THE PLASTICINE MAN

 

GOON SHOW: TLO 44618

8TH SERIES: No 13

BROADCAST: 23 Dec 1957

 

Script by Spike Milligan and Larry Stephens

 

GREENSLADE: This is the BBC light program. We present the all leather Goon Show. For the benefit of listeners who are listening we present ĎThe Plastercine Maní.

ORCHESTRA: Dramatic introduction.

GREENSLADE: The curtain rises on a window revealing the waiting room of the East Penge labour exchange. On a crude wooden bench sit two crude wooden men.

MORIARTY: Owwowwoww. What? Ohohoh. Owwwoww. (Extended.) Grytpype, I donít like it. I donít like it a bit.

GRYTPYPE: Well spit it out then.

MORIARTY: (Spits) Phhhutt. Quite so. Kwytso. Kwytso. What are we doing in this labour exchange?

GRYTPYPE: Weíre going to sign on and draw the moolah.

MORIARTY: AWWW! What if they find usÖwork?

GRYTPYPE: That is a risk we have to take.

MORIARTY: Awww. Awwwmm-awww. (Extended.)

GRYTPYPE: Shut up you fool. You want to be arrested for committing a public awwoww?

FX: Door opens.

SEAGOON: Pardon me.

GRYTPYPE: Thatís quite alright. Accidents will happen you know.

SEAGOON: Is this the queue for signing on?

GRYTPYPE: Yes, it is indeed. Moriarty, made room for the ragged gentleman.

SEAGOON: Thank you. (Close to mic) The owner of the voice was a high stiff collar clad in well-cut string.

GRYTPYPE: Yes, and the flies buzzing in this cloud of steam belong to none other than Count Jim ĎGumsíÖ

MORIARTY: Pshh-too.

GRYTPYPE: ÖMoriarty, lone porridge dancer and three times world trousers champion.

MORIARTY: Awwwwww.

GRYTPYPE: Hear those lilting strains? Strain again Moriarty.

MORIARTY: (Painfully) Awwwww. Awwwwww.

GRYTPYPE: So, little tattered man, youíre in the unemployment lark as well are you?

SEAGOON: Well no, Iím in show business.

GRYTPYPE: Itís the same thing really isnít it?

SEAGOON: Actually I rock and roll.

GRYTPYPE: Youíre the right shape for it too.

SEAGOON: Yes, but I canít get engagements.

GRYTPYPE: Strange. Have you a gimmick?

SEAGOON: Certainly. Match?

FX: Match being struck.

GRYTPYPE: Thank you.

SEAGOON: Yes. I sing and play the saxophone at the same time.

GRYTPYPE: Really? Then you play the saxophone by ear?

SEAGOON: Oh no, no. I play the saxophone by mouth and sing through my ear.

GRYTPYPE: Pure genius. And you canít get work, you say?

SEAGOON: No. Iíve tried but people wonít look at me.

GRYTPYPE: Well it isnít easy.

SEAGOON: What what what what what what what what what (clucking.)

FX: Tubular bell hitting concrete.

GRYTPYPE: (Aside) Moriarty, fry that sound effect. Weíll have it for breakfast. (Aloud) Now Neddy, my friend here happens to be a highly steamed publicity agent.

MORIARTY: Awww, the steaming publicity, awww.

GRYTPYPE: (Aside) Stop flashing your teeth and put them back in your pocket, Count. (Aloud) Aloud. Neddy, to be a star you must be discovered and we can arrange it for you.

SEAGOON: You can? How?

GRYTPYPE: Quite simple. Listen to this nine oíclock type news.

GRAMS: (Recording) GREENSLADE: American ARCHAEOLOGISTs digging at stonehenge have discovered the skeleton of a stone age dustbin. They are continuing their excavations andÖ. (fade)

GRYTPYPE: You see Neddy, you want to be discovered so we take you to stonehenge and bury you.

SEAGOON: Brilliant. Brilliant. Why didnít I think of that?

