Not a TV series....please, no. The Foundation TV show left a bitter taste in the mouth. Isaac Asimov would turn in his grave if he saw it. I don't want this to happen to the The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.There will never be a movie that does justice to books, but the 2005 version at least got the feel, some humor and emotion of the book. It wasn't great but I'd watch a sequel.
In fact, it was announced, but Adams, unfortunately, died.
But, the way the things are going they might make a TV show out of it....
Sorry to hear that. I never got around to reading Foundation, but I might in future.The Foundation TV show left a bitter taste in the mouth
Yep, agree completely... it's like my bible.The books of course, are the best.
Vale Douglas Adams, a great mind who is sorely missed.
Yes I am... but not as much as HHG, so I have seen the BBC series. I felt thought it was interesting, zany and entertaining however it didn't really remind me of the books at all.
Thought it was common knowledge. Anyway, you can read his own thoughts on Mostly Harmless in The Salmon of Doubt. I'm sure it's explicitly stated somewhere, that depression was the cause of the bleak year - go forth and search, if you're so inclined!How do you know that?
Ford got out his Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic. It was making vague humming noises and a tiny light on it was flickering faintly.
"Flat battery?" said Arthur.
"No," said Ford, "there is a moving disturbance in the fabric of space-time, an eddy, a pool of instability, and it's somewhere in our vicinity."
Ford moved the device in a slow lightly bobbing semi-circle. Suddenly the light flashed.
"There!" said Ford, shooting out his arm. "There, behind that sofa!"
Arthur looked. Much to his surprise, there was a velvet paisley-covered Chesterfield sofa in the field in front of them. He boggled intelligently at it. Shrewd questions sprang into his mind.
"Why," he said, "is there a sofa in that field?"
"I told you!" shouted Ford, leaping to his feet. "Eddies in the space-time continuum!"
"And this is his sofa, is it?" asked Arthur, struggling to his feet and, he hoped, though not very optimistically, to his senses.
"Arthur!" shouted Ford at him, "that sofa is there because of the space-time instability I've been trying to get your terminally softened brain to get to grips with. It's been washed out of the continuum, it's space-time jetsam, it doesn't matter what it is, we've got to catch it, it's our only way out of here!"
He scrambled rapidly down the rocky outcrop and made off across the field.
"Catch it?" muttered Arthur, then frowned in bemusement as he saw that the Chesterfield was lazily bobbing and wafting away across the grass.
With a whoop of utterly unexpected delight he leapt down the rock and plunged off in hectic pursuit of Ford Prefect and the irrational piece of furniture.
They careered wildly through the grass, leaping, laughing, shouting instructions to each other to head the thing off this way or that way. The sun shone dreamily on the swaying grass, tiny field animals scattered crazily in their wake.
Arthur felt happy. He was terribly pleased that the day was for once working out so much according to plan. Only twenty minutes ago he had decided he would go mad, and now he was already chasing a Chesterfield sofa across the fields of prehistoric Earth.
The sofa bobbed this way and that and seemed simultaneously to be as solid as the trees as it drifted past some of them and hazy as a billowing dream as it floated like a ghost through others.
Ford and Arthur pounded chaotically after it, but it dodged and weaved as if following its own complex mathematical topography, which it was. Still they pursued, still it danced and span, and suddenly turned and dipped as if crossing the lip of a catastrophe graph, and they were practically on top of it. With a heave and a shout they leapt on it, the sun winked out, they fell through a sickening nothingness, and emerged unexpectedly in the middle of the pitch at Lord's Cricked Ground, St John's Wood, London, towards the end of the last Test Match of the Australian Series in the year 198-, with England needing only twenty-eight runs to win.