MSTed: THIS ISLAND EARTH -- PART I

[Steven Thorpe AKA thor]

Well, some of us won't be going to the convention (because we're
bitter!) So, seeing that I have alot of extra time on my hands, I
decided to try something different, and do a quick MSTing of the
proposed MST movie _This Island Earth_.
I know it says Part I in the Subject line, but I believe that it
is destined to remain a fragment (I don't have the time, and I don't
want too many unfavorable comparisons when and if the Brains ever
do it properly.)
Also -- I used Joel instead of Mike (I'm more comfortable with him
on my first MSTing.) Hey, it's just for fun -- I can do anything I
want! (I'm the God! I'm the God!)
Let's watch!

--thor

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MSTed: THIS ISLAND EARTH -- PART I

By Steven Thorpe AKA thor

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


TITLE: UNIVERSAL INTERNATIONAL

(shot of U.I. logo: Earth spinning in space)

JOEL: As the world turns . . .

CROW: . . . and my stomach churns . . .

TITLE: UNIVERSAL INTERNATIONAL PRESENTS

CROW: Hey, how many nations _are_ there in a universe, anyway?

(shot of star field, with eeiry synth music in background)

JOEL: Tomita lives!

(a red blob title effect appears at top of screen)

TOM: Beware of the Blob!

ALL: (singing) It creeps and leaps and glides and slides across the
floor . . .

(two more blobs appear and quickly mutate into title)

CROW: Must be the son and daughter of the Blob.

TOM: Daddy!

TITLE: THIS ISLAND EARTH

JOEL: (standing with arms folded, indian-like, then pointing to another
star system) That Island _Dirt_!

CREDIT: JEFF MORROW

TOM: Jeff will be joining us tomorrow.

CREDIT: REX REASON

JOEL: _Is_ there a reason for Rex Reason?

CREDIT: LANCE FULLER

CROW: I'll bet Lance's lance is fuller . . .ump!

JOEL: (reaching over to clamp Crow's beak) Watch it!

CROW: (muffled) What? What?

CREDIT: RUSSEL JOHNSON

ALL: (singing) . . .the professor and Mary Ann; here on This Island Earth!

CREDIT: DOUGLAS SPENCER

JOEL: Douglas Spencer . . . for hire!

CREDIT: KARL L. LINDT

TOM: I told you there should be a lindt-trap on this movie. Heh, heh.

CROW: Shhhhh! We'd end up having to clean it.

TOM: Oh, right . . .huh?

CREDIT: BASED ON A STORY BY RAYMOND F. JONES

CROW: Based on a wet-dream by Raymond F. Jones.

TOM: Must have been a _Colossus_ of a wet-dream!

CROW: Ha!

JOEL: No. That was by D. F. JONES.

TOM & CROW: Oh.

(annoying synth music continues)

JOEL: (in old lady voice) Will someone PUH-LEASE turn off that car alarm.

CREDIT: SOUND: LESLIE I. CAREY & ROBERT PRITCHARD

TOM: Oh, I want to kill the sound editors already.

CREDIT: GOWNS: ROSEMARY ODELL

CROW: Gowns? In space?

JOEL: Is Zsa Zsa in this?

CREDIT: ASSISTANT DIRECTOR: FRED FRANK

TOM: Fred Frank? Well, which is it?

JOEL: Maybe it's a _Glen or Glenda_ thing.

CROW: I think it's a Freudian frankfurter thing!

TOM: Huh?

CREDIT: PRODUCED BY WILLIAM ARLAND

CROW: Oh, _Arland_ a hand to anyone who wants to beat the crap out of
this guy.

TOM: Good one.

CREDIT: DIRECTED BY JOSEPH NEWMAN

JOEL: Directed by Alfred E. Newman.

CROW Think we're gonna be _Mad_ about this movie? Heh, heh . . . sorry.

TOM: I smell pain, boys.

(music swells)

TITLE: WASHINGTON, D.C.

(cut to aerial veiw of the green sward of the Mall leading up
to the Capitol building)

JOEL: (in country voice) Looks like some good farmin' land a'goin' to
waste)

(cut to airstrip: reporters are interviewing test pilot/scientist
Dr. Cal Meecham in front of his jet plane)

REPORTERS (ALL): (taking photos) One more. Just one more, Dr. Meecham.
Hold it, please. A little closer to the wing, sir. A
little more profile, Dr. Meecham.

TOM: A little more skin, Cal.

CROW: Come on. Work with me! Work with me!

CAL'S REPORTER FRIEND: He wants to get that far-away, visionary look, Cal.

JOEL: Yeah, like at last weekends mushroom party.

REPORTER: Cal, we know how tired you must be, so we'll make it as short
as possible.

CAL: Fire away gentlemen. But, I am beginning to feel far-away and
visionary.

CROW: It's just a flashback, Cal! Ride it out!

REPORTER: How about your conference with the Committee on Atomic Power?

CAL: Well, not my conference. Twenty engineers and scientists were
there.

REPORTER: Twenty? Hardly a routine meeting, would you say?

