Red Dwarf Full Script Series 3 Episode 4 Body Swap

Red Dwarf Body Swap Full Script

Rimmer loses Lister’s arm and his watch in episode 4 of Red Dwarf Series 3 – Body Swap. Check out the full script here!

Red Dwarf Body Swap Full Script

RED DWARF Series III Episode 4, “Body Swap”

1 Int. Somewhere in Red Dwarf.

Shot of Scutter with wires in its “mouth” behaving erratically.

2 Int. Lab.

KRYTEN and RIMMER are hunched over a computer terminal displaying a horrendously complex circuit diagram. RIMMER is giving instructions to KRYTEN.

RIMMER: Turn. There’s another. Circuit board epsilon 14598, red
corridor 357.
KRYTEN: Re-routed.
RIMMER: Turn. And another. Circuit board theta 29555, rlue corridor 212.

LISTER enters shuffling a deck of cards.

LISTER: What’s happening guys? It’s half ten. I thought we were playing poker?
RIMMER: Where have you been? Didn’t you get the message?
LISTER: What message?
RIMMER: One of the skutters has gone bananas. He’s completely rewired the maintenance decks back to front and upside down. We’ve got over two thousand wiring faults. Don’t breath. Don’t touch anything.
(Looking at LISTER) The whole ship is a gigantic booby trap.
LISTER: No poker then? (Looks very crestfallen.)

RIMMER looks at LISTER as if to say, “You don’t understand the gravity of this situation.”

RIMMER: We can’t find the auto destruct system. It’s wired up to
something but we don’t know what. Tell the CAT.
LISTER: (Walking away) It’s taken me ages to mark these cards.

3 Int. Corridor.

LISTER is leading CAT along a red-lit corridor.

CAT: So we can’t touch anything?
LISTER: Nothing electrical. Not until we get the all clear.
CAT: How longs that going to take?
LISTER: God knows.

LISTER approaches the vending machine, lowers to so he can depress an order.

LISTER: Milk shake and a crispy bar. (Turning back to CAT) We were just playing poker tonight. That’s gone for a burn.

Auto destruct from Body Swap Red Dwarf
AUTO DESTRUCT: Auto destruct sequence initiated. Initiated destruction in 15 minutes. 14 minutes, 55 seconds and counting.

CAT and LISTER look at each other stunned as warning noises sound.

CAT: (Keeping his cool) That’s a very dumb thing you just did then.
LISTER: I Know. I wasn’t thinking.
AUTO DESTRUCT: Red Dwarf will self destruct in 14 minutes and 50 seconds.

CAT puts on his scared face and leaves. LISTER turns back to the vending machine.

LISTER: Cancel. Clear.
AUTO DESTRUCT: Abandon ship. You have 13 minutes and 45 seconds to detonation.
LISTER: (Hitting buttons with his fist) Cancel!
AUTO DESTRUCT: You have 12 minutes and 45 seconds to–
LISTER: (Kicking machine) Cancel!
AUTO DESTRUCT: You have 10 minutes and 45 seconds–
LISTER: (Shaking the machine violently) Cancel!
AUTO DESTRUCT: You have 9 minutes and 45 seconds–

4 Int. Control Room.

First a shot of CAT and then RIMMER strides into the shot, looking _very_cross.

RIMMER: I said, “Touch nothing.” Didn’t I say, “Touch nothing?”
LISTER: Look, I just ordered a shake and a crispy bar. (Very pleading
quality here as one would when one has just initiated the end of an
entire space ship.)
CAT: You’re lucky you didn’t order a double cheese burger!
AUTO DESTRUCT: Eight minutes, 20 seconds and counting.
LISTER: How do we switch it off?
HOLLY: The only person who can override the autodestruct is the captain.
RIMMER: Dead.
HOLLY: Or one of the senior officers.
RIMMER: Dead.
HOLLY: In many ways I should have updated the system really.
LISTER: Is there any that we can trick the machine into thinking one of us is the captain?
HOLLY: No. It checks his voice and brain scan against its databanks.
AUTO DESTRUCT: Auto destruct in 8 minutes, 10 seconds and counting.
RIMMER: Think of something please. You are supposed to have an IQ of 6000. Think of something.
HOLLY: I’m thinking.
AUTO DESTRUCT: Self destruct in 8 minutes and counting.
RIMMER: Well??
HOLLY: I bin’ through the whole of my database, collated every single option, and there are three realistic alternatives. One: sit ‘ere and get blown up. Two: Stand ‘ere and get blown up. Three: Jump up and down, shout at me for not being able to think of anything, then get blown up.
LISTER: There must be something?
KRYTEN: Perhaps we could try a mind swap?

5 Int. Lab.

Shot an arm strapped to a chair, pan out to LISTER tied down to a chair looking anything but happy to be there.

KRYTEN: It’s something we tried once on the Nova 5. It uses exactly the same science as generating a hologram. We wipe all your brain patterns and put them on a storage disk. Then we transfer the captains mind from his hologram personality disk into your empty brain.
LISTER: And you tried this on the Nova 5?
KRYTEN: Oh Yes.
LISTER: Did it work?
KRYTEN: No. But I’m pretty sure I know what went wrong.
AUTO DESTRUCT: 4 minutes to self destruct and counting.
LISTER: So the captain’s mind will be in my body?
KRYTEN: Yes. Then, hopefully, the self destruct will think you’re are
the captain, and you can activate the override.
LISTER: But where will my mind be?
KRYTEN: (Holding up a very small cassette tape) On this.
AUTO DESTRUCT: 3 minutes, 50 seconds and counting.

RIMMER and CAT enter the room.

RIMMER: We couldn’t find the captains disk, but what about Brown? Brown was executive officer.
HOLLY: Yeah. Brown’s got clearance.
LISTER: (upon seeing a large needle that KRYTEN just removed the air from) Kryten, what’s that for?
KRYTEN: It’s a mental emetic.
LISTER: A what?
KRYTEN: A mind enema — so we can flush out your brain.
LISTER: Nobody’s flush’n out my brain.
KRYTEN: We’ll transfer it back afterwards.
LISTER: You are not sticking that think in my head.

The CAT is drinking a cup of coffee in the background.

AUTO DESTRUCT: one minute and 40 seconds and counting.
RIMMER: We’ve got to. It’s our only chance.
LISTER: Smeg Off!
CAT: Look man, I’m not asking you to do this just for me. I’m askin’,
well pleading with you I’m beggin’ ya — do it for the sake of my
suits. Are you just gonna stand by and let my scarlet PVC morning suit with the imitation king penguin fur collars get blown to smithereens.
(LISTER nods.) Could you live with yourself? (LISTER nods again.)
AUTO DESTRUCT: I minute, 30 seconds and counting.
RIMMER: Look, Lister. I agree, it’s a stupid idea. It almost certainly
wont work. But the very worst that can happen — the absolute bottom line — is that you’ll have to spend the rest of your life as a
mindless gibbering vegetable. But if the rest of your life is going to
be thirty seconds, what the hell!
LISTER: Do it.

KRYTEN swaps his right temple with a cotton ball and then inserts the needle. As it sucks out LISTER’s mind his face takes on a more vacant expression until he is completely cross eyed and his tongue sits rather stupidly almost out of his mouth. KRYTEN presses some keys on a keyboard, storing LISTER’s mind onto a storage medium.

KRYTEN: Keep that safe — it’s Lister’s mind.

He hands the small cassette to CAT. As they are all looking at it CAT
drops it into a mug of coffee. RIMMER recoils very quickly. CAT,
looking most apologetic, but not quite managing to hide an evil smirk, removes the cassette from his coffee and slinks off. KRYTEN begins to place BROWN’s mind into LISTER. Once complete “LISTER” looks very surprised.

