Apocalypse Now Redux Page #37

As the PBR moves up, a HEAD suddenly is thrust into VIEW.

The heads is that of a particularly wild, long-haired,

stubble-faced MAN. He has three or four camera bodies

around his neck; a large bag stuffed with lenses and film.

He is dressed in rags and tatters. He shouts out.

PHOTOGRAPHER:

It's all right! It's all right!

It's been approved!

The PBR moves slowly toward the steps, as the man continues

to shout out.

CHEF:

I ain't coming in there! Them

bastards attacked us!

PHOTOGRAPHER:

Zap 'em with your siren, man. Zap

'em with your siren.

Chef BLOWS THE SIREN on the PBR. The Natives react, never

having heard one before; they scatter in all directions,

running away scared.

The photographer moves down onto the landing, directing

the boat.

PHOTOGRAPHER:

There's mines over there! Mines

over there, too! And watch out,

those goddamn monkeys bit you, I

tell you.

The PBR crew are exhausted, staring at him through their

mud-and-blood splattered faces.

PHOTOGRAPHER:

Move it in right toward me.

He jumps onboard the boat and immediately advances towards

Lance. He shakes his hand, moves to the others, and shakes

their hands as well.

PHOTOGRAPHER:

I'm an American. An American

civilian. Hi, Yanks. Hi.

American. American civilian.

It's all right.

(to Chef)

And you got the cigarettes, and

what's what I've been dreaming of.

Chef flips him a packet of cigarettes.

WILLARD:

(or photographer)

Who are you?

PHOTOGRAPHER:

Who are you? I'm a photojournalist.

I've covered the war since '64.

I've been in Loas, Cambodia, 'Man...

(looking around the

boat)

I'll tell you one thing. This

boat is a mess, man.

WILLARD:

(gestures to natives)

Who are all these people?

PHOTOGRAPHER:

They think you've come to take him

away. I hope that isn't true.

WILLARD:

Take who away?

PHOTOGRAPHER:

(gestures to temple)

Him! Colonel Kurtz! These are

all his children, man, as far as

you can see. Hell, man, out here,

we are all his children.

WILLARD:

Could we talk to Colonel Kurtz?

PHOTOGRAPHER:

Hey, man, you don't talk to the

Colonel. Well, you listen to him.

Willard steps off the boat onto the steps. He turns and

looks back at the Photographer.

PHOTOGRAPHER:

The man's enlarged my mind. He's

a poet-warrior in a classic sense.

I mean, sometimes he'll-well, you

say hello to him, right? And he'll

just walk right by you and he won't

even notice you. And then suddenly

he'll grab you and he'll throw you

in a corner and he'll say "Do you

know that the 'if' is the middle

word in 'life'? If you can keep

your head when all about you are

losing theirs and blaming it on

you. If you can trust yourself

when all men doubt you." I'm a

little man, I'm a little man.

He's a great man.

(a beat)

"I should have been a pair of ragged

claws scuttling across floors of

silent seas."

Willard, incredulous, turns away to Lance.

WILLARD:

Stay with the boat.

PHOTOGRAPHER:

Don't go without me, okay. I want

to get a picture.

Willard and Chef start up the steps. The Photographer

walks with them, taking photographs.

TRACKING SHOT:

They reach the top of the steps. Gradually the natives

and savages show themselves-fierce and frightening, jungle

fighters, mostly Montagnard. They wear only loincloths

and bandoleers of ammunition. Their bodies are painted in

strange patterns. Death and parts of bodies are everywhere.

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