The Secret Policeman's Ball

In Autumn of last year I entered and won a script competition with the 4laughs web site to have my script performed at the Secret Policeman's ball. The script was performed on stage by Chevy Chase and Seth Green, and I was lucky enough to be given great tickets to this rare event.

You can see the performance here.

The script I wrote was heavily altered on it's way to the stage, so I've included the original here for comparison.


INT. MILITARY OFFICE/ GUANTANIMO BAY.

THE AMERICAN COMMANDING OFFICER (PATTON)
IS SAT BEHIND HIS DESK IN FULL UNIFORM.

ON THE DESK ARE PAPERS, A LAMP AND AN
INTERCOM ETC.

IN FRONT OF THE DESK IS A VACANT CHAIR.

A PRIVATE ENTERS CARRYING TWO CHAIRS AND
PLACES THEM BESIDE THE VACANT ONE.

PATTON:
Three chairs?

THE PRIVATE STANDS TO ATTENTION.

PRIVATE:
Hip, hip!

PATTON:
No, no… chairs, (indicates chairs) why three?

PRIVATE:
Oh, right, yes. The Patels are here sir.

PATTON:
The Patels?

PRIVATE:
Yes sir, they arrived from England yesterday.

PATTON:
England? Who picked them up?

PRIVATE:
Nobody sir. They arrived at the gate in a yellow Datsun.

PATTON: (FROWNING)
Voluntary detention?

PRIVATE:
Seems that way sir.

PATTON:
Well… that’s a new one. Okay, send them in.

PRIVATE:
Yes sir.

THE PRIVATE OPENS THE DOOR.

PRIVATE: (TO PATELS)
Okay, come on in.

MOTHER, FATHER AND JUNIOR PATEL
(INDIAN FAMILY) SHUFFLE IN.

ALL ARE WEARING ORANGE JUMP SUITS AND
THEY ARE CHAINED TOGETHER AT THE ANKLES.

JUNIOR PATEL IS LISTENING TO HIS I-POD.

THEY AWKWARDLY SHUFFLE TO THE SEATS
(IN FORMATION) AND SIT DOWN.

PATTON:
Now, it seems that you came here of your own free…

THE MOTHER INTERRUPTS LOUDLY.

MOTHER:
Dat-dat-dat! Before you start with the greetings, my husband would
like to make a complaint.

PATTON:
A complaint?

MOTHER:
Yes, a complaint.

PATTON EXCHANGES AN AMUSED SHRUG WITH
THE PRIVATE.

PATTON: (TO FATHER)
Okay… go ahead.

FATHER:
When we booked our chalet, we asked for two-bedrooms, en-suite
bathrooms, a mini-bar and a sea-view, but instead we were given one
room with no windows, a bucket to pee in and a leaky roof! This was
not what we were led to expect from the brochure!

PATTON:
Brochure? I don’t think…

MOTHER:
Dat-dat-dat! Do not interrupt when my husband is complaining! He is
a very important man in the Chigwell community!

PATTON AGAIN EXCHANGES AN AMUSED
LOOK WITH THE PRIVATE.

FATHER:
Second of all, we were led to believe that the gymnasium was
optional, and while we are sure that being beaten every evening with
a rubber hose is a good way to keep fit - we did not come here to
lose weight!

PATTON:
I’m not sure you…

MOTHER:
Dat-dat-dat!

PATTON IS A LITTLE MORE PUT OUT BY
THIS INTERRUPTION.

JUNIOR REMOVES HIS HEADPHONES.

FATHER:
Your brochure also states that your chef is the finest the north of
England has to offer, and yet our first meal consisted of nothing
more than dried porridge with crunchy cockroach, and no popodoms!

JUNIOR:
You tell ‘em Dad!

FATHER: (TO JUNIOR)
You shut up, and go back to your fifty-pence!

JUNIOR PUTS HIS HEADPHONES BACK ON SULKILY.

JUNIOR: (GRUMBLING TO SELF)
It’s fifty-cents.

MOTHER: (TO JUNIOR)
And sit up straight!

JUNIOR SITS UP RELUCTANTLY.

FATHER:
Now, I know you Northerners like your exotic porridge and your
ferret pies, but we expect better from a four-star Pontins holiday
getaway… much better.

PATTON: (FROWNING)
Er… this isn’t a holiday resort.

FATHER:
You’re telling me! This morning we had to share a shower with fifty
men named Abdul! What kind of holiday is that?!

MOTHER:
Actually, I didn’t mind that so much.

FATHER:
And when your brochure said fun activities, I expected more than
just having my scrotum wired to an electric toaster for three hours!
Where are the bouncy castles? Where are the donkey rides and the
hokey-cokey?

PATTON:
The what?

FATHER:
My testicles look like onion Bhaji's!

PRIVATE:
Who’s onion Bhaji?

FATHER:
This is just not good enough! We were told Morecombe bay was the
second best holiday destination in the north, and when we book
second best, we expect second best! Otherwise we might as well have
gone to Newcastle again!

FATHER AND MOTHER EXCHANGE A GRIMACE
AT THE THOUGHT OF RETURNING TO NEWCASTLE.

PATTON:
Look, I think there's been some sort of mix up.

FATHER:
You're damn straight! So what are you going to do about it?

PATTON:
You misunderstand... This isn't Morecombe bay. This is Guantanimo
bay. It's a detention centre… a prison, in Cuba?

MOTHER AND FATHER LOOK SHOCKED.

MOTHER:
Cuba?

PATTON:
Yes, Cuba.

FATHER:
Oh dear.

THERE IS A SHORT UNCOMFORTABLE SILENCE.
THE PATELS ALL BEGIN TO LOOK WORRIED.

PATTON:
Look, don't worry... it’s clearly just a misunderstanding. We'll
straighten this out and put you on the next flight to England, okay?

FATHER:
Yes, that would be very good.

PATTON: (TO PRIVATE)
Fetch the release forms will you.

THE PRIVATE NODS AND EXITS.

FATHER: (TO WIFE)
This is the last time I let your cousin Osama book our holidays for
us.

PATTON:
I’m sorry, what?

FATHER: (TO PATTON)
Osama's not very good with geography.

PATTON NODS SLOWLY, THEN PRESSES THE
INTERCOM BUTTON.

PATTON: (INTO INTERCOM)
Private... cancel that request will you. (PAUSE) and bring in the
rubber hose.

FATHER:
Is it exercise time already?

PATTON: (NODDING)
Oh yes.


FADE OUT.

END SCENE.