Lars From Mars

Astronaut Lars Bergman plants the Swedish national flag on the surface. Spencer Vertigo embeds the flag of the United States next to it.

“This is Lars from Mars…”

 “CUT!

Off camera, Frazier Capstone the project’s director, slams his open hand against his forehead.

“I never thought I’d see a Swedish ham,” Frazier comments, as the camera crew attempts to stifle their laughter.

“This is supposed to be the greatest moment in the history of mankind. We’re not doing this to turn you into a Swedish Oprah Winfrey. Try it again. And this time convey the seriousness of the moment!”

“Can you loosen my helmet a bit? It’s getting steamy in here,” Lars asks.

“And I need to use the men’s room,” Spencer adds.

“Use the suit,” Frazier says.

“I’m sorry, mission control, I must not have heard you correctly,” Spencer replies sarcastically. “Did you just give me permission to befoul my space suit?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“I’m taking the day off when they mount this suit in the Smithsonian,” Spencer says.

Lars points his space gun at Spencer.

“Hey! Didn’t your parents ever tell you not to point a gun at somebody else?”

“It’s a toy and a cheap one at that,” Lars replies.

“Well, it’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt.”

Spencer’s twenty-seven-year-old partner playfully sticks his tongue out at him. A seldom-seen actor from Gothenburg, Lars was selected for the project because of his angelic, blonde, good looks and unabashed confidence. His forty-two-year-old partner, unrecognizable in dozens of character actor roles, was chosen because of his talent for playing sensible and intelligent men.

“Okay, are we ready?” Frazier asks.

A man with a crew cut in a tight-fitting black suit taps Frazier on his shoulder.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Frazier asks.

“Winthrop Fugazi, C.I.A.,” the man says, flashing his badge. “I was sent here to help authenticate the facts portrayed in the production.”

Frazier runs his hand through his bushy hair. “You and a dozen other government agencies. What do you want?”

“The flags look like they’re flapping in the wind.”

“So?”

“There’s no wind on Mars right now,” Fugazi answers.

“Well, Agent Fugazi, we can’t have the flags hanging slack, can we? It doesn’t make for a very appealing shot. So, we had these special flags with rods inside of them made up, okay? Anything else?”

“Because of the way Mars rotates, you can’t see the North Star from the planet’s surface.”

“Strike the North Star!” Frazier yells. A trio of men climb a ladder, quickly obliterating the North Star.

His fleshy features red with embarrassment, Frazier says, “I’m almost afraid to ask. Anything else?”

“Mars’ two moons, Phobos and Deimos, they’re too large. Phobos is only fourteen miles across, while Deimos is just eight miles.”

“BREAK!” Frazier shouts. “Design crew, please make the adjustments to the two moons!”

Trying to calm his palpitating heart, Frazier smiles lamely at Agent Fugazi.

“I really appreciate the suggestions…”

“Is Cydonia, the Face on Mars, written into the script?”

Frazier nods eagerly. “Yes. It’s the prelude to first contact.”

“With little green men?”

“Actually, they’re blue. Green doesn’t show up on TV screens as well.

“So, this farce is our last-ditch effort to bring the world together?”

“Yes, and we’re hoping it can also be a profitable one as well,” Frazier replies.

Frazier passes by a large chalkboard crammed with numbers.

“What’s up with this?”

Carter Melnick, Frazier’s anxious, reedy assistant, pops another Tums tablet.

“The crew thought they’d make a few bets on which country gets invaded first in case this whole project goes sideways,” Carter answers.

“Hmm. Let’s see, Alsace-Lorraine and France are one-to-one. That figures. They’re usually the first to surrender. Germany is five-to-one, Japan is eight-to-one, China, ten-to-one, and the U.S. is at twelve-to-one. There’s no line for Canada or Mexico.”

“Why would anyone invade them?” Carter asks.

“Put me down for a hundred on Germany.”

Lars pulls off his helmet, revealing a luxurious head of blonde hair.

“I thought they told you to get that mop cut before takeoff,” Spencer comments.

Lars puts his boots up on the bench, casually picking at his Pickled Herring salad.

“What takeoff? This isn’t a real government operation, Spence. We’re actors, hired to play the first men to land on Mars.”

“I had to go through three months of training. I’m a bonafide astronaut,” Spencer says, pushing aside his Hamburger Deluxe.

“Not me. They spent a week showing me which buttons to push and which levers to move. Did you know the button labeled K-7 is really a cheese dispenser? It’s that cheap yellow cheese though. I’m trying to get them to replace it with Västerbotten, it’s made from cow’s milk.”

“The fakery, the lies, none of this bothers you?” Spencer asks.

Lars nearly spits out his cider. “Are you kidding me? This is the opportunity of a lifetime! We’re going to be the most important, most famous men on the planet. Even the Kardashians will have to step aside for us! We’ll be millionaires, all our relatives will be taken care of for life. I’ve already got a book, and a TV show I’ve titled ‘Lars From Mars” lined up. How about you?”

