114
pages
English
Documents
1975
Le téléchargement nécessite un accès à la bibliothèque YouScribe Tout savoir sur nos offres
114
pages
English
Ebook
1975
Le téléchargement nécessite un accès à la bibliothèque YouScribe Tout savoir sur nos offres
Publié par
Publié le
01 janvier 1975
Nombre de lectures
296
Licence :
Langue
English
Publié par
Publié le
01 janvier 1975
Nombre de lectures
296
Licence :
Langue
English
AKA:
"JAWS"
by
Carl Gottlieb
and
Peter Benchley
From the novel
by
Peter Benchley
OVER BLACK
Sounds of the innerspaces rushing forward.
Then a splinter of blue light in the center of the picture.
It breaks wide, showing the top and bottom a silhouetted curtain of razor sharp teeth suggesting that we are inside of a tremendous gullet, looking out at the onrushing undersea world at night. HEAR a symphony of underwater sounds: landslide, metabolic sounds, the rare and secret noises that certain undersea species share with each other. Also, the hint of familiar music, twisted and distorted by the depths.
CUT TO:
EXT. BEACH – NIGHT – SHARK'S POINT OF VIEW – RISING OUT OF THE WATER, LOOKING AT
It is a pleasant, moonlit, windless night in mid-June. We see a long straight stretch of white beach. Behind the low dunes are the dark shapes of large expensive houses. Hear a number of voices singing. It sounds like an eastern university's alma mater, no longer distorted.
EXT. BEACH – NIGHT – ANOTHER ANGLE
Around a blazing bonfire, a group of young men and women, beer cans (or maybe a keg) in evidence, as well as the bota Spanish leather wine-bag much in favor by beach and ski-bum types.
The group is swapping sentimental alma maters, weepily singing eastern Ivy League anthems -– Dartmouth, Cornell, Harvard, Penn, etc. Two young people break away from the others. They
are Tom Cassidy and Chrissie. Behind them, there is considerable necking activity; Tom and Chrissie are more serious.
TOM
Makes a clumsy attempt at snaring Chrissie, cups her from behind. She squirms playfully out of his grasp. We discover he's not especially sober.
Hey! Hey hey! I'm with you, right?
EXT. ANOTHER PART OF THE BEACH – NIGHT
Tom and Chrissie are separated from the others, silhouetted against the fire, she pauses and looks at the ocean, he is plodding along in the sand, winded.
Chrissie runs down the slope of the dune towards the water, leaving Tom reeling atop the dune. As she runs, she is shedding her clothes. Tom is trying to trail her by her clothes, like Hansel following bread crumbs through the woods.
But Chrissie is way ahead of him.
C'mon!
She runs headlong into the inviting sea, plunges cleanly into the water with a light "Whoops!" as the cold water sweeps over her.
Behind all this, we continue to hear the sentimental, beery chorus of alma maters.
Then we see it -- a gentle bulge in the water, a ripple that passes her a dozen feet away. A pressure wave lifts her up, then eases her down again, like a smooth, sudden swell.
Tommy? Don't dunk me...
She looks around for him, finds him still on the beach, his feet tangled in his pants, which have dropped around his ankles. She starts to swim back in to him.
EXT. CHRISSIE IN THE WATER
Her expression freezes. The water-bulge is racing towards her. The first bump jolts her upright, out of the water to her hips. She reaches under water to touch her leg. Whatever she feels makes her open her mouth to scream, but she is slammed again, hard, whipped into an arc of about eight feet, up and down, submerging her down to her open mouth, choking off any scream she might try to make. Another jolt to her body, driving her under so that only her hair swirls on the surface. Then it too is sucked below in a final and terrible jerking motion. HOLD on the eddies and swirls until we're sure it's all over.
EXT. CLOSE ON TOM ON BEACH
In his shorts, laughing to himself, turning in slow stoned circles, held prisoner by his windbreaker which seems to have him in an armlock, as he struggles to free his arm from a tight sleeve. As he turns, we hear the alma maters in the background, from the fire.
INT. BRODY HOUSE - BEDROOM - EARLY MORNING
A shaft of morning sun blasts through the crack between the bottom of the shade and the windowsill, falling across the heads of the sleeping couple on the bed. It catches Martin Brody right across the eyes, bringing him up from sleep. The job is completed by the clock radio, which clicks on with local fisherman's report and weather.
Hayes Landing reports conditions good, with stripers and jacks. The Coast Guard has no storm warning from Block Island to Cape Hatteras; a light chop with freshening winds, continued clear and mild... (etc.)
Ellen Brody burrows her head under the covers, avoiding morning for a few precious minutes more.
How come the sun didn't used to shine in here?
'cause when we bought the house it was Autumn. This is summer. Feed the dogs.
