Maranello - the F1 soap opera
Season 2 - Episode One
Scene 1: The first-class cabin of a British
Airways 747, somewhere above the Channel Islands.
It is two days after the Australian Grand Prix.
All is in darkness, save for a pool of light at the
forefront. An elegant man in a well cut suit lies asleep in a
reclined seat, flanked by two well-endowed blonde women. Several
cans of Red Bull and bottles of vodka are scattered around.
EDDIE: |
Nnnauurururugh - pheeeeew. |
EDDIE: |
Nnnauurururugh - pheeeeew. |
EDDIE: |
Nnnauurururugh - pheeeeew. |
BLONDE: |
We'd better get back into the
cockpit. It'll be time to land soon. |
Suddenly the aircraft banks abruptly and EDDIE stirs.
EDDIE: |
Whatthefuggin'ell?! |
(The two BLONDE WOMEN hurtle into the cockpit and
correct the problem. EDDIE sits up and has a drink of vodka.)
(He walks up and down the aisle, scanning the slumped
figures, until he spots a slender figure, clad in a scruffy blue
and purple shell suit. He is deep in conference with a scruffy
journalist in a bomber jacket, slumped in the adjacent seat.)
MICHAEL: |
...and so then, of course, we
developed brake problems and were unable to... Ah,
Edmund! |
EDDIE: |
We're nearly there, mate. Alright,
Pete? |
(He excuses himself.)
MICHAEL: |
Pardon me if I don't get up to
salute you. |
EDDIE: |
S'alright, Mike my lad. I know the
bullet wound's still giving you gyp. |
(He slaps MICHAEL on the back and the smaller man winces
theatrically and grimaces, remembering the weeks of
recuperation.)
EDDIE: |
(hushed) When's the court case due? |
MICHAEL: |
Sometime soon. Unfortunately, she's
been charged in Japan. I've got to go out there for
pre-trial hearings after Monaco. |
MICHAEL: |
It's a nightmare. And of course,
now that she's under strict bail conditions, and not
running all around the world making a fool out of
herself, I've lost all my leverage with Bernie. This
season will be a nightmare. I've got about as much
influence as the guy who runs the Indy 500 these days. |
EDDIE: |
(innocently) Did you find out who
put up her bail? |
MICHAEL: |
No, but if I ever lay hands on the
bastard... |
(EDDIE is saved from answering by the announcement of
their impending landing at London Heathrow airport.)
Scene 2: The pit lane at Catalunya, a few days
later.
A test is on and most of the garages are full of busy
figures. We focus on two at the end of the row, "A Tradition
Of Excellence" emblazoned above the entrances. Within,
several mechanics labour busily over two cars.
MECHANIC: |
'Oo's got the instructions? Where's
me laptop? |
MECHANIC 2: |
Dunno, mate. I 'ad it 'alf an hour
ago. Din't I give it back to you? |
MECHANIC: |
(grumbling) When I worked at
Williams, we didn't 'ave no laptops, but we all knew wot
we woz meant to do. |
MECHANIC 2: |
I know wot you mean. I miss the Big
Guv'nor. |
MECHANIC: |
Oh, sod it. It's only a rear wing
after all. Anyway, I'm dying for a slash. |
MECHANIC 2: |
Leave it then, I'll sort it out. |
(MECHANIC walks cross-legged towards the bag of the
garage. But suddenly, there is a minor crash as a stack of tyres
goes flying for no apparent reason.)
MECHANIC 2 : |
Wot the 'ell...? |
(The SECOND MECHANIC disappears into the back of the
garage, leaving the car unattended. Unseen to all in the garage,
but visible on camera, a stocky man with white-blond hair dressed
in a black leather catsuit sneaks into the garage.)
MIKA: |
Take that, you bastard! |
(He kicks in the side pod and then hoists himself up on
to the awning, crouched on the roof. As he disappears from sight,
two men in bright blue shirts come strolling into the garage. As
they talk, MIKA SALO removes a can of spray paint from his
leather trousers and sprays out 'Excellence', replacing it with
'Incompetence' in bright blue paint. He dismounts and skulks
away, still unseen)
CRAIG: |
Get the mechanics together. I want
low fuel load, new tyres, extra-light Lucky Strike
stickers on one side, and smaller numbers for the 555
side. The sponsors are here and if we don't top the
testing timesheets, heads will roll. |
As they confer, a petite man in white overalls with a
target painted on the front (red and blue circles with a gold
centre) wanders in.
