Frankenstein Page #2

GRIGORI:

You can't mean to go on! Our journey is ended!

The best we can hope for now is to get out of this

alive!

(CONTINUED)

5

SAILOR #2

Aye, if the ice ever lets us!

WALTON:

The ice will break. And when it does, we proceed

north ... as planned.

Cries of dismay from the men. Grigori thrusts his arm toward

the sky, pointing at the corpse on the mast.

GRIGORI:

At the cost of how many more lives?

He's interrupted by a long, chilling HOWL. The lead husky

rises to its feet, hackles up, HOWLING at some unseen thing

in the distance. The other dogs start rising around him,

joining in, staring off across the ice.

GRIGORI:

There's something out there.

The dogs are going berserk. The lead husky breaks free and

launches himself across the ice. The men scramble to

restrain the animals, but three more break away and take off

after their leader. Walton snatches up his rifle.

WALTON:

You five come with me! The rest stay with the

ship!

EXT - ARCTIC PANORAMA - TWILIGHT

The Nevsky in the distance. The dogs come howling across the

ice toward us. The men trail substantially behind.

BOOM DOWN to the icy boulders f.g. A massive hand comes

briefly to rest in one of the crags, ghastly gray skin

rippling with harsh ligaments and sinewy veins, brutal

surgical scars marring the wrist. A HUGE DARK FIGURE wipes

frame, fleeing into the rocks. The dogs come bounding past

in pursuit, snarling and slavering.

THE RUNNING MEN hear an INHUMAN HOWL rise amidst those of

the dogs. A vicious free-for-all echoes from the rocks.

Barking gives way to shrill squeals. An object is launched

from the crags, catapulted through the air in a high arc.

Some men slip and fall as the object slams to the ground

with tremendous impact before them ...

...and they find themselves staring in horror At the sight

of the lead dog. Silence now. Those who have fallen, rise.

Walton c*cks his rifle. The group proceeds, picks and axes

held ready, slowly skirting the rocks ...

(CONTINUED)

6

... and the massacre is revealed. Blood-stained ice. Dead,

mangled animals strewn about. One twitching survivor crawls

toward them on broken limbs, whining piteously, dragging its

entrails in a red smear.

GRIGORI:

Look.

They follow his gaze. Bloody tracks lead away from the

bodies, ascending the rocks. Most are smeared and vague ...

but one is clearly a bare human footprint. Several men

cross themselves. Walton shoulders the rifle, aims down at

the surviving dog. BLAM! A single bullet to the brain ends

its misery, punching a halo of blood onto the ice. The shot

echoes for miles.

WALTON:

Back to the ship.

EXT - NEVSKY - ESTABLISHING - NIGHT

Silhouetted against the aurora borealis. The horizon swirls

mysteriously with color and light. Distant slivers of

lightning kiss the earth. Men keep watch in furtive groups,

huddled against the cold, breath punching the air with

billows of vapor. A massive CRACKLING is heard. A YOUNG

SAILOR spins, jumpy.

OLD SAILOR:

Only the ice to starboard, boy.

YOUNG SAILOR:

Is it breaking up?

OLD SAILOR:

Just dancing on the current. It'll freeze even

tighter come next wind

CAMERA DRIFTS past to another group:

SAILOR #4

It was a polar bear. That's what I say.

SAILOR #5

Say all you want, but you weren't there. It left

human tracks.

SAILOR #6

No man could tear those dogs apart

SAILOR #5

No human. We've roused a demon from the ice.

(CONTINUED)

7

CLANG-CLANG! The men spin. A SAILOR on starboard has rung

the signal bell. The men race over, crowding the gunwale.

SAILOR:

Something. In the mist.

Walton appears from his cabin and crowds his way to the

front, rifle aimed at the sky. The men wait. Holding their

breath. Scanning the darkness.

AN APPARITION looms eerily from the mist on a creaking floe

of ice, silhouetted by the shifting light of the borealis.

The figure's pose is uncanny and weird: neither standing nor

kneeling, but something in between, arm dangling at its side

and lolling slowly with the motion of the current.

YOUNG SAILOR:

It's the demon! Shoot while you've a chance!

The Pilot lights the kerosene wick of a reflector box"

spotlight and swings it around. The beam seeks out the

specter and pins it in a dim circle of light ... revealing a

man collapsed on a dog sled, lashed to tiller upright

stanchions with frozen leather straps, Dead dogs lie in icy

heaps around him.

EXT - NEVSKY - NIGHT

The men venture onto the shifting ice with lanterns raised.

Grappling lines are unslung and thrown, the ice floe

snagged. Gaffs reach out, drawing it closer. Men clasp arms,

forming a human chain. Grigori is the first to reach the

motionless figure on the dog sled.

WALTON:

Dead?

Grigori cautiously eases his hand into the darkness of the

furred hood to search the neck for a pulse ...

... and the figure scares the s-hit out of him. With a

convulsive shudder and a gasping intake of breath, the hood

rises up, revealing a haggard face tortured white with

frost, beard frozen solid, eyes blazingly intelligent and

aware. Walton finds himself in an extended beat of eye

contact with VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN.

EXT - NEVSKY - ON DECK - NIGHT

A HOWLING WIND has kicked up, pelting the huddled sentries

with sleet. CAMERA TRACKS past, moving steadily toward the

dimly-glowing window of Walton's cabin ...

(CONTINUED)

8

INT - WALTON'S CABIN - NIGHT

... where we find Walton and Grigori in tense discussion:

GRