This isn’t much and really pales in comparison to the link I posted earlier today. I was firing on all cylinders in that sketch whereas this one…
This has one little visual joke and is a vaguely cute-ish idea. That’s it. Oh well. Better luck *next* time.
INT. APOLLO SPACE CAPSULE – NIGHT
The camera pans over the capsule, showing the hundreds of switches, gauges, and lights of the craft. Crammed in a back corner we see BILL ROGERS, early 20s and dressed like a NASA technician but with the top of a tie dyed shirt showing under his jumper, holding a bong with “RANGER 3” painted on its bowl in neon strokes. Rogers exhales a cloud of smoke. The capsule begins to shake and a roar is heard.
EXT. LAUNCH PAD – NIGHT
Stock footage of an Apollo night launch. In a stentorian voice...
The year is 1967 and NASA launches the last of America’s unmanned space ships. In a freak mishap, Apollo 6 and stowaway William “Buck” Rogers is blown out of his mind and into an orbit which freezes his life support systems, and returns Buck Rogers to Earth, 500 years later.
EXT. SPACE – NIGHT
Credits play over spinning, psychedelic colors filled with paisleys and tie-dye. The Grateful Dead play. Buck is frozen with a smile on his face.
INT. SPACEPORT – NIGHT
A retro-futuristic spaceport. Puffs of smoke in the background. Flashing lights. Jumpsuit-clad WORKERS. In the clingiest jumpsuit, WILMA DEERING, 30s and sultry, stands arms akimbo. Buck comes on screen wearing bell bottoms and a fringe vest. His hair is long and greasy, his beard unkempt.
Buck! The Draconian Empire’s armada just destroyed the last of our Mars-based defenses. They’ll be here in ten minutes. We need every pilot we’ve got!
That’s heavy man.
Gear up and grab a fighter. I’ll see you in orbit.
I told you man, I’m not about war. I’m about peace and love.
But the Draconians are--
--Can’t we just, like, give them some flowers? You think violence is the answer to every question, but violence just breeds more violence. Love is the answer.
Captain, I’m ordering you to get in that fighter!
You’ve just bought into the patriarchy’s idea of might making right. Look at yourself. You’re a righteous chick but all you want to do is follow orders and give orders. Try following a little disorder, man.
I told you man, that wasn’t my spacesuit. I’m just a janitor. And you’re harshing my buzz.
EXT. SPACE – NIGHT
A massive armada of capital ships closes on Earth. Beams of light fire from each ship and converge on the blue planet. The spot grows bright. The Earth explodes. The screen freezes mid-explosion.
TITLE: Astronaut > Hippie