Work Text:
Establishing shot: broad green plain, snow capped mountains behind. In the foreground, a tent city, men in armour, with horses milling about. In the middle of that, incongruously, three middle aged men in jeans and shirts. Camera zooms in on them.
MAY
So, how many countries have we been banned
from so far?
HAMMOND
Well, the Southern States of America aren’t too keen
on us after the “NASCAR sucks” and “Man love
rules OK” bumper stickers.
CLARKSON
And the Mexicans weren’t too keen on you
calling them flatulent lazy oafs…
MAY
The diarrhea jokes about India went down like a
lead balloon.
CLARKSON
The Romanians don’t like us much either, or
the Germans.
HAMMOND
Or the Welsh.
CLARKSON
They don’t count…
Producer is caught on camera in the periphery of the shot, face-palming.
MAY
And don’t forget that we had to abandon the cars
and nearly had to be air-lifted out of Argentina when
it looked like we were going to be torn to pieces by the
angry crowds who didn’t like jokes about the
Falklands War.
Tight shot on Clarkson.
CLARKSON, to camera:
So, the upshot of all this is… we can’t get
visas for anywhere. We’re stuck with filming
adventures on the roundabouts of Basingstoke. Or
we were, until…
Shot widens to cover May.
MAY
Our producer found an old tardis in the back of a storeroom
in the BBC building.
HAMMOND
So here we are, in Middle Earth.
CLARKSON
At an event which some say bears a passing resemblance
to the paddock at Aintree, or even your local County
Show’s gymkhana. All we know is… it’s called the
Muster of the Rohirrim.
MAY
Hang on a moment, isn’t there a problem here?
HAMMOND
What? It looks like a nice place, we haven’t been
denied visas, no-one’s throwing rocks at us…
CLARKSON
Yet.
MAY
But you’re overlooking something crucial.
[He pauses for dramatic effect.]
The internal combustion engine hasn’t been invented yet.
Close up of Clarkson’s face, frozen in disbelief and horror.
An assistant walks into view from out of shot, stage left. He is carrying a scroll which he hands to Clarkson.
HAMMOND
Oh look, even the producer’s challenges have gone
all olde-worlde.
Clarkson breaks the seal on the scroll and unrolls it.
CLARKSON
You have the cash equivalent of 10 bushels of seed
corn each to spend on a horse. You must buy the
best horse you can with your cash, and join the
Muster of the Rohirrim, and help them break the
siege of Minas Tirith.
MAY
Hang on… doesn’t that end in a big battle, with lots
of people dying.
CLARKSON
It’ll be fine. It can’t be worse than Chernobyl.
Anyway, more to the point, what can we get with
the cash equivalent of ten bushels of seed corn?
How much is that?
MAY
About 250kg.
CLARKSON
That’s peanuts, even allowing for the dramatic rise in
prices recently. Caleb? Caleb?
HAMMOND
Wrong TV show, mate.
SCENE TWO
Cut to Clarkson and May, holding horses. Clarkson has a showy looking nag, but to the expert eye it’s clear that it’s a bit sway-backed and its pasterns don’t look too good. May has what is clearly a carthorse.
CLARKSON
What the hell is that?
MAY
It’s a good solid horse.
CLARKSON
It looks like its top speed is…
He turns to his left, obviously addressing someone off camera
CLARKSON
What is the top speed of a horse?
An indecipherable mutter comes from off camera.
CLARKSON
Seriously? Forty miles an hour?
More indecipherable mutters from off camera.
CLARKSON
And that’s a thoroughbred with a three foot high
[nationality redacted] midget riding it?
And ours are more likely to top out at twenty?
MAY
Look, it’s a solid piece of horseflesh. One whole
horsepower under the bonnet – by definition. Nought to
a plodding trot eventually.
CLARKSON
How are you going to manage a cavalry charge on that?
MAY
Well, that’s the genius of this choice, you see.
Where do you want to be in a cavalry charge? Right
at the front being poked at by infantry with long
lances? Or safely bringing up the rear, with a good
clear escape route behind you if – or when – everything
goes tits up?
CLARKSON
It pains me to say it, but you might just be
onto something. Where’s the hamster?
On cue, Hammond appears in shot, leading a light-boned horse with what appear to be ribbons woven into its mane and tail.
MAY
You appear to have bought a lady’s palfrey.
HAMMOND
A whatfry?
CLARKSON
The equine equivalent of a hot pink Peugeot 205
circa 1998 with fake eyelashes painted in above
the headlights and a Playboy logo on the back bumper.
The producer’s assistant appears from out of shot once more, bearing a second scroll.
CLARKSON
Your next challenge is to see what you can find
in the Tardis’s storeroom to use as armour.
SCENE THREE
Cut to a shot of May holding his carthorse. May is relatively sensibly attired in modern kevlar fencing armour, though it is unclear what good a fencing foil is going to do him on the battlefield. The shot widens to encompass Clarkson, who is wearing police body armour, carrying a dustbin lid as a shield and a mop handle as a lance, and appears to have a Victorian chamber pot on his head.
From off screen, the sound of clanking can be heard, getting louder. Eventually, a diminutive figure in full armour teeters into shot. The impression is a bit like Rowan Atkinson as Johnny English, but less graceful.
We watch as various flunkies assist our three heroes to mount their horses. It takes four of the production crew to get Hammond onto his horse, which appears to sag visibly beneath his weight.
With a blast of a horn from one of his heralds, Theoden King leads the muster of the Rohirrim on the start of its journey to Minas Tirith, May, Hammond and Clarkson bringing up the rear.
SCENE 4
Panning shot of Clarkson, May and Hammond legging it for all they’re worth across a muddy hellscape towards a small blue box. They fling open the door and dive inside, just in the nick of time, for as soon as the door is closed, a hail of arrows and spears bounce harmlessly off the outside of what the viewer realises is unmistakably a Tardis, Tom Baker era.
Cut to inside the Tardis (which is bigger than the outside, natch). May is sagging against the door, looking exhausted. Hammond, white as a sheet, has sunk to the floor. Clarkson is bent double over the Tardis control console looking like he’s going to throw up.
PRODUCER
So, what you’re telling me is that the Rohirrim,
the Gondorians, the Elves and the assembled hosts
of the Dark Lord agreed a cessation of hostilities,
just so they could chase you out of Middle Earth?
CLARKSON
That’s about the size of it.
PRODUCER
And the last act of Denethor, final ruling Steward of
Gondor, before he went to burn himself and his
only remaining son alive on a funeral pyre, was
to revoke your visa rights in perpetuity?
CLARKSON
Weeeell… That’s a bit of a harsh way of
putting it… But basically, yes.
The producer throws the most magnificent upper-cut which connects solidly with Clarkson’s jaw. Clarkson drops to the floor. Off camera, the whole production crew can be heard, cheering.
TWANGING GUITAR RIFF AS THE THEME MUSIC BLARES OUT AND THE END CREDITS ROLL.