TOM: What would you say, _comrade_?

JOEL: What would you know about it _Miss_ Reporter?

CAL'S REPORTER FRIEND: Yeah, and look, Cal, we won't buy the VIP's
getting you together for a cocktail party!

(general laughter from the crowd of reporters)

CROW: Would you buy a Naughty Nightie Party?

CAL: Alright, boys. I'll tell you this much . . .

TOM: . . .there was no Tupperware involved.

CAL: . . . under discussion was the biggest job we've ever tackled . . .

JOEL: . . . training my voice to stop sounding like Clutch Cargo's.

CAL: . . . the industrial application of atomic energy.

CROW: Then we go to work on this Jay Leno chin of mine.

REPORTER: But, that's not news, Cal. We all know that there have been
several industrial reactors in use, already.

TOM: Not to mention several industrial accidents.

CAL: Well, let's say then, that in light of recent developments . . .

JOEL: . . . I have no comment!

CAL: . . . those plants may already be obsolescent.

CROW: Like me!

REPORTER: Electronics is your speciality. How does that fit in with
atomic energy?

TOM: I can kill you with a light switch!

CAL: You boys like to call this the push-button age . . .

(shot of Cal's hugh chin)

CROW: I bet you'd like to push this button in, eh, Missy.

CAL: It isn't, yet. Not until we can team up atomic energy with
electronics. Then we'll have the horse as well as the cart.

JOEL: But, the horse is gone, and you've locked the cart in the barn!

CROW: Typical.

REPORTER: (looking at Cal's transportation) How long has the Army been
handing out jets, Doctor?

CROW: Since before _you_ were born, Four-eyes!

CAL: One of the boys at Lockheed handed me this one. I hope your
taxpayers won't mind.

(reporters laugh good naturedly)

TOM: Ha, ha. (freaking) DIE! DIE! You money-grubbing military-industrial
capitalist-pig-type tax-sucking enemy-of-the-people . . .

JOEL: Hey, relax, little buddy. It's O.K.

TOM: (crying) Hun, hun, hun . . .

REPORTER: Cal, when do we get to this push-button age?

CROW: When you can push the buttons, dickweed!

CAL: When fellows like me stop talking about it and get back to our labs.

TOM: (still ranting) In a thousand-dollar-a-minute fuel-guzzling fighter-
jet-plane, when you could just as easily taken public transportation
like the rest of us U.S. taxpayers . . .sob . . . hunnnnn!!!

JOEL: He'll be alright.

CROW: (to Tom) You've never paid taxes!

TOM: Hun, hun, hun . . .

JOEL: Leave him alone.

CROW: (softly, behind Joel's back) And you've never ridden a bus.

TOM: Hunnnnnnn!

CAL: I'll see you gentlemen, later.

(Cal climbs steps to jet cockpit)

REPORTERS (ALL): So, long. Goodbye.

(reporters exit)

CAL'S REPORTER FRIEND: (confidentially) Cal, are you working on anything
along the lines you mentioned?

TOM: Are you a spy, comrade?

CAL: Roughly.

CROW: How roughly? Are we talking chips and dips? Chains and whips?

REPORTER: Well, remember me, will ya?

JOEL: I'll never forget, ya, little weird news-guy.

CAL: (condescendingly) I'm concentrating on the reconversion of certain
common elements into nuclear energy sources.

REPORTER: Huh? How's that again?

CROW: I'm mixin' really bitchin' speedballs!

CAL: What counts is how I make it work.

REPORTER: I see. Well, good flight, Cal. So long.

(Cal climbs into jet)

(shot of jet warming up and then taking off)

(multiple shots of Cal jetting over America, non-stop from
Washington, D.C. to Los Angeles)

JOEL: Let's watch as Cal takes in the sights of stock-footage America.

(cut to shot of military-type guard opening gate for jeep
containing Cal's assistant and professional doughy guy, Joe)

(placard on gate reads:

PRIVATE AIRFIELD
PROPERTY OF
RYBERG ELECTRONICS CORP.
LOS ANGELES, CALIF.)

(Joe jumps from jeep and runs up stairs to control tower)

(cut to interior of control tower)

CAL: (over loudspeaker) 2XD341 calling control tower. Come in.

JOEL: Did he say THX1138?

TOWER CONTROL: 2XD341, this is Ryberg control tower. Go ahead.

TOM: No. I think 2XD was his girlfriend.

CAL: O.K. to come in, Web?

CROW: I told you never to call me here, Cal.

WEB: All clear, Cal. Drift south about 20 meters per hour.

TOM: Hey, bozo, why don't you drift south, awhile.

(Joe enters)

JOE: Hi, Web. What's Cal's ETA?

WEB: About fourteen ten. But, he's . . .

CROW: . . . way off script, at this point!

JOE: . . .half an hour late. That's my boss. The only guy in the world
who can travel by jet and still be late.

(Joe and Web have good natured chuckle)

CAL: (on speaker) So, you talk about me while I'm gone?

