Not entirely unhoopy frood Douglas Adams died on the 11th of May, 2001. And two weeks later, Towel Day was born.
For the few of you who might not know, every year on the 25th of May, Douglas Adams' sincerly, unashamedly, passionately adoring fans commemerate his seminal science fiction series, Hitchhiker’s Guide to The Galaxy, in which the importance of knowing where one’s towel is, is paramount. Hitchhiker’s was one of the first comedies and the first science fiction series I fell fanatically in love with. To briefly sum up, it features the sweet, dissatisfied Arthur Dent, his profoundly laid back companion, Ford Prefect (a humanoid from somewhere in the vicinity of Betealgeuse) and their swift departure from Earth upon its destruction. Ford had been a researcher for the titular guide when he was stranded on Earth and befriended by Arthur, who until the day his planet is blown up, has no idea that Ford isn't just "quirky".
I wasn’t a great sleeper, right up until my mid-teens and the fact that Hitchhiker’s Guide started off with two phenomenal series on radio, meant that instead of lying awake, waiting for the clown from IT to devour my soul like a fucking Ring Wraith, I could soak up ingenious dialogue, characters and ideas to the extent that as an adult, I probably know that series line for line, inflection for inflection. I could say that about all my favourite comedies, but Hitchhiker's was the first. It was also something I shared and indeed still do share with my Father. I can think of so many conversations, on road trips that have essentially blurred into each other, where we've discussed the concepts, characters and one-liners in intricate detail. I think if you're a fan of anything, you can probably remember conversations like this, where you kind of educate yourself in expressing your passion and figuring out why you love something so damn much in the first place.
The idea of an encyclopaedia of the universe narrating a science fiction story is a wonderful and original idea, but without great central characters laying the foundation, there would only be the great hook to draw you back into that universe. Hitchhiker’s is blessed with three great central characters and a great supporting cast. It is a shame however that Trillian, the main female role, is nothing juicier and more fun for both the audience and presumably the actor than just beautiful and brilliant. The rest of the characters are profoundly and wonderfully flawed and though I applaud Adams for writing this woman as a stellar scientific mind, she falls short of compelling.
Arthur is a wonderful creation - fundamentally British and at once hopelessly and stubbornly attached to the simplicity of his existence and silently dissatisfied. Silently because, well why make a fuss? But his peaceful existance is shattered by a beaurocrat’s apparent need to bulldoze his home, and an equally beaurocratic extras terrestrial's to bulldoze his planet and everything he has clung to is ripped away. Arthur is forced gradually throughout the series to embace adventure, fear and the unknown. The point, ultimately, is that we are all Arthur and would all be Arthur if asked to sacrifice our planet in favour of hitchhiking the galaxy.
Arthur's most constant companion adopted his title on Earth, after mistaking a car for the dominant life force. Ford is drily collected and rarely seems to exist in the real world. He is also utterly matter of fact about Athur losing his planet because, having travelled as extensively throughout the universe as he has, his method of dealing with grief is to “get blind drunk” about it later. His willingness to readily accept loss and destruction are, I suppose, what make him alien, but his love for Arthur and the pain he masks (and this is really subtle - you'd have to be a fanatic such as myself to read that into his character) are what make him human. The non human characters are all written with this level of care, all with a sliver of eccentricity, just enough for you to know they're not quite like us, but with all our inherent insecurities and equally fucked up.
The character that epitomises this the most is Zaphod Beeblebrox, a character who should be a psychiatrists wet dream, but whose own's pitiful diagnosis is "well, Zaphod's just this guy, you know". I’m not entirely sure whether this was a "thing" at the time of writing, or a charcater trait that just seemed to fit, but the alien characters were all written with a kind of hipster, beatnick turn of phrase, universally approaching life like a party. If this is the case, Zaphod is the exemplification of that ethos, a three-headed personification of charisma and confidence and knows this beyond a shadow of doubt. His self-adoration makes him a wonderful foil for Arthur and his dialogue is peppered with zingers such as when an adoring fan tells him he should be in pictures, to which he cooly replies “yeah and you should be in real life.” It would be expected in any of character of this type to come with a heavy dose of deep seated insecurity. But what makes Zaphod fascinating is that it exists at all, it's so buried under all that charm, that when entering the "total perspective vortax", he leaves seemingly unscathed.
I could regail you with the minutia of the series, as well as observations I've made over the years, such as the series commentary on English reppression, power, religion and the nature of the universe, but I really, really hope that if you haven't already, you seek out the radio series, books, tv show (give the film a miss...) for yourselves and draw your own conclusions, which you inevitably will.
Douglas Adams was sadly only 49 when he was taken. He also wrote for Doctor Who and detective series Dirk Gently. In his 49 years on Earth, he accomplished more than most. He created art that will continue to inspire for years to come, but also sought and obtained the answer to the ultimate question.
The question of life, the universe and everything...
It was 42.
