[英文电影剧本]TITANIC(泰坦尼克号)(JamesCa
titanic
a screenplay by james cameron
cast:
kate winslet... rose dewitt bukater
leonardo dicaprio... jack dawson
kathy bates... the unsinkable molly brown
billy zane... caledon hockley
bill paxton... brock lovett
written and directed by:
james cameron
1 blackness
then two faint lights appear, close together... growing brighter. they
resolve into two deep submersibles, free-falling toward us like express
elevators.
one is ahead of the other, and passes close enough to fill frame, looking
like a spacecraft blazing with lights, bristling with insectile
manipulators.
tilting down to follow it as it descends away into the limitless blackness
below. soon they are fireflies, then stars. then gone.
cut to:
2 ext./ int. mir one / north atlantic deep
pushing in on one of the falling submersibles, called mir one, right up to
its circular viewport to see the occupants.
inside, it is a cramped seven foot sphere, crammed with equipment. anatoly
mikailavich, the sub's pilot, sits hunched over his controls... singing
softly in russian.
next to him on one side is brock lovett. he's in his late forties, deeply
tanned, and likes to wear his nomex suit unzipped to show the gold from
famous shipwrecks covering his gray chest hair. he is a wiley, fast-talking
treasure hunter, a salvage superstar who is part historian, part adventurer
and part vacuum cleaner salesman. right now, he is propped against the co2
scrubber, fast asleep and snoring.
on the other side, crammed into the remaining space is a bearded wide-body
named lewis bodine, who is also asleep. lewis is an r.o.v. pilot and is the resident titanic expert.
anatoly glances at the bottom sonar and makes a ballast adjustment.
cut to:
3 ext. the bottom of the sea
a pale, dead-flat lunar landscape. it gets brighter, lit from above, as mir
one enters frame and drops to the seafloor in a downblast from its
thrusters. it hits bottom after its two hour free-fall with a loud bonk.
cut to:
4 int. mir one
lovett and bodine jerk awake at the landing.
anatoly
we are here.
ext. / int. mir one and two
5 minutes later: the two subs skim over the seafloor to the sound of
sidescan sonar and the thrum of big thrusters.
6 the featureless gray clay of the bottom unrolls in the lights of the subs.
bodine is watching the sidescan sonar display, where the outline of a huge
pointed object is visible. anatoly lies prone, driving the sub, his face
pressed to the center port.
bodine
come left a little. she's right in front of us, eighteen meters. fifteen.
thirteen... you should see it.
anatoly
do you see it? i don't see it... there!
out of the darkness, like a ghostly apparition, the bow of the ship appears.
its knife-edge prow is coming straight at us, seeming to plow the bottom
sediment like ocean waves. it towers above the seafloor, standing just as it
landed 84 years ago.
the titanic. or what is left of her. mir one goes up and over the bow
railing, intact except for an overgrowth of 'rusticles' draping it like
mutated spanish moss.
tight on the eyepiece monitor of a video camcorder. brock lovett's face
fills the black and white frame.
lovett
it still gets me every time.
the image pans to the front viewport, looking over anatoly's shoulder, to
the bow railing visible in the lights beyond. anatoly turns.
anatoly
is just your guilt because of stealing from the dead.
cut wider, to show that brock is operating the camera himself, turning it in
his hand so it points at his own face.
lovett
thanks, tolya. work with me, here.
brock resumes his serious, pensive gaze out the front port, with the camera
aimed at himself at arm's length.
lovett
it still gets me every time... to see the sad ruin of the great ship sitting
long fall from the world above.
anatoly rolls his eyes and mutters in russian. bodine chuckles and watches
the sonar.
bodine
you are so full of shit, boss.
7 mir two drives aft down the starboard side, past the huge anchor while mir
one passes over the seemingly endless forecastle deck, with its massive
anchor chains still laid out in two neat rows, its bronze windlass caps
gleaming. the 22 foot long subs are like white bugs next to the enormous
wreck.
lovett
dive nine. here we are again on the deck of titanic... two and a half miles
down. the pressure is three tons per square inch, enough to crush us like a
freight train going over an ant if our hull fails. these windows are nine
inches thick and if they go, it's sayonara in two microseconds.
8 mir two lands on the boat deck, next to the ruins of the officer's
quarters. mir one lands on the roof of the deck house nearby.
lovett
right. let's go to work.
bodine slips on a pair of 3-d electronic goggles, and grabs the joystick
controls of the rov.
9 outside the sub, the rov, a small orange and black robot called snoop dog,
lifts from its cradle and flies forward.
bodine
walkin' the dog.
snoop dog drives itself away from the sub, paying out its umbilical behind
it like a robot yo-yo. its twin stereo-video cameras swivel like insect
eyes. the rov descends through an open shaft that once was the beautiful
first class grand staircase.
snoop dog goes down several decks, then moves laterally into the first class
reception room.
snoop's video pov, moving through the cavernous interior. the remains of the
ornate handcarved woodwork which gave the ship its elegance move through the
floodlights, the lines blurred by slow dissolution and descending rusticle
formations. stalactites of rust hang down so that at times it looks like a
natural grotto, then the scene shifts and the lines of a ghostly undersea
mansion can be seen again.
montage style, as snoop passes the ghostly images of titanic's opulence:
10 a grand piano in amazingly good shape, crashed on its side against a
wall. the keys gleam black and white in the lights.
