(Working Draft)
PLANET OF THE APES
Written by
Charles Wicker
1999
FADE IN:
1. EXT. STARFIELD - NIGHT
A sprinkling of STARS against the black backdrop of endless space. We TILT DOWN - down, through nothingness and more nothingness, until -
BLAZING COLORS - reds, blues, sizzling whites - explode across the sky. A SECOND BURST erupts - then a THIRD - and we continue to TILT DOWN until a familiar sight dominates the screen:
2. THE STATUE OF LIBERTY
We're not in outer space after all - just New York City. Another round of FIREWORKS lights up the sky, and off in the distance we hear CHEERING. SUPER TITLE: 4 JULY 1998
3. EXT. TIMES SOUARE - NIGHT
Packed streets; the whole city seems to have turned out for the show. Drunken revelers, tourists, hookers and hustlers, cops on horseback - greeting each new pyrotechnic display with WHOOPS of giddy hilarity.
4. EXT. BROOKLYN HEIGHTS - THE PROMENADE - NIGHT
Manhattan just across the harbor, Lady Liberty to the south. Young COUPLES in love, FAMILIES with kids - they're all lined up six deep at the Promenade railing, CLAPPING AND CHEERING.
5. >EXT. ROOFTOP - SPANISH HARLEM - NIGHT
A dozen or so TEENAGE KIDS up on the roof, necking, smoking, drinking beers, playing loud MUSIC - all GRINNING at the fireworks. One of them LOOKS UPWARD at the sound of a far-off WHISTLING . . .Suddenly, his face is BATHED in RED LIGHT. A SCREAMING comes across the sky. A FIREBALL streaks down from above . . .. . . and it stems to be coming DIRECTLY TOWARD HIM! With a yelp of fear, he dives to the tar-and-gravel surface of the roof. The other kids turn, SEE WHATS COMING, and join him there.
2.
6. EXT. PROMENADE - THAT MOMENT
PANIC in the crowd as they see the fireball approaching. It looks as though it's going to slam smack into Manhattan.
7. EXT. TIMES SOUARE - THAT MOMENT
CHAOS. PANDEMONIUM. Times Square turns the color of MOLTEN LAVA as the fireball streaks past overhead, so close it almost seems you could reach up and touch it. The cheers have given way to hysteria ...
8. EXT. PROMENADE - THAT MOMENT
ALL SPECTATORS have now abandoned the Promenade. The sky's ablaze with light. It's high noon - at midnight.
The FIREBALL slices downward from the clouds, clearing the Battery,
nearly shaving the top story off the World Trade Center. It slaps into the
harbor with the percussive force of an exploding bomb.
9. EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT
THE KIDS ON THE ROOF, slackjawed at the light show. A beat - then they begin WHOOPING and APPLAUDING WILDLY.
10. EXT. NEW YORK HARBOR - NIGHT
A vast, red-hot cloud of SCALDING STEAM rising from the water . . . and spreading across the night sky until the cityscape of Manhattan is completely obscured behind it. FADE THROUGH TO:
11. EXT. NEW YORK HARBOR - DAY
The harbor is congested with ships. COAST GUARD CUTTERS; two oceanographic RESEARCH VESSELS; a CONTAINER SHIP, half again the size of the Exxon Valdez; and a FLOATING CRANE. MILITARY HELICOP- TERS are circling lazily above it all.
The decks of the various vessels are swarming with people - not just crewmen, but military observers, government bureaucrats, civilians - and all eyes are on the CRANE as the chain begins to rise.
A CHARRED, BLACK MASS breaks the surface of the water.
3.
It's no meteorite. It's a MACHINE - of inexplicably baroque design, with ornate curlicues, filigree, nodules and modules protruding in all directions. It looks not unlike a pair of Sherman tanks joined together, Siamese-twin style, at the cannon turrets. Or a flying Rorschach blot.
12. EXT. FISHING BOAT - THAT MOMENT - DAY
The disgruntled CAPTAIN of a ramshackle fishing boat is watching the action with binoculars. His crew can't set sail while the harbor's blocked, and they've already lost half a day's catch.
