T H E H O B B I T : A N U N E X P E C T E D C A M E O
In Three Parts.
INT. BAG END. In a hole in the ground there lives Sir Ian Exposition. Smoking his excellent weed, he contemplates his life as he begins to set down his story.
Sir Ian Exposition: My dear Frodo. You asked me once if I had told you all there was to know about my adventures, and while I can honestly say I have told you the truth, I may not have told you all of it. In fact, "I did this thing involving a dragon once" may have been a bit overly parsimonious of me. Luckily, I have an entire afternoon to write down The Hobbit, so you'll finally be able to learn all about my implausible and convoluted underground antics. It's not like you're going to get press-ganged onto a quest or anything, so you'll have all the time in the world to read it.
Frodo: I'm in this movie!
Sir Ian Exposition: Yes.
Sir Ian Exposition: Anyway, carrying on... My story begins with the Kingdom Under the Mountain, ruled by Thrór, son of Dáin, son of Náin, son of Óin, son of Glóin, son of Bóing, son of Dóing, son of Nárf, son of Fránkie, and so on for as long as Tolkien can keep it up. I'm reasonably sure somewhere along the line Shem begets Arphaxad, but the point is, Erebor kicked ass! Imagine it! The last of the great dwarven kingdoms not completely overrun by fucking cats! Needless to say, they had absurd amounts of gold. No, seriously, like mind-bogglingly, stupidly huge amounts of gold. But they dug too deep, because they're dwarves and that's sort of what they do, and there in the bowels of the earth they discovered the mighty jewel Mácgúffin. This was a bad move, because it invited the ire of the dragon Smaug, who immediately decided to tear down the place and nick all their shit. Of course, Smaug's a fire drake from the north, so what are you going to do? The dwarves packed it up and went their merry way. Oh, and then later they fought some orcs, which is important, because we need to set up another major villain for later.
Frodo: What an elegant, naturally-flowing infodump that was! Also, look, I'm in this movie!
Sir Ian Exposition: You sure are, Frodo. You sure are.
EXT. IN FRONT OF A COMFORTABLE TUNNEL-LIKE HALL. We discover a much younger and much less composed version of the title hobbit, Sir Ian Exposition -- this is Arthur Dent Baggins, our hero. He is enjoying his incredibly PASTORAL ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFESTYLE and not worrying about adventures, or the attendant threat of gruesome death thereof. We immediately suspect he's actually arrived in Middle Earth through a magic wardrobe, and simply couldn't be arsed to ever get back again.
Arthur Dent Baggins: Well, this is pretty nice. Very pastoral.
Gandalf arrives. Gandalf is carrying a CURIOUS MAP.
Arthur Dent Baggins: Err. Good morning?
Gandalf: What do you mean? Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or that it is objectively a good morning, or that you're having a good morning, or are you saying we should be good this morning?
Arthur Dent Baggins: Oh, Jesus, an Oxford philosophy professor has decided to go off his meds on my front porch. Look, if you're here to distribute pamphlets about Wittgenstein, I will call the Hobbit Police.
Gandalf: What? No, you furry-footed miniature layabout! I am Gandalf, a great and terrible wizard! You may or may not remember who I am, but for reasons I would rather not divulge, I'm here to blag somebody into a dangerous, irresponsible errand to reclaim some dwarf ruins from a cyclopean fire-breathing monstrosity that can kill people with its very breath. Wacky hijinks will follow. There's probably going to be singing and/or repeated falling from high places. Interested?
Arthur Dent Baggins: Oh, right. You're the town fireworks guy. And no. Absolutely not. Because you're the town fireworks guy.
Gandalf: No!? Well, that is highly unorthodox. What if I mildly insulted you?
Arthur Dent Baggins: ... no.
Gandalf: Hmm. That's odd, usually people just automatically do what I say without objection or complaint. Have it your way, but mark my words: I don't know what sort of stupendous mind sorcery you're using on me, short stuff, but I'll make an adventurer out of you yet!
Arthur Dent Baggins: Well, I'm sure glad that's settled.
INT. A COMFORTABLE TUNNEL-LIKE HALL. We join Gandalf, as he opens the door and steps inside. Behind him trail several Largely Interchangeable Dwarves who form a dog pile on the threshold. Arthur Dent Baggins is running around what remains of his RAVAGED KITCHEN. Several of the Largely Interchangeable Dwarves have already arrived; they have set up a dinner table and are cheerfully raiding the pantry.
Arthur Dent Baggins: Gandalf! Thank goodness you're here. You've got to help me. Legions of douchebag dwarves with no concept of personal space or private property have invaded my smial, and turned it into their own private playground. They've eaten the fish. They've eaten the cheese. I think they're eating the chairs.
Gandalf: I know. I brought more. See?
Dwarf #11: FEED ME, SEYMOUR.