11 a chandelier, still hanging from the ceiling by its wire... glinting as
snoop moves around it.
12 its lights play across the floor, revealing a champagne bottle, then some
white star line china... a woman's high-top 'granny shoe'. then something
eerie: what looks like a child's skull resolves into the porcelain head of a
doll.
snoop enters a corridor which is much better preserved. here and there a
door still hangs on its rusted hinges. an ornate piece of moulding, a wall
sconce... hint at the grandeur of the past.
13 the rov turns and goes through a black doorway, entering room b-52, the
sitting room of a 'promenade suite', one of the most luxurious staterooms on
titanic.
bodine
i'm in the sitting room. heading for bedroom b-54.
lovett
stay off the floor. don't stir it up like you did yesterday.
bodine
i'm tryin' boss.
glinting in the lights are the brass fixtures of the near-perfectly
preserved fireplace. an albino galathea crab crawls over it. nearby are the
remains of a divan and a writing desk. the dog crosses the ruins of the once
elegant room toward another door. it squeezes through the doorframe,
scraping rust and wood chunks loose on both sides. it moves out of a cloud
of rust and keeps on going.
bodine
i'm crossing the bedroom.
the remains of a pillared canopy bed. broken chairs, a dresser. through the
collapsed wall of the bathroom, the porcelain commode and bathtub took
almost new, gleaming in the dark.
lovett
okay, i want to see what's under that wardrobe door.
several angles as the rov deploys its manipulator arms and starts moving
debris aside. a lamp is lifted, its ceramic colors as bright as they were in
1912.
lovett
easy, lewis. take it slow.
lewis grips a wardrobe door, lying at an angle in a corner, and pulls it
with snoop's gripper. it moves reluctantly in a cloud of silt. under it is a
dark object. the silt clears and snoop's cameras show them what was under
the door...
bodine
ooohh daddy-oh, are you seein' what i'm seein'?
close on lovett, watching his monitors. by his expression it is like he is
seeing the holy grail.
lovett
oh baby baby baby.
it's payday, boys.
on the screen, in the glare of the lights, is the object of their quest: a
small steel combination safe.
cut to:
14 ext. stern of deck of kedysh - day
the safe, dripping wet in the afternoon sun, is lowered onto the deck of a
ship by a winch cable.
we are on the russian research vessel akademik mistislav keldysh. a crowd
has gathered, including most of the crew of keldysh, the sub crews, and a
hand-wringing money guy named bobby buell who represents the limited
partners. there is also a documentary video crew, hired by lovett to cover
his moment of glory.
everyone crowds around the safe. in the background mir two is being lowered
into its cradle on deck by a massive hydraulic arm. mir one is already
recovered with lewis bodine following brock lovett as he bounds over to the
safe like a kid on christmas morning.
bodine
who's the best? say it.
lovett
you are, lewis.
you rolling?
cameraman
rolling.
brock nods to his technicians, and they set about drilling the safe's
hinges. during this operation, brock amps the suspense, working the lens to
fill the time.
lovett
well, here it is, the moment of truth. here's where we find out if the time,
the sweat, the money spent to charter this ship and these subs, to come out
here to the middle of the north atlantic... were worth it. if what we think
is in that same... is in that safe... it will be.
lovett grins wolfishly in anticipation of his greatest find yet. the door is
pried loose. it clangs onto the deck. lovett moves closer, peering into the
safe's wet interior. a long moment then... his face says it all.
lovett
shit.
bodine
you know, boss, this happened to geraldo and his career never recovered.
lovett
get that outta my face.
cut to:
15 int. lab deck, preservation room - day
technicians are carefully removing some papers from the safe and placing
them in a tray of water to separate them safely. nearby, other artifacts
from the stateroom are being washed and preserved.
buell is on the satellite phone with the investors. lovett is yelling at the
video crew.
lovett
you send out what i tell you when i tell you. i'm signing your paychecks,
not 60 minutes. now get set up for the uplink.
buell covers the phone and turns to lovett.
buell
the partners want to know how it's going?
lovett
how it's going? it's going like a first date in prison, whattaya think?!
lovett grabs the phone from buell and goes instantly smooth.
lovett
hi, dave? barry? look, it wasn't in the safe... no, look, don't worry about
it, there're still plenty of places it could be... in the floor debris in
the suite, in the mother's room, in the purser's safe on c deck...
hang on a second.
a tech coaxes some letters in the water tray to one side with a tong...
revealing a pencil drawing of a woman.
brock looks closely at the drawing, which is in excellent shape, though its
edges have partially disintegrated. the woman is beautiful, and beautifully
rendered. in her late teens or early twenties, she is nude, though posed
with a kind of casual modesty. she is on an empire divan, in a pool of light
that seems to radiate outward from her eyes. scrawled in the lower right
the girl is not entirely nude. at her throat is a diamond necklace with one
large stone hanging in the center.
lovett grabs a reference photo from the clutter on the lab table. it is a
period black-and-white photo of a diamond necklace on a black velvet
jeller's display stand. he holds it next to the drawing. it is clearly the
same piece... a complex setting with a massive central stone which is almost
heart-shaped.
lovett
i'll be god damned.
cut to:
16 insert
a cnn news story: a live satellite feed from the deck of the keldysh,
intercut with the cnn studio.