GRYTPYPE: Because youíre an idiot.

SEAGOON: Of course. Right. Letís go!

ORCHESTRA: Dramatic link.

GREENSLADE: Meanwhile at the British museum, Britainís leading archaeologists were holding a conference.

GRAMS: Crowd noises. (Continue under)

OMNES: Rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb etc. (extended)

FX: Gavel on desk.

BANNISTER: Phsh-too. Phsh-too.

CHAIRMAN: Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Grave news. Those Americans digging at Stonehenge have now discovered the bones of a genuine stonehenge naafi bun.

GRAMS: Crowd noises. (Continue under)

OMNES: Rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb etc. (extended)

ARCHAEOLOGIST 1: Quiet! Quiet there.

GRYTPYPE: Well gentlemen, I happened to be hiding under your table and heard what you were saying through your open legs.

SPRIGGS: Ohhhh! Oh Jim! A kneehole peeper.

GRYTPYPE: My friend and I have the complete answer we think to your problem. We can show you the exact spot at stonehenge where lies buried a perfect specimen of a man of the plasticine period.

ARCHAEOLOGIST 2: (Older than God.) We must go to stonehenge at once.

SPRIGGS: He wonít last the journey Jim.

GRYTPYPE: No need sir. To save you the journey we have brought stonehenge here. Moriarty, unwrap the parcel.

FX: Unwrapping of paper.

MORIARTY: Phsh-too, phsh-too.

GRYTPYPE: There gentlemen. Stonehenge.

SPRIGGS: Oh Jim, but where do we dig? Where do we di-iiiigg?

GRYTPYPE: In your pockets for a small fee of ten tousand small pounds.

FX: Coin in till.

GRYTPYPE: I thank you. Now gentlemen, you will find the plasticine man beneath the tombstone marked plasticine man. (Fades) Goodbye gentlemen.

SPRIGGS: Quick Jims, get the shovels.

GRAMS: Digging sounds. (Continue under.)

CHAIRMAN: Yes, and dig this crazy bloogey man, Max Ďhot feesí Geldray.

 

MAX GELDRAY

 

GREENSLADE: That of course, was my impression of an audience applauding. Next an impression of the Plastercine Man part two.

ORCHESTRA: Dramatic link.

GREENSLADE: The archaeologists continued digging until finally they unearthed Neddy Seagoon, alias the platercine man. With tender care they lifted him out and laid him on the table.

FX: Heavy body falling on bench. Bits and pieces falling.

CHAIRMAN: Without any doubt this body is that of a man of the plasticine period.

ARCHAEOLOGIST 3: And beautifully preserved, considering heís 6000 years old.

SEAGOON: What what what what what what what what what what what what what what what!

CHAIRMAN: Itís quite incredible. Heís so well preserved heís still alive.

ARCHAEOLOGIST 3: I say, whatís this ancient weapon heís holding?

SEAGOON: Itís my saxophone. Iím a rock and roll saxophoner, a real gone guy, and a rock, salad and peas hound dog, donít that rock you. Iím crazy man, crazy.[1] Iím cool.

CHAIRMAN: If only we understood his strange prehistoric language.

ARCHAEOLOGIST 3: Yes. If only we did.

Cyril: No, wait. Listen.

ARCHAEOLOGIST 3: What is it SirWalter?

Cyril: Weíve been done. Here, this ainít the body of a man. Itís the body of an ape.

ARCHAEOLOGIST 3: An ape?

Eidelburger: Heís right gentlemen. Observe the monkey shaped skull and the long arms. They reach the ground.

Yukamoto: Ahhh, but his legs donít. Anyway, he is wearing evening dress.

Cyril: So? He was buried after dinner.

SEAGOON: Now look here. Iím not a prehistoric man. Iím Neddy Seagoon díyou hear? Neddy Seagoon. Seagoon. S,E, er A, erÖ Iím Neddy Seagoon!

CHAIRMAN: You know, I think heís trying to tell us something.