CAPTAIN
That's a weather satellite?
One skeptical crewman is reading the Post. The page-one banner head-line screams: "WEATHER SATELLITE NEARLY FLATTENS MANHATTAN"
FISHERMAN #1
They don't close off the whole harbor for no damn weather satellite.
13. EXT. HARBOR - ON FLOATING CRANE
The crane hoists its cargo high into the air and PIVOTS - swinging the strange alien craft into position over the deck of the CONTAINER SHIP.
14. INT. HOLD - CONTAINER SKIP - THAT MOMENT
TECHNICIANS in airtight SAFE SUITS are preparing a great plasticene SHROUD. Once the craft has been lowered into the ship, the shroud will be sealed around it, forming a sterile tent. No one knows what they'll find inside the craft - but they don't want it getting out prematurely.
15. EXT. DECK - CONTAINER SHIP - THAT MOMENT
A twelve-foot wall of SCAFFOLDING has been erected around the hold of the ship. MORE SCIENTIFIC GEAR is mounted on it: an X-ray machine, an ultrasound unit, a heat-sensing device, COAST GUARDSMEN clamber up the scaffolding like monkeys, helping the CRANE OPERATOR guide the craft into the hold.
TECHNICIANS stare at their various monitors and telemetric readouts. The ULTRASOUND OPERATOR shouts into the hold . . .
4.
ULTRASOUND MAN
IT'S HOLLOW. IT'S HOLLOW. Jesus . . . THERE'S SOMETHING MOVING IN THERE!
A thermal printer spits out a hard copy of the ultrasound screen. A FUZZY, MANLIKE SILHOUETE is plainly visible within the craft.
ULTRASOUND MAN
Oh man, Herb - this looks like a -
An EXPLOSION interrupts him.
A HATCH has BLOWN OPEN just beneath the left wing - and now, dangling from its chain, the whole craft begins to ROTATE. Whatever's inside is about to come out.
Several GUARDSMEN dive from the scaffolding to the deck. Others are too scared to move.
And a couple reach instinctively for their SIDEARMS . . .
VOICES FROM HOLD [o.s.]
Don't shoot! DON'T SHOOT!!
16. INT. CRAFT - THAT MOMENT
A POV shot from WITHIN the craft - looking THROUGH the open hatch at the frenzy outside. As the craft turns, a GUARDSMAN comes into view - clinging to the scaffolding, WIDE-EYED WITH HORROR.
In the foreground, a WHITE-GLOVED HAND rises suddenly into frame . . . and an inhuman voice croaks out something that sounds like:
VOICE
Plleeeeeeeezzz . . .
GUARDSMAN I
JESUS!
WHATEVER HE SEES drives him into a frenzy. He STARTS SHOOTING.
17. EXT. DECK - OUTSIDE THE CRAFT - ON GUARDSMEN
A blur of motion. The PASSENGER of the craft, BLEEDING, pitches forward through the open hatch and hangs there, half in, half out. A SECOND GUARDSMAN lunges at the guy with the gun -
5.
GUARDSMAN I
YOU IDIOT! WHAT ARE YOU -
They grapple. The CRAFT, dangling in midair, ROTATES AROUND - and the OPEN HATCH DOOR knocks both GUARDSMAN to the deck!
Screaming and confusion all around. The CRANE OPERATOR swings the pod hard left, trying to avoid any further injuries. Like a big wrecking ball, the craft slams into the scaffolding, causing it to COLLAPSE.
The CRANE OPERATOR tries to HOIST the pod away from the damage. As it rises, we ZERO IN on the dead PASSENGER dangling out of the open hatch. A TRICKLE OF BLOOD runs down the side of the craft . . .
. . . and POOLS on the deck . . . where it SEETHES and CHURNS like a living, tumorous organism . . .
. . . until a small quantity of BUBBLING PINK ORGANIC SLOP arises from the puddle of blood, and begins to CRAWL AWAY across the deck!!
BOOTS sprint past, SPLATTERING the moist pink crawling goo into several discrete globules. But the globules REGROUP, as if driven by some primordial homing instinct, into a single pulsating mass. The undulating blob squirts out a tendril and DRAGS ITSELF across the deck -- over the railing -- INTO THE HARBOR.