announcer
treasure hunter brock lovett is best known for finding spanish gold in
sunken galleons in the caribbean. now he is using deep submergence
technology to work two and a half miles down at another famous wreck... the
titanic. he is with us live via satellite from a russian research ship in
the middle of the atlantic... hello brock?
lovett
yes, hi, tracy. you know, titanic is not just a shipwreck, titanic is the
shipwreck. it's the mount everest of shipwrecks.
cut to:
17 int. house / ceramics studio
pull back from the screen, showing the cnn report playing on a tv set in the
living room of a small rustic house. it is full of ceramics, figurines, folk
art, the walls crammed with drawings and paintings... things collected over
a lifetime.
panning to show a glassed-in studio attached to the house. outside it is a
quiet morning in ojai, california. in the studio, amid incredible clutter,
an ancient woman is throwing a pot on a potter's wheel. the liquid red clay
covers her hands... hands that are gnarled and age-spotted, but still
surprisingly strong and supple. a woman in her early forties assists her.
lovett
i've planned this expedition for three years, and we're out here recovering
some amazing things... things that will have enormous historical and
educational value.
cnn reporter
but it's no secret that education is not your main purpose. you're a
treasure hunter. so what is the treasure you're hunting?
lovett
i'd rather show you than tell you, and we think we're very close to doing
just that.
the old woman's name is rose calvert. her face is a wrinkled mass, her body
shapeless and shrunken under a one-piece african-print dress.
but her eyes are just as bright and alive as those of a young girl.
rose gets up and walks into the living room, wiping pottery clay from her
hands with a rag. a pomeranian dog gets up and comes in with her.
the younger woman, lizzy calvert, rushes to help her.
rose
turn that up please, dear.
reporter
your expedition is at the center of a storm of controversy over salvage
rights and even ethics. many are calling you a grave robber.
tight on the screen.
lovett
nobody called the recovery of the artifacts from king tut's tomb grave
robbing. i have museum-trained experts here, making sure this stuff is
preserved and catalogued properly. look at this drawing, which was found
today...
the video camera pans off brock to the drawing, in a tray of water. the
image of the woman with the necklace fills frame.
lovett
...a piece of paper that's been underwater for 84 years... and my team are
able to preserve it intact. should this have remained unseen at the bottom
of the ocean for eternity, when we can see it and enjoy it now...?
rose is galvanized by this image. her mouth hangs open in amazement.
rose
i'll be god damned.
cut to:
18 ext. keldysh deck - night
cut to keldysh. the mir subs are being launched. mir two is already in the
water, and lovett is getting ready to climb into mir one when bobby buell
runs up to him.
buell
there's a satellite call for you.
lovett
bobby, we're launching. see these submersibles here, going in the water?
take a message.
buell
no, trust me, you want to take this call.
cut to:
19 int. lab deck / keldysh - night
buell hands lovett the phone, pushing down the blinking line. the call is
from rose and we see both ends of the conversation. she is in her kitchen
with a mystified lizzy.
lovett
this is brock lovett. what can i do for you, mrs... ?
buell
rose calvert.
lovett
... mrs. calvert?
rose
i was just wondering if you had found the 'heart of the ocean' yet, mr.
lovett.
brock almost drops the phone. bobby sees his shocked expression...
buell
i told you you wanted to take this call.
lovett
alright. you have my attention, rose. can you tell me who the woman in the
picture is?
rose
oh yes. the woman in the picture is me.
cut to:
20 ext. ocean - day
smash cut to an enormous sea stallion helicopter thundering across the
ocean. pan 180 degrees as it roars past. there is no land at either horizon.
the keldysh is visible in the distance.
close on a window of the monster helicopter. rose's face is visible, looking
out calmly.
cut to:
21 ext. keldysh - day
brock and bodine are watching mir 2 being swung over the side to start a
dive.
bodine
she's a goddamned liar! a nutcase. like that... what's her name? that
anastasia babe.
buell
they're inbound.
brock nods and the three of them head forward to meet the approaching helm.
bodine
she says she's rose dewitt bukater, right? rose dewitt bukater died on the
titanic. at the age of 17. if she'd have lived, she'd be over a hundred now.
lovett
a hundred and one next month.
bodine
okay, so she's a very old goddamned liar. i traced her as far back as the
20's... she was working as an actress in l.a. an actress. her name was rose
dawson. then she married a guy named calvert, moved to cedar rapids, had two
kids. now calvert's dead, and from what i've heard cedar rapids is dead.
the sea stallion approaches the ship, bg, forcing brock to yell over the
rotors.
lovett
and everybody who knows about the diamond is supposed to be dead... or on
this ship. but she knows about it. and i want to hear what she has to say.
got it?
cut to:
22 ext. keldysh helipad
in a thundering downblast the helicopter's wheels bounce down on the
helipad.
lovett, buell and bodine watch as the helicopter crew chief hands out about
ten suitcases, and then rose is lowered to the deck in a wheelchair by
keldysh crewmen. lizzy, ducking unnecessarily under the rotor, follows her
out, carrying freddy the pomeranian. the crew chief hands a puzzled keldysh
crewmember a goldfish bowl with several fish in it. rose does not travel
light.
hold on the incongruous image of this little old lady, looking impossibly
fragile amongst all the high tech gear, grungy deck crew and gigantic
equipment.
bodine
s'cuse me, i have to go check our supply of depends.