Singhez-Thingz: Six thousand years old, man. Oh, at his age we must stop him decomposing. It is imperative that we stop him decomposing in this condition. (Extended.) You understand that Mr Lalkaka?

Lalkaka: I was not being attendant to what you were saying.

Singhez-Thingz: You understand?
Lalkaka: I am listening. (Extended.)

Singhez-Thingz: I am saying in line six that he is decomposing in the european type cantonment way. You understand?

Lalkaka: Good luck to him.

Singhez-Thingz: Stand aside for your next line.

CHAIRMAN: Yes, I think youíre absolutely right. (Sniffs) I think heís going off already.

GRAMS: Burst of gas.

Singhez-Thingz: There he goes.

CHAIRMAN: I have an idea. Weíll preserve him in pure alchohol.

SEAGOON: What what what what?

CHAIRMAN:Now hold him down. Put the funnel in his mouth. Pass me that five gallon jar of alchohol.

Singhez-Thingz: Taking precaution now. Taking precaution.

GRAMS: Liquid pouring.

SEAGOON: (Gulping.)

GRAMS: Liquid pouring extended.

SEAGOON: (Gulping, extended.)

CHAIRMAN: There. I should think that should keep him in a lovely condition.

SEAGOON: Hic. (Drunk.) Well, time I was going.

CHAIRMAN: I say, stop him!

SEAGOON: Stand back.

SPRIGGS: Lie down Jim. You canítÖ

FX: Thud on nut.

SPRIGGS: Oww Jim!

SEAGOON: Get out of my way!

CHAIRMAN: Now look hereÖ

FX: Thud on nut.

Chairman: Oww!

FX: Various sized thuds, biffs and bonks. (Spriggs and Chairman groaning over.)

SEAGOON: (Sings)I belong to GlascowÖ

FX: Door closes

Singhez-Thingz: Oh man! Heís escaped man.

ORCHESTRA: Short dramatic link.

GREENSLADE: That night the mighty presses of Fleet Street churned out special headlines.

ORCHESTRA: Sharp dramatic chord.

MILLIGAN: Prehistoric monster escapes!

ORCHESTRA: Sharp dramatic chord.

SELLERS: Drink-mad ape at large!

ORCHESTRA: Sharp dramatic chord.

MILLIGAN: Police hunt thing from stoneage!

ORCHESTRA: Sharp dramatic chord.

SELLERS: ďMonster and I are just good friendsĒ says Diana Dors.

GREENSLADE: That night, in a slum alley off Park Lane a constable patrols his feet.

GRAMS: Slow steady tread of boots on pavement.

WILLIUM: (Sings) Maybe itís because Iím a lunatic

††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† That I love Dickson soÖ

SEAGOON: (Snores)

WILLIUM: Hello Ďello. Whoís this kipping in the gutter here? Wake up.

SEAGOON: What what?

WILLIUM: Canít you read that notice mate? No kipping this side on even dates.

SEAGOON: Oooooh oooh. Oooo my head!

WILLIUM: Your head? Your breath! Youíve been belting the boose ainít you mate? Iíve got a good mind to arrest you for impersonating a newt.

SEAGOON: Constable it wasnít my fault. Some men forced alchohol down my throat.

WILLIUM: Cor. Here, do you think theyíd force some down mine? Where did this happen then?

SEAGOON: At the British Museum.

WILLIUM: I didnít know they had a license mate. Iíll have to get outÖHere! Wait a minute. Ainít I seeíd a picture of your name in the paper?

SEAGOON: No! It wasnít me. My grandmother keeps a duck farm in Kent I tell you. Itís Muriel PlingeÖ

WILLIUM: I know! Youíre the prenoristoric monster, the plastered-cine man.

SEAGOON: Oh no no no!

GRAMS: Boots running off into the distance.

WILLIUM: Here, come back plastered-cine man.

FX: Police whistle.

GRAMS: Boots running approaching from distance.

SEAGOON: (Out of breath) Hello folks! A picture of my name in the papers. I shall be recognised. I must get to a professional disguiser at once.