“…I haven’t thought about it. I’ve just been thinking about my wife and my little girl.”

“It’s time for you to cash in, Spence. For their sake and yours.”

“Do I want to live my life knowing my celebrity is a lie, that my little girl and my wife will be ridiculed if someone decides to reveal the truth?”

“The non-disclosure agreements the crew signed will keep them quiet, not to mention the twenty-year jail sentence they could get for threatening the national security of two countries.”

“But this is wrong, Lars.”

“So were many of the things that made this necessary, like the atomic age, and COVID.”

“But at least they were real,” Spencer replies.

“How about the Beatles, the greatest group of all time? Paul McCartney, their bass player, and writer, dies in a car crash in 1967. He gets replaced by a talented double and the beat goes on. You see? Sometimes you have to deceive people in order to make them happy.”

“Where’s Lars?” Frazier asks Carter.

Carter pops a Tums. “Outside. He wanted to test the MSV.”

“The what?”

“Mission Support Vehicle.”

“Aren’t you the one who told me Lars is such a bad driver that he has to be chauffeured everywhere?” Frazier asks.

Frazier, Carter, and Spencer head out to the parking lot, where Lars is doing doughnuts in a small white vehicle.

“Isn’t that a golf cart?” Spencer asks.

“Yeah, but it’s got a souped-up engine,” Carter replies.

Lars speeds by, letting out an enthusiastic “YEEEE-HA!”

“It still looks too much like a golf cart,” Frazier says. “Make a note to yourself, Carter. The MSV has to look more marsy and less earthy.”

Lars lets out another blissful “YEEEE-HA!”

“…Right. Just one thing,” Carter says in a jittery tone. “The mechanics are still trying to work a few of the bugs out…”

“Such as?” Frazier inquiries.

Lars spins the vehicle 360 degrees.

“Breaks,” Carter says.

Lars speeds past them. Carter yells “Jump,” and Spencer screams, “Bail out!”

Frazier mutters, “I have a bad feeling this is going to drive our insurance through the roof.”

Lars zips down the studio street, heading toward the set of the TV Series “Sea Adventures.” The elaborate set has tropical villages, treasure ships, castles, and sandy shores. The MSV picks up speed as it comes down the hill, closing in on a reconstruction of the pirate ship “Lady Anne.” Waving his sword, Clayton Ferris, an actor playing Blackbeard yells, “Abandon ship!” as he and his fellow cast members scramble for shore.

Flying through the air, the MSV tears through the Lady Anne’s main sail. Lars' thrilled and petrified screams follow him as he and the MSV splash down in a nearby pond.

Frazier turns to Spencer. “You’re driving from now on.”

“Where’s Diesel?” Frazier asks Carter.

“Don’t tell me Vin Diesel is part of this,” Spencer huffs.

“No. Diesel is your Mission Support Dog.”

“Ooh! An MSD!” Lars exclaims.

“A dog can’t survive a trip to Mars,” Spencer protests.

A silver robot dog toddles toward them.

“This one can,” Carter says.

Lars leans down, petting the metallic Beagle. The dog yaps playfully.

“Such a cute puppy…”

Turning, Diesel lifts its back leg, spraying Lars.

“He’s just marking his territory,” Spenser chuckles.

Lars laughs along with everyone else, saying, “During World War Two, members of the Swiss Army existed for weeks on their own recycled byproduct.”

Lars licks his lips. “This, however, is anti-freeze.”

Diesel barks wearily, collapsing. Smoke issues from its sides and its head droops.

“Take Diesel back to the kennel, Carter,” Frazier says. “I told them German Shepherds were more durable.”

“This assignment is testing my endurance,” Lars says, stretching out in his chair.

“We would have more to do if you hadn’t wrecked the MSV.”

Lars waves his blonde hair like a proud pony. “Me? That golf cart and the dog are pieces of junk. They need to up the quality of the equipment around here.”

Spencer smiles when he sees his wife Skye, and their daughter, Aya, coming toward him.

His eight-year-old daughter rushes into his arms.

“I told the kids at school that my Daddy is gonna be a hero when he lands on Mars.”

“…And all the countries will have something new to argue over…” Lars mutters to himself.

“What did you say, Mister Lars?” Aya asks.

“I said, your Dad would be great for show and tell.”

“A man from Platel Toy’s public relations office stopped by the house today,” Skye says. “He gave us advanced copies of your action figure.”

Spencer isn’t sure if he should laugh or question Skye’s sanity.

Reaching into her large bag, Skye pulls out an action figure, handing it to Spencer.

“I kinda look like DeForrest Kelly.”

“Ohh, you do!” Lars exclaims. “I never noticed it before. You do look like Doctor McCoy from Star Trek. You have the same sad blue eyes with bags under them.”