AUTO DESTRUCT: 55 seconds to detonation
BROWN: What’s happening? What the hell is going on?
RIMMER: (standing to attention) Ah, sir. There is no time to explain,
but, by a bizarre series of accidents the ship auto destruct system has got switched on and we need you to deactivate it.
BROWN: Something’s wrong. Something feels different. Wait a minute, I never use to be a man!
RIMMER: Look, you stupid women, we’ll explain later.
BROWN: Why have I got male sexual organs!
RIMMER: If we don’t override the autodestruct system within the next 20 seconds those male sexual organs will be in orbit around the nearest planet. Along with every one else’s organs sexual or otherwise.
AUTO DESTRUCT: 15 seconds to detonation.
BROWN: Abort sequence X1X.
AUTO DESTRUCT: Identify.
BROWN: Carol Brown, executive officer, security clearance 010101.
AUTO DESTRUCT: Pause for verification. (Pause) Verification rejected.
Abort denied. Auto destruct sequence continued. Detonation in 5
seconds.

Shot of KRYTEN looking pretty upset. RIMMER and CAT are speaking to KRYTEN.

RIMMER: Sen-smegging-sational
AUTO DESTRUCT: 4.
CAT: Well done, sphinx face.
AUTO DESTRUCT: 3.
RIMMER: What a brilliant, brilliant plan.
AUTO DESTRUCT: 2.
CAT: Just great.

BROWN is struggling in the seat.

AUTO DESTRUCT: 1. Initiate self destruct.

A dramatic pause as they brace for death.

Shot of dispensing machine as it shoots out a milk shake and a crispy
bar.

AUTO DESTRUCT: Thank you for using the auto serve dispensing machines.
Number one in quality. Number one in taste.
CAT: What happened?
KRYTEN: It must have been wired up to the warning system but not the bomb.
RIMMER: So where’s the bomb?
HOLLY: We haven’t got a bomb.
RIMMER: What!
HOLLY: I got rid of it ages ago.
CAT: Why didn’t you say?
HOLLY: You never asked.
CAT: Fine, terrific. (To KRYTEN) But remember this: you’re getting my underwear bill, buddy.

6 Ext. Red Dwarf. Establishing.

7 Int. Sleeping quarters.

RIMMER and LISTER are lying on their beds.

RIMMER: You awake?
LISTER: Yeah — can’t sleep.
RIMMER: Probably those kippers you had for supper.

Kippers Vindaloo - Red Dwarf Quotes
LISTER: Nothin’ wrong with kippers for supper.
RIMMER: But kippers vindaloo? Can’t be good for you. I mean, a curry every night? That cannot be good for you. Certainly no good for me.
I’m thinking of getting a canary in a cage.
LISTER: Why?
RIMMER: To check out the room, see if it is safe to use.
LISTER: C’mon, it’s not that bad!
RIMMER: Not that bad? You don’t sweat sweat, you sweat madras sauce.
LISTER: Why all the sudden interest in my diet?
RIMMER: It’s not just your diet, Lister. It’s your health in general.
Face facts: you eat crap, you don’t exercise, you smoke, you drink,
and frankly, it’s beginning to show.
LISTER: I’m OK.
RIMMER: You’re getting porky.
LISTER: Porky!
RIMMER: Last week when there was that lights failure in the engine room, your silhouette was caste onto the wall. I got the fright of my life.
I thought it was Alfred Hitchcock.
LISTER: Are you sayin’ I’ve got a gut?
RIMMER: You have got more gut that a Turkish butchers shop window.
LISTER: (sounding worried) Hang on, no really. Do you think I’ve put on weight?
RIMMER: You’ve reached that age, Listy. When you’re younger you can eat what you like, drink what you like and still climb into your 26 inch waist trousers and zip them closed. Then you reach that age — 24, 25 — your muscles give up they wave a little white flag and then without any warning at all, you’re suddenly a fat bastard.
LISTER: I’m not fat — I’m porky!
RIMMER: Have you ever in dissection class held up a frog by its head?
(Demonstrating to Lister with hand movements.) You know the way its belly sort of sticks out above its spindly little legs? Well, that’s
the picture I see when you get down from the bunk in the morning.
(Lies back down.)
LISTER: Yeah, maybe you’re right. (Examining his belly from his reclined position) Yeah, I’m gonna start working out in the gym.

Thinking the conversation is over, he returns to his comic.

RIMMER: Of course, you could always … no you’d never a agree to it.
LISTER: (Leaning down to RIMMER’s bunk) What?
RIMMER: We could do a swap: my mind in your body, yours in mine.
(LISTER lies back down shaking his head and smiling thinking what a
ludicrous idea this is.) You saw how easy it was with Brown. Lend me
your body for a few weeks and I’ll get it fit for you. Plenty of
exercise, sensible diet, no more booze, no more ciggies. It’ll be like
a 12 thousand mile service for your body.
LISTER: What, and in the meantime I’m a hologram?
RIMMER: It won’t be too bad if it’s only for a couple of weeks.
LISTER: You’re talking as if it were a pare of hedge trimmers or a lawn mower or somethin’.
RIMMER: I’d give it you back, I’d return it intact. More than intact,
it’d be fitter.
LISTER: Look, Rimmer, you are not having possession of _my_ body.
RIMMER: What are you worried about? How can a treat it any worse than you do? You admit you don’t look after it, don’t exercise it, don’t feed it properly. I would. What do you say?

8 Ext. Red Dwarf.

We hear sounds of mind-swapping type activity.

9 Int. Lab corridor.

LISTER and RIMMER emerging from the Lab.

LISTER: (Lister’s voice, but sounding very odd as it emerges from
RIMMER’s larynx) No welchin’.
RIMMER: Of course not.
LISTER: A fortnight.
RIMMER: 14 days.
LISTER: (Holding up two of RIMMER’s fingers) Two weeks.
RIMMER: Absolutely doodley. (He opens LISTER’s jacket and indicates with hand gestures that it doesn’t smell very nice.)

10 Int. Shower room.

RIMMER, in LISTER’s body, is standing at what turns out to be a urinal, and is putting some very thick red plastic gloves on, he removes the hat with distain, and dons a pare of eye covers. He is humming The Grand Old Duke of York to himself. Removing a pare of tongs from his back pocket he then unzips his fly and using the tongs proceeds in alleviating himself. Suddenly he stops, removes his eye covers and looks down. He looks up with a face that looks very shocked at what it has just seen.

11 Int. Corridor.

LISTER in RIMMER’s body passes a mirror and catches a glimse of himself.

LISTER: This hat is smeggin’ stupid. I look like Captain Emerald.
Holly, do somethin’ about it, mate.
HOLLY: OK, Dave.

Now RIMMER’s body is decked in the black leather gear we normally associate with LISTER.

LISTER: Brutal!

12 Int. Shower room.

Cut back to a silhouette of RIMMER showering LISTER’s body.

RIMMER: What’s this under his nails? Oh my god!

He places a bottle of AJAX scouring detergent on a recess in the wall and grabs a bottle of what appears to be Domestos.

RIMMER: I’m going to have this dirt carbon-dated.

13 Int. Sleeping quarters.

KRYTEN is pouring some red wine into a glass that is sitting in what
appears to be a very large and sumptuous feast. Dressed in a bath robe,
RIMMER enters the room “hmmmming” to himself.

KRYTEN: Luncheon, sir.

Grabbing LISTER’s locks RIMMER removes most of them with an electric
carving knife.

RIMMER: Ahhh! Food. Real food. To eat, perchance to taste.
KRYTEN: It’s exactly as you ordered, sir: the lightly poached mimmion bladder fish, the 4 dozen oysters, the ducks feet in abalone sauce…
RIMMER: I can touch; I can taste; I can smell! (Getting very excited and grabbing some food.)
KRYTEN: Roast suckling pig stuffed with chestnuts and truffles.
RIMMER: mmmmmmm.
KRYTEN: (Placing a _very_ large silver platter of mashed potato in front of RIMMER) Mashed potato.
RIMMER: With cream and butter?
KRYTEN: A pint of cream and a full pound of butter, sir.
RIMMER: Let the orgy commence.

He starts stuffing food and drink into ha mouth and then slumps his head forward into the potato. He then pours gravy over his head. LISTER enters and looks stunned with this turn of events.

LISTER: Hows the diet goin’?

RIMMER does a thumbs up sign with his head still buried in the potato.

14 Int. Sleeping quarters. Night.

RIMMER is still in a bath robe and is smoking a cigar.