ORCHESTRA: Dramatic link.

GRAMS: Clock springs of various types and sizes. Pendulums clacking together.

CRUN: Errrgh.Ahhhgh. Help! Min! Min! Min

GRAMS: Racing car approaching at speed. StopsÖ

FX: Door opens

GRAMS: Racing car even nearer. Car backfires. Car door slams.

BANNISTER: Oh! Yes Henry.

CRUN: Help Min. Help.

BANNISTER: (Off mic) Where are you Henry?

CRUN: Iím in the grandfather clock Min.

BANNISTER: (On mic.) Oh dear. What are you doing in there Henry?

CRUN: Trying to get out modern Min.

BANNISTER: Oooh.

CRUN: Get hold of my legs and pull.

BANNISTER: Well stop dancing the modern rhumba then buddy.

CRUN: Iím not dancing the rhumba Min. Iíve got the pendulum stuck down my trousers.

BANNISTER: Oh dear dear dear. Iím afraid HenryÖturn your back Henry. Turn your back while I say this line. There. Iíll have to take your trousers off.

CRUN: Oooouuurrrgh! Not in front of a lady. Youíll have to leave the room first.

BANNISTER: Oh. Alright Henry.

FX: Door closes.

CRUN: Sheís gone. Now you can take them off.

BANNISTER: O.K. buddy. NowÖ

GRAMS: Ripping of cloth.

BANNISTER: Ohhh. Henry, you deceitful man. You wear long leather underpants.

CRUN: I have to wear them Min. You know Iíve got the weak knees.

BANNISTER: Knickey knackey noo they go.

CRUN: Oooo. Aww. Get me out of this modern clock Min.

BANNISTER: Now hold still. Ready. Hold still now Henry.

GRAMS: Straining of multiple springs.

BANNISTER: Oh! Oh! Phish-too. Phish-too.

CRUN: Oh. Thatís better.

FX: Door opens.

SEAGOON: Excuse me. Is this Mr Crunís house?

CRUN: It is. Yes.

SEAGOON: Good. Then Iíll knock.

FX: Door closes. Door knocker.

CRUN: Oh! I wonder who that is?

FX: Door opens.

SEAGOON: Good evening. Mr Crun the disguise expert?
CRUN: Yes.

SEAGOON: I want a new face.

CRUN: I see, I see. Where did you get the face youíre wearing now?

SEAGOON: It was a present from my parents.

CRUN: It doesnít fit you very well does it. Itís gone all baggy at the knees.

FX: Scratching on wood.

BANNISTER: Henry. The dog wants to come in.

CRUN: Naughty dog. Always forgetting his keys.

FX: Door opens.

CRUN: Alright, come in psycho.

SEAGOON: Psycho?

CRUN: Yes. Heís our pet mad dog you know. Come in you naughty psycho.

GREENSLADE: Woof. Woof.

CRUN: Where have you been, you mad dog you?

GREENSLADE: Out in the midday sun.

SEAGOON: But heÖah haghaouhahoughaheehaÖhe talks!

CRUN: I told you he was mad.

SEAGOON: But dogs canít talk.

CRUN: I know. Iíve told him but he never listens to me. I may as well talk to a brick wall you know.

SEAGOON: Yes, yes, yes. But what about my disguise?

CRUN: Ah yes. Well now glue this false moustache to your ear and swallow this blue serge beard.

SEAGOON: (Gulps)

CRUN: Screw this wooden leg onto your head and now step into this grandfather clock.

SEAGOON: Right!

GRAMS: Multiple clock springs.

FX: Door closes.

SEAGOON: (Muffled) How do I look?

CRUN: Exactly like a grandfather clock. Goodnight sir. Min! Come on. Weíll be late for the sinful lantern-slide.

BANNISTER: Whoopee! Iíll get my warm football boots ready.

FX: Door closes. (Pause) Door opens.

GRYTPYPE: Right Moriarty. Put that grandfather clock on the lorry.