cut to:
23 int. rose's stateroom / keldysh - day
lizzy is unpacking rose's things in the small utilitarian room. rose is
placing a number of framed photos on the bureau, arranging them carefully
next to the☒ fishbowl. brock and bodine are in the doorway.
lovett
is your stateroom alright?
rose
yes. very nice. have you met my granddaughter, lizzy? she takes care of me.
lizzy
yes. we met just a few minutes ago, grandma. remember, up on deck?
rose
oh, yes.
brock glances at bodine... oh oh. bodine rolls his eyes. rose finishes
arranging her photographs. we get a general glimpse of them: the usual
snapshots... children and grandchildren, her late husband.
rose
there, that's nice. i have to have my pictures when i travel. and freddy of
course.
isn't that right, sweetie.
lovett
would you like anything?
rose
i should like to see my drawing.
cut to:
24 int. lab deck, preservation area
rose looks at the drawing in its tray of water, confronting herself across a
span of 84 years. until they can figure out the best way to preserve it,
they have to keep it immersed. it sways and ripples, almost as if alive.
tight on rose's ancient eyes, gazing at the drawing.
25 flashcut of a man's hand, holding a conte crayon deftly creating a
shoulder and the shape of her hair with two efficient lines.
26 the woman's face in the drawing, dancing under the water.
27 a flashcut of a man's eyes, just visible over the top of a sketching pad.
they look up suddenly right into the lens. soft eyes, but fearlessly direct.
28 rose smiles, remembering. brock has the reference photo of the necklace
in his hand.
lovett
louis the sixteenth wore a fabulous stone, called the blue diamond of the
the neck up. the theory goes that the crown diamond was chopped too... recut
into a heart-like shape... and it became le coeur de la mer. the heart of
the ocean. today it would be worth more than the hope diamond.
rose
it was a dreadful, heavy thing.
i only wore it this once.
lizzy
you actually believe this is you, grandma?
rose
it is me, dear. wasn't i a hot number?
lovett
i tracked it down through insurance records... and old claim that was
settled under terms of absolute secrecy. do you know who the claiment was,
rose?
rose
someone named hockley, i should imagine.
lovett
nathan hockley, right. pittsburgh steel tycoon. for a diamond necklace his
son caledon hockley bought in france for his fiancee... you... a week before
he sailed on titanic. and the claim was filed right after the sinking. so
the diamond had to've gone down with the ship.
see the date?
lizzy
lovett
if your grandma is who she says she is, she was wearing the diamond the day
titanic sank.
lovett
and that makes you my new best friend. i will happily compensate you for
anything you can tell us that will lead to its recovery.
rose
i don't want your money, mr. lovett. i know how hard it is for people who
care greatly for money to give some away.
bodine
you don't want anything?
rose
you may give me this, if anything i tell you is of value.
lovett
deal.
over here are a few things we've recovered from your staterooms.
laid out on a worktable are fifty or so objects, from mundane to valuable.
rose, shrunken in her chair, can barely see over the table top. with a
trembling hand she lifts a tortoise shell hand mirror, inlaid with mother of
pearl. she caresses it wonderingly.
rose
this was mine. how extraordinary! it looks the same as the last time i saw
it.
she turns the mirror over and looks at her ancient face in the cracked
glass.
rose
the reflection has changed a bit.
she spies something else, a silver and moonstone art-nouveau brooch.
rose
my mother's brooch. she wanted to go back for it. caused quite a fuss.
rose picks up an ornate art-nouveau hair comb. a jade butterfly takes flight
on the ebony handle of the comb. she turns it slowly, remembering. we can
see that rose is experiencing a rush of images and emotions that have lain
dormant for eight decades as she handles the butterfly comb.
lovett
are you ready to go back to titanic?
cut to:
29 int. imaging shack / keldysh
it is a darkened room lined with tv monitors. images of the wreck fill the
screens, fed from mir one and two, and the two rovs, snoop dog and duncan.
bodine
live from 12,000 feet.
rose stares raptly at the screens. she is enthraled by one in ﭢparticular, an
image of the bow railing. it obviously means something to her. brock is
studying her reactions carefully.
bodine
the bow's struck in the bottom like an axe, from the impact. here... i can
run a simulation we worked up on this monitor over here.
lizzy turns the chair so rose can see the screen of bodine's computer. as he
is calling up the file, he keeps talking.
bodine
we've put together the world's largest database on the titanic. okay,
here...
lovett
rose might not want to see this, lewis.
rose
no, no. it's fine. i'm curious.
bodine starts a computer animated graphic on the screen, which parallels his
rapid-fire narration.
bodine
she hits the berg on the starboard side and it sort of bumps along...
punching holes like a morse code... dit dit dit, down the side. now she's
flooding in the
bodine
forward compartments... and the water spills over the tops of the bulkheads,
going aft. as her bow is going down, her stern is coming up... slow at
first... and then faster and faster until it's lifting all that weight,
maybe 20 or 30 thousand tons... out of the water and the hull can't deal...
so skrttt!!
