Batman

FADE IN:

EXT. CITYSCAPE - NIGHT

The place is Gotham City. The time, 1987 -- once removed.

The city of Tomorrow: stark angles, creeping shadows,

dense, crowded, airless, a random tangle of steel and

concrete, self-generating, almost subterranean in its

aspect... as if hell had erupted through the sidewalks and

kept on growing. A dangling fat moon shines overhead, ready

to burst.

EXT. CATHEDRAL - NIGHT

Amid the chrome and glass sits a dark and ornate Gothic

anomaly:
old City Cathedral, once grand, now abandoned --

long since boarded up and scheduled for demolition.

On the rooftop far above us, STONE GARGOYLES gaze down from

their shadowy, windswept perches, keeping monstrous watch

over the distant streets below, sightless guardians of the

Gotham night.

One of them is moving.

EXT. GOTHAM SQUARE - NIGHT

The pulsing heart of downtown Gotham, a neon nightmare of

big-city corruption, almost surreal in its oppressiveness.

Hookers wave to drug dealers. Street hustlers slap high-

fives with three-card monte dealers. They all seem to know

each other... with one conspicuous exception:

A TOURIST FAMILY, Mom, Dad, and little Jimmy, staring

straight ahead as they march in perfect lockstep down the

main drag. They've just come out of a bit show two blocks

over; the respectable theatre crowd has thinned out, and

now -- Playbills in hand -- they find themselves adrift in

the predatory traffic of Gotham's meanest street.

MOM:

For God's sake, Harold, can we

please just get a taxi??

DAD:

I'm trying to get a --

(shouting)

TAXI!!

Three cabs streak pass and disappear. MOM grimaces in

frustration as LITTLE JIMMY consults a subway map.

JIMMY:

We're going the wrong way.

Nearby, STREET TYPES are beginning to snicker. DAD surveys

them nervously, gestures toward the subway map.

DAD:

Put that away. We'll look like

tourists.

TWO COPS lean on their patrol car outside an all-night

souvlaki stand, sipping coffee and chatting with a HOOKER.

The HOOKER smiles at JIMMY. JIMMY smiles back. MOM yanks

him off down the street and glowers at DAD.

DAD (cont.)

We'll never get a cab here. Let's

cut over to Seventh.

JIMMY:

Seventh is that way.

DAD:

I know where we are!

EXT. SIDE STREET - THAT MOMENT - NIGHT

A deserted access street, sidewalks lined with the husks of

stripped-down cars. MOM, DAD, and JIMMY take a deep breath

and march down the darkened street. A VOICE startles them.

VOICE:

Hey, mister. Gimme a dollar?

The VOICE belongs to a DERELICT -- nineteen or twenty,

acne-scarred -- who sits between two garbage cans, his palm

uplifted. His ratty t-shirt reads: 'I LOVE GOTHAM CITY.'

MOM, DAD, and JIMMY pause for the merest of seconds, then

move on -- pretending not to hear.

DERELICT:

Mister. How about it. One dollar?

(standing up)

One dollar, man. Are you deaf?

Are you deaf? -- Do you speak

English??

By now the TOURISTS are halfway across the street.

Mercifully, the DERELICT doesn't seem to be following.

They pick up their pace. They don't see the SHADOWY FIGURE

in the alleyway. They don't see the GUN until a gloved hand

brings it down, butt-first, across the back of DAD's neck.

DAD crumples. MOM grabs JIMMY and backs up against a brick

wall, too terrified to scream. The DERELICT races across

the street to join his confederate, the STREET PUNK, who's

already searching for DAD's wallet.

MOM's mouth opens in panic. They can see she's about to

snap -- so the STREET PUNK, still in a crouch, trains his

gun on JIMMY.

STREET PUNK:

Do the kid a favor, lady. Don't

scream.

The poor woman is utterly horrified. TEARS stream down her

face. But she keeps her wits about her, stifles the urge to

shriek, and hustles JIMMY off down the street.

The two PUNKS watch them break into a run -- then chuckle,

slap hands, race off in the opposite direction.

EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT

Six stories up. The PUNKS -- NICK and EDDIE -- hunker down

on the tar-and-gravel roof, sizing up their take.

NICK:

(emptying the wallet)

All right. The Gold Card.

(tossing the credit card

in EDDIE's face)

Don't leave home without it.

A chill wind whips across the roof as NICK extracts the

cash and begins to count it. There's a distant, indistinct

CLANG:
metal on metal. EDDIE hears it and tenses up.

EDDIE:

Let's beat it, man. I don't like

being up here.

NICK:

What, scared of heights?

EDDIE:

I dunno, man. After what happened to

Johnny Gobs --

NICK:

Look, Johnny Gobs got ripped and

walked off a roof, all right? No big

loss.

EDDIE:

That ain't what I heard. That ain't

what I heard at all.

(beat)

I heard the bat got him.

NICK:

Gimme a break, will you? Shut up...

EDDIE:

Five stories, straight down. There

was no blood in the body.

NICK:

No sh*t. It was all over the

pavement.

NICK has no patience with campfire tales -- but here on the

roof, in the pale moonlight, he can't ignore the slight

tingle at the base of his spine...

EDDIE:

There was no blood, man.

(beat)

My brother says... all the bad things

you done... they come back and

haunt you...

NICK:

Listen to this. How old are you?

There ain't no bat.

EDDIE:

My brother's a priest, man.

NICK:

No wonder you're such a chickenshit.

Now shut up.

(conclusively)

There ain't no bat.

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