MORIARTY: Right.

GRAMS: Multiple clock springs.

GRYTPYPE: Now get the lorry on your head.

MORIARTY: Ugh er arghh.

GRYTPYPE: Now, letís go.

GRAMS: Whoosh, whoosh.

GREENSLADE: While those two villains return Neddy Seagoon to the British Museum and claim the reward, here is a horsehair statue of a bus conductor listening to Ray Ellington.

 

RAY ELLINGTON

 

GREENSLADE: The plastercine man part three.

ORCHESTRA: Dramatic intro.

GREENSLADE: To prevent Seagoon again escaping from the British Museum he was taken to the National Gallery where he was framed and hung on the wall.

And here after dark we discover two night watchmen on their rounds.

GRAMS: Two pairs of boots pacing steadily. Speed up. Slow down. Speed up. Slow down. Repeat.

BLUEBOTTLE: I say, EcclesÖ

ECCLES: Yeah Ďbottle?

BLUEBOTTLE: You know those greek statues of nudists what we just passed?

ECCLES: Yer.

BLUEBOTTLE: Well what happens in the autumn when the leaves begin to fall?

ECCLES: Well, um, the park keeper sweeps them up with his broom I suppose.

BLUEBOTTLE: Oh. Didnít it tickle?

ECCLES: No. I wasnít wearing one. Ha ho! Oh, the statue? A statue canít feel a tickle.

BLUEBOTTLE: You mean Iíve been wasting my time?

ECCLES: You naughty man!

GRAMS: Footstep recommence.

ECCLES: You naughty Ďbottle. I wondered why all your fingers were bandaged.

GRAMS: Footsteps stop.

BLUEBOTTLE: Ooo! Look at that naughty painting, ďVenus Bathing.Ē

ECCLES: Ooo. ďVenus Bathing.Ē Heís a good looking fellow isnít he! Nice and strong.

BLUEBOTTLE: You stupid nit. That is what is called a lady.

ECCLES: Ooo. I donít think itís fair when theyíve got no clothes on. How can you tell?

BLUEBOTTLE: Youíre a stupid man you! Itís quite easy. The one with girlís names are ladies.

ECCLES: Oh! Your daddy must have had a talk with you then.

BLUEBOTTLE: He did.

GRAMS: Footsteps recommence. Speed up, slow down.

SEAGOON: (Whispered) I say, Eccles!

GRAMS: Footsteps stop.

ECCLES: Here Ďbottle, your voice has dropped!

BLUEBOTTLE: What do you mean?

ECCLES: Oh, itís gone back up again.

SEAGOON: (Whispered) No no. It was me.

ECCLES: Hohohoeehoho! Awwwww! That picture spoke.

BLUEBOTTLE: What? This one? (Reads) ďThe Pasticine Man.Ē

SEAGOON: (Whispered) Yes. Listen, you must help me escape.

ECCLES: Ohhoawww. (Extended) Thatís our job - to stop pictures escaping.

BLUEBOTTLE: Yes. It is our duty for Queen and country. Springs to attention. Spring! Runs union jack up leg. Plays ĎLast Postí on plastic cut-out bugle.

(Feeble imitation of bugle.)

SEAGOON: Silence you little jam-stained soldier! Let me out and Iíll give you five pounds.

BLUEBOTTLE: No!

SEAGOON: Ten pounds.

BLUEBOTTLE: Never!

SEAGOON: A quarter of jelly babies.

BLUEBOTTLE: Tee hee hee. Every man has his price. I cannot resist. Mavis Trills here I come! Takes jelly babies and pops little girl in dinner hole.

GRAMS: Pop.

SEAGOON: Now get me out of this frame.

ECCLES: O.K.

FX: Quick sawing. Piece of wood hits floor.

SEAGOON: Thank heavens. Now whereís the exit?

ECCLES: Itís behind that door marked ĎWay Out.í

SEAGOON: Gad! What a cunning place to hide it. Help!