18. EXT. FISHING BOAT -DAY
The CAPTAIN lowers his binoculars and snorts in disgust.
CAPTAIN
Your tax dollars at work. - Stow the goddam nets. Let's go home.
He takes a last bite of his sandwich, chucks what's left overboard.
A SEAGULL spots breakfast and swoops toward the captain's leftovers. It snags a hunk of meat and lets out a startled SQUAWK. The bird flaps its wings furiously, trying to take flight --
-- but a LONG PINK TENDRIL pulls it downward. The keening gull VANISHES beneath the waves as we
CUT TO:
6.
19. INT. HOSPITAL - BIRTHING CENTER - DAY
An enormously PREGNANT WOMAN is drinking from a water fountain in the hallway of a modern MATERNITY WARD. SUPER TITLE: 12 APRIL 1999 NINE MONTHS LATER
She lets out a little SQUEAK. A helpful NURSE rushes to her side.
PREGNANT WOMAN
I think I felt another contraction!
SPLATTERING NOISES on the tiles. Her water's broken. She looks down, lets out a little exclamation of embarrassment . . .
NURSE
Don't worry, well take care of that. The birthing room is all ready for you.
The PREGNANT WOMAN glances down the hallway, where the corridors intersect. Several DOCTORS appear to be in a big hurry. A guy in a suit uses a KEY to summon the FREIGHT ELEVATOR.
The elevator opens - and the DOCTORS push what looks like a CHROME SARCOPHAGUS onboard. It's three feet long. On a rolling cart. With a refrigeration unit beneath it ...
PREGNANT WOMAN
What in the world is that?
NURSE
Oh, it's . . . it's for preemies.
(swiftly turning her around)
This way.
A SCREAM echoes in the hospital corridors. Not the scream of a woman in labor - this one's a MAN.
The PREGNANT WOMAN glances back over her shoulder - just in time to see an hysterical FATHER at the end of the corridor, with ORDERLIES and DOCTORS swarming around, trying to calm him dawn.
NURSE
This way. Please.
She steers the pregnant mom down the hall, away from the commotion.
7.
20. EXT. HOSPITAL- ROOFTOP
A HELICOPTER touches down on the rooftop helipad, and a group of SPECIALISTS from the Centers from Disease Control in Atlanta debark.
They carry themselves with the natural authority of young hotshots - the best and brightest in their field.
Leader of the pack is DR. SUSAN LANDIS, a handsome woman in her early thirties, with a face full of quick, ironic intelligence, insatiable curiosity, boundless good humor. When she's on the job, though, she takes on a crisp, no-nonsense, almost military demeanor - and just now, she is well and truly on the job. She hits the tarmac moving . . .
DR.ENGEL
Susan! Thanks for coming so quickly -
DR. ENGEL is 64, heavyset, distinguished-looking. He's at the head of a phalanx of doctors and hospital administrators. She gives him a warm smile as the two groups head en masse for the rooftop elevator.
SUSAN
For you? Black plague couldn't keep me away. - What's the latest? Holding at five?
ENGEL
It was five yesterday, Susan. Today it's -
(grimly)
I'll let you see for yourself.
21. INT. HOSPITAL - OBSERVATION ROOM - DAY
The whole gang's scrubbed down and changed into surgical gear. They're
looking through a glass window into a maternity ward lined with CRIBS.
The room is sealed - and the obstetric NURSES are wearing SAFE SUITS.
ENGEL
Now get ready for this. I don't think any of
you have ever seen anything like it . . .
ENGEL gestures to a NURSE on the other side of the glass. She gingerly
lifts an infant from its crib . . . pulls the swaddling back from its face . . .
Several of the CDC hotshots jump back in shock. The newborn infant is
leathery, wrinkled, with liver spots and rotting yellow teeth. It weighs
nine pounds. It looks like an EIGHTY-YEAR-OLD MAN.
8.
SUSAN
I've seen it. Hutchinson-Gilford . . .