CRAIG: |
What the hell is that on top of
your head? |
JV: |
Hi, Craig. I told you I was going
to start dyeing my hair again. |
JV: |
Can't you see? (He pouts.) I am
doing my best to help you out with the sponsors. I've
dyed the number 666 into the blonde with blue and gold
bits. Now my overalls can be totally Lucky Strike but
we'll still cover both brands. |
CRAIG: |
666. Jesus Christ. Just as well
you'll be wearing a bloody helmet. I don't want to see
you in front of any camera lenses without it until that
grows out, you got it? |
JV: |
(sulkily) Just trying to help out.
Anyway, you telling me not to have my photo taken is a
first. I should've gone ahead with that wedding. |
(He mooches against the wall, hands in pockets. RICARDO
ZONTA comes up to him.)
RZ: |
Hey, Jacques. It'll get sorted out. |
JV: |
(whining) They've forgotten how it
started. |
JV: |
(anguish) Think of all the bubbles
of love we made! |
RZ: |
Now you're down on your knees...
(shakes head) |
(THE BIG GUV'NOR happens to wheel himself past)
GUV: |
It's too late! Don't come crawling! |
(He exits.)
RZ: |
I see you falling, all right.
(pause) Hey, Jacques - it's the start of the season. We
all feel a bit out of place. |
JV: |
(snottily) Some of us -are- out of
place. Just remember who owns the shares, OK? |
(JV turns on his heel and stalks back towards the gloomy
back of the garage, where a figure, tall and lanky in a belted
trenchcoat, can be half-seen in the dim light. JV and BAYLISS
head for the motorhome,hand in hand.)
(We move down the pitlane, where brightly clad mechanics
and PR staff are busily doing whatever it is they do. Almost
off-camera, a tall blond man with chiseled cheekbones can be seen
hurrying out of a garage.)
DC: |
(over his shoulder) I'll see you
guys in a few days, OK? I have to run or I'll miss my
takeoff slot. |
MH: |
See you. |
NICK HEIDFELD |
Don't worry if you can't make it back in time. |
DC: |
(to his chief engineer) Hey, can
you throw me that suitcase? The one with my complimentary
grooming products and tight t-shirts? |
(As the ENGINEER tosses the bulky valise towards DC, it
accidentally becomes entangled with an air line and the garage
roof collapses.)
DC: |
Bloody hell! I really have to go!
Sorry guys! Sorry! |
(MIKA HAKKINEN sighs and beckons towards NICK HEIDFELD
to come and help him hold the roof up.)
(We continue down the pitlane, arriving at the bright
yellow painted garage in the middle of the row.)
DAMON: |
So I hear congratulations and
cigars are in order! |
HHF: |
Yes. I'm so delighted - I can't
believe how wonderful it feels to be a father. |
HHF: |
Very well. My darling says she can
fit into her size eight Max Mara dresses already - and it
was only three weeks ago! |
DAMON: |
Have you any photographs? |
HHF: |
Yes, she was in Hello! magazine at
Christmastime. |
DAMON: |
Of the -baby-, Heinz-Harald! |
HHF: |
Oh, of course. (rummages in his
overalls) Here you are! |
DAMON: |
I see it's definitely yours, then.
Still, could've been worse. It could have come out with a
little grey beard like mine. |
HHF: |
I think his sideburns look cute.
Mind you, she cried for hours when she saw him, but I
think that was because it was the day little Harry's
grandmother was arraigned in court in Suzuka. |
DAMON: |
(lowering his voice) Terrible
business. |
EJ: |
(through his laughter) Go down the
BAR garage! See if you notice anything different! |
(The two yellow-clad drivers stroll down the pitlane and
find a crowd of people tittering outside the last garage in the
row.)
DAMON: |
I wonder if anyone's told them yet? |
HHF: |
Oh dear. Maybe I should go and warn
Jacques. |
Scene Three: A deserted warehouse somewhere on
the planet.
Various unidentifiable boxes are stacked in rows, and
the light filtering in from a couple of skylights reveals the
dust motes hanging in the air.
CAPTION: |
ANN ARUNDEL COUNTY, MARYLAND,
07:45AM THE NEXT DAY |
In a far corner, a tall blond man wearing a black
raincoat and fedora hat is leaning against a box, tapping his
feet, apparently impatient.
We switch to an outside view as an American car pulls up
outside the warehouse. The car is driven by a dark-haired white
man in a suit and tie: in the passenger seat is a redheaded woman
wearing a suit and an irritated expression.
SCULLY: |
I'm still not convinced there's
anything to this, Mulder. |
MULDER: |
Hey, Scully. Just indulge me, all
right? |
(She casts an exasperated glance at him and gets out of
the car.)
MULDER: |
Look, this guy could be a kook. Or
he could hold the key to the biggest conspiracy the
American public have been sold since the death of Elvis.