... it splits! right down to the keel, which acts like a big hinge. now the
bow swings down and the stern falls back level... but the weight of the bow
pulls the stern up vertical, and then the bow section detaches, heading for
the bottom. the stern bobs like a cork, floods and goes under about 2:20
a.m. two hours and forty minutes after the collision.
the animation then follows the bow section as it sinks. rose watches this
clinical dissection of the disaster without emotion.
bodine
the bow pulls out of its dive and planes away, almost a half a mile, before
it hits the bottom going maybe 12 miles an hour. kaboom!
the bow impacts, digging deeply into the bottom, the animation now follows
the stern.
bodine
the stern implodes as it sinks, from the pressure, and rips apart from the
force of the current as it falls, landing like a big pile of junk.
cool huh?
rose
thank you for that fine forensic analysis, mr. bodine. of course the
experience of it was somewhat less clinical.
lovett
will you share it with us?
her eyes go back to the screens, showing the sad ruins far below them.
a view from one of the subs tracking slowly over the boat deck. rose
recognizes one of the wellin davits, still in place. she hears ghostly waltz
music. the faint and echoing sound of an officer's voice, english accented,
calling 'women and children only'.
30 flash cuts of screaming faces in a running crowd. pandemonium and terror.
people crying, praying, kneeling on the deck. just impressions... flashes in
the dark.
31 rose looks at another monitor. snoop dog moving down a rusted,
debris-filled corridor. rose watches the endless row of doorways sliding
past, like dark mouths.
32 image of a child, three years old, standing ankle deep in water in the
middle of an endless corridor. the child is lost alone, crying.
33 rose is shaken by the flood of memories and emotions. her eyes well up
and she puts her head down, sobbing quietly.
lizzy
i'm taking her to rest.
rose
no!
her voice is surprisingly strong. the sweet little old lady is gone,
replaced by a woman with eyes of steel. lovett signals everyone to stay
quiet.
lovett
tell us, rose.
she looks from screen to screen, the images of the ruined ship.
rose
it's been 84 years...
lovett
just tell us what you can--
rose
it's been 84 years... and i can still smell the fresh paint. the china had
never been used. the sheets had never been slept in.
he switches on the minirecorder and sets it near her.
rose
titanic was called the ship of dreams. and it was. it really was...
as the underwater camera rises past the rusted bow rail, we dissolve / match
match dissolve:
34 ext. southampton dock - day
shot continues in a florious reveal as the gleaming white superstructure of
titanic rises mountainously beyond the rail, and above that the buff-colored
funnels stand against the sky like the pillars of a great temple. crewmen
move across the deck, dwarfed by the awesome scale of the steamer.
crowd of hundreds blackens the pier next to titanic like ants on a jelly
sandwich.
in fg a gorgeous burgundy renault touring car swings into frame, hanging
from a loading crane. it is lowered toward hatch #2.
on the pier horse drawn vehicles, motorcars and lorries move slowly through
the dense throng. the atmosphere is one of excitement and general giddiness.
people embrace in tearful farewells, or wave and shout bon voyage wishes to
friends and relatives on the decks above.
a white renault, leading a silver-gray daimler-benz, pushes through the
crowd leaving a wake in the press of people. around the handsome cars people
are streaming to board the ship, jostling with hustling seamen and stokers,
porters, and barking white star line officials.
the renault stops and the liveried driver scurries to open the door for a
young woman dressed in a stunning white and purple outfit, with an enormous
feathered hat. she is 17 years old and beautiful, regal of bearing, with
piercing eyes.
it is the girl in the drawing. rose. she looks up at the ship, taking it in
with cool appraisal.
rose
i don't see what all the fuss is about. it doesn't look any bigger than the
mauritania.
a personal valet opens the door on the other side of the car for caledon
hockley, the 30 year old heir to the elder hockley's fortune. 'cal' is
handsome, arrogant and rich beyond meaning.
cal
you can be blase about some things, rose, but not about titanic. it's over a
hundred feet longer than mauritania, and far more luxurious. it has squash
courts, a parisian cafe... even turkish baths.
cal turns and fives his hand to rose's mother, ruth dewitt bukater, who
descends from the touring car being him. ruth is a 40ish society empress,
from one of the most prominent philadelphia families. she is a widow, and
rules her household with iron will.
cal
your daughter is much too hard to impress, ruth.
mind your step.
ruth
so this is the ship they say is unsinkable.
cal
it is unsinkable. god himself couldn't sink this ship.
cal speaks with the pride of a host providing a special experience.
this entire entourage of rich americans is impeccably turned out, a
quintessential example of the edwardian upper class, complete with servants.
cal's valet, spicer lovejoy, is a tall and impassive, dour as an undertaker.
behind him emerge two maids, personal servants to ruth and rose.
a white star line porter scurries toward them, harried by last minute
loading.
porter
sir, you'll have to check your baggage through the main terminal, round that
way--
cal nonchalantly hands the man a fiver. the porter's eyes dilate. five
pounds was a monster tip in those days.
cal
i put my faith in you, good sir.
cal
see my man.
porter
yes, sir. my pleasure, sir.
cal never tires of the effect of money on the unwashed masses.
lovejoy
these trunks here, and 12 more in the daimler. we'll have all this lot up in
the rooms.
the white star man looks stricken when he sees the enormous pile of steamer
trunks and suitcases loading down the second car, including wooden crates
and steel safe. he whistles frantically for some cargo-handlers nearby who
come running.
cal breezes on, leaving the minions to scramble. he quickly checks his
pocket watch.
cal
we'd better hurry. this way, ladies.
he indicates the way toward the first class gangway. they move into the
crowd. trudy bolt, rose's maid, hustles behind them, laden with bags of her
mistress's most recent purchases... things too delicate for the baggage
handlers.
