As the C-130 coasts to a stop, the hatch rotating down on a hot, dusty lifeless airstrip somewhere in Vietnam. Nothing seems to live or move in the midday sun.
TITLES RUN
A DOZEN NEW RECRUITS step off the plane, unloading their duffel bags, looking around like only the new can look around, their hair regulation-clipped, crisp, new green fatigues fitting them like cardboard.
CHRIS TAYLOR is just a
His is the only one still occupied, and it doesnt look that permanent. In the window is a cardboard, handwritten sign that reads "Kwans Shaolin Kung Fu". What remains visible behind the poster and the security grate is an IMPRESSION of people moving and milling around.
INT. WORKOUT AREA - SAME NIGHT
ESTABLISHING SHOT OF KWANS SHAOLIN KUNG FU SCHOOL.
The students are doing their own thing, and the
effective in two weeks. The news was broken to him by Max Schumacher -
EXT. 5TH AVE. SOUTH OF 57TH STREET - NIGHT
11:30 P.M. The area is deserted except for a few STROLLERS window-shopping the department stores. And way down near 55th Street, TWO roaring drunk middle-aged men, Howard Beale and MAX SCHUMACHER, reeling along and hooting it up. NARRATION continues OVER -
NARRATOR
- who was president
effects,
including my ceramic egg,
half box of Cuban cigars..."
Oh! Yes, yes, yes, yes.
"...m-my collection of spoons."
My goodness, what a treasure. What a legacy.
Spoons! Spoons! So many spoons, so little time.
Oh! And, of course, something no household should be without.
The ceramic egg! Ooh-hoo-hoo.
Can I have the egg? Can I? Huh? Huh?
- No. I want you to have it. - Fine, Ill take it!
If you
effected me so deeply. He proceeded to tell me that they had a script that they hated, and didnt want to hand out.
I begged him to read it, so he slipped me a copy.
I called him back as soon as I had read it. It was an okay written script, that had executed one stroke-of-genius idea really well. The idea to integrate the best elements of the Sandman series of comic books. It had been written by T