preview: Elvis and the Beatles LIVE from Outer Space

[ELVIS PRESLEY, King of Rock and Roll, sits before his TV but not watching. Over his shoulder, THE COLONEL smokes a cigar. Depending on the size of the production, a few HANGERS-ON may be around. They are waiting.]

Elvis: What time did they say they'd get here?

Colonel: 8.

Elvis: Our time or Liverpool?

Colonel: Your time, Elvis. Always your time.

Elvis: I'm gonna call it "Kidneypool" when they get here. See if they'll correct me. See what they're made of.

Colonel: They're good kids - they've been wanting to pay tribute to the King since their first trip to the States.

Elvis: I heard they've been hanging around with that Bob Dylan...

[Knock. Knock. Elvis bounds to the door, answers. Outside, teenage fans scream.]

Elvis: Hey! Come on in, fellas!

[JOHN, PAUL, GEORGE, RINGO enter followed by BRIAN. They are subdued, respectful though perhaps slightly stoned - George the most-so. He shakes their hands.]

John: Thank you.

Paul: It's a pleasure to meet you.

George: An honor.

Ringo: Where could I find the loo?

Elvis: Down the hall, second door to the left.

Brian: Thanks for having us. The boys have been hoping to meet Elvis for a long time.

Colonel: Glad we could arrange it. We hope you did not have too much trouble getting here from the airport. I said no publicity but you know how these things get out...

John: Oh, not much trouble, Colonel, and all worth it.

Elvis: Well, make yourselves at home, guys! Must've been a long trip.

Paul: Thank you.
John: Don't mind if I do.
George: He's an excellent host.

Paul: Oh my God.

[Stops. The other Beatles step into him.]

Paul: He’s got colour [“col-our”] television!

[They oogle it.]

Colonel: Over here, it's called color. It's the latest thing.

John: Don't oogle it, boys...

George: Color...

[They regain their composure and sit - Elvis in his easy chair, The Beatles on the floor in a semi-circle - looking up at him, slightly awed. Occasionally one sneaks a glance at the TV, equally awed.]

Colonel: Well...

[Throats clear. Everyone seems to look to someone else to say something.]

[Flush. Ringo re-joins them.]

Elvis: Everything to your liking?

Ringo: It had so much more water than in England. I felt like I could go swimming.

[Elvis kind of nods and they are once again enveloped in awkwardness.]

Elvis: So you boys are from Kidneypool?

John: Liverpool.

Ringo: And thereabouts.

Elvis: Hmm.

[Moment.]

Brian: The boys have always been big fans of your work, Elvis.

John: Without Elvis, there'd be no Beatles.

[All murmur agreement...]

Elvis: That's a good point.

[Screeching back to awkward silence.]

Paul: So is it specially built?

Elvis: Excuse me?

Paul: The TV.

Elvis: Assembly line. American-made.

Ringo: Gorgeous.

[Moments.]

George: (hiccups)

Ringo: God bless you.

[Half-moment.]

Elvis: (puncturing atmosphere) Say, if you guys ain't got nothing to say to me, I might as well as go to bed.

[All laugh, a little... and then a little too much.]

John: It's a bit intimidating, meeting the King.

Paul: We are English.

Elvis: Aw, heck, guys. I'm no different than you. It doesn't matter how many records we've put on the charts - it's about the same thing.

John: The music.

Elvis: No, John, that’s a tautology.

John: Oh…

Elvis: It’s about love. It’s all you need.

Paul: I’m going to write that down…

Elvis: I’ll show you. Priscilla, get in here!

[Priscella enters, in purple dress and beehive hair. She stands stiffly like a Barbie.]

Elvis: Beatles, this is my wife.

Ringo: Gorgeous.

Elvis: You fellas keep producing songs and maybe someday you'll get a beautiful gal like this.

Priscilla: (somewhat drugged) I'm married to Elvis.

Elvis: Who knows, you might even get a color TV.

John: You really think so, Elvis?

Elvis: ...Do I think so, Colonel?

Colonel: Hell, yeah!

Elvis: Hell, yeah! Go ahead, shake her hand.

[They shake her limp hand.]

Elvis: Alright, let her go back to putting on her make-up. C'mon, I got a couple guitars - let's jam.

[Elvis gets out his guitars.]

Colonel: You a gambling man, Brian?

Brian: You have to be in this business, Colonel.

Colonel: I've got a roulette table, let's take it for a spin...

[They exit.]

Elvis: Now, how does that one song of yours go... "Peggy Sue, Peggy Sue..."

John: Ah, that was Buddy Holly.

Elvis: Well, how ‘bout some Chuck Berry…

[They tune the guitars a bit, start to strum. Ringo awkwardly drums his fingers.]

John: Oh, sorry, Ringo. No drums.

Ringo: It's okay. I can hear them in my mind.

Elvis: We can all hear them, Ringo.

George: So Elvis, that's a beautiful front lawn you have...

Elvis: Well, thank you, George.

George: So... you like grass?

[Paul elbows him.]

Elvis: Well, at least it's not just dirt... that's what I always say...

John: There's a song in that.

Paul: "The grass... at least it's not just dirt..."

George: "It grows so high..."

Elvis: "But I.... keep it... mowed..."

John: "Then watch colour TV..."

Paul: Drum solo!

[Ringo goes mad with his fingers. All laugh.]

Elvis: (laughing) Hey, you guys are -

[SUDDENLY - strange lights flash over the stage along with a strange eerie sound. Everyone is frozen. GREY ALIENS, short and big-eyed, scramble in, chirping in their own language. One has a clipboard and points at each musician, as though going through a checklist. The aliens hold and point long antennae with one hand, then wiggle the fingers of their other - like puppeteers; Elvis and the Beatles move stiffly, as though remote-controlled robots. A few stumbles and the aliens move them out...]