cal leads, weaving between vehicles and handcarts, hurrying passengers
and well-wishers. most of the first class
passengers are avoiding the smelly press of the dockside crowd by using an
elevated boarding bridge, twenty feet above.
they pass a line of steerage passengers in their coarse wool and tweeds,
queued up inside movable barriers like cattle in a chute. a health officer
examines their heads one by one, checking scalp and eyelashes for lice.
they pass a well-dressed young man cranking the handle of a wooden biograph
'cinematograph' camera mounted on a tripod. naniel marvin is filming his young bride in front of the
titanic. mary marvin stands stiffly and smiles, self conscious.
daniel
look up at the ship, darling, that's it. you're amazed! you can't believe
how big it is! like a mountain. that's great.
mary marvin, without an acting fiber in her body, does a bad clara bow
pantomime of awe, hands raised.
cal is jostled by two yelling steerage boys who shove past him. and he is
bumped again a second later by the boys' father.
cal
steady!!
man
sorry squire!
the cockney father pushes on, after his kids, shouting.
cal
steerage swine. apparently missed his annual bath.
ruth
honestly, cal, if you weren't forever booking everything at the last
instant, we could have gone through the terminal instead of running along
the dock like some squalid immigrant family.
cal
all part of my charm, ruth. at any rate, it was my darling fiancee's beauty
rituals which made us late.
rose
you told me to change.
cal
i couldn't let you wear black on sailing day, sweetpea. it's bad luck.
rose
i felt like black.
cal guides them out of the path of a horse-drawn wagon loaded down with two
tons of oxford marmalade, in wooden cases, for titanic's victualling
department.
cal
here i've pulled every string i could to book us on the grandest ship in
history, in her most luxurious suites... and you act as if you're going to
your execution.
rose looks up as the hull of titanic looms over them...a great iron wall,
bible black and sever. cal motions her forward, and she enters the gangway
to the d deck doors with a sense of overwhelming dread.
old rose
it was the ship of dreams... to everyone else. to me it was a slave ship,
taking me back to america in chains.
close on cal's hand in slow-motion as it closes possessively over rose's
arm. he escorts her up the gangway and the black hull of titanic swallows
them.
old rose
outwardly i was everything a well brought up girl should be. inside, i was
screaming.
35 cut to a screaming blast from the mighty triple steam horns on titanic's
funnels, bellowing their departure warning.
cut to:
36 ext. southampton docks / titanic - day
a view of titanic from several blocks away, towering above the terminal
buildings like the skyline of a city. the steamer's whistle echoes across
southampton.
pull back, revealing that we were looking through a window, and back further
to show the smoky inside of a pub. it is crowded with dockworkers and ship;s
crew.
just inside thณe window, a poker game is in progress. four men, in working
class clothes, play a very serious hand.
jack dawson and fabrizio de rossi, both about 20, exchange a glance as the
other two players argue in swedish. jack is american, a lanky drifter with
his hair a little long for the standards of the times. he is also unshaven,
and his clothes are rumpled from sleeping in them. he is an artist, and has
adopted the bohemian style of art scene in paris. he is also very
self-possessed and sure-footed for 20, having lived on his own since 15.
the two swedes continue their sullen argument, in swedish.
olaf
you stupid fishhead. i can't believe you bet our tickets.
sven
you lost our money. i'm just trying to get it back. now shutup and take a
card.
jack
hit me again, sven.
jack takes the card and slips it into his hand.
ecu jack's eyes. they betray nothing.
close on fabrizio licking his lips nervously as he refuses a card.
ecu stack in the middle of the table. bills and coins from four countries.
this has been going on for a while. sitting on top卐 of the money are two 3rd
class tickets for rms titanic.
the titanic's whistle blows again. final warning.
jack
the moment of truth boys. somebody's life's about to change.
fabrizio puts his cards down. so do the swedes. jack holds his close.
jack
let's see... fabrizio's got niente. olaf, you've got squat. sven, uh oh...
two pair... mmm.
sorry fabrizio.
fabrizio
what sorry? what you got? you lose my money?? ma va fa'n culo testa di
cazzo--
jack
sorry, you're not gonna see your mama again for a long time...
he slaps a full house down on the table.
jack
'cause you're goin' to america!! full house boys!
fabrizio
porca madonna!! yeeaaaaa!!!
the table explodes into shouting in several languages. jack rakes in the
money and the tickets.
jack
sorry boys. three of a kind and a pair. i'm high and you're dry and...
... we're going to--
fabrizio/jack
l'america!!!
olaf balls up one huge farmer's fist. we think he's going to clobber jack,
but he swings round and punches sven, who flops backward onto the floor and
sits there, looking depressed. olaf forgets about jack and fabrizio, who are
dancing around, and goes into a rapid harangue of his stupid cousin.
jack kisses the tickets, then jumps on fabrizio's back and rides him around
the pub. it's like they won the lottery.
jack
goin' home... to the land o' the free and the home of the real hot-dogs! on
the titanic!! we're ridin' in high style now! we're practically goddamned
royalty, ragazzo mio!!
fabrizio
you see? is my destinio!! like i told you. i go to l'america!! to be a
millionaire!!
fabrizio
capito?? i go to america!!
pubkeeper
no, mate. titanic go to america. in five minutes.
jack
shit!! come on, fabri!
come on!!
it's been grand.