RIMMER: Do you know something I think I went temporarily insane. It was
just too much. I haven’t tasted food in 3 million and 2 years. All
that food. I was like an animal.
LISTER: I want my body back. Now!

LISTER is lying in his right side supporting his head with his bent arm
and in contrast to RIMMER, does not look relaxed.

RIMMER: Oh Look it won’t happen again. It was just something I had to get out of my system.
LISTER: _My_ system. Why ya smokin’?
RIMMER: One cigar!
LISTER: You are supposed to be getting me fit.
RIMMER: I’ll start tomorrow.
LISTER: You better bleedin’ had do.

15 Int. Corridor. Day.

We see LISTER dressed in RIMMER’s green suit and hat carrying a brief
case. CAT walks past him and then does a double take.

CAT: Hey! what are you doin’ dressed like that? Why do you want to look like Goalpost Head? Have you flipped? You want to model yourself on a man who has ears so large that they can pick up satellite TV? Why do you want to look like the smeg-head Rimmer for?!
RIMMER: Because… (poking CAT in the eye) …I am that smeg head Rimmer.

I am that smeghead Rimmer!

With a smug look on his face RIMMER departs.

16 Int. Large spa bath.

RIMMER sits reading a MUSCLE magazine.

RIMMER: Please. These are meant to be women? (Turning over magazine and
we get to see the picture that has just engrossed RIMMER) Ahhh. This is what I call training.

17 Int. Sleeping quarters.

CAT has his back to us and his hair is untied. They are playing
scrabble.

LISTER: (Pointing to letters in his rack) That letter, that letter, and
that letter. (Pointing to the middle of the board) There.

We see that he is having the first go and we see his rack which has the letters D-A-T-E left on it.

CAT: Hey! I’ve got you now! (Holding out his letters up for LISTER to
see.) Jozxyqk.
LISTER: That’s not a word.
CAT: It’s a cat word.

Jozxyqk.

LISTER attempts to pronounces the cat “word.”

CAT: That’s not how you pronounce it!
LISTER: What’s it mean?
CAT: It’s the sound you get when you get your sexual organs trapped in something

CAT demonstrates with his hands a book shutting and pronounces the word again.

LISTER: Is it in the dictionary?
CAT: Well, it could be. If you were reading in the nude and you closed
the book too quickly.

CAT mines this action and says the word again.

RIMMER: (Striding into the room looking like he has been working out and
feels great) Ahhhh! What a session! What a work out! No pain, no
gain, Listy.
LISTER: (Jumping up) On the scales! I want to weigh you.
RIMMER: There’s no need. Look at that stomach. (Rubbing LISTER’s
stomach.) Flat as a pancake. Hasn’t been like that in years!
LISTER: Scales, please.
RIMMER: There’s really no need.
LISTER: (Firmly) On the scales.

RIMMER steps on the scales

LISTER: You’ve put on two stone!
RIMMER: Of course I’ve put on two stone. I’ve been taking yeast extract, building up your body.
LISTER: Take the robe off.
RIMMER: What for?
LISTER: Take it off.
RIMMER: I don’t want you looking at my naked body.
LISTER: It’s not _your_ naked body, it’s mine!
CAT: What’s he hidin’?
LISTER: Off with the robe.
RIMMER: Let me just say this–
LISTER: Off!
RIMMER: (Removes the bathrobe to reveal a pretty pink girdle) Ohhhh this.
This is a hernia prevention belt. I must have forgotten to take it
off.
LISTER: It’s a girdle.
RIMMER: Course it isn’t.
LISTER: Then why has it got little dangly things for holding up
stockings?
RIMMER: There for attaching extra weights to you so you can get fit just
as you walk around. (He fumbles, demonstrating the attachment of
weights and walking with them attached.) Oh! Errrr ow!
LISTER: I want me body back now.
RIMMER: Look, OK. I went a bit bananas the first few days, but I promise you that’s all over now. Don’t you see? It’s in my interest to get you into shape. This could become a regular thing: fourteen days a year I could have your body. In fact next year, if it’s convenient, I
would like to book the last two weeks of July.
LISTER: I want it back.
RIMMER: One last chance?
LISTER: No more troffin’.
RIMMER: I promise.
LISTER: And take that girdle off. It doesn’t suit me. (He saunters off
happily.)

18 Int. Sleeping quarters. Night.

We hear pigging-out noises.

LISTER: Holly, lights.

LISTER jumps off bed and finds RIMMER sitting up in bed with a blanket over his head.

LISTER: Right, that’s it! I’m completely sick of it.
RIMMER: MM-mph? Mph mmph mph?
LISTER: That is it!
RIMMER: (Removing the blanket and wiping his hands) What is it? (He has food all over his chin and mouth.)
LISTER: You’ve been porkin’ again, haven’t ya?
RIMMER: I have not!
LISTER: I want my body back, now.
RIMMER: But I’ve only had it a week!
LISTER: This was not the deal. You’ve welched on it. (He walks away and glances into the rubbish bin.) And what’s this in the bin? Me locks!
My locks are in the bin. I thought you said you pinned ’em up?
RIMMER: I did but they … fell off.
LISTER: Fell off? Science lab, now!
RIMMER: But it’s the middle of the night. Kryten is on down time.
LISTER: Now!

19 Int. Sleeping Quarters. Later.

The guys enter their room as themselves again.

LISTER: (Rubbing his chest) How many cigars did you get through, Rimmer?
Me lungs feel as if they have been through a cheese grater.
RIMMER: You’ve got your body back. Leave me alone.
LISTER: (Coughing) I only have a couple of rolly’s a day. It feels as if
you’ve smoked an entire Cuban tobacco harvest.
RIMMER: I had the odd one.
LISTER: You’ve no respect, that’s what. You’ve shown my body no respect whatsoever. You’ve treated it like smeg. Look you’ve given me breasts. There’s a distinct cleavage there. I give you my body and
you’ve given me a bosom.

LISTER he walks over to the scales and RIMMER looks to be the unhappy one now.

LISTER: These scales are wrong. These scales have to be wrong.
RIMMER: It’s average for your height.
LISTER: Rimmer, it would be average for my height if I happened to be a
pregnant hippo.
RIMMER: Well you weren’t exactly Charles Atlas to start with, were you?
LISTER: And you haven’t been treating my athletes foot, have you?
RIMMER: Well, quite frankly I was afraid of touching it.
LISTER: I told you, you have to wash and powder my feet three times a day. Plus a good buffing with a pumice stone.
RIMMER: I wasn’t prepared to touch those _things_ three time a day. To tell you the truth I was only brave enough to take your socks off once.
LISTER: Look at my stomach. Look at it! Pink gudgeon’ stripes down me sides and you could float me over the super bowl.
RIMMER: Look I refuse to take the rap for that body. All right I added a few pounds to its already ample frame but it was, lets face it, a wreck before I got any where near it.
LISTER: A wreck?
RIMMER: If it was a car you would be an insurance write off. Nothing
works. Your taste buds are totally clapped out you’ve killed them
stone dead with 25 years of non stop curries. and what about all the
aches and pains you never mention twinges in your back crimps in your  neck mention? Oh, and I’ll give you a little tip: urine should only
be green if you’re mister spock.
LISTER: That’s the last time you borrow it that’s for goddam sure.
(Getting up and leaving the table.)
RIMMER: What about next year? We had and agreement — the last two weeks in July and the weekend before Christmas.
LISTER: What for, Rimmer? It’s a wreck.
RIMMER: Unfortunately it’s the best that’s available. You can’t get two weeks in the carribean then grimsby is better than nothing. You can’t back out now, you said I could have it.
LISTER: I only said that to get it back. Do you think I am raving mad?
You are never, ever, _ever_ borrowing my body again. Never.
RIMMER: Get some sleep. You’ll feel different in the morning.

20 Int. Corridor.

KRYTEN is pushing a trolley with an unconsious LISTER on it.