Arthur Dent Baggins: ... why would you do this?
Gandalf: Oh, it'll all become clear in a moment!
Arthur Dent Baggins: No, you don't understand! I don't want them here! My life has become a twisted comedy sketch where these unrepentant assholes pop in one by one and then literally rob me. You have to put a stop to it with your incredible fireworks powers.
Gandalf: Oh, we won't be having any of that. I mean, none of the one-by-one nonsense. Not even the book wastes time fleshing out all thirteen of them in anything like detail. We'd never get the bloody plot moving! Now. Let's have a head count. We've got Baldy, Tubby, Hairy, Ancient, those two guys, Gimli's dad, guy with hat... and... others.... and... you know what, to hell with it. I'm just going to assume they're all here. Now all we need is for Thorin Oakenshield to drag his fashionably-late backside through the door, and we're set for some good dragon-killin' action.
Largely Interchangeable Dwarves: But first food and singing!
Arthur Dent Baggins: ... my life is a Franz Kafka novel. Oh joy.
INT. A COMFORTABLE TUNNEL-LIKE HALL. After a protracted dinner sequence and copious singing, there is a KNOCK from outside. The AUDIENCE is visibly relieved as Thorin Oakenshield finally arrives to push the plot along. Thorin immediately rounds up his merry band of alcoholic psychopaths and EXPOSITS at them sternly.
Thorin: Gentlemen. First off, I'm sorry I'm late. I hope you had some padding for the film while you waited. I'm here now, though. The good news is that the Council of Beard has elected me the broodiest of all brooding dwarf lords, which is pretty awesome. I almost smiled. Bad news is that they're not actually going to help us retake our sacred birthright, the kingdom of Erebor. It's not so much the dragon thing, they're just afraid there might be carps in there.
The Largely Interchangeable Dwarves mutter and grumble in disappointment.
Arthur Dent Baggins: Okay, what fresh hell is this? Am I being punished somehow? Why are you even here?
Gandalf: Isn't it obvious? We're going to go whack Smaug. See this curious map? There, far to the east, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, beyond several dangerous and pointless Random Encounters from Tolkien's personal table of improvised storybook horseshit, there lies a single solitary peak! Erebor!
Gimli's dad: According to Dwarf #7, who has put points in ornithomancy, the ravens are returning to the mountain. This is a sign that Smaug's reign is at an end!
Balin: This is the least flimsy evidence we could come up with to prove we have a fighting chance. I'd say we're set to go!
Largely Interchangeable Dwarves: Right! Woohoo! Let's go!
Arthur Dent Baggins: This in absolutely no way answers my question.
Gandalf: We even have a key, which Thorin's dad left me, because I'm awesome. Now we need to find the door. I've always had trouble with magic doors and their fiendish word games. Clever bastards, doors. I've also decided we need a burglar. I have chosen Mr Baggins here. His sedentary lifestyle and absolute lack of Rogue levels will take the door by surprise, allowing him to burgle Erebor by not-burgling it. It's a Zen thing.
Arthur Dent Baggins: Gandalf, I don't mean to be rude, but first of all, no. Second of all, have you ever considered getting professional help for your... ailment? Whatever it is?
Thorin: You know, I'm inclined to agree. This fellow doesn't look like a burglar to me.
Balin: I would even say he's the absolute opposite of a burglar.
Dwarves #7, #5 and #11: Yeah, he sucks. Boo!
Gandalf: Look, if I say he's a burglar, he's a goddamned burglar! If I say he's a Danish pastry, he's a Danish pastry! I am Olórin of the Istari, which means reality itself is subject to my senile and arbitrary whims. I am the fricking all-knowing, all-seeing, all-conquering O.G. of Magic, and I'm telling you, this is our man. You have asked me to find the fourteenth member of our company, and I have done so!
Thorin: Thirteen dwarves plus you makes fourteen people. Baggins would be the fifteenth party member. Fifteenth member of our company.
Gandalf: Do not dare sass the O.G. of Magic, you hirsute pocket person!
Thorin: Yes, alright, fine. Just show the hobbit the comedy paperwork and let's get this thing underway. I don't want to spend half the movie in this glorified rabbit burrow because the wizard is pitching a fit.
INT. A COMFORTABLE TUNNEL-LIKE HALL. Arthur Dent Baggins has retreated to his private quarters, where he is appraising the events of the day and trying not to have a nervous breakdown. It is clear that his PASTORAL ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFESTYLE has been seriously disturbed. Gandalf arrives to check up on him.
Arthur Dent Baggins: Piss off, Gandalf. Just give me a moment. You barge in with an army of people who obviously despise me on every conceivable level, eat all my food, and then inform me you've promised them I'd risk my life to get them inside a dragon's lair. I really want to sit and think about how completely ludicrous this is.
