“Monkees Mind Their Manor” Script

INT. THE PAD

PETER:
Okay. Alright, guys, listen, this is what we’ve been working on. Um, see if you can pick this up, Micky. Um, one, two, three, four.

DAVY, PETER:
♪ Da-da ♪
♪ Da-da, da-da ♪
♪ Da-da, da-da, da-da ♪
♪ Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da, da-da ♪

DAVY:
You like it? You like it?

PETER:
You like it? You don’t—

MICKY:
That’s terrible.

MIKE:
Horrible. Woo!

MICKY:
That’s the worst thing—

MIKE:
That’s the worst thing I ever heard.

MICKY:
I quit this group. I’m ???.

DAVY:
Thanks very much, fellas. My second song. Someone’s at the door.

FRIAR:
Does Davy Jones live here? Davy, me lad! I’ve been asking for you up and down the beach. What’s a long-haired weirdo?

MICKY:
It’s a local fish; you catch it with a sharp stick.

FRIAR:
Oh ho ho! Hm.

DAVY:
Hey, fellas, you remember when I was telling you about Mr. Friar, the innkeeper from Kibee? Well—

MICKY:
No, you never told us about Mr. Friar from Kibee.

DAVY:
The innkeeper?

MICKY:
No, I don’t remember anything about an innkeeper.

DAVY:
Well, this is him.

FRIAR:
Davy, you must come back to England immediately.

DAVY:
Oh, I can’t do that.

FRIAR:
Don’t say that, Davy. Don’t say that. Don’t—

MICKY:
Ah!

MIKE:
Ah!

PETER:
Hey!

DAVY:
On the couch.

MICKY:
What’s the matter with this man?

DAVY:
Ah!

MICKY:
Sit right there. Are you okay?

FRIAR:
Thank you, miss. Davy, young Lord Kibee has passed on.

DAVY:
Young Lord Kibee? Why, he was ninety-seven years old when I was there!

FRIAR:
That’s true. In the prime of his life. So the villagers sent me to bring you back.

DAVY:
Why do the villagers need me?

FRIAR:
Well, we believe that you must be there for the reading of the will. We believe Lord Kibee has left his estate to you.

DAVY:
Well, I can’t go back there. I’m sorry.

FRIAR:
Don’t say that, Davy.

MICKY:
Hey!

FRIAR:
But you’ve got to do it, Davy. If you don’t, we believe Lord Kibee’s nephew, Lance Kibee, the Sot, will inherit the estate and sell it to some developer.

DAVY:
Well, I can dig that, but I still can’t go back there and live.

FRIAR:
Oh.

MIKE:
You better cool it, man; this guy’s denting our couch.

FRIAR:
Our houses are on that estate, and if he sells it to a housing developer, we’ll all be evicted.

DAVY:
Well… alright! I’ll go. I’ll go.

MIKE:
Phew! That was a close one.

DAVY:
I can’t understand. Why did he leave the estate to me? I was just a stable boy.

FRIAR:
Oh, he loved you, Davy, and he knew how you loved the estate. Why, he’d speak of you for hours.

DAVY:
He couldn’t have said much about me. We-we never really talked.

FRIAR:
That’s true, but what he did say, he’d say over and over and over and over. He was as nutty as a fruitcake.

“(Theme From) The Monkees”

INT. THE PAD - UPSTAIRS BEDROOM

PETER:
Gee, Davy, I wish we could all go to England with you, man.

MICKY:
Boy, that’d be a great idea if we could all make the trip together.

MIKE:
Are you kidding me, man? We don’t have the money to go down to the corner for gum.

DAVY:
You know something? Maybe you can’t go as passengers… passengers… passengers… passengers.

INT. BRITISH CUSTOMS

CUSTOMS MAN:
Are you bringing in any fruits, vegetables, or exotic animals?

DAVY:
Oh, no, nothing like that. I’ve got three mummies over here, though.

CUSTOMS MAN:
Well, open the cases up, please.

DAVY:
Sure. There you go.

MIKE:
Ah!

CUSTOMS MAN:
Well, they aren’t the best looking mummies I’ve ever seen.

DAVY:
Well, you see, they’ve been sick.

MICKY:
Isn’t this fun?

CUSTOMS MAN:
You do know they’re marvelous to have around the house?

DAVY:
Oh, really?

CUSTOMS MAN:
Oh, yes. My nanny had several. They make excellent lamps.

DAVY:
Oh.

CUSTOMS MAN:
Here, let me show you. You stick the cord in their nose and the bulbs in their eyes.

DAVY:
Wait—hey, wait a minute. Wait a minute. Don’t think you’re fooling us guys. We know who you are. You’re Jack Williams, the property man on this show.