KRYTEN: I am really not sure about this.
RIMMER: Look, you’re programmed to obey — get on with it.
KRYTEN: But surely we should ask him first?
RIMMER: I told you, he’s agreed. He’s perfectly happy about the
situation.
KRYTEN: Well then, why did you make me chloroform him and why did he struggle so?
RIMMER: Look, I’m in charge Kryten. I’ll take full responsibility.
KRYTEN: Oh! But sir–
RIMMER: Science lab, pronto!
KRYTEN: Oh!
RIMMER: If he comes around give him another whack.

21 Int. Sleeping quarters. Morning.

It looks like RIMMER is waking up in bed, but we soon see that he is
again dressed in LISTER’s clothes.

LISTER: Are you awake man? Rimmer? (Jumps off bed and notices his arms.) No please. No! (Noticing the message that has been left) Play message.

It is RIMMER, dressed in LISTER’s body once again.

RIMMER: Hi! It’s me. I told you you’d feel different in the morning.
Thing is, this week has been absolute heaven for me and I couldn’t just stand by and let you take your body back. That’s why I’ve taken
Starbug and done a runner. Don’t worry, in a month or so I’ll come
back and return it. Just a month, maybe six weeks but don’t try and
follow me, otherwise… (Placing a gun against his right temple) the
body gets it.
LISTER: Cat. Cat! (He runs out of the room.)

22 Int. Some other part of the ship.

CAT: You want my _what_?
LISTER: It’ll only take a couple of hours.
CAT: You want to take _my_ body?
LISTER: I need your body to get _my_ body back.
CAT: You’ve already lost one body. Come on, in all seriousness, you
really expect me to lend you mine?
LISTER: I’m a hologram. How else am I suppose to chase him? I need your body.
CAT: Let me ask you one question. Would you let a garbage truck driver use your Rolls Royce?
LISTER: How else can I pilot White Midget?
CAT: I’ll do it!

23 Ext. Model Shot.

We see White Midget leave Red dwarf.

24 Ext. Model Shot.

Cut to Starbug as it “wheels” through space to the sound of the ???
symphony.

25 Int. Starbug cockpit.

RIMMER is trumpeting along with hand movements, the gun is in the right hand. He opens a trunk load filled donuts. As the music ends he places one in his mouth. LISTER appears on the monitor behind him.

LISTER: Rimmer. Rimmer! It’s no use runnin’, man, we’ve got you in
visual range. Turn around and head back to the ship.
RIMMER: I told you not to follow me. (Pointing the gun at LISTER’s
image. He goes over to his console and allows them to see him.) Leave me alone or you-know-what happens. (Placing gun at his right temple again.)
CAT: He’s bluffin’.
RIMMER: I’m not bluffing.
LISTER: I think he means it man. He’s flipped — it must be cream cake
poisonin’.
CAT: He’s bluffin. I’m goin’ in after him.
KRYTEN: He must be bluffing.
LISTER: Say he isn’t, man?
CAT: It’s gastronomic terrorism! We can’t stand by and let it happen.
RIMMER: Go ahead punks. Make my day.
LISTER: You’re right. He’s bluffin’.
RIMMER: Smeg!
CAT: Lets get him. (Puts his feet to the floor and the ship really start
to move.)

RIMMER goes back to the controls. He drives badly and hits some rocks.

LISTER: This is getting stupid. Back off — let him go.
CAT: We’re almost on him.
LISTER: It’s too dangerous. Let him go.

The white midget backs off and RIMMER turns around to gloat, oblivious to the nasty-looking outcrop of rocks looming up ahead.

RIMMER: Ha! Ha! Ha! Chickens. Ha … (He turns back to look where he is going.)

26 Ext. Model shot.

We see Starbug hit the rocky outcrop and the slam into the ground on the other side. We return to White Midget and view LISTER’s totally shocked face.

LISTER: Oh smeg! What the smeggin’ smeg’s he smeggin’ done? He’s
smeggin’ killed me!

27 Int. Starbug rear section.

Hanging live wires are everywhere in the crashed interior. LISTER, CAT
and KRYTEN enter. The sliding door between the cockpit and galley area opens.

RIMMER: (Peering around the corner) Whoops!
LISTER: Are you all right?
RIMMER: You’re going to go spare.
LISTER: What? What is it?
RIMMER: You’re going to go absolutely spare.

RIMMER’s steps out into the doorway his top is torn bellow the shoulder.

LISTER: You’ve lost me arm.
RIMMER: I’ve lost your watch too.
LISTER: You Bastard!
RIMMER: No, you’re right. It’s my fault. My hands are up … well, my
hand is up. (He starts to laugh.)
LISTER: You think this is funny? (Looking as upset as any body who has just lost an arm would.)
RIMMER: No. But _this_ is.

RIMMER brings the missing arm from behind his back and sticking two fingers up on both hands, makes gestures to LISTER. He starts laughing and slips over. As LISTER looks down at him CAT and KRYTEN look at each other and start laughing.

Rimmer in Lister's body

28 Int. White Midget.

Brief view of the return flight.

29 Int. Sleeping quarters.

LISTER is sitting on his bunk with a white blood splattered bandage
around his head. He has just attached his locks to some elastic and he places these around his head over the bandage.

LISTER: Oh, Hello. It’s captain chloroform.
KRYTEN: Oh please, mister David sir. My guilt chips is already in
overdrive. I, I feel terrible! (He paws at Lister’s leg.)
LISTER: _You_ feel terrible? How about my smeggin’ head?
KRYTEN: I _had_ to obey him. It’s in my programming to obey all humans.
No matter how insane.

He removes the white cover from trolley he was pushing to show a small portion of food on a plate.

KRYTEN: Dinner is served, sir.
LISTER: Lettuce and a grated carrot. I’m on this for six months.

RIMMER’s body enters the room looking very stiff.

LISTER: What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.
CAT: I was asleep, OK? Next thing I know plastic Percy here puts a
sponge on my face and out go the lights.

CAT/RIMMER moves stiffly to the table and sits down rather grumpily.

KRYTEN: It was an order.

RIMMER/CAT enters the room carrying a plate of what appears to be mashed potatoes with other food stuffs stuck in it and sits at the table.

RIMMER: Just one night, I promise. I’ll give it back first thing
tomorrow. Maybe Thursday.

He slumps his head forward into the potato and starts to thrash it about like a pig again.

The End

 

Red Dwarf Full Script Series 3 Episode 3 Polymorph

Give quiche a chance - Red Dwarf

RED DWARF Series III Episode 3, “Polymorph”. This is the full script for Red Dwarf Polymorph.

Red Dwarf Polymorph

Red Dwarf - Polymorph

This week’s “Red Dwarf” contains scenes which are unsuitable for younger viewers and people of a nervous disposition.

You have been warned.

2 Opening titles.

3 Ext. Space.

A pod is floating through space. Signs on the side read “GENETIC WASTE”
and “DO NOT OPEN.” It broadcasts a message.

VOICE: Danger. Do not attempt to open this pod.

As the pod rotates, it is seen that a hole has been eaten out of the
side.

VOICE: The creature inside is extremely hostile. It feeds off the human psyche, seeks out the deranged, the unbalanced and the emotionally crippled.

The camera view goes inside the hole into the blackness of the pod.

4 Ext. Red Dwarf.

A closeup of the hull reveals that a hole has been chewed into it. A
monster’s growl is heard.

5 Int. Red Dwarf. Cargo hold.

We see a view from inside the mouth of the creature, looking out as it slinks along the cluttered floor of one of the decks aboard the Red
Dwarf. The creature makes some weak “Nyum nyum” noises. Obviously, it’s very small. It slinks up to a broken mirror and looks at itself, then mutters in disgust and covers its eyes. Suddenly, it turns into …

A teddy bear; a bucket and spade, a pot of red flowers (a bowl of
petunias, perhaps?), a Tonka dump truck, a doll wearing a long hoop
dress, a white rotary-dial telephone, a toy elephant, a two-tone hat
(help me identify the type of hat, please), a baseball mitt with ball, a
toy boxer, a toy drum, a yellow lamp (what kind is it? shape of glass
looks like the lamp on the TARDIS), a red toy Volkswagen beetle, a
rollerskate, a traffic cone, a lampshade, a toy penguin with a sign on
its belly (but it’s lying on its back, so the sign can’t be read), a
piggy bank, a Ken doll with something stuck to its chest (help?), a blue potty, an alarm clock, a tennis ball, a tennis shoe, a large pot, a
yellow Koosh Ball, a floor-scrub brush, a bucket on its side, a tiny blue toy whale, a statue of Indian origin (help?), an incandescent lightbulb, a red old-style horn, bell end down, a yellow ball (if this is a tennis ball, what was the slightly larger yellow-and-orange ball earlier? squash?), a red sock, and a fluffy white rabbit.