they run for the door.
pubkeeper
'course i'm sure if they knew it was you lot comin', they'd be pleased to
wait!
cut to:
37 omitted
38 ext. terminal - titanic
jack and fabrizio, carrying everything they own in the world in the kit bags
on their shoulders, sprint toward the pier. they tear through milling crowds
next to the terminal. shouts go up behind them as they jostle slow-moving
gentlemen. they dodge piles of luggage, and weave through groups of people.
they burst out onto the pier and jack comes to a dead stop... staring at the
cast wall of the ship's hull, towering seven stories above the wharf and
over an eighth of a mile long. the titanic is monstrous.
fabrizio runs back and grabs jack, and they sprint toward the third class
gangway aft, at e deck. they reach the bottom of the ramp just as sixth
officer moody detaches it at the top. it starts to swing down from the
gangway doors.
jack
wait!! we're passengers!
flushed and panting, he waves the tickets.
moody
have you been through the inspection queue?
jack
of course! anyway, we don't have lice, we're americans.
both of us.
moody
right, come aboard.
moody has quartermaster rowe reattach the gangway. jack and fabrizio come
aboard. moody glances at the tickets, then passes jack and fabrizio through
to rowe. rowe looks at the names on the tickets to enter them in the
passenger list.
rowe
gundersen. and...
gundersen.
he hands the tickets back, eyeing fabrizio's mediterranean looks
suspiciously.
jack
come on, sven.
jack and fabrizio whoop with victory as they run down the white-painted
corridero... grinning from ear to ear.
jack
we are the luckiest sons of bitches in the world!
cut to:
39 omitted
40 ext. titanic and dock - day
the mooring lines, as big around as a man's arm, are dropped into the water.
a cheer goes up on the pier as seven tugs pull the titanic away from the
quay.
cut to:
41 ext. aft well deck / poop deck - day
jack and fabrizio burst through a door onto the aft well deck. tracking with
them as they run across the deck and up the steel stairs to the poop deck.
they get to the rail and jack starts to yell and wave to the crowd on the
dock.
fabrizio
you know somebody?
jack
of course not. that's not the point.
goodbye! goodbye!! i'll miss you!
grinning, fabrizio joins in, adding his voice to the swell of voices,
feeling the exhilaration of the moment.
fabrizio
goodbye! i will never forget you!!
cut to:
42 omitted
ext. southampton dock - day
the crowd of cheering well-wishers waves heartily as a black wall of metal
moves past them. impossibly tiny figures wave back from the ship's rails.
titanic gathers speed.
cut to:
44 ext. river test - day
in a long lens shot the prow of titanic fills frame behind the lead tug,
which is dwarfed. the bow wave spreads before the mighty plow of the liner's
hull as it moves down the river test toward the english channel.
cut to:
45 int. third class berthing / g-deck forward - day
jack and fabrizio walk down a narrow corridor with doors lining both sides
like a college dorm. total confusion as people argue over luggage in several
languages, or wander in confusion in the labyrinth. they pass emigrants
studying the signs over the doors, and looking up the words in phrase books.
they find their berth. it is a modest cubicle, painted enamel white, with
four bunks. exposed pipes overhead. the other two guys are already there.
olaus and bjorn gundersen.
jack throws his kit on one open bunk, while fabrizio takes the other.
bjorn
where is sven?
cut to:
46 int. suite b-52-56 - day
by contrast, the so-called 'millionaire suite' is in the empire style, and
comprises two bedrooms, a bath, wc, wardrobe room, and a large sitting room.
in addition there is a private 50 foot promenade deck outside.
a room service waiter pours champagne into a tulip glass of orange juice and
hands the bucks fizz to rose. she is looking through her new paintings.
there is a monet of water lilies, a degas of dancers, and a few abstract
works. they are all unknown paintings... lost works.
cal is out on the covered deck, which has potted trees and vines on
trellises, talking through the doorway to rose in the sitting room.
cal
those mud puddles were certainly a waste of money.
rose
you're wrong. they're fascinating. like in a dream... there's truth without
logic. what's his name again... ?
picasso.
cal
he'll never amount to a thing, trust me. at least they were cheap.
a porter wheels cal's private safe into the room on a
handtruck.
cal
put that in the wardrobe.
47 in the bedroom rose enters with the large degas of the dancers. she sets
it on the dresser, near the canopy bed. trudy is already in there, hanging
up some of rose's clothes.
trudy
it smells so brand new. like they built it all just for us. i mean... just
to think that tonight, when i crawl between the sheets, i'll be the first--
cal appears in the doorway of the bedroom.
cal
and when i crawl between the sheets tonight, i'll still be the first.
trudy
s'cuse me, miss.
she edges around cal and makes a quick exit. cal comes up behind rose and
puts his hands on her shoulders. an act of possession, not intimacy.
cal
the first and only. forever.
rose's expression shows how bleak a prospect this is for her, now.
cut to:
48 ext. cherbourg harbor, france - late dusk
titanic stands silhouetted against a purple post-sunset sky. she is lit up
like a floating palace, and her thousand portholes reflect in the calm
harbor waters. the 150 foot tender nomadic lies-to alongside, looking like a
rowboat. the lights of a cherbourg harbor complete the postcard image.
cut to:
49 int. first class reception/ d-deck
entering the first class reception room from the tender are a number of
prominent passengers. a broad-shouldered woman in an enormous feathered hat
comes up the gangway, carrying a suitcase in each hand, a spindly porter
running to catch up with her to take the bags.