CROW: I didn't mean anything by it, honey.

JOE: (grabs microphone) Where are you?

TOM: Hang up! The call is coming from inside the control tower!

CAL: Look out the window.

(shot through tower window shows Cal's jet heading straight for
tower)

(shot of Joe and Web ducking under desk as Cal buzzes tower)

(sound FX: ZOOOOOOOOOOOM!)

CROW: Cal! Don't do this. You know I love you!

(shot of Joe and Web jumping up as jet streaks by. They look at
each other and smile)

CROW: My guy. He's so goofy.

(shot of Cal's jet veering off into sky)

(close-up of Cal in cock-pit. something's wrong)

(sound FX of engine power winding down)

(close-up of Cal's hand on joystick pulling back and forth with
no obvious effect. jet isout of control)

(shot of jet going down)

JOE: Cal, what's wrong?

CROW: You mean besides the blue-screen FX?

CAL: I have no control.

TOM: Thank God your suit is watertight.

(shot of horizon spinning wildly)

JOE: Cut loose, Cal! Bail out!

CAL: Can't. Too low.

JOEL: Must talk. In short bursts.

JOE: (to Web) Jerking around must have caused a flame-out.

(Crow opens beak to quip)

JOEL: (shaking head) No. It wouldn't be worth the spanking or the
time-out.

CROW: Oh.

WEB: No power.

TOM: No script.

JOE: No nothing.

(Joe rushes for the door)

(cut to shot of jet careening for desert floor)

(cut to exterior of Cal in cockpit. jet is engulfed in cheesy
green, glowing SFX)

(sound FX: high pitched sonic wail)

(cut to veiw from cockpit as nose of jet jerks up from certain
doom)

(shot of Cal as he looks with disbelief around cockpit, and
then holds up glowing green hands)

TOM: Ya know, it's not easy being green.

(interior of cockpit: shot looking down through Cal's legs at
joystick piloting itself)

CROW: Better keep an eye on that thing, brother.

(exterior full shot of jet in level flight once more, still
glowing)

(landing gear is lowered)

(cut to shot of Joe rushing down tower steps)

(cut back to shot of Cal' staring at hands, again)

JOEL: I just can't believe how filthy this plane is.

(cut to shot of joystick moving by itself, once more)

CROW: They're really milking these shots.

(shot of Joe jumping in jeep and heading for runway)

(shot of jet, still pulsing and glowing, as it makes a perfect
landing)

CROW: Look's like she's runnin' a little hot.

(jet rolls to a stop as glow and sound FX phase out)

(Joe drives up as Cal decsends from jet)

JOE: Cal, you O.K.?

(Cal hands briefcase to Joe)

JOEL: My report's in here.

CAL: O.K.

CROW: S'right.

JOE: What happened? How'd you bring it in?

(Cal hands Joe his helmet)

CAL: I didn't. Couldn't.

JOEL: Doing it. Again. Help me.

JOE: What d'ya mean you didn't?

CROW: Didn't. Couldn't. Wouldn't. Which part don't you understand?

CAL: Controls went out.

JOEL: Out the exit with most of the audience.

JOE: Huh?

CAL: That's right. No controls. No power. The plane died up there. I
should be dead.

TOM: Like my acting.

(Cal pulls gloves off and starts to walk towards jeep. Joe
stops him by holding briefcase before his path)

CROW: Hey, I'm not carrying this stuff.

JOE: Cal! I know everybody is seeing flying saucers and screwy lights
up in the sky . . .

JOEL: Get to the point, pink boy!

JOE: Well, you can put me in the booby hatch, too . . .

CROW: Me,too!

TOM: Oh, me, me, me, me, me . . .

JOEL: Calm down, guys. It's not what you think.

JOE: . . . because, so help me, I saw your ship turn bright green up
there.

CROW: Just like your face.

CAL: Are you sure, Joe?

JOE: Positive.

CAL: Did you hear anything?

TOM: You mean besides your screaming?

JOE: Yes. A high frequency howl, very high . . .

JOEL: Yep, that was me.

JOE: . . . all the time your ship was . . .

TOM: Diving towards a firey death?

CAL: . . . green?

(Joe nods his head)

CROW: Come on, boy. Speak!

CAL: Did Web see it?

JOE: Unless he's blind.

CAL: Check him.

CROW: You mean his eyes?

JOE: Right.

CAL: Oh, and Joe, until we find out what happened, all three of us are
blind.

(Joe nods)

JOEL: But, uh, if I'm blind how am I going to, uh, . . . D'oh!

(Joe exits)

(Cal unzips jumpsuit revealing three piece suit and tie beneath)

TOM: Wow. He ready for anything.

CROW: No joke. He's wearing frilly lingerie under that.

(fade out)


!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


NOTE: Actually, TIE has always been one of my favorite SF films. (I bought
it for my SF tape library.) The SFX alone are worth the price of
admission. But, when push came to shove, I had no trouble, whatsoever
with the MSTing.

Hope you enjoyed it.

--thor (I can kill you with a light switch!)


!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!