GRAMS: Footsteps running into distance.

ORCHESTRA: Dramatic chords.

SEAGOON: Heeeeeello folks. Hello folks. Once free I decided to give up my dreams of fame and fortune and get an ordinary job, but the man at the labour exchange said;

FLOWERDEW: Well, youíre a cheeky one! Six thousand years old and you want a job? You get out of here you plasticine devil or Iíll set my pussy on you.

GREENSLADE: Meow.

SEAGOON: Thank you Walter Greenslade. Hello folks! Time to prove my real age and identity. Now who can proveÖ? But of course! Ha ha ha of course! Ha ha ha! The very man. My old commanding officer!

ORCHESTRA: Bloodnok theme.

BLOODNOK: Oooooohhhhh!

FX: Massive junk pile collapsing.

BLOODNOK: Ooohch! Ooohch! Manners! Manners! Manners!

THROAT: Did you call me sir?

BLOODNOK: Ah, there you are Manners.

THROAT: Yes sir.

BLOODNOK: Switch on my reading trousers and pass me that book in the plain wrapper will you?

THROAT: Right.

FX: Turning of pages.

BLOODNOK: Ah, where did I get to? Ah yes yes yes. The first time that Lady Chatterly saw the game keeper he went in the house andÖ(mumbles)

FX: Turning of pages.

BLOODNOK: Ho ho ho ho ho. What? Forget-me-knots! Oh, itís a wonder she didnít catch her death of coldÖ.(Further mumbles) Oh ho ho! Disgusting! I donít know why people like me are allowed to smuggle books like this in from Paris. I never knew. I never knew.

FX: Door opens.

SEAGOON: Major!

BLOODNOK: Ahhhh! Wait a moment.

Milligan: Phish-too. Phish-too. Phish-too.

BLOODNOK: Wait a moment. Arenít you Tubby Seagoon my old batman who risked his life under fire to drag me to safety?

SEAGOON: Yes!

BLOODNOK: Well you owe me a quid.

SEAGOON: What for?

BLOODNOK: You tore the back of my uniform.

SEAGOON: It suits you. Major, everybody thinks Iím the plasticine man and I canít get a job because Iím six thousand years old.

BLOODNOK: What! The how did you get in the army?

SEAGOON: I lied about my height.

BLOODNOK: Just a moment. (Aside) Let me see now, six thousandÖ That means they owe him five thousand and nine years old age pension. (Aloud) Neddy. Iíll tell you what. Iíll change names with you.

SEAGOON: You will? Hahahaho! Thank you.

BLOODNOK: Ohohohoh! Just make your mark here.

SEAGOON: Right. There!

BLOODNOK: You filthy swine!

FX: Door opens.

JAMPTON: Excuse me folks. Iím from the Ministry of Pensions. Which one of you is the plastercine mon?

BLOODNOK: Er, I am.

JAMPTON: Then I arrest you for not stamping your cards for five thousand years.

BLOODNOK: Ahhhgggh!

ORCHESTRA: Tatty chord in C

GREENSLADE: Well, thatís one way to end the story. But for listeners who donít like dull endings hereís an exciting finish.

GRAMS: Chase music

JAMPTON: Have at you!

FX: Swords clashing.

SEAGOON: Iíll have at you!

OMNES: Quasi Shakespearian dualing dialogue.

SEAGOON: Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

GRAMS: Splash

Little Jim: Heís fallen in the water.

GREENSLADE: Well, take your pick. Itís all in the mind you know.

ORCHESTRA: End theme.

GREENSLADE: That was The Goon Show, a BBC recorded programme featuring Peter Sellers, Harry Secombe, and Spike Milligan; with the Ray Ellington Quartet, Max Geldray and the Orchestra conducted by Wally Stott. Script by Spike Milligan and Larry Stephens. Announcer Wallace Greenslade. The programme produced by Roy Spear.

ORCHESTRA: Playout.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



[1] Crazy Man, Crazy had been a hit for Bill Haley and the comets in 1953.