him.

KOLINOVSKY:
We’re all out of salami; I’d recommend the roast beef.

WEATHERWAX:
I’ve had enough! This room is under siege!

GROOM:
Can somebody help me with this cork?

BRIDE:
He can’t do anything.

WEATHERWAX:
I order you out of the Compton Plaza.

PETER:
It’s twelve o’clock.

MICKY:
High noon.

DAVY:
Hey, it’s Mr. Baker back from his backer.

WEATHERWAX:
Have you got a baker, Backer? Have you got a backer, Baker?

PETER:
Baker backer?

MICKY:
Swell! Give them the money; we’ll start rehearsing.

BAKER:
My backer backed down.

WEATHERWAX:
Well, that settles it. You’ll be out of this hotel in twenty minutes or I’ll call the police. Now, does anyone have anything further to say?

[unintelligible]

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - ROOM 304

BAKER:
Well, I’m licked; I guess I shouldn’t have come to New York City.

MIKE:
Oh, for garden’s seat, McKinley. There’s got to be more than one person in New York who’s willing to produce a show that’s written by an unknown, and, and directed by an unknown, and s-starring The Monkees. Be sure and take plenty of socks.

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - ROOM 304

MICKY:
Goodbye Broadway; hello failure.

PETER:
Boy, I’m sure gonna miss those bright lights.

MIKE:
Yeah, well, for every bright light, Pete, there’s a broken heart.

DAVY:
You know, I wouldn’t have thought it so hard to find a guy with money in this town.

MIKE:
Yeah, I’m hip. Well, let’s go. Come on, Pete. Let’s go.

DAVY:
Hey, Pete. What are you looking at, Peter?

PETER:
Uh, ust noticing some place across the way, uh, Millionaires Club.

MICKY:
Well, it’s worth a try.

EXT. MILLIONAIRES CLUB

BUTLER:
Yes, sir?

DAVY:
Hello. My name’s David Armstrong Jones. My family dates back nearly four hundred years to the earliest rich people.

BUTLER:
Oh, but this club is for special members.

DAVY:
This is H.L. Nesmith. He owns a small spread in southern Texas. Uh, what’s the name of the ranch again, Mr. Nesmith?

MIKE:
Uh, Houston.

DAVY:
Houston. Heh. Uh, this is the Sheik Farooq Dolenz-a.

MICKY:
I would like to add a new wing to your building.

BUTLER:
No, I’m sorry, but we cannot accept a gift.

MICKY:
This is not a gift; it’s charity.

DAVY:
Uh, this is Peter Dewitt, a rich man’s son. Tell him what your father does.

PETER:
He’s in garbage disposal.

DAVY:
Uh, b-before we join the club, um, we’d like to have a look ’round, if you don’t mind.

BUTLER:
Alright.

INT. MILLIONAIRES CLUB

DAVY:
You’re a millionaire, aren’t you?

MILLIONAIRE #1:
That’s right. How did you know?

DAVY:
Oh, that’s easy. I watch What’s My Line a lot.

MILLIONAIRE #1:
You sure you’re comfortable?

DAVY:
Comfortable? I’m very rich! Now, about this play—

PETER:
It’s a very good production. Of course, if my daddy, Commodore Dewitt, knew I were in the theater, he’d roll over in his grave.

MILLIONAIRE #1:
But Commodore Dewitt’s alive.

PETER:
Well, this’d kill him.

MILLIONAIRE #2:
Good evening. Are you investing in this musical, Sheik?

MICKY:
Oh, excuse me for repeating myself. No, I cannot invest personally. You see, I consider the theater immoral.

MILLIONAIRE #2:
Really?

MICKY:
Yes, and so do all my wives.

MILLIONAIRE #2:
Exactly what is the show about?

MIKE:
Excuse me.

MICKY:
I already said that.

MIKE:
Oh. Well, it sort of goes like this.

“Look Out (Here Comes Tomorrow)”

INT. MILLIONAIRES CLUB

MIKE:
Well, what do you think? Um, hello?

MICKY:
Rhubarb ha la doo ca ma de sch ley ops br zlippy…

DAVY:
What?

BUTLER:
Uh, I should have warned you, sir; this is the time for their mid-evening nap.

DAVY:
Oh.

MICKY:
They all go to sleep at once?

BUTLER:
With the help of a little brandy, sir.

PETER:
Oh.

MICKY:
Oh.

BUTLER:
You see, I’ve backed a few shows in my time. So I thought, why not keep a good thing for myself?

MICKY:
Hey, hey! We got an angel! Oh, wow! Great!

DAVY:
Great, terrific, fantastic. Yeah, man.

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - ROOM 304

PETER:
Funny.

DAVY:
Very chic, very chic. Where’s that place again?

MIKE:
Houston.

DAVY:
Houston.

MIKE:
Houston.

BAKER:
Fellas. You saved the show, but—

MICKY:
Well, the butler did it.

BAKER:
No, you did it, and that’s why I can’t accept his backing.

MIKE:
What?

MICKY:
Hey.

BAKER:
He feels that the principles should be four girls instead of four boys, so I can’t take his money.

