battering her ribs, Fry runs forward, using hand-holds to
steady herself. Over a headset:
OWENS (V.O.)
They trained you for this, right? Fry?
FRY?
She doesnt answer.
INT. FLIGHT DECK - DAY
Fry harnesses in, starts running switches -- but fumbles a few
times, making mental errors. Finally she gets crash-shutters
open to reveal...
CLOUD STRATA sweeping up past the windscreen like floor-lights
on a
batterys dying . . .
But of course, we notice Bens battery is fine, hes just trying to cut the
conversation short.
CHRISTINE(O.S.)
Alright Hon, talk to you when the lights go down.
Ben smiles.
BEN
Sure thing.
Ben hangs up. He reclines back in his seat. Camera slowly pans out the
windshield revealing the huge traffic pile up awaiting him. Hes not going
anywhere.
CLOSE ON GLOVE COMPARTMENT.
Ben
battered,
baby blue 75 Dodge Dart.
A stray SKATEBOARD clips her, causing her to stumble and
spill her coffee, as well as the contents of her backpack.
The young RIDER dashes over to help, trembling when he sees
who his board has hit.
RIDER
Hey -- sorry.
Cowering in fear, he attempts to scoop up her scattered
belongings.
KAT
Leave it
He persists.
KAT (continuing)
I said, leave it!
She grabs h
Slow motion. Armed troops in black uniforms pour out of unmarked vans and swarm across a lawn in a middle class residential neighborhood. Yuppie neighbours look on in shock, confused. Two of the troops carry a battering ram to the front door of a white two-storey house. A leashed Rottweiler snarls and barks. In position, their comrades point M-16s into first-floor windows, ready to be ambushed. P
battered.
COMMODUS
Soldier! What happened here!
A legionnaire stops working, spits, leans on his shovel so
he can shout up toward Tribuus and Commodus. Galen squats
beside a corpse, fascinated.
LEGIONNAIRE
We had a battle!
COMMODUS
I can see that. You leave your dead
on the field?
LEGIONNAIRE
General Narcissus beat the Germans
here and now the whole army is
moving fast! No time to let them
get aw
I dont know. Count Basie.
The man pulls of the blindfold, examines the record cover of
the disc hes been trying to learn, needs to put on glasses
to do so, is irritated by his mistake. He ejects the record.
A pile of other jazz records are strewn across a cluttered
table which includes classical sheet music and a paper
keyboard. One hand idly mimes at the keys.
INT. RIPLEYS APARTMENT. DAY.
An
battered, tattooed and tough, some
are drunk.
Behind the woman is her daughter, a girl of ten in Scottish dress. She
too is carried on the shoulders of seamen.
ADA is placed on the sand. She looks down at her feet sinking into the
wet sand, then up at the huge confusion of fern and bush in front of
her. The sound of sea behind is thunderous.
Several of the seamen have formed a group and are p
pile of paperbacks on a card table until he finds a
calendar. His finger targets todays first appointment.
"10 A.M. - 788 Amalfi Drive."
EXT. TRAILER PARK - DAY
Clay steps out of the trailer, clean-shaven and dressed in
dungarees, a T-shirt with a fresh pack of cigarettes flipped
into one sleeve. He weight-lifts a secondhand mower onto
the bed of his rusty pick-up.
Clay climbs into the truck, sli
battered face of DEAN KEATON, age forty. His salty-gray hair is wet and matted. His face drips with water or sweat. A large cut runs the length of his face from the corner of his eye to his chin. It bleeds freely. An un-lit cigarette hangs in the corner of his mouth.
In the half-light we can make out that he is on the deck of a large boat. A yacht, perhaps, or a small freighter. He sits with his
piles?
Well, its the human condition.
Most humans, anyhow.
Like that ballplayer said,
"The worlds got two kind of folks."
"Them thats got the piles
and them thats goin get em."
But you always was healthy as a ox.
Passed on fore you could get the piles.
Mm-hm.
Ooh, thank the Lord you never was sick.
I just want to pass away
nice and peaceful.
Go to sleep one night, wake up
in the glory land! Whoo!