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.
BLONDE: Darling....
EDDIE: Nnnauurururugh - pheeeeew.
BLONDE 2: Yes, darling?
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?!
BLONDE: Aw, hell.

(The two BLONDE WOMEN hurtle into the cockpit and correct the problem. EDDIE sits up and has a drink of vodka.)

EDDIE: Michael? Michael?

(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?
JOURNO: Alright.

(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.
EDDIE: Bummer, mate.
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: Cheers.

(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.
CRAIG: It's a mess.
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.
RZ: Close your eyes.
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.)

JV: What a big mistake!
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?
ENGINEER: Sure thing.

(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.
DAMON: How are they?
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: Hey, lads!
DAMON: Yeah, guv?
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.
MULDER: How far?
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.
MULDER: Which is?
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.
SCULLY: If you prefer.

(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...)

WIFE: Oh dear.
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...)

 

Previous Episode Front Page The Author Email me!
season1 front home e-mail