MIKE:
Oh, listen, McKinley, you got to accept his offer. Uh, you get a chance like this but once in your life, and, and you got to get started somehow.

DAVY:
You’ll have other shows that we can appear in, but you’ve got to get started, and this is your big chance, and you’ve got to take it.

PETER:
Right.

MICKY:
Right. And, uh, we got a bus to catch.

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - LOBBY

WEATHERWAX:
Oh, boys. Will you come here for a moment? You wouldn’t think of leaving without paying your bill.

DAVY:
Our bill?

WEATHERWAX:
It is one hundred and eighty dollars. That includes room, food, and incidentals.

DAVY:
You must be joking!

PETER:
We don’t have a hundred and eighty dollars!

MICKY:
That’s impossible, how could we owe a hundred and eighty dollars? We didn’t—

MIKE:
Hold it, hold it. I’ll straighten this out. How can we pay money we don’t have?

INT. COMPTON PLAZA HOTEL - LOBBY

MIKE:
???

INT. SET

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
You’ve reached a certain amount of success. If that were suddenly, like, taken away, wiped out, where would you be today?

PETER:
I’d go back to the Village and be a folk singer.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
How about you, Davy?

DAVY:
I’d go to back to the Village and watch him be a folk singer.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Mike?

MIKE:
I’d probably go burn the Village.

MICKY:
I’d probably be dating my science teacher.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Hey, Peter. Is there something that you’d really want, uh, something that you’d really flip out over?

PETER:
Yes.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
What?

PETER:
Texas.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Davy?

DAVY:
Ursula Andress.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Who?

DAVY:
Ursula Andress. No, a jet. You know those little jets?

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Yeah.

DAVY:
’Cause Mike can fly it.

MIKE:
Well, uh, I wouldn’t really buy anything like that, you know. I mean, there’s noth—the things that money can buy, I can almost buy, I suppose, uh. Thanks, Dave. The only thing that you can, uh—we’ve all got what we want, man.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Mick?

MICKY:
What?

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Yeah, what, babe?

MICKY:
What would I buy?

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Yeah.

MICKY:
Well, I kind of look at it, I—

PETER:
If you—if you could buy something that money couldn’t buy, what would you buy?

MICKY:
Yeah. I-if I—

MIKE:
Which is weird.

MICKY:
If I could, if I was gonna buy something, I kind of look at it the opposite way around; I figure when you, when you have enough money, then, then you don’t need all the, all the material stuff around you. I’d like, I’d like—

MIKE:
Sure you do.

MICKY:
—to buy big city blocks of buildings and plant orange groves.

MIKE:
Hey, I’ve got to tell you, I have a very freaky idea.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
What?

MIKE:
That a local, uh, guys, a local ga-gang of guys is sort of propagating now.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
What’s that?

MIKE:
And that is digging things that are ugly. You know? The Hearts and Flowers do that, you see, that’s a group. And, uh, they say that in order to dig things, uh, that are pretty, it takes no special talent. What it really takes a talent to do is to dig something ugly.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Like what?

MIKE:
Well, I don’t know. You dig something like a garage door. You know, I mean, how many people say “Oh, look at that garage door”? You know. I mean, you get a lot of this stuff, “Oh, what beautiful azaleas”. That kinda thing.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Does that apply to, uh, people too?

MIKE:
Well, it applies to you a lot, Bob.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Thanks, baby.

MIKE:
I think we ought to go on a National Monkee Love Something Ugly This Week.

DAVY:
Yeah. Man, you better watch out for these guys.

MIKE:
You are not; I’m uglier than you.

DAVY:
You are not; I’m the ugliest.

MIKE:
I’m the ugliest. It’s me, it’s me, it’s me.

MICKY:
Alright, I lose. Ha ha.

INT. SET

PETER:
Achoo!

DAVY:
Wait, Keeva, come here a minute. Come here. Come here. Wait, man. Wait, man.

PETER:
Can you get out of my key please?

KEEVA:
Okay, alright.

DAVY:
There you go. Come on, man. You’re okay now. Where’s your glasses, man?

KEEVA:
Okay, alright.

DAVY:
Wait, wait. Okay. I’d like you all to know that this is Keeva. Now, Keeva is our make-up man, man. He’s the greatest guy in the world. Well—

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Does he make—what does he do for you?

PETER:
He makes up.

DAVY:
He makes up, man.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Hey, Keeva.

PETER:
If we have a fight, he makes up.

DAVY:
If we have a fight—

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Let me ask you something. Really, wh-while the boys are there. Is it difficult working with these guys?

KEEVA:
No. I-I-I like them very much, so, uh, it’s not difficult. I’m a father, and—

DAVY:
Say something better than that, Keeva! No.

INT. SET

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Mike, this afternoon, we had lunch, and you said the one thing you really wanted was a house, and I want to know why that’s so important to you, to have your own house. No, I mean it. I don’t know why.

MIKE:
Why do I want a house?

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Yeah, why?

MIKE:
Why do you like that shirt, Bob? “Why do you want a house?” To keep the wind off of me. It’s unbelievable.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Look—

MIKE:
Why do I want a house? Oh. Well, when it rains, you get wet if you live in a parking lot.

“Words”