woman
well, i wasn't about to wait all day for you, sonny. take 'em the rest of
the way if you think you can manage.
old rose
at cherbourg a woman came aboard named margaret brown, but we all called her
molly. history would call her the unsinkable molly brown. her husband had
struck gold someplace out west, and she was what mother called 'new money'.
at 45, molly brown is a tough talking straightshooter who dresses in the
finery of her genteel peers but will never be one of them.
old rose
by the next afternoon we had made our final stop and we were steaming west
from the coast of ireland, with nothing out ahead of us but ocean...
cut to:
50 omitted
51 ext. bow - day
the ship glows with the warm creamy light of late afternoon. jack and
fabrizio stand right at the bow gripping the curving railing so familiar
from images of the wreck. jack leans over, looking down fifty feet to where
the prow cuts the surface like a knife, sending up two glassy sheets of
water.
cut to:
52 int. / ext. titanic - series of scenes - day
on the bridge, captain smith turns from the binnacle to first officer
william murdoch.
captain smith
take her to sea mister murdoch. let's stretch her legs.
murdoch moves the engine telegraph lever to all ahead full.
53 now begins a kind of musical/visual setpiece... an ode to the great ship.
the music is rhythmic, surging forward, with a soaring melody that addresses
the majesty and optimism of the ship of dreams.
in the engine room the telegraph clangs and moves to 'all ahead full'.
chief engineer bell
all ahead full!
on the catwalk thomas andrews, the shipbuilder, watches carefully as the
engineers and greasers scramble to adjust valves. towering above them are
the twin reciprocating engines, four stories tall, their ten-foot-long
connecting rods surging up and down with the turning of the massive
crankshafts. the engines thunder like the footfalls of marching giants.
54 in the boiler rooms the stokers chant a song as they hurl coal into the
roaring furnaces. the 'black gang' are covered with sweat and coal dust,
their muscles working like part of the machinery as they toil in the hellish
glow.
55 underwater the enormous bronze screws chop through the water, hurling the
steamer forward and churning up a vortex of foam that lingers for miles
behind the juggernaut ship. smoke pours from the funnels as--
56 the riven water flares higher at the bow as the ship's speeds builds. the
camera sweeps up the prow to find jack, the wind streaming through his hair
and--
57 captain smith steps out of the enclosed bridge onto the wing. he stands
with his hands on the rail, looking every bit the storybook picture of a
captain... a great patriarch of the sea.
first officer murdoch
twenty one knots, sir!
smith
she's got a bone in her teeth now, eh, mr. murdoch.
smith accepts a cup of tea from fifth of웃ficer lowe. he contentedly watches
the white v of water hurled outward from the bows like an expression of his
own personal power. they are invulnerable, towering over the sea.
58 at the bow jack and fabrizio lean far over, looking down.
in the glassy bow-wave two dolphins appear, under the water, running fast
just in front of the steel blade of the prow. they do it for the sheer joy
and exultation of motion. jack watches the dolphins and grins. they breach,
jumping clear of the water and then dive back, crisscrossing in front of the
bow, dancing ahead of the juggernaut.
fabrizio looks forward across the atlantic, staring into the sunsparkles.
fabrizio
i can see the statue of liberty already.
very small... of course.
the camera arcs around them, until they are framed against the sea.
now we pull back, across the forecastle deck. rising, as we continue back,
and the ships rolls endlessly forward underneath. over the bridge wing,
along the boat deck until her funnels come into frame besides us and march
past like the pillars of heaven, one by one. we pull back and up, until we
are looking down the funnels, and the people strolling on the decks and
standing at the rail become antlike.
and still we pull back until the great lady is seen whole in a gorgeous
aerial portrait, black and severe in her majesty.
ismay
she is the largest moving object ever made by the hand of man in all
history...
cut to:
59 int. palm court restaurant - day
close on j. bruce ismay, managing director of white star line.
ismay
...and our master shipbuilder, mr. andrews here, designed her from the keel
plates up.
he indicates a handsome 39 year old irish gentlemen to his right, thomas
andrews, of harland and wolf shipbuilders.
wider, showing the group assembled for lunch the next day. ismay seated with
cal, rose, ruth, molly brown and thomas andrews in the palm court, a
beautiful sunny spot enclosed by high arched windows.
andrews
well, i may have knocked her together, but the idea was mr. ismay's. he
envisioned a steamer so grand in scale, and so luxurious in its
appointments, that its supremacy would never be challenged. and here she
is...
...willed into solid reality.
molly
why're ships always bein' called 'she'? is it because men think half the
women around have big sterns and should be weighed in tonnage?
just another example of the men settin' the rules their way.
the waiter arrives to take orders. rose lights a cigarette.
ruth
you know i don't like that, rose.
cal
she knows.
cal takes the cigarette from her and stubs it out.
cal
we'll both have the lamb. rare, with a little mint sauce.
you like lamb, don't you sweetpea?
molly is watching the dynamic between rose, cal and ruth.
molly
so, you gonna cut her meat for her too there, cal?
hey, who came up with the name titanic? you, bruce?
ismay
yes, actually. i wanted to convey sheer size. and size means stability,
luxury... and safety--
rose
do you know of dr. freud? his ideas about the male preoccupation with size
