Cast Away Page #16

CHUCK:

Now I'm hoping that if this is airtight

I'll get condensation down here, a cup or

so a day. If I'm careful it should be

enough.

INT. CAVE - NIGHT

Chuck writes on the wall.

CHUCK:

If I never return, know that here lived

Chuck Noland for four years. I drew

these paintings. I made these marks.

And then I took my fate in my own hands

and set forth to save myself, God

willing.

EXT. BEACH - DAY

Chuck loads the raft, which rocks gently in the cove. He has

a sail made of designer dresses sewn together with fiber

thread. A sea anchor secured by videotape woven together

into a rope. Plastic bottles filled with water. A signal

kite made of FedEx paper.

Then comes the FedEx box with the angel wings. Then Wilson.

CHUCK:

Wilson, my main man. Time to go.

And he gently leads the raft into the lagoon.

CHUCK:

Wonder what odds Stan would give me on

this. I'd say 90-10. Against.

He jumps onto the raft, begins to paddle out toward where the

surf crashes onto the reef.

EXT. LAGOON - DAY

Waves break against the reef. With his paddles Chuck

maneuvers the raft toward the cut in the reef. Boom! The

wave crashes, the water surges through the cut, then recedes

with a whoosh.

Chuck watches, times the waves, paddles like mad. He's

committed. SCRAPE goes the first barrel, then the second,

riding the receding wave. He's out!

But the next wave is already surging forward. It smashes the

raft against the reef! Coconuts and foodstuffs hurtle off

the raft!

The barrels cushion the impact. The raft tilts, spins, but

stays outside the reef! The ropes holding the jugs of water

break! The water sweeps overboard!

The wave recedes again. Chuck recovers, paddles with all his

strength, and then he's clear of the breakers!

For a long moment he floats on the rollers, getting his

breath.

The water jugs float away, carried by the waves back into the

lagoon. Chuck could go back and get them. If he were being

prudent, he definitely would.

But he's out. He might never get back out again.

He stares at the lagoon and the receding water jugs. Then he

stares at the island. Goodbye to all that.

CHUCK:

Wilson, we're out of here.

He turns and begins raising the sail.

EXT. OCEAN - WIDE - MINUTES LATER

Powered by its multicolored makeshift sail, trailing its

gently flapping signal kite of FedEx paper, the raft slowly

moves away from the island, out toward the open ocean.

And we pull back until the ocean swallows the tiny raft and

then we TILT DOWN AND...

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. OCEAN - DAY - FOUR WEEKS LATER

The ocean again, low. The raft floats into frame. A trace

of a breeze flaps the signal kite, which barely stays aloft,

its rope frayed and tattered. The still is set up in the

middle, plastic with a rock weighting down the center.

Chuck is gaunt, his clothes rotted.

He lies looking over the side of the raft, spear in one hand,

staring intently at the water.

Dorados swim like specters, flashing and darting. Chuck

stabs with his spear. Stabs again.

CHUCK:

Slow down, damn you!

Exhausted, he sinks back to the raft. Two Dorados leap into

the air ahead of him.

Chuck tries to stare again into the water. He spots another

fish, a flash of silver under the surface.

Chuck struggles to his feet, raises his spear. SPLAT!

Something strikes him in the chest, almost knocking him into

the water.

On the raft we see flashes of silver and green and blue. A

FLYING FISH. Chuck dives at it, catches it, loses it.

CHUCK:

Catch it catch it catch it --

He catches it again just as it almost flops over the side.

EXT. RAFT - MOMENTS LATER

Chuck sucks the juice out of the head. He chews meat off the

tiny rib bones.

Chuck is in the stage of malnutrition, vitamin deprivation,

salt insufficiency, and exposure where the personality splits

and becomes external. Like all castaways, he has

conversations with the two sides of himself.

GOODCHUCK:

Save some for tomorrow.

BADCHUCK:

Catch another fish tomorrow.

BadChuck wins. Chuck keeps eating. He stares up at the sun,

which beats down unmercifully.

EXT. RAFT - DAY - LATER

The raft drifts. Chuck has taken down the sail and rigged it

as a canopy. Drenched with sweat, Chuck lies on the raft,

trying to sleep. He dabs at some sores that are ulcerating

his body and won't let him get comfortable. Plus, there's a

chaffing, squeaking sound. He looks around for the source.

We see it with him. One of the ropes is frayed and about to

break. If it does, the logs will come apart from the floats.

BADCHUCK:

Sh*t! Sh*t! Sh*t!

GOODCHUCK:

Stay calm, identify the problem.

Problem, rope fraying. Solution, fix

rope.

BADCHUCK:

With what? There's nothing to fix it

with. This rope comes undone, you're

going to drown.

GOOD CHUCK:

Just get up and fix it.

BADCHUCK:

Too tired.

GOODCHUCK:

Get up.

BADCHUCK:

Feels so good to lie here.

GOODCHUCK:

Get up, damn you.

Chuck comes to his knees. Then sinks back down.

BADCHUCK:

Can't. Need water.

GOODCHUCK:

You've had today's water.

BADCHUCK:

Thirsty.

GOODCHUCK:

Come on, shape up, get going, you can do

it.

BADCHUCK:

No water, no work.

Chuck tries another tack. Sweet reason.

GOODCHUCK:

Okay look, I know you're tired, I know

you're thirsty, but give it one more

shot, you've just got to do a little

more.

BADCHUCK:

Do too much, I'll die.

GOODCHUCK:

Do too little you'll die.

BADCHUCK:

Going to die anyway.

That stops GoodChuck for a moment.

GOODCHUCK:

Okay, look have an extra swallow.

He holds up the pathetic little jar with its few teaspoons of

murky water.

BADCHUCK:

No more water, you said.

GOODCHUCK:

Take it.

BADCHUCK:

No.

GOODCHUCK:

Take it, damn it.

BADCHUCK:

No.

GOODCHUCK:

Wilson, do you believe this? Take the

damn water.

Rate this script:4.5 / 2 votes