CUSTOMS MAN:
Look, sweetie, I might be Jack Williams, the property man to you, but to twenty million teenagers, I’m the customs man.

DAVY:
Oh. You know, he really is Jack Williams.

CUSTOMS MAN:
And upon closing, folks, I want to thank Aunt Pat for sending in those peach preserves. Just keep those letters and cards coming in.
♪ Everybody loves somebody sometimes ♪

MICKY:
Ah! Jack!

PETER:
Ha ha!

INT. BRITISH CUSTOMS

FRIAR:
Hurry, Davy, we must be there for the reading of the will.

DAVY:
But what about the mummies?

FRIAR:
Well, don’t worry; they’ve got plenty of lamps at the manor.

EXT. KIBEE MANOR

BUTLER:
Ah, welcome home, Mr. Davy, to Kibee Manor. Yes. They’re waiting for you in the library. Won’t you go in? You know, you haven’t changed a bit. But I must say, you’ve grown a little thinner. Yeah. Oh, I’m-I’m sorry, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave your dog outside. Oh, it’s you, Mr. Fido. Won’t you come in? Come this way, please.

INT. KIBEE MANOR

TWIGGLY:
It’s about time. You David Jones?

DAVY:
Yes, I am. Uh, who are you?

FRIAR:
Oh, uh, this is the executor of the will, Sir Twiggly Toppin Middlebottom. And that is Lance Kibee, the Sot. Walk this way.

TWIGGLY:
Do be seated, won’t you? “I, sir Malcolm Kibee, being of sound body and mind—being of sound body and mind—”

LANCE:
Ha!

DAVY:
Ha ha ha!

FRIAR:
Ha ha ha!

TWIGGLY:
“Being of sound body and mind—”

DAVY, FRIAR:
[laughing]

TWIGGLY:
“Do hereby bequeath Kibee estate to one Davy Jones, provided that he remains permanently at the manor for a period of no less than five years.”

DAVY:
Five years? But say I don’t want to stay that long?

TWIGGLY:
“If Davy Jones refuses to stay, the land may be purchased by the villagers of Kibee for the sum of fifty thousand pounds.”

DAVY:
Fifty thousand pounds? That’s a little heavy, that is.

BUTLER:
Master Davy, your luggage has arrived.

LUGGAGE CARRIER:
To where do you want the lamps, governor?

DAVY:
Uh, just put them over there, please.

LANCE:
“If the people of Kibee fail to raise said sum, and if David Jones does not take possession, the land will become the property of my nephew, Lance Kibee, the Sot.” Shall we leave?

DAVY:
Mike, you can come out now.

MIKE:
Oh, boy!

DAVY:
Micky, come on. Peter. Ah! Are you alright?

MICKY:
Yeah, I’m fine.

EXT. KIBEE MANOR

LANCE:
Someone’s stolen the steering wheel! Oh.

INT. KIBEE MANOR

FRIAR:
Boys, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Mary. Mary, this is Davy, the new lord of the manor, and his friends, Pisces, Aquarius, and Capricorn.

MARY:
Oh, a sister act. Pleased to meet you.

EXT. KIBEE MANOR

LANCE:
I shall hate to leave this place, you know.

TWIGGLY:
Oh, you won’t miss this place when you’re taking some luscious creature to some high powered London nightclub.

LANCE:
And you’ll get your commission, won’t you?

TWIGGLY:
Oh, ah, yes, yes. My commission. Mere bagatelle. I aim to please.

LANCE:
Yes. Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. As long as the radio’s full, that’s all that matters.

INT. KIBEE MANOR

MIKE:
That Lance fella’s not the only one around here that’s stiff. Ha ha ha ha ha!

MARY:
Oh, don’t condemn poor Lance. You mustn’t make fun of a drunkard.

MIKE:
Sot.

MARY:
Sot. It happened during the war, you see. Everybody was getting bombed then. He just never stopped, that’s all.

BUTLER:
Well, gentlemen, you must be tired. I’ll show you to your stables. Why, Mr. Davy, you’ve put on weight. Follow me.

PETER:
You mean, go where you go?

BUTLER:
Yes, you follow me.

MIKE:
We’ve got to follow him.

MICKY:
Follow you. Alright. Watch where you—

BUTLER:
Follow me.

INT. KIBEE MANOR - BEDROOM

MICKY:
Bore, bore. Bore.

PETER:
Boy, am I ever doing nothing.

MICKY:
Bore. Bore.

PETER:
Gee, what an exciting time you’re having, Micky.

DAVY:
What do the young people do in this town for excitement?

MARY:
They move to the big city.

MIKE:
Oh, now we’re going to get a rash of small town jokes.