Gandalf: You've been sitting for far too long! What happened to you, man? I remember a young hobbit who was always running off in search of elves in the woods, who'd stay out late, and come home after dark, trailing mud, and twigs, and fireflies. A young Hobbit who would have liked nothing better than to find out what was beyond the borders of the Shire. And then get murdered by those things in the most painful ways imaginable in order to impress a bunch of Viking knockoffs who find his very existence amusing. You used to be cool, Baggins. Now you're just a sell-out who somehow doesn't want to have his flesh melted off his bones by a wall of infernal dragon-fire for no good reason.
Arthur Dent Baggins: You're... sort of not helping.
INT. A COMFORTABLE TUNNEL-LIKE HALL. Meanwhile, having set up a field camp in the RAVAGED KITCHEN, the Largely Interchangeable Dwarves weigh their options in quiet determination. Thorin sits down and starts singing about gold.
High atop the gleaming mounds of gold
And gems and stones, and artifacts old
There sits a douchebag, he filched our swag
Why does he want it? He's just a snake
He's CGI and he must die
The coins and bullion blaze with gold!
Arthur Dent Baggins: Yeah, let's not, and say we did.
EXT. HOBBIT FOREST. It is the following morning. The ADVENTURING PARTY has left BAG END early and without their burglar, hoping to make it to THE NEXT SCENE already. Arthur Dent Baggins runs behind them, trying not to trip on his feet.
Arthur Dent Baggins: Waaait! Wait! *gasp* Wait! I'll do it! I'll join you!
Gandalf: Ahh. I never doubted you for a moment. Peer pressure. It's a helluva thing.
Arthur Dent Baggins: Uhh. Yes. You've shamed and belittled me into joining your idiotic quest. Congratulations.
Thorin: Enough with the jabbering in the back! We must make good speed if we're going to set up camp early tonight. We're going to need to spend at least an hour or two tonight expositing about some orcs I've killed.
Dwarf #204: Uhh, Gandalf, I think it's drizzling. Could you maybe do something about this rain, being a wizard and all?
Gandalf: No. Piss off. I am not your personal weather machine. My infinite reservoir of cosmic powers is strictly reserved for showing off.
Arthur Dent Baggins: What about the other wizards? Are they useful? How many are there, anyway?
Gandalf: Oh, there's five of us. Our leader is Saruman the White, who's a sort of team mom and professional naysayer. He's played by Christopher Lee, so we're running a betting pool on when he'll go evil on us. I am, of course, Gandalf the Grey. Then there are the Blue Wizards, Pallando and Alatar, who will not be appearing in this film. Or any other film. I don't think even Tolkien gave a toss about those guys. So, yes, that's the five of us.
Arthur Dent Baggins: No, wait, who's the fifth again?
Gandalf: A-yup, that's alll five of us.
EXT. MIRKWOOD, the great forest of the east; here lies RHOSGOBEL, home to one of the Istari, a mighty wizard and professional garden gnome. We find said wizard, Radagast of the Comic Relief, as he flails his way through the UNDERGROWTH like a loon, carrying a dying HEDGEHOG. He may or may not be hopped up on shrooms.
Radagast of the Comic Relief: What!? What is this? What is going on!? What!?
Radagast of the Comic Relief storms into his...
INT. INSANE HERMIT HUT, which is filled with jars of herbs, houseplants, bits of lint, and interesting scraps of tinfoil. We see him attempt various HOLISTIC CURES on the rather unappreciative HEDGEHOG.
Radagast: I don't get this. I've dilluted and shaken this wolfsbane like hell, and it still isn't doing anything! I guess I could just try using even more minute quantities of it... I mean, it isn't like this is black magic or anything.
Radagast pauses for a fleeting moment, possibly trying to puzzle out who the fuck he's talking to.
Radagast: It is black magic, isn't it?
A MASTER RACE OF SPIDERS on loan from LOST IN SPACE invades to inject some semblance of sanity and gravity into the scene. Radagast, afraid that they'll put an end to his especially ANNOYING BRAND OF OVERACTING, whips out the magical mojo.
Radagast: Remove Poison! Cure Serious Wounds! Protection from Evil 10' Radius! Protection From CGI 10' Radius! Protection from Gary Oldman!
Spiders: Sod this. Not even we can stand this guy.
The MASTER RACE OF SPIDERS bugs out.
Radagast: This is such a drag, man. Like, totally not copacetic. The forest is having a bad trip, my animal companions are being molested by the fucking Ilwrath, and I've totally lost my red coat and my reindeer. I can't take this, man. I gotta go get some medicinal herbs.
Alarmed Bird: Tweet!
Radagast: What's that? Where? Show me!
Alarmed Bird: Tweet!
Radagast disappears into the UNDERGROWTH, tottering towards the ANCIENT FORTRESS OF DOL GULDUR. The AUDIENCE sincerely hopes he's not coming back.