Satisfied, the polymorph hops away from the mirror, and comes to rest down the corridor, where it changes its mind and turns into a red-white- and-blue basketball (coloured like the defunct American Basketball Association’s balls), and bounces away.

6 Int. Sleeping Quarters.

In the officers’ quarters, where LISTER and RIMMER now live, LISTER is preparing a meal. He is scooping out of a tin labelled “Red Dwarf; Chilli Powder; Ship’s Issue.” He is wearing a black robe with green edges.

LISTER: Not too little, and not too much — that’s important.

He taps the spoon on the edge of the can to get just the right amount, then dumps the can’s contents into a bowl, and puts the spoon’s contents back in the can. He picks up a fork and begins to stir the ingredients.

LISTER: Here we go!

KRYTEN enters, carrying a vacuum-cleaner tube.

KRYTEN: I just thought I’d give your quarters a quick tickle around, sir. I won’t take a jiff.
LISTER: Not now, Kryten — I’m cooking.

KRYTEN attaches the tube to his groin and begins vacuuming.

LISTER: I didn’t know you could do that!

Kryten groinal attachment
KRYTEN: (Stopping the vacuum) Oh yes, I can plug a number of add-ons into my groinal socket, allowing me to perform virtually any household task imaginable.
LISTER: Like what?
KRYTEN: Oh, you name it: buzz saw, power drill, hedge trimmer … even an egg whisk.
LISTER: (Taking the end of the tube, which still is attached to KRYTEN)
What, so you just, like, stick the egg whisk attachment on the end and you can, like, whip up a Spanish omelette?
KRYTEN: I certainly can, sir, but it’s amazing how few people are
prepared to eat them.

 

LISTER gives the tube back to KRYTEN, who begins to vacuum again, but quickly begins to spasm. Eventually he shuts the vacuum down.

KRYTEN: Goodness me, I must have sucked up a penny. (He spits out the coin.) I better change the old bag there. Yes, I’ll just go and get a
fresh one.

KRYTEN leaves as CAT enters. They each raise their left hand, and high- five in passing. CAT is wearing a leopard-skin jacket.

CAT: Mmm!!! Something smells good! What is it? (Sniffs.) It’s me! I
love this aftershave! (Spins round, palms outturned, then goes to the
table.)
LISTER: You are five minutes away from the greatest meal of your life, man, so set your tastebuds on Defcom 3!

CAT now stands behind the table, which has candles on it, as well as
various medical supplies.

CAT: Hey, you’ve really made an effort here! Where’d you get all this
stuff?
LISTER: I just got sick and tired of using plastic knives and forks, man, so I went to the medical unit and nicked some gear.
CAT: (Picking a scalpel off the table, disgustedly) This is a scalpel!
I’m supposed to cut _my_ food with a scalpel? Something that has been inside someone’s guts?
LISTER: It’s all been cleaned; it’s all been washed; it’s clean.
CAT: (As he approaches LISTER) …something that, long ago in history, may well have performed a certain popular Jewish operation? _I’m_ supposed to eat with _this_?
LISTER: (Taps CAT’s cheek with the back of his hand with each beat.) Get the onion salads out of the fridge!
CAT: (Stops as he sees the sign on the refrigerator.) “Embryo
Refrigeration Unit?!”
LISTER: How many times…? It’s clean! It’s been cleaned!

CAT opens the refrigerator door, muttering “onion salad” as he scans the
contents of the refrigerator.

LISTER: They’re in the kidney bowls, next to the {cholostomy} bag with the chilli sauce in it.

CAT removes the two kidney bowls, rather disgustedly. LISTER has
finished his mixing.

LISTER: Here we go, here we go!

LISTER opens a microwave oven, then uses his hands to throw the contents of his bowl into it. He then tosses in a roll, and squirts a tube of catsup-like substance (can anyone read the label, or otherwise have an idea what this stuff could be?). He closes the microwave oven door, and, after a buzz, opens it, removing two plates with the properly prepared
meals on them. He goes to the table.

LISTER: Yahoo! Come on, man, come on! It’s ready! Sit down, sit down!
(Putting a plate down at his seat) One kebab for you … (putting the
other plate at CAT’s seat) … and one kebab for me.

They sit down. CAT folds a serviette into his collar. LISTER holds up
an enormous metal cylindrical object.

LISTER: (Offering) Lemon juice?
CAT: (Pointing at the object) What the hell is that?
LISTER: It’s a syringe.
CAT: What kind of syringe?
LISTER: It’s for cows — artificial insemination. It’s been washed; it’s
clean; it’s all been sterilised. Do you want lemon juice or what?
CAT: (Removes the serviette.) Ahem. Excuse me. (Stands.)
LISTER: (Baffled) What? What about the meal?
CAT: This isn’t a meal — this is an autopsy!
LISTER: It’s only the starter, man! What about the main course?
CAT: Hey, you think I got nothing better to do than hang around watching
you serve chicken {chaucer} in a stool bucket? (Leaves.)
LISTER: Oh, charming. (Picks up a urine-sample bottle of wine and begins to pour it into a beaker.) I dunno. You pull out all the stops … you make an effort … try and do something with a little bit of _extra_
class, and where does it get you? (Drinks the wine.) Mmm, very cheeky!

7 Int. Corridor.

Outside, in the corridor, the polymorph, still as the basketball, bounces
along, and then into the room. LISTER, confused, picks it up and rests it on the table. While he goes to the door to look into the corridor, the polymorph rolls onto his plate and turns into a second kebab.

8 Int. Video room.

In another area of the ship, RIMMER is watching a video, smiling. The video image is unstable, clearly a home video, of a family having a picnic.

KRYTEN: (bumping into something on a countertop) Oh, I’m sorry to
interrupt, sir. (holds up a new vacuum bag) I just need to get a, heh
heh… er, sorry.
RIMMER: Oh, no, Kryten, it’s all right. Just running a few of the old
home movies.

KRYTEN moves to see.

RIMMER: (Pointing at the screen) That’s me, there. Those are my
brothers: John, Frank, and Howard. God, we were close. “The Four
Musketeers,” we used to call ourselves. Well, “The Three Musketeers,”
actually — they always let me be the Queen of Spain. Marvellous. I
mean, yes, I was the butt of the occasional practical joke, but I mean,
er, nothing sinister.

On the screen, two boys in scout uniforms are seen hammering wooden stakes into the ground. The stakes are tied to the arms and legs of a third boy in scout uniform. One boy smears jam onto the bound boy’s face as the other holds up a tin labelled “Ants” to the camera, and then begins pouring it onto the bound boy’s face.

RIMMER: Just the usual boyhood pranks, you know: apple-pied beds, and black-eyed telescope … and, one time, they even hid a small land mine in my sand pit. They took it from my father’s gun cabinet. I mean, how were they supposed to know it was going to go off? Marvellous guys.

The video image now shows a woman reading “Good Schools Guide.”

KRYTEN: Oh, and, er, who’s that, there? and old girlfriend, Mr Arnold, sir?
RIMMER: Hardly.
KRYTEN: Ah, no. Not really your type, I suppose — silly old trout like
that.
RIMMER: She’s my mother.
KRYTEN: Oh! I am _so_ sorry, sir!!!
RIMMER: Just forget it.
KRYTEN: Oh, how can I forget it, sir? I compared your mother to a
foolish, aged, blubbery fish! I said she was a simple-minded, scaly
old piscine! I estimated she was an ugly, lungless marine animal with
galloping senility! A putrid amphibious gillbreather with (cries) with
less brains than a mollusc!
RIMMER: (Forcefully) Forget it! (Looks back to screen.) Ah! Freeze!

