Cast Away Page #9

He has a knife.

OPENING THE COCONUT - SERIES OF SHOTS

Chuck uses the stone knife to saw at the coconut. No luck.

Chuck clumsily sharpens a stick with the sharp rock.

Chuck brings the sharpened stick down hard on the coconut,

but the stick slides off, sending the coconut rolling away.

Chuck positions the stick, pointed end up, in a hole, then

SLAMS the coconut down hard on it. Success! The green nut

of the coconut splits. The brown inner nut is free! He

smashes the nut with a rock, but -- OW! -- he hits his hand!

Chuck licks his fingers, but he is so thirsty there's no more

saliva. He smashes again. The shell breaks to smithereens.

Coconut milk splashes everywhere.

CHUCK:

That was smart, really smart.

Rotating a nut along its axis and carefully moving his

fingers out of the way, he SMASHES the nut again. The shell

splits! The precious liquid splashes out. Left inside is a

swallow or two, which Chuck laps up eagerly. The milky white

liquid dribbles down his face.

CHUCK:

Ahhh.

EXT. BEACH - SUNRISE

Chuck squints at the ocean. His sunburn is bad -- his lips

are cracked. A stack of broken coconut shells is beside him.

No one's there -- again.

CHUCK:

Maybe the GPS malfunctioned. That Korean

airliner did.

Clouds scud in front of the sun. Beyond the reef the waves

are high and churning. Chuck can see them pound onto the

reef.

CHUCK:

Okay, do the math. Maybe they know where

you are within, say 500 miles. That's a

circle with an area of, uh, pi r squared.

So, uh, 250,000 times three point one

four, that's about 800,000 square miles.

Three times the size of Texas.

This sinks in. Then Chuck gets an idea.

CHUCK:

They could use a satellite.

But even that doesn't give him much hope.

CHUCK:

Say each satellite photo is 30 feet

square, that's uh...f*** it...billions

and billions of photos.

That sinks in.

CHUCK:

Aw, someone will come.

EXT. BEACH - NIGHT

Chuck sleeps by the coconuts. The tide is coming in. Chuck

stirs, gets up, staggers over to a palm tree to relieve

himself.

He stares idly out at the moonlight on the waves. Then not

so idly. Something's out there, something floating on the

tide.

CHUCK:

What the hell?

EXT. BEACH - MOMENTS LATER

Chuck splashes into the gentle surf, reaches the dark object.

It's a body. Chuck turns it over. It's Al, one of the

pilots, his face gray and waterlogged and very dead.

CHUCK:

Oh Jesus.

EXT. BEACH - MOMENTS LATER

Chuck drags the body up on the beach and then collapses,

exhausted. He sits by it, staring at it.

CHUCK:

I'm so sorry, Al. So sorry.

EXT. BEACH - MORNING

Chuck has almost finished a grave in the sand back of the

palm trees. He's been digging with a piece of driftwood

sharpened with his stone knife.

He drags the body into the pit. Stares down at it. That

could be me.

CHUCK:

Got to cover Al up.

He wants to say more, can't. He scoops some sand over the

body.

CHUCK:

Got to cover Al up.

He scoops in some more sand. It's eerily like burying the

tropical fish in his back yard.

EXT. BEACH - LATER

With a rock Chuck hammers a crude driftwood marker into the

sand.

EXT. BEACH - LATER THAT DAY

As Chuck sits on the beach, he half-sings, half-talks "Yellow

Submarine" very quietly to himself.

CHUCK:

We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow

submarine...

He looks over at the deep woods and down to the rocky point.

Comes to a decision. He takes a drink of coconut, picks up

his club and a coconut, sticks the stone knife in his pants.

He's ready to go.

EXT. BEACH - DAY - MOMENTS LATER

Chuck climbs over the rocks and disappears out of sight.

He's still half-singing to himself.

CHUCK:

Yellow submarine. We all live in a

yellow submarine...

EXT. ISLAND - DAY - MOMENTS LATER

Chuck's way is blocked by rocks and jungle. He hesitates.

He picks up a rock and THROWS IT to scare away all those bad

things. It crashes into the ferns and palm trees. He takes

a step into the jungle.

EXT. JUNGLE - MINUTES LATER

Chuck struggles through a dense thicket beneath a jungle

canopy. Vines and creepers reach out toward him. There is

no path, nothing to show him where to go.

EXT. JUNGLE - HALF HOUR LATER

Chuck climbs through a tangle of vines and ferns. He takes a

drink from the coconut he is carrying. The last drink.

CHUCK:

Bad idea. Should have saved some.

He throws away the husk. He looks up, but the only sunlight

reaching him is dappled from the canopy above him.

EXT. ISLAND - MOMENTS LATER

Chuck emerges onto a ridge that leads to a summit. He climbs

across a rocky lava field covered with scrub lichen and low

ferns, soil dark as coffee beans, his way crossed by steep

gullies that cut like dark fingers into the lava.

The lava field narrows, forcing Chuck closer to the sea. He

passes a series of CAVES, their mouths dark and mysterious

and scary. He gives them a wide berth.

EXT. ISLAND - CLIFF - MOMENTS LATER

The land narrows to a ledge that stretches across a high

cliff perched over the ocean. Beyond this rock bridge the

path smoothes out to a summit.

Chuck stares at the narrow bridge, then down at the waves

breaking on the rocks far below. To get any view, he will

have to cross the bridge. He's thirsty. The late afternoon

sun is hot.

CHUCK:

Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did

you enjoy the play?

Hugging the wall of the cliff, taking each step with great

caution, he sets out across the bridge.

EXT. ISLAND - CLIFF

Step by step, Chuck negotiates the narrow bridge. He reaches

a flume of polished basalt which cuts across the ledge like a

slide in a water park -- except this flume ends high above

the waves. Chuck tries to step across it, can't quite, tries

one foot first, then the other.

CHUCK:

Sh*t!

He looks back, but that seems even scarier.

CHUCK:

Got to get there. Got to see. C'mon...

c'mon. Don't be such a wuss. Be bold.

He looks down at the ocean beneath him, closes his eyes, and

jumps. It's only a few feet, but he's breathing hard when he

lands on the other side. He hugs the rocks, getting his

breath.

EXT. ISLAND SUMMIT - SUNSET - MOMENTS LATER

Chuck looks to each point on the compass. He is on an

ISLAND, small, inhospitable, without sign of habitation or

anything human. On three sides the waves break against

steep, hostile cliffs. A reef encloses the cove where he

came from.

Rate this script:4.5 / 2 votes