CDC HOTSHOT
Neonatal progeria, right? Accelerated aging in
the womb.
SUSAN
Kids are usually dead by the time they're ten.
ENGEL
No, Susan, no. If it was Hutchinson-Gilford I
wouldn't have called you up from Atlanta.
(gesturing to the NURSE)
We've got three neonates here, all born today.
This one was 3 PM - just over an hour ago.
The NURSE leans over a crib, unwraps a baby. It has a full head of oily
hair - the acne-covered face of an adolescent.
ENGEL
This one was noon.
Same routine. Baby #2 looks like a sallow, balding, middle-aged man.
ENGEL
And this one was 7:45 AM . . .
Before the NURSE can pull back the blankets a TINY, CLAWLIKE HAND
shoots out from the third crib - waving with knobby, arthritic fingers.
SUSAN stares compassionately at the ancient, wizened infant. She
knows it's pointless, but she can't stop herself from waving back.
ENGEL
When they're born they look normal. Within
twelve hours . . . they're dead of old age.
The CDC crew are already BUZZING among themselves.
SUSAN
- You've had five of these??
ENGEL
I told you, Susan. It was five yesterday.
ENGEL raps on another observation window - this one curtained off.
9.
Inside, a nurse draws the curtain back, allowing SUSAN to see . . .
. . . an entire ROOMFUL of afflicted babies, THIRTY OR FORTY OF
THEM, in various stages of disintegration.
ALL HEADS TURN at a new round of SHRIEKS and WAILING from
anguished parents in the hallway. The CDC crew falls deadly silent -
ashen-faced. It's as if they've just seen the end of the human race.
ENGEL
We haven't had a normal birth today.
22. INT HOSPITAL - CONFERENCE ROOM
It's been commandeered by the CDC high command, who have taken
over every available phone jack to plug their laptops into the net. There
are several open pizza boxes on the central table.
ENGEL
- and we don't know what to do with the
parents. You heard what the maternity ward
is like. It's bedlam.
SUSAN
Forget about containing it. it'll be in all the
papers by morning.
A CDC WORKER, ALBERT, rushes up to SUSAN with a printout.
ALBERT
Here's what we've got. Eight in Chicago;
eleven in Pittsburgh; four in our beloved home
town of Atlanta . . .
SUSAN
Airline hubs.
ALBERT
- and Jersey is crawling with 'em.
SUSAN
Let's hope for a contact vector. If it's airborne
we're knee-deep in shit creek.
10.
ENGEL
it's incomprehensible. Hutchinson-Gilford's a
spontaneous mutation. How could it be infectious?
SUSAN
My guess is it's not. If you isolated the
mutagen you could reproduce it - transfect
the population by virus. Catch the virus, and
the mutagen kicks in . . .
ENGEL
But that would mean somebody had to -
SUSAN
Tailor it, yeah. The big question is when. If
this stuff's had nine months to spread . . .
SUSAN looks up at the sound of a choked SOB from across the table. In
the midst of all the frantic activity, one of the CDC team, a young woman
named DONNA, has totally lost it. She sits frozen over her laptop screen,
face buried in both hands.
SUSAN goes over and lays a consoling hand on her shoulder.
SUSAN
Take a break, Donna. Grab a catnap. We'll
get by without you for an hour.
DONNA
No, no, I'm fine. I'll-
Just that quickly, her hands are racing over the keyboard again.
SUSAN
Whoa. That's no suggestion, that's an order.
DONNA looks up at her hollow-eyed, TEARS trickling down her cheeks.
DONNA
Susan, I'm two months pregnant.
There's nothing SUSAN can say. Stunned, she sits down beside her
colleague. The two of them embrace.
11.
23. INT. CDC - FOUR MONTHS LATER - DAY
SUSAN and ALBERT at an electron microscope. The grainy image from
the microscope appears on a large overhead MONITOR.
There's a tiny tendriled PINK ORGANISM floating among the red and
white corpuscles . . .
SUSAN
That's our vector.
ALBERT
Whose blood are we looking at?
SUSAN
Yours. It doesn't like you. You're not going to
get pregnant. It's just loitering around with
nothing to do.
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