We hear the scampering toenails of two cocker spaniels scrabbling around the foot of the bed. Brody swings out of bed, wearing shorts, socks, and tee shirt.
Right.
Do you see the kids?
Probably out in the back yard.
In Amity, you say 'Yahd.' (she gives it the Boston sound)
The kids are in the yahd, playing near the cah. How's that sound?
Like you're from N'Yawk. (gives it Brooklyn sound)
Give me 30 years, I'll get it.
He leads the dogs out of the bedroom and down to the kitchen.
INT. BRODY KITCHEN - MORNING
Brody enters, sets down some dog food, goes to make coffee, starts to fill kettle to boil water, the cold water rushes through and out the burnt-out bottom of the kettle.
Did you burn another kettle? Y'know you're a fire hazard? This is the third one!
I never hear the whistle.
Feed the dogs.
Ellen Brody, a tall, attractive blonde woman, enters from upstairs. She's still slightly sleepy, not what you'd call an "Instant-On" person. Mornings are not her best time.
You want to go through those? (she indicates bag of clothes) I'm taking them to the Thrift Shop. It's Marcia Vaughn's pet charity. Pick out what you want to keep -- it's mostly your city clothes.
(looking through bag, remembering) I used to wear this to the Garden. Garbage strikes. Dog shit. Muggers. (he puts it all behind) Ship it.
Don't be silly -– You're going to make summer better for them...
Before Brody can answer, Michael, his oldest boy, enters, holding his hand. There is bright new blood on it, but he is sensibly unconcerned. It's a normal childhood scrape.
Cut my hand. Hit by a vampire.
On the swing? I told you not to play near there until I sanded it down. (to Ellen) See what your son did?
Go upstairs and bring Mommy a band- aid.
Michael goes on out and upstairs. Ellen fumbles in her pocket and produces Brody's new glasses, which she holds out to him.
Don't forget these.
Oh, yeah. (he puts them on) How do I look? Older, huh?
I think they make you look sexy.
Brody reacts to this, and bends to kiss her lightly. Then more seriously.
Sexy, hm? What was I before?
Older, sillier.
(as he goes to make coffee, he fumbles with the new glasses) I don't want to depend on these things, y'know -– sometimes you can weaken your eyes.
He looks out the window to the view beyond, discovering some new wonder in the fresh sunlit morning.
BRODY'S POINT OF VIEW – OUTSIDE THE HOUSE
Sean, the younger child, is happily romping in the summer air, enjoying the very air he breathes.
Let's see...
The phone rings.
INT. BRODY KITCHEN – DAY
Brody answers one of two phones on the wall.
Brody... yeah, what's up... mmm... Well, what do they usually do, float or wash up? Really?... okay, I'll meet both of you at the beach in (checks watch) ...20 minutes, okay? Okay. (hangs up) First goddamn weekend of the summer.
Michael reenters in bathing trunks, with a towel on his shoulder, his hand washed, holding a band-aid ready for application. Ellen takes it, and bandages the finger with care and affection.
There. (to Brody) What was that?
Michael heads toward the beach.
(struggling to get his shirt on over his glasses) The office.
He gets his shirt on with Ellen's help. She flicks imaginary dust from the badge on his chest.
Be careful.
Here? You gotta be kiddin'.
He gives her a light kiss, starts to go, with his cup.
Love ya.
(kissing him back)
Hey Chief. Bring my cup back.
At the door, he takes a windbreaker off a peg and goes on out.
We can see the Amity Police shoulder patch as he goes to a van parked outside.
EXT. ISLAND HIGHWAY - MORNING
Martin Brody's Country Squire police wagon rushes past, taking the view to an enormous billboard depicting a typical summer day in Amity. A beautiful model splashes in the gold surf, languishing in a Solarcaine sun. AMITY WELCOMES YOU is written above her flailing arms.
EXT. AMITY BEACH - DAY
Three small figures in the landscape, walking the beach. The surf is rough and there is sea-floor debris strewn about from the receding tide.
CLOSER ANGLE
Deputy Hendricks is searching the shore about one hundred yards down wind. Meanwhile, Brody, in his casual police attire, and Tom Cassidy, still in the clothing we saw him in last night, walk down the beach. Brody fingers the missing girl's shoes, purse and clothes. In the daylight, Cassidy misconducts himself, wavering between inflated maturity and tear-blown adolescence.
Christine what?
Worthingsly... Worthington -- no one ever died on me before.
You picked her up on the ferry.
I didn't know her.
And nobody else saw her in the water?
Somebody could've -- I was sort of passed out.
Think she might've run out on you?
Oh, no, sir. I've never had a woman do that. I'm sure she drowned.
You from around here?
No. Cambridge. Harvard. My family's in Tuxedo, New York, though.