The image freezes on her still reading the book.

RIMMER: Ah, there she is — magnificent woman. Very prim, very proper.
Some say austere. Some people took her for cold, thought she was
aloof. Not a bit of it — she just despised idiots; no time for fools.
Tragic, really. Otherwise we would have got on famously.
KRYTEN: Well, if you’ll excuse me, sir, I’ll go now — this is clearly a
very private family moment. I’ve no fish to embarrass you further.
I’ll let myself trout. (Begins to leave, but then returns, crying once
again in apology.) Oh, sir, I’m–
RIMMER: Just go!

KRYTEN leaves. As RIMMER shakes his head, HOLLY appears on the screen.

HOLLY: I don’t want you to panic, Arn, but it does appear there’s a very tiny possibility that there may very well in all likelihood possibly be a non-human life form on board.
RIMMER: You mean like last time, when you got us all worked up and we went scooting off down to the cargo bay complete with bazookoids and backpacks, and it turned out to be one of Lister’s socks?
HOLLY: I didn’t recognise the genetic structure. Biologically speaking, they were a completely new life form.
RIMMER: Absolutely ridiculous! I felt the total goit.
HOLLY: Well, I think you should take a butchers.
RIMMER: Where is it?
HOLLY: I lost it. It’s somewhere along the habitation decks.
RIMMER: (Standing) I can’t get a moment’s peace in this place…

9 Int. Sleeping quarters.

LISTER is sitting back at the table as KRYTEN enters, with the vacuum cleaner tube attached.

KRYTEN: Enjoying your meal, sir?
LISTER: It’s delicious, Kryten — de-smegging-licious. It’s my own
recipe, you know: Shami Kebab Diablo! It’s beautiful, man. It’s like
eating molten lava. I cooked up one for Petersen once, you know … he was in sickbay for a week — for a week!

LISTER shakes some pepper on the remaining kebab as he watches KRYTEN clean. The kebab wriggles and sneezes.

LISTER: What’d you say?
KRYTEN: I didn’t say anything, sir.

LISTER picks up a scalpel and sets to cut the kebab, but he notices it
wriggling. It notices him trying to cut it, and leaps around his neck.
LISTER falls to the floor, trying to pry off the kebab.

KRYTEN: Do you seriously like them that hot, sir?
LISTER: (Pointing at the kebab) It’s trying to kill me!
KRYTEN: Oh, it’s a good one, huh?

LISTER manages finally to pry it off, and the kebab runs behind some
cases.

LISTER: It went under here — I can see it! (He beats at the cases with
a baseball bat.)
KRYTEN: Are you all right, sir?

A noise is heard as the polymorph changes shape.

LISTER: Smeg! It’s gone!
KRYTEN: What?
LISTER: How can that be? Where could it go? (He picks up a pair of red shorts from the floor and begins to put them on.) We better get out of here, Kryten. Something very weird is going on. Something very, very– ooh! There’s some kind of pain in my groin…

Movement is seen underneath LISTER’s robe as his shorts begin making noise. He screams.

KRYTEN: What’s wrong?
LISTER: My underpants — they’re shrinking! Oh god! The boxers are
alive, man! They’re getting smaller!!!

LISTER falls to the floor on his back, writhing in pain.

LISTER: Help me, please! Please!!!

KRYTEN goes to his knees and begins to try removing LISTER’s shorts.
RIMMER enters, and sees the goings-on from behind KRYTEN.

LISTER: (Still bouncing wildly) Please, I’m begging you! Get them off,
man! Pull them down!

KRYTEN finally retrieves the shorts, and stands, holding them — very
small they are too. He puts them on LISTER’s bunk.

Lister's boxers

RIMMER: Well, I can’t say I’m totally shocked… You’ll bonk anything,
won’t you, Lister!
LISTER: Kryten, the boxers: where are they?
KRYTEN: I threw them over here.

He looks but he can’t find them.

LISTER: You sure?
KRYTEN: There’s nothing here!

The polymorph can be heard changing form once more.

KRYTEN: (Rummaging around LISTER’s bunk) Just the blanket, and the pillows, and the…
LISTER: (Startled) Snake!!!
KRYTEN: … snake.
RIMMER: Snake?!

KRYTEN has a large boa constrictor wrapped around him. It suddenly leaps
at and attacks LISTER. LISTER struggles with it, but manages to stuff it into his laundry basket.

RIMMER: What the smeg is going on?
LISTER: (Walking backwards away from the basket, cowering) I hate snakes!
They freak me out totally, snakes.

He picks up some large forceps and approaches the basket.

LISTER: They are my all-time second-worst fear, guy.
RIMMER: What’s your first?

The polymorph changes shape as LISTER opens the basket, and a huge, fleshy, slimy-appendaged creature shoots out, reaching the ceiling. It has a set of sharp teeth on extendable jaws.

LISTER: (To RIMMER) This.

From between the jaws, a thin, slimy sucker comes out and attaches to
LISTER’s forehead, with a quiet, squishy “splat.” LISTER collapses.

The polymorph attacks lister

10 Int. Medical unit.

LISTER is asleep in the medical unit. CAT leans against his bed. RIMMER
and KRYTEN are standing nearby.

CAT: Is he OK?
RIMMER: As far as we can tell, yes.
CAT: So where’d the creature go?
RIMMER: Well, it turned into a kind of splodgy, squelchy thing and
squidged off down the corridor.
CAT: What is it? Some kind of alien?
HOLLY: No, it’s from Earth — man made. I checked out its DNA profile.
Some kind of genetic experiment that went wrong.
KRYTEN: Apparently, it was an attempt to create the ultimate warrior — a mutant that could change shape to suit its terrain and deceive its enemies.
CAT: So what did go wrong?
KRYTEN: (Throaty and dramatic) It’s insane!
HOLLY: It feeds off the negative emotions — fear, guilt, anger, paranoia — drains them out of its prey.
KRYTEN: It’s a sort of emotional vampire. It changes shape to provoke a negative emotion — in Lister’s case, it took him to the very limit of his terror, then sucked out his fear.
RIMMER: So now Lister’s got no sense of fear?
KRYTEN: Precisely.
RIMMER: What are we going to do?
LISTER: (Sitting up, awake) Well, I say let’s get out there and twat it!

Let's get out there and twat it - Red Dwarf Polymorph
RIMMER: Lister, you’re ill. Just relax and leave this to us.
LISTER: I could have had it in the sleeping quarters, but you saw it —
you saw it — it took me by surprise.
RIMMER: Lister, it turned into an eight-foot-tall, armour-plated alien killing machine.
LISTER: If it wants a Bonney, we’ll give it one! One swift knee in the
happy sacks; it’ll drop like anyone else!
RIMMER: Fine, well, we’ll bear that in mind when we’re planning our
strategy.
LISTER: I’m gonna rip out its windpipe and beat it death with the tonsil end.
RIMMER: Yes, yes, very good…
LISTER: I’m gonna stick my fist so far down its gob, I’ll be able to pull
the label off its underpants.
RIMMER: Yes, yes… Kryten…

KRYTEN injects a sedative through LISTER’s arm.

LISTER: What’s that, pal? You starting trouble??
KRYTEN: It’s just a little something to calm you down, sir.
LISTER: Come on, then! All of you, slags! All together or one at a
time! I don’t care — it’s all the same to me! I’m… (Collapses.)
RIMMER: Ah, thank god for that. Right — as far as I can see it, we have two options: One, we take it on and kill it; or Two, run away. Who’s for Two?
KRYTEN: Two sounds pretty good to me, sir.
CAT: It’s always been _my_ lucky number.
RIMMER: Right, well, let’s load up Starbug and get out of here.
HOLLY: What about Lister?
RIMMER: Oh, just seal the hatch from the inside. He’ll be safe here
until we’re ready to go.
HOLLY: Remember: it’s out there, and it could be anything.
RIMMER: Let’s move it.
KRYTEN: What about the Space Corps Directive which states, “It is our primary overriding duty to contact other life forms, exchange
information, and, wherever possible, bring them home?”
RIMMER: What about the Rimmer Directive which states, “Never tangle with anything that’s got more teeth than the entire Osmond family?”