MARY:
Oh, no, it’s usually quite exciting. Last year, we found a mole in the lawn.

TWIGGLY:
I forgot to leave the contract.

MIKE:
Let me see that. Hey, uh, wait a minute. This says we’ve got to stay here for five years.

TWIGGLY:
Well, if you’re bored, you could always leave the village for the villagers.

MARY:
But the villagers don’t have that kind of money, and if the boys leave, the villagers will lose their homes.

INT. KIBEE MANOR - BEDROOM

DAVY:
You know something? We’ve got to think of something quick or else we’re going to be stuck here for five years.

MIKE:
I know. I know.

PETER:
The problem is getting out of here with a clear conscience.

DAVY:
Well, either we’ve got to talk Lance out of selling the estate, or else we’ve got to get fifty thousand pounds for the villagers.

PETER:
Yeah, but how do we raise fifty thousand pounds?

MIKE:
Hey! I got it!

PETER:
Yeah? What, what?

MIKE:
We do what any other normal people would do in our circumstance, the most logical solution to this problem.

PETER:
What’s that?

MIKE:
We have a medieval fair.

PETER:
Right, we—

MICKY:
A medieval fair? That’s—

EXT. KIBEE VILLAGE

DAVY (V.O.):
Medieval fair. That’s like a love-in.

MICKY:
Alright, thank you very much. Now, take a ticket, and beautiful. Thank you very much. Ah, bonjour, mademoiselle. Hi. Ticket. There you go.

MIKE:
How much we got so far?

PETER:
Wait a minute. We’ll find out. Two hundred pounds.

MIKE:
Two hundred pounds? Man, that’s not anywhere near enough! We’ll never get the money!

FRIAR:
Ah, don’t you worry. We’ll make all our money betting on the grand championship.

DAVY:
What’s that?

FRIAR:
The winner of two out of three contests: jousting, dueling, mace and chain.

DAVY:
Well, that’s four!

FRIAR:
No. Mace and chain go together.

DAVY:
Oh, really? Well, well, who’s going to do all of these things?

FRIAR:
You are. You’re the lord of the manor.

MICKY:
Oh. Ah!

EXT. KIBEE VILLAGE

FRIAR:
Ah, Sir Toppin Middlebottom. On behalf of all the villagers, I’d like to make a little wager on the grand championship.

TWIGGLY:
You’re on. Large?

FRIAR:
Larger.

TWIGGLY:
Enormous?

FRIAR:
Bigger.

TWIGGLY:
Monumental?

FRIAR:
It’s a deal.

TWIGGLY:
You realize, of course, I’m a jousting champion?

FRIAR:
Oh, I didn’t know that. Ah!

BUTLER:
Well, you’re finished, Twiggly. A softy like you couldn’t possibly win. Hm hm hm hm!

EXT. KIBEE VILLAGE

MIKE:
Now, look, you’ll be just fine as long as you remember everything that I taught you.

DAVY:
But you didn’t teach me anything!

MIKE:
Well, then fake it. Dah.

DAVY:
Ooh!

TWIGGLY:
As challenger, I have the right to choose weapons!

DAVY:
Now, wait a minute. Shouldn’t that be the other way around?

TWIGGLY:
So be it. As challengee, I have the choice of weapons.

MIKE:
Gah!

TWIGGLY:
Choose your lance!

DAVY:
Ah!

TWIGGLY:
Choose your lance!

DAVY:
I’ll take this one here.

TWIGGLY:
Very well.

LANCE:
You can’t use me; I’ll be killed!

DAVY:
Well, I’m not going to do this alone, you know.

LANCE:
Stop it, Twiggly. I command you to drop your weapon. There’s no commission if I’m killed.

TWIGGLY:
Very well. You won by a pun, but I’ll beat you in the next contest.

FRIAR:
Fancy meeting you down here.

LANCE:
Here’s to the pound sterling.

MIKE:
Uh, the winner is Davy Jones.

DAVY:
Yeah!

[The crowd cheers.]

EXT. KIBEE VILLAGE

MIKE:
Put on the gloves, baby! You got to go out there and fight that great, big, bad—

DAVY:
I feel silly in this outfit.

PETER:
That’s not a silly outfit. That’s fine.

DAVY:
It certainly is a silly outfit if you’ve got to fight a duel.

MIKE:
Take the sword and go defend your honor and the manor, in that order.

DAVY:
Okay.

TWIGGLY:
What?

MIKE:
Go back in there and get him! Son!

DAVY:
Ah!

TWIGGLY:
The winner of the second contest is Mr. Twiggly Toppin Middlebottom.

[The crowd boos.]

LANCE:
Booze! I’ll drink to that!

MARY:
Yes, and anything else that comes along. Cor!

TWIGGLY:
The next contest is mace and chain. How do you feel about that?

DAVY:
Not very good.

OLD MAN:
Wait! Wait! Wait!

TWIGGLY:
Out of my way, you old coot.

BUTLER:
You touch him, and you’ll have to deal with me.

TWIGGLY:
What? You’d risk your life for this old bum?

BUTLER:
Now, watch what you say. This is my father. What is it, papa?

OLD MAN:
You’re doing it all wrong. The choice of the contest is up to the people present at the fair. That’s the way the fair was started. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.

TWIGGLY:
Well, how would you know? The-the fair started in fifteen hundred!

OLD MAN:
What do you think I am, a youngster?

BUTLER:
Well then, shall the last and deciding contest be a singing contest?

[The crowd cheers.]

EXT. KIBEE VILLAGE

TWIGGLY:
Absolutely out of the question! I cannot sing!

LANCE:
You’ve got to sing, Twiggly. It’s important. Why can’t you sing?

TWIGGLY:
Because I’ve no experience.

LANCE:
Eh! I saw four boys on television the other night, and it would have astounded you.

TWIGGLY:
Really?

LANCE:
You can sing.

TWIGGLY:
No, I cannot.

LANCE:
Well, if you don’t sing, there’ll be no wager, no money, and no commission.

TWIGGLY:
No wager?

LANCE:
No wager.

TWIGGLY:
No money?

LANCE:
No money.

TWIGGLY:
No commission?

LANCE:
No commission.

TWIGGLY:
♪ In the blue of the night ♪

EXT. KIBEE VILLAGE

MICKY:
And now, our troubadouring contest will begin. Here’s Mr. Twiggly Toppin Middlebottom, who will sing for you that old rendition of the famous standard that warmed your heart so many years ago, the famous ballad, “Greensleeves”.

TWIGGLY:
♪ Alas, my love, you do me wrong ♪
♪ Delighting in your company ♪

MICKY:
Well, ???. Thank you, Mr. Twiggly Toppin Middlebottom. The number to call at ye old fairgrounds is fairgrounds seven four thousand, and now, here’s our own David Jones, who will sing for you that famous rendition of the famous folk song that warmed your hearts so many years ago, on those cold winter nights as you sat listening to the rain falling—David Jones!

MIKE:
???

MICKY:
Rober seeben.

DAVY:
♪ Alas, my love, you do me wrong ♪
♪ And cast me off discourteously ♪
♪ For I have loved you far too long ♪
♪ Delighting in your company ♪

[The crowd cheers.]

DAVY:
Thank you very much.

MICKY:
Well, I guess we know ???. It’s very apparent to me and to the rest of us who is the winner of this contest. It’s, of course, David Jones!

DAVY:
Oh, yeah!

EXT. KIBEE VILLAGE

MIKE:
Well, do we have enough?

FRIAR:
We only have ten thousand pounds. We’re forty thousand pounds short.

PETER:
Well, we can hold four more fairs.

FRIAR:
Well, boys, we tried, didn’t we?

BUTLER:
Davy, we know how much you want to go back to the United States, so we’re not going to keep you here. We insist on your going home.

TWIGGLY:
Lance Kibee, the estate is now yours. Yours to sell down the river to some money grubbing land developer while you go off and rot your brains and your liver in some high tension London club. But before you go, I want to give you a piece of my mind, you drunken sot. Ever since you were a little boy you’ve always been mean and vicious and rotten and evil, and when you grew up, you got even worse. Your life’s a waste! You’re a drunkard! You’re not a man, you’re a jellyfish! You’re mean and rotten and evil through and through!

LANCE:
I love you!

MARY:
And I love you!

LANCE:
Oh! Cancel the sale of the estate! I’m going to stay here with my wife-to-be.

[The crowd cheers.]

INT. THE PAD - UPSTAIRS BEDROOM

MIKE:
Oh! Hello there. Well, that wraps up another half hour hilarious situation comedy of the Fantastic Four: Davy, Peekle, Micky, and Perkle, Mike a tic. Us. And we’ll be back next week with more riotous fun, laughters, and hilarious bits of antics and humor—

PETER:
Hey, Mike? Can I say something?

MIKE:
Yeah, okay, go ahead.

PETER:
I just wanted to give all our viewers and-and listeners, who’ve been so nice to us, I wanted to give them our Christmas message, which is about love and peace and—

MIKE:
Now, wait, hold it. You can’t—man, come on. It’s the middle of February. You can’t give them a Christmas message now.

PETER:
Well, why not?

MIKE:
Why not? Well, because, you just—you don’t—wuh, uh—well…

“Star Collector”