“Gee, thanks. I hope you told them this is a bit much, Skye.”

“Are you kidding, Spence? Our cut from the action figure alone could buy that summer house we always wanted. There’s no telling how much money we could make from the comic books, games, t-shirts, and TV appearances.”

“I’m not sure I want to do any interviews.”

“You’re an actor. An interview should be a breeze for you.”

“But this is all fantasy. All made up.”

“Doctor McCoy was a fictional character, but he wound up inspiring hundreds of people to join NASA,” Skye says. “You will too. Besides, your mother has already been invited to speak at the Asian American Expo.”

“But we’re not even Asian,” Spencer points out.

“Not even a little bit?”

“Aw, you could pass. I think the bags under your eyes help,” Lars adds. “Excuse me, Skye. Would you happen to have a Lars Bergman doll in that bag?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Skye says reaching inside her bag.

She hands Lars his action figure.

“Look at me in my space suit! I look like Brad Pitt!”

“Wait until you see casual Lars in his swimsuit with all your action accessories,” Skye says winking at Lars.

“This is all too much,” Spencer says. “I’ve been trained to be an astronaut!”

Skye covers her daughter’s ears, whispering, “But you’re still an actor.”

Frazier pulls Lars and Spencer aside.

“Okay, boys, we’ve had a few setbacks, but I really need you to come through here. This is the most important scene of the landing. This is the first encounter scene.”

A group of midgets walks past. Each is dressed in a skin-tight blue outfit with sharp-looking plastic horns cemented along their arms and a spiked tail attached to the back of their costume. They’re carrying bulbous blue heads with large dark eyes, horns, and rows of shark-like teeth.

Spencer catches the eyes of the last midget, who says, “It’s a living.”

Frazier continues giving instructions. “First, you encounter the Face on Mars…”

“About that,” Spencer interrupts. “It looks like Johnny Depp. We’re asking the scholars, historians, politicians, and everyday people of Earth to believe an advanced civilization on Mars worshipped a guy who played a drunken pirate?”

“His studio is a main investor,” Frazier replies. “We might have gotten George Clooney, but they didn’t come up with enough cash. Anyway, you follow the path to the cave…”

“Where we get attacked by the munchkins,” Spencer says snidely.

“Right. You drive them away, and Earth realizes we must unite to fight a new threat – alien invasion!”

“Nobody’s going to buy this. Frazier,” Spencer laments.

“Our civilization popularized pet rocks, disco, planking, and Donald Trump. You think they won’t swallow an alien encounter on Mars?”

Lars and Spencer stand at the edge of the Face on Mars.

“It must be as big as a football field,” Spencer mumbles.

Carter whispers into his earpiece, “More emotion. Sell it, Spence!” 

“Yes, there definitely was intelligent life here,” Lars says.

“Maybe there still is,” Spence replies.

The men push through the sand, passing a trio of signs.

“CUT!”

Spencer looks up at the sign, reading it. “Ten miles to Albuquerque.”

Winthrop Fugazi turns to Frazier, his temper rising.

“Signs?”

“We’ll explain that they were put up by the Martians,” Frazier explains.

“In English?”

“Okay, take the signs down fellas.”

Lars and Spencer examine the small tracks in the sand.

“Well, at least they’re not giants,” Lars says.

“Well, not exactly,” Spencer replies, pointing ahead.

For a moment, Lars and Spence forget they’re hero explorers in a TV Show and remember they’re just men.

 Half a dozen elephants, angry at having been made up to look like dragons, charge at them.

The midgets sitting on the back of the elephants quickly bounce off their backs, flying past the camera crews.

“Like you once said, Spence, it’s all fun and games until somebody gets hurt,” Lars says. “I’m outta here!”

The two men lead a hasty evacuation of the set.

The seventy men and women of the production crew run down the street toward the pirate ship Lady Anne.

Still recovering from their last encounter with Mars Mission staff, Clayton Ferris and his crew of pirate actors brandish their swords. They scatter at the sight of the crazed elephants dressed like dragons, leaving Clayton to wonder if he should return to selling cars.

Frazier breathes a sigh of relief when the elephants forgo further destruction for a dip in the pond.

Lars plants the Swedish flag. Spencer hesitates, holding the flag up to the camera.

“You see this? This flag stands for freedom. It stands for justice. It’s supposed to stand for truth!”

Lars whispers, “You’re killing my book deal, ‘Lars from Mars’, everything!”

“This whole mission is a sham! You’re being lied to! We’re not on Mars, we’re in a studio outside of Sepulveda!”

“CUT! GET THAT LUNATIC OFF MY SET!”

Frazier rubs his forehead, moaning. “What are we going to do? This footage is supposed to air next week!”

Lars taps Frazier on the shoulder, beaming proudly.

“I have two words for you, Frazier. Paul McCartney.”