What about the Rimmer Directive which states never tangle with anything which has more teeth than the entire Osmond family?

RIMMER leaves, and is followed by KRYTEN and CAT.

11 Int. Cargo deck.

Later, in the bowels of the ship, the three are going down a cargo lift.
In the dim blue light, KRYTEN is monitoring a device he holds in his
hand. Beeps from it become more rapid until it makes a solid tone. CAT
is wearing a silver jacket, and has on a headband and studded fingerless gloves. CAT and KRYTEN each carry a bazookoid and wear a backpack.

KRYTEN: (Softly) It’s here.
CAT: Where?
KRYTEN: Somewhere.
RIMMER: Set the bazookoids to heat-seeker.

CAT and KRYTEN do so.

RIMMER: When you see it, aim roughly in its direction, and the heat
seekers will do the rest.

They step off the lift, and creep around. RIMMER looks down a corridor between crates of cargo.

RIMMER: (Mumbling) Is that a shadow? (Shouting) It’s in the shadows!
There! There! There! (Points frantically.)

CAT and KRYTEN emerge from behind crates beside RIMMER, and fire down the corridor.

RIMMER: Sorry. My fault. False alarm.
CAT: Idiot.

The heat-seeking balls of energy round the corner as they continue their search for a valid target. They then change direction and head back toward the trio. The view changes to a computer screen bullet-eye view.
The screen reads “LASERTHERMO ENABLED; STATUS KILL; LOCKED.” The group manages to duck just in time, and the energy balls fly over their heads.

RIMMER: I don’t understand it — holograms don’t produce heat, and
neither do androids. What are they homing in on?

CAT freezes for a moment, then looks over at RIMMER and KRYTEN as they look at him.

CAT: So long, guys. (Runs away.)

The energy balls return to where RIMMER and KRYTEN are and round the
corner, chasing CAT. CAT runs around a few corners, then grabs a
cardboard box and holds it up. The energy falls burn through it and go down the aisle. CAT throws down the box and begins running again as the energy balls change direction to follow him again. From a motionless camera, CAT can be seen trotting across a perpendicular aisle, followed
by the balls, then almost immediately across the next aisle, in the other direction. This continues for the next aisle, and then he’s seen running down the last aisle one way, then the other. The view changes to ground
level between CAT’s feet. He leaps over the energy balls and dives downa side aisle. The balls still chase after him, but have lost him. CA walks quietly down an aisle, with his back against the cargo boxes. He peeks down another aisle, then walks into an intersection. At the next intersection, the two balls hover, waiting for him.

CAT: Oh, come on — give me a break!

CAT runs down an aisle again, followed by the balls. He runs to a dead end except for a door. He activates the door, which slides open, and ducks. The balls fly past him, into the small area beyond the door. CAT
reaches up and hits the door control again, trapping the energy balls
inside. He stands up.

CAT: You either got it or you ain’t. Boys, you ain’t even close.
(Struts away, then hears RIMMER’s voice calling.)
RIMMER: (VO) Cat, where are you?
CAT: Over here!
RIMMER: (Rounding a corner somewhere) Stay put — we’ll come and find you.
KRYTEN: (Rounding the same corner) Keep talking!

CAT doesn’t believe this, and sneaks around warily. He hops into a `T’ intersection, turns 360 degrees, then walks down the vertical part of the `T’. A woman comes up behind him.

WOMAN: What are you looking for?
CAT: A mutant. It’s dangerous — it can turn into anything!
WOMAN: Oh, sounds pretty scary!
CAT: It is, baby. Believe me.
WOMAN: (As they round a corner) It must take a really brave sort of guy to do this kind of work.
CAT: Well, I guess you’re right!
WOMAN: And smart — I bet you have to be smart!
CAT: (Stops walking) Smart? Yeah, you definitely have to be smart. Like I say, it can turn into anything. You gotta have your wits about you all the time — don’t let up for one second, or it’ll just creep up on
you and (motions with his paw) _blip!_ you’re dog meat. (Motioning
with his head down the corridor) Come on, babe. (Walks on.)
WOMAN: You know, you’re really quite a guy — brave, smart, handsome…
CAT: (Stops walking suddenly and smiles.) Oh, you think handsome?
WOMAN: Oh, come on. You know, you’re probably the best-looking guy I’ve ever seen.
CAT: Well, I wasn’t going to be the first to say it.
WOMAN: Do you know what I’d really like?
CAT: Hmm?
WOMAN: I’d really like to make love to guy like you.
CAT: (Big grin) Well, I’m sure I have a window in my schedule somewhere.
Let’s see … er, what are you doing in, say, ten seconds time?
WOMAN: Nothing I couldn’t cancel. (Runs her tongue along her teeth.)
CAT: Hi. I’m the Cat.
WOMAN: Hi. I’m the Genetic Mutant.
CAT: Glad to know you … Genny who?

The polymorph turns back into its large slimy form, its jaws extend, and the thin, slimy sucker come out and plops onto CAT’s forehead.
Elsewhere, KRYTEN and RIMMER have heard this and begin running down the aisles, RIMMER trailing a considerable distance behind.

RIMMER: It’s got him! It’s got him!

KRYTEN rushes around the corner near CAT. RIMMER walks in slowly behind.

KRYTEN: (Kneeling over CAT) Oh, my goodness! Are you all right? (Pets
CAT’s head, then uses an electronic instrument.)
RIMMER: Is he dead?
KRYTEN: Unconscious, but, according to the psi scan, he appears to have lost an emotion.
RIMMER: Which emotion?
KRYTEN: He’s lost his vanity!
RIMMER: This is your fault, Kryten.
KRYTEN: (Stammering, surprised) M-M-M-My fault?
RIMMER: We were supposed to stick together. You let the Cat run off alone.
KRYTEN: But it wasn’t… I mean…
RIMMER: He trusted you. Now look at him.
KRYTEN: Oh, please… I feel so–
RIMMER: GUILTY?!!!
KRYTEN: Yes.
RIMMER: GOOD!!! (his face stretches)

KRYTEN looks shocked, then the slimy sucker plops onto his forehead. A twoshot shows the polymorph sucking the guilt from KRYTEN.

The real RIMMER runs around some corners, and comes behind the creature still feeding. He sneaks closer to it, then jumps into a pseudo-karate stance, with a “Hah!” shouted. The polymorph has no reaction. RIMMER
steps back a bit, then the creature turns to face him. RIMMER holds up the back of his hands, limp-wristed, then moves his hands, saying “Shoo! Shoo!” The polymorph changes into its small initial form and slinks away, between some boxes. RIMMER approaches KRYTEN.

RIMMER: Let’s just get Lister and get out of here!
KRYTEN: It’s got my guilt! I have lost the single emotion which prevents my transgressing the mores, moras, and matters of civilised society.
RIMMER: Stop your blithering, Kryten. Come on! Grab the Cat, and let’s go!
KRYTEN: Oh, screw you, hadron-head!

RIMMER leaves.

12 Int. Medical unit.

A spigot is bulging. LISTER is beginning to wake up. The polymorph
makes its way out of the spigot and falls to the floor.

13 Int. Corridor.

RIMMER runs down a corridor, but then stops, turning around.

RIMMER: Where have you been? Let’s go!

CAT staggers around the corner. His hair is a mess and he carries paper sack with a bottle inside. He wears dirty clothes, including an anorak.
His speech is slurred.

CAT: I’ve been getting myself comfortable, man. (Staggers beyond
RIMMER.)
RIMMER: Come on, Kryten! You’re holding us all up!

KRYTEN rounds the corner, lugging a bazookoid.

KRYTEN: Ah, who cares?
RIMMER: You’re going to get us all killed! (Rounds the next corner.)
KRYTEN: So?

14 Int. Medical unit.

A woman’s hand, wearing a ring, is toying on LISTER’s abdomen. LISTER
finally wakes up, looks at her face, then lets his head fall back down.
KRYTEN, RIMMER and CAT enter.

KRYTEN: Oh, look! It’s Bonehead’s mum. (Laughs.)
RIMMER: Mother?
RIMMER’S MOTHER: Hello, dear!
RIMMER: _What_ are you doing?
RIMMER’S MOTHER: Well, what does it look like, darling? (Kisses LISTER.)
RIMMER: (To LISTER) You’ve just made love to my mother!?
LISTER: Yeah. Do you want to make something of it?
HOLLY: It’s not your mother, it’s the polymorph!
RIMMER: (Half shouting) You’ve just had my mum!?
RIMMER’S MOTHER: Five times! He was like a wild stallion!
KRYTEN: (Snidely quoting RIMMER) “Very prim, very proper, almost
austere!” (Laughs.)
HOLLY: Don’t fall for it, Arn — it’s trying to make you angry!
RIMMER’S MOTHER: Darling, I wish you could have seen him in action. He was like a set of pistons in an ocean liner engine room.
RIMMER: (Turning) I think I’m going to be sick.
HOLLY: Don’t get angry! That’s what it wants!
RIMMER: Lister and mother… (Through grit teeth) It’s a dream come true.
RIMMER’S MOTHER: (Sits up to face RIMMER’s profile.) He’s so energetic!
I honestly thought my false teeth were going to fall out.
RIMMER: How lovely.
RIMMER’S MOTHER: The positions he bent me into!
RIMMER: Terrific. That sounds enchanting. Well done.
RIMMER’S MOTHER: And the things this boy can do with Alphabetti
Spaghetti!
HOLLY: Cool it, Arnie!
RIMMER: (Furious) ALPHABETTI SPAGHETTI?!!!

The sucker attaches to RIMMER’s hologrammatic forehead, just above the
`H’.

15 Int. Sleeping quarters. Later.

Everyone is assembled together. CAT sits on the floor, drinking out of the bottle. Most of the drink spills down his shirt, but it blends in
with previous stains.

CAT: Where is it now?
HOLLY: It’s gone back down to the cargo bays, sleeping off a four-course meal of fear, vanity, guilt, and anger. You’d better get it before it comes back for seconds.

Give quiche a chance - Red Dwarf

RIMMER is wearing a T-shirt which reads, “GIVE QUICHE A CHANCE.” He also
wears shorts and a wristwatch, and is smoking a pipe. His face sports a goatee and black spectacles. He speaks with a lot of hand movements, fingers together, outstretched.

 

Buy the T-Shirt at Amazon!

RIMMER: Look, just because it’s an armour-plated alien killing machine
that salivates unspeakable slobber, doesn’t mean it’s a bad person.
What we’ve got to do is get it round a table, and put together a
solution package — perhaps over tea and biscuits.
KRYTEN: (In LISTER’s bunk) Look at him! You can’t trust his opinion —
he’s got no anger. He’s a total dork!
RIMMER: Good point, Kryten. Let’s take that on board, shall we? Erm,
David? David, do you have anything you want to bring to this forum?
LISTER: (Carrying a bazookoid on his shoulder and holding the baseball
bat) Well, yes, I have, actually, Arnold. Why don’t we go down to the
ammunition stores, get the nuclear warheads and then strap one to my head? I’ll nuke the smegger to oblivion! (Makes a butting motion with his head.)
RIMMER: Right, well, that’s very nice, David. Let’s put that on the back burner, shall we? Erm, Cat, let’s have your contribution … come on.
CAT: Hey, don’t ask me my opinion — I’m nobody. Just pretend I’m not here.
RIMMER: That’s lovely. Thank you very much. Erm, moving on a step —
and I hope no-one thinks that I’m setting myself up as a self-elected
chairperson … just see me as a facilitator — erm, Kryten, what’s
your view? Don’t be shy.
KRYTEN: Well, I think we should send Lister in as a decoy, and, while
it’s busy eating him alive, we could creep up on it unawares and blast
it into the stratosphere.
LISTER: (Enthusiastic) Good plan! That’s the best plan yet! Let it get
knackered eating me to death, then you guys could just, like, catch it
unawares!
RIMMER: Well, that’s certainly an option, David, yes. Erm, but here’s my proposal: Let’s get tough. The time for talking is over. Call it
extreme if you like, but I propose we hit it hard and hit it fast with
a major — and I mean _major_ — leaflet campaign, and while it’s
reeling from that, we’d follow up with a {whist} drive, a car boot
sale, some street theatre and possibly even some benefit concerts. OK?
Now, if that’s not enough, I’m sorry, it’s time for the T-shirts:
“Mutants Out” … “Chameleonic Life Forms, No Thanks” … and if that’s not enough, well, I don’t know what will be.
KRYTEN: Has anyone ever told you that you are a disgusting, pus-filled
bubo who has all the wit, charm and self-possession of an Alsatian dog after a head-swap operation?
LISTER: Listen, you bunch of tarts, it’s clobbering time! (Hits the bat
against his head.) There’s a body bag out there with that scudball’s
name on it, and I’m doing up the zip. Anyone who gets in my way gets a napalm enema!
CAT: I think _everybody’s_ right, except me, so just forget I spoke, all
right?
RIMMER: Erm, I think we’re all beginning to lose sight of the real issue here, which is: what are we going to call ourselves? Erm, and I think it comes down to a choice between “The League Against Salivating Monsters” or, my own personal preference, which is “The Committee for the Liberation and Integration of Terrifying Organisms and their Rehabilitation Into Society.” Erm, one drawback with that — the abbreviation is “CLITORIS.”

Red Dwarf Clitoris
LISTER: Look, it needs killing! If that means I have to sacrifice my
life in some stupid pointless way, then all the better!
KRYTEN: Yes! Why not? I mean, even if it doesn’t work, it’ll still be a
laugh!
LISTER: Right, so let’s just cut all of this business (He moves his
fingers around the bat in a mouth-talking way) and get on with it!
Last one alive’s a wet ponce. Who’s with me?
RIMMER: Well, the car stickers aren’t ready until Thursday, but sometimes one just has to act spontaneously. People, let’s go. (Follows LISTER out.)
CAT: (Standing) Hey, I’m coming, too. Maybe I can bum some money off him.
KRYTEN: Maybe if I hand you guys over, it’ll let me go. MOVE IT,
SUCKERS!

16 Int. Cargo bay.

Later, the polymorph moves through the cargo bay. At a `T’ intersection,
LISTER jumps in, then whips the baseball bat around each side of him a few times, then misses, sending the bat impacting between his legs. He staggers for a bit then begins to walk as the others fall in behind him.
RIMMER is holding a sign which reads “CHAMELEONIC LIFE FORMS NO THANKS.”
He’s singing a “Love Everybody; Peace; Love” song.)

LISTER: Come on, you chicken. Show us your slobbery chops, and we’ll blow them off.
KRYTEN: Here they are — nice juicy humans! Come and get them! Heeere, muty mutant!

The polymorph continues wandering around the aisles. The foursome stand
looking down an aisle as the creature stands to its full height behind
them, unnoticed. LISTER uses his baseball bat to open the door, and the energy balls fired earlier zoom out. The foursome duck, and the balls fly to and detonate on the polymorph. Bits of the polymorph fall on the foursome, as they suddenly have regained their lost emotions. They stand up.

CAT: Phewee! What am I wearing?
KRYTEN: Oh, how can you ever forgive me, sirs? Naturally, I will commit suicide immediately. (Sticks his bazookoid barrel in his mouth.)
LISTER: (Pulling KRYTEN’s bazookoid away) Hey… We were all a bit
whacked out there.
RIMMER: You can say that again. (Looks at his pipe.)
CAT: Come on — let’s go and clean up. If I don’t get into some co-
ordinated evening wear, I’m going to have to resign my post as Most
Handsome Guy on the Ship.

CAT leaves, followed by KRYTEN, RIMMER and LISTER.

17 Ext. Space.

The pod from which the polymorph came still spins in space, and another sign is seen on it: “CONTENTS 2.”

18 Int. Cargo bay.

Down the cargo bay, the group walks in line: CAT, KRYTEN RIMMER, LISTER
and … LISTER! The second LISTER stops, looks into the camera, smiles, giggles, roars, and turns into the eight-foot slimy creature. Its sucker reaches toward the viewer.

The End