Bean Page #5

PROGRAMMER:

What's happening here?

BEAN:

Ahm...

With a slightly guilty smile he picks up the cable again looks with

puzzlement at the five available places to plug it in and just takes a

random guess. And a disastrous one. There is a ugly electrical

fizzle. The screens come on white, then pop out completely.

BEAN:

Ah.... Ahm....

BEAN realises that he has done something wrong and quickly shoves the

cable into another circuit. The Van Gogh appears happily on the

screen. BEAN and PROGRAMMER both give out a sigh of relief. BEAN

smiles and leaves quickly. But a second later the computer screen

disintegrates and the Van Gogh slides down the screen like a water-

colour in the rain. The PROG difficult to breathe.

10

CUT TO:

INT. NATIONAL GALLERY. BOARDROOM - DAY

LORD WALTON:

You have your voting slips, gentlemen. Please remember the Americans

are looking for something quite high powered. A doctorate

preferably...

There is a knock at the door. BEAN enters. LORD WALTON smiles. The

rest of the faces in the room are looking dangerously close to smug.

BEAN is very nervous indeed.

LORD WALTON:

(gravely)

Ah, Mr. Bean. Please take a seat for a moment. I have some news which

will not, I'm afraid...

The phone rings. LORD WALTON answers. BEAN sits next to VINCENT and

sniffs at him. VINCENT's breath hasn't improved.

LORD WALTON:

(into phone)

Yes? Put him on... Timothy. The computer ... Yes... When? How? All

of it? Absolutely all of it? Did you back it up? How long will it ...

? Another six months. Fair enough. Come up here will you, dear boy.

He slowly hangs up. Everyone has got the gist of what has just

occurred with the new computer- The energy drains from them all as they

contemplate another six months with BEAN still on the staff. LORD

WALTON coughs politely.

LORD WALTON:

As I was saying, gentlemen. The Grierson Gallery. South California.

Great opportunity. Thousands-of miles-away though it is. Doctorate or

( IMPISHLY ) no doctorate, perhaps

All get the message at the same moment and hurriedly scribble on their

voting slips. The slips get handed down the line to LORD WALTON. We

see that every single slip has 'BEAN' on it.

LORD WALTON:

Mr. Bean. Wonderful news. You are going to America.

MR. BEAN

(overwhelmed)

Ooooh, how lovely.

There is a knock at the door. The fat, bespectacled,

PROGRAMMER puts his head round it.

LORD WALTON:

(beaming)

Ah, Timothy. You're sacked.

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