Cast Away Page #20

He stands up and checks the horizon.

GOODCHUCK:

What's so damn funny?

BADCHUCK:

You are.

Suddenly Chuck sees something on the horizon. A bank of

clouds. A cone of -- land.

He squints, stares again. The clouds part. It looks like --

his island.

Chuck doesn't know whether to feel joy or despair.

GOODCHUCK:

Jesus.

BADCHUCK:

Look again, a**hole. It's a mirage.

Chuck squints.

GOODCHUCK:

It's real.

BADCHUCK:

Nothing out there but ocean.

GOODCHUCK:

Let's get a second opinion. Wilson?

What do you see?

Chuck picks up the soccer ball, holds it up, and stares out

at...ocean.

EXT. RAFT - DAY - LATER

Chuck slowly writes on the sail.

CHUCK:

Chuck Noland. Born October 8, 1958.

Died -- pick a date -- July 11, 1998.

And now the epitaph. Met deadlines.

Kept appointments. Lost without a trace.

He sits back, looks at the mock headstone.

BADCHUCK:

What did it matter if FedEx was five

minutes late one day? The next day we

just start over again.

GOODCHUCK:

It matters. We do the best we can,

that's all we have.

BADCHUCK:

Then we've just got sh*t.

He goes on writing.

CHUCK:

I am writing this to remind myself to

live a better life. If I am lost,

perhaps you who find this will be

instructed to live a better live

yourself. Live each day. Love your

children. Don't take anyone for granted.

BADCHUCK:

Is that it? Life is a f***ing Disney

movie?

The waves begin to grow, the ocean turns a slate gray. Far

above him, great frigate birds circle. Suddenly one dives on

a booby which has caught a fish. The great frigate bird

swoops all around the booby until, panicked, it drops the

fish, which plummets toward the sea.

With a graceful dive, the huge bird grabs the fish and then

soars up on a thermal, high into the sky.

Lightning flashes back and forth across the horizon, which is

turning black and dark. Thunder rolls.

EXT. RAFT - NIGHT

The raft goes up and down huge waves. Every few seconds

lightning flashes, illuminating the raft and Chuck holding

desperately to it, his eyes wild with fear.

EXT. RAFT - MORNING

The waves continue. Chuck holds on, his face pale.

BADCHUCK:

You can't make it.

GOODCHUCK:

Shut up. I don't feel like dying today.

EXT. OCEAN - DAY - LATER

The sky clears. The waves are still big. The fish are back.

And then come the sharks, cutting through the water. Chuck

can't get up to get his spear, he just has to watch as blood

darkens the water.

And then the sharks are gone.

Chuck comes to his knees slowly, then a big wave hits.

Wilson is swept into the ocean!

For a moment Chuck is uncomprehending. He watches as Wilson

slowly floats away.

CHUCK:

Please, no sharks.

Then he dives in to the water! Swims frantically after

Wilson.

Wilson floats away from him. He swims, but he's so weak.

Finally he gets to Wilson. He reaches out, but only pushes

the ball farther away.

It bobs on the waves. Chuck treads water, exhausted.

Where is the raft?

CHUCK:

Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.

Then he turns back the other way. The raft has drifted by

him. He can go after Wilson, or he can go after the raft.

CHUCK:

Sh*t! Wilson!

He swims toward the raft, barely moving. No matter how hard

he swims, the raft seems to recede from him.

Finally he reaches it, hangs on the side, breathing hard,

choking, crying.

He struggles to pull himself on board.

But he is weak, so weak. He can't do it.

Summoning some primitive reserve of strength, he tries again.

This time he slides on.

He lies on the raft, panting.

Then with all his strength he pulls himself to his feet,

holds on to the mast, scans the ocean for Wilson.

CHUCK:

Wilson!

Nothing but waves.

This is too much. Chuck starts to cry.

EXT. RAFT - DAY - LATER

Chuck takes a swallow of water, washes it around in his

mouth, then swallows. With his wet tongue he licks his

cracked lips.

The sun breaks through the clouds.

With what strength he has left, Chuck raises the canopy,

fastens it.

He sits in the meager shade, his head between his knees.

Closes his eyes. Just for a minute.

EXT. OCEAN - DAY - LATER

A different sort of shadow crosses Chuck's face. He opens

his eyes.

There, riding right beside his raft, is a ship, a huge rusty

tanker. Someone shouts down in a language we don't

understand.

Chuck sits up, can't believe it. Struggles to cover himself.

EXT. OCEAN - DAY - LATER

Chuck is lifted up the rusted steel side of the boat in a

Jacob's ladder.

EXT. SHIP - DAY - LATER

Chuck steps on board, can't support himself.

The crew gathers around. None of them speak English, but

there is a spontaneous outburst of human connection.

One man brings some water. Another a blanket. Another some

warm tea.

Chuck sits there, shivering now.

CHUCK:

Thank you. Oh thank you.

Deliriously happy. Delirious.

INT. U.S. NAVAL HOSPITAL - HAWAII

A cavernous hanger-sized ward brightly lit and filled with

row upon row of hospital beds, each with its table, side

chair, and lamp, each with a stainless steel bedpan and

neatly folded sheets and blankets stacked ready to use, and

each completely empty.

Except for one.

And on that bed we see Chuck, in a blue hospital gown. An IV

drips into his arm. He plays idly with the remote control of

the bed. He raises the head, then the foot. He pushes

another button and the knee rest bends the bed again.

A DOCTOR enters, carrying a thick chart. Chuck gives him a

big manic grin. Malcolm MacDowell in "A Clockwork Orange."

CHUCK:

My favorite doctor. What's the verdict?

DOCTOR:

Under the circumstances your overall

health is good. Those salt water boils

you picked up on the raft are ulcerated,

but they're healing nicely.

He checks his blood work records.

DOCTOR:

Hemoglobin's 10.8 -- you're anemic,

that's why we're giving you iron.

Potassium's low -- we're giving you an

electrolyte solution with your IV.

Sodium's over 150, way too high. You may

experience swelling in your extremities

as you rehydrate and discharge the salt.

In spite of your dietary deficiencies

there's no sign of mental deterioration.

Chuck has been trying not to laugh. Now he can't stop

himself.

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