Crash
- NC-17
- Year:
- 1996
- 100 min
- $3,168,660
- 976 Views
- We're about ready to go here.|- Good.
I'm looking for James.|Has anybody seen James Ballard?
- You know- the producer of this epic.|- I think I saw him in the camera room.
James?
Are you in there?
Could we please get your approval|on our Steadicam shot?
Of course.
Be there in a minute.
Where were you?
Did you come?
No.
Did she come?
We were interrupted.
I had to get back to the set.
Poor darling.
Maybe the next one.
Sh*t.
Not a lot of action here.
They consider this|to be the airport hospital.
This ward is reserved|for air crash victims.
The beds are kept waiting.
Well, if I ground up|during my flying lesson Saturday...
you might find me next to you.
You're getting out of bed soon.
They want you to walk.
The other man-|the dead man-
his wife's a doctor.
Dr Helen Remington.
She's here somewhere,|as a patient, of course.
Maybe you'll find her in the hallway|during one of your walks.
What was her husband?
A chemical engineer|for a food company.
Where's the car?
Outside,|in the visitors car park.
What?
- They brought the car here?|- My car, not yours.
Oh.
Yours is a complete wreck.
The police had to drag it|to the pound.
It's behind the station.
After being bombarded endlessly|by road safety propaganda...
I'm almost relieved to have...
found myself|in an actual accident.
Dr Remington.
- James Ballard?|- Yes.
- Crash victim?|- Yes.
We'll deal with these later.
Both of the front wheels of their car|and the engine...
were driven back|into the driver's section.
Oh, and the floor.
Blood still marked the hood|like little streamers of black lace...
running toward|the windshield wiper cutters.
Tiny flecks were spattered|across the seat and steering wheel...
and the instrument panel was...
buckled inwards...
cracking the clock|and speedometer dials.
The cabin was deformed.
There was dust, glass...
plastic flakes everywhere inside.
The carpeting...
was damp.
It stank of blood|and other body and machine fluids.
I should've gone to the funeral.
I wish I had.
They bury the dead so quickly.
They should leave them|lying around for months.
What about his wife, the woman doctor?|Have you been to visit her yet?
I couldn't.
I feel too close to her.
I don't like the idea|of you getting into a car so soon.
I can't sit on this balcony forever.|I feel like a potted plant.
How can you drive,James?
You can barely walk.
There seem to be three times as many|cars as there were before the accident.
I have to leave for work.
After this sort of thing how can people|even look at a car, let alone drive one?
I'm trying to find Charles' car.
It's not here.
Maybe the police|are still holding it.
They said it was here|this morning.
This is your car?
You might tear your glove.
I never should have come here.
I'm surprised the police|don't make it more difficult.
Were you badly hurt?|We saw each other at the hospital.
I don't want the car.
In fact, I was appalled to find|I have to pay to have it scrapped.
Can I give you a lift?
I somehow find myself|driving again.
You haven't told me|where we're going.
I haven't?
- To the airport, if you don't mind.|- The airport?
- Why? Are you leaving?|- Not yet.
Though not soon enough|for some people.
A death in the doctor's family|makes the patients uneasy.
I take it you're not wearing white|to reassure them.
I'll wear a f***ing kimono|if I want to.
So, why the airport?
I work in|the immigration department.
- Do you want a cigarette?|- No.
I started to smoke|at the hospital.
Kind of stupid.
All this traffic-
- I'm not sure I can deal with it.|- It's much worse now. Have you noticed?
Yes.
The day I left the hospital...
I had the extraordinary feeling|that all these cars...
were gathering for some special reason|I didn't understand.
There seemed to be|ten times as much traffic.
Are we imagining it?
You've bought yourself|exactly the same car again.
It's the same shape and colour.
We're close to the airport garage.
It won't be busy|this time of day.
"Don't worry.|That guy's gotta see us."
"Don't worry.|That guy's gotta see us."
These were the confident last words of|the brilliant, young Hollywood star...
James Dean...
as he piloted his Porsche|550 Spyder race car...
toward a date with death...
along a lonely stretch|of a California two-lane blacktop-
Route 466.
"Don't worry.|That guy's gotta see us."
The year:
1955.The day:
September 30.The time:
now.The first star of our show...
is Little Bastard...
James Dean's racing Porsche.
He named it after himself|and had his racing number 130...
painted on it.
Who is that, the announcer?|Do I know him?
That's Vaughan.
He spoke to you at the hospital.
I thought he was|a medical photographer...
doing some sort|of accident research.
He wanted every conceivable detail|about our crash.
When I first met Vaughan|he was a specialist...
in international|computerized traffic systems.
I don't know what he is now.
Which brings us to|the second star.
The stuntman and former race driver|Colin Seagrave.
Colin Seagrave!
He will drive our replica|of James Dean's car.
You up for this?
You bet.
I myself shall play the role of James|Dean's racing mechanic Rolf Vudrich...
sent over from the Porsche factory|in Germany.
This mechanic was himself fated to die|in a car crash in Germany...
The third, and in some ways...
most important player-
the college student,|Donald Turnipseed...
played by movie stuntman|Brett Trask.
Turnipseed was on his way back home|to Fresno for the weekend.
James Dean was on his way|to an automobile race in Salinas.
Salinas was just a dusty town|in Northern California.
The two would meet|for one moment...
but it was a moment...
that would create|a Hollywood legend.
You'll notice that we're not wearing|helmets or safety padding of any kind.
Our cars are not equipped|with roll cages or seat belts.
We rely solely on the skill|of our drivers for our safety...
so that we can bring you|the ultimate in authenticity.
All right.
Here we go.|The fatal crash of James Dean.
Okay, let's wind it up.
Go.
Is this part of the act,|or are they really hurt?
I don't know.|You can never be sure with Vaughan.
This is his show.
Rolf Vudrich...
was thrown from the Porsche...
and spent a year...
in the hospital...
recovering from his injuries.
Donald Turnipseed was found|wandering around in a daze...
but basically unhurt.
James Dean died of a broken neck|and became immortal.
What's the matter?
Help me up.|I'm dizzy. I can't stand.
I know that man Seagrave.
for fines and possible arrest.
Disperse at once.
- How you doin'?|- I'm all right.
- What's the matter with Seagrave?|- He hit his head, I think.
His balance is off.
Why are the police|taking this so seriously?
It's not the police,|it's the Department of Transport.
It's a big joke.|They have no idea who we really are.
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