You here for the summer?
Some friends and me took a house.
(genuinely curious)
What d'you pay for a place just for the summer?
A thousand apiece, something like that. There's five of us. And we each kick in a hundred a week for beer and cleaning, stuff like that.
Pretty stiff.
A shrill whistle makes them turn. Hendricks is fifty yards away, on his knees. He blows again, a feeble report this time.
Maybe that's your girl.
Brody runs toward Hendricks, Cassidy hesitates, then follows with:
(pathetically)
You can't make me look -- !
MASTER ANGLE - THE SAND DUNE
A skein of seaweed garnishes the base of this isolated dune.
The booming waves and fizzing surf make dialogue inaudible.
Deputy Hendricks on hands and knees, looking white as a sheet. Brody tells Cassidy to wait at the foot of the dune, and ventures up. Hendricks stops him with a wave-off, saying something at the same time. Brody nods understanding and steps up cautiously and looks down. He adjusts his glasses, trying to make sense of what he is looking at.
Whatever he sees has a marked effect on his entire physique.
Kicking out with his foot, Brody sends dozens of angry horseshoe crabs into an escape frenzy and they boil over the top of the dune and down its slopes.
Cassidy takes a few uneasy steps backwards when Brody waves him over. He shakes his head. An awkward moment. Then Cassidy shuffles forward and up the few remaining feet, his eyes looking everywhere but down. Brody says something else and Cassidy shakes his head again, eyes out at sea. Brody puts his hand gently around the quaking man's shoulder.
Nodding, he starts to look down, an inch at a time. He looks.
He, too, can't make out what it is at first. Then he understands.
The jolt that assaults Cassidy is not unexpected. He falls backward in a sitting position as though shot. Nods yes -- it's her. Brody turns and slides off the dune, stumbling close. Hear his breathing. He looks around, envisioning the week ahead of him....
QUICK SHARP CUT
Chrissie's remains, incomplete from the chest down, horribly bitten. (NOTE: See Hooper's dialog in Sc. 91 for complete description of corpse.)
INT. BRODY'S OFFICE - DAY
Brody walks through the door and enters his office, holding a fizzing glass of Alka-Seltzer. Polly, his sixty-one year old secretary follows close on his heels with her shorthand pad of messages and reminders.
In the outer office, Hendricks and Cassidy slump into chairs, sipping from fizzing dixie cups.
Brody dips into file drawers for the appropriate forms. He gently turns on Polly, who is behind him.
If this is going to work, you've got to keep current stuff out here, and put 'closed' files in there. The 'Pendings' stay on my desk, okay?
Brody slips behind his typewriter, putting paper in the machine with the effortless ease of years of practice. He's obviously no stranger to paperwork. He touch types, hardly ever looking down, checking his notes and listening with one ear to Polly.
He is affected by what he's seen, but there's work to be done.
This is in no order of importance, Chief: There's a meeting on the Amity Town Council on Aging this Monday night, Bentoncourt Hall. The Fire Inspector wants you to go over the fireworks site with him before he catches the one o'clock ferry. Mainly, you have a batch of calls about that new Karate school.
CLOSE - ACCIDENT REPORT
Brody has just typed the girl's name. He skips the space for Cause-of-Death, and just under it types the Next-of-Kin information he has collected from her wallet.
Searle's Rent-a-Bike, the Rainy Ale, Tisberry's Hardware... they say it's those nine-year-olds from the school practicing karate on all those nice picket fences.
The phone rings and Polly picks it up.
It's the Coroner. Somebody pass away in the night?
Brody nestles the phone between ear and collar, listening, as he turns to the typewriter.
Jesus, Santos.
INSERT - ACCIDENT REPORT
Cause-of-Death line rolls into place. The hammers punch out: SHARK ATTACK.
BRODY
leans forward, staring at what he just wrote. Polly cocks her head and removes the phone from his ear.
What's the matter?
Brody takes a breath. A new resolve comes over him.
Polly, I want to know what water recreation is on for today.
Right this minute?
Brody gets up and moves hastily toward the door.
BRODY'S OUTER OFFICE
Cassidy and Hendricks look up as Brody enters.
(To Hendricks)
Where'd you hide the 'Beach Closed' signs?
We never had any. What's the problem?
A local merchant comes through the door.
Glad I caught you. There's a city truck with New Hampshire plates parked right in front of my...
Brody pushes past him and out the door.
EXT. AMITY MAIN STREET – DAY
In the busy center of a town preparing for the big Fourth of July weekend, Brody wends his way around sidewalk activity, purpose and haste in each stride. As he turns a corner a little man in a white smock emerges from the Funeral Parlor.
This is Carl Santos, Amity's part-time coroner. Santos looks both ways before crossing Colonial Drive.