All it's cost us is two hours on the road. |
SCULLY: |
So you had a call in the middle of
the night from someone who thinks his friend was abducted
by aliens, and suddenly we're on the trail of conspiracy
theories? The evidence suggests strongly that this is
just some... isolated incident. If it's even true, for
which there is no real physical evidence. |
MULDER: |
In here. Shhhhhh. |
(The two enter the warehouse, and the tall figure walks
towards them.)
DC: |
I've come a long way to see you. |
DC: |
Never mind that right now. But I
have to go soon, so listen. |
SCULLY: |
Why should we listen to anything
you have to say? |
DC: |
Suit yourself. But I have
information I know you need. And you have the time and
the techniques to give me what I want. |
DC: |
It's simple. A quid pro quo, if you
like. |
(SCULLY and MULDER exchange sceptical glances.)
DC: |
My team-mate, a good friend of
mine, is actually an alien from the planet Krecck. He has
allies amongst the human species, and I just can't
compete with his superior powers. He is as one with any
mechanical object he encounters - a racing car, a
unicycle, you name it. He somehow forms an organic link
with the mechanical parts. Human beings have no chance
against him. |
SCULLY: |
(quirking her eyebrows) He has
these superior powers? |
DC: |
(tossing a file at their feet) It's
all in there. |
(MULDER picks up the file and leafs through it. We can
see the logo of 'ITV F1 RACING' emblazoned on many of the
sheets.)
SCULLY: |
So what does this, er, quid pro quo
involve? |
DC: |
I get you access to him so you can
do your tests or whatever. In return, you tell me how to
neutralise his advantage so I can be champion. |
SCULLY: |
Tests? I don't know what impression
you've formed of the FBI, but we don't abduct people and
bring them in for testing. |
DC: |
(ominously) His people do. |
MULDER: |
Listen, we need some time to
consider this evidence. We'll get back to you. |
DC: |
Fine. But I'll contact you. |
(The two agents leave and climb back into their car.
DAVID COULTHARD slips into a helicopter parked out back of the
warehouse and lifts rapidly into the clouds. MULDER and SCULLY
watch the black dot disappear.)
SCULLY: |
Biggest conspiracy since Elvis,
hmmm? |
MULDER: |
Let's get back to the Bureau. I
want to study this thing. |
SCULLY: |
If it keeps you from the Weekly
World News...And it's your turn to buy me lunch. |
(She starts the car and they head off down the highway.)
Scene Four - The Hotel Marmoset near Catalunya
circuit, a few days later. Testing is over for the day.
CRAIG: |
Pass me my mobile, would you
darling? |
HIS WIFE: |
Get it yourself. |
CRAIG: |
You're not still annoyed with me. |
WIFE: |
I wouldn't mind so much... I know
you've been busy... but you were busy before. I've
cancelled meetings of my own to come out here and be with
you. |
CRAIG: |
I know, my darling. I really am
glad you're here. Look - come here. |
(They kiss and cuddle for a while, but it becomes clear
something's wrong...)
CRAIG: |
Darling - this has never happened
before. I'm tired - there's been so much strain... come
here. Let me make you happy. |
WIFE: |
(snaps) Don't bother. I'll see you
in the morning! |
(She gets up, storms off and slams the connecting door
to the suite's second bedroom. We follow her into the room, where
she sits for a while, tearful, and then, as if gripped by
resolve, rapidly dresses and rings down to the front desk for a
taxi.)
Scene Five - The G-Force bar in a small street
in the middle of Amsterdam.
(JOS VERSTAPPEN, a man of medium height and
unexceptionable appearance, sits toying with a mineral water. He
is the only customer.)
Suddenly, MIKA SALO enters the bar, clad in black
leather and wearing shades, collar turned up, glancing nervously
from left to right.
JOS: |
I thought you weren't coming. |
MIKA: |
My flight was delayed. Bastard
Spanish air traffic controllers. |
JOS: |
(slyly) You didn't bring your own
plane? |
MIKA: |
Never mind my transportation. I
can't stay long. |
JOS: |
I can't understand why we couldn't
just do all this by fax. |
MIKA: |
Faxes get lost, other people read
them. |
JOS: |
Anyway - I'm seeing my lawyer in
half an hour. So let's do it. |
MIKA: |
OK. We divide up the calender like
this... |
(Fade to black with doomy music! Will the cast-out
former stars of F1 succeed in ridiculing the flavour of the
month? Will Craig's marriage survive his first season as a team
owner? And will Mulder and Scully join forces with David
Coulthard to fight the evil unicycling aliens of Krecck? Stay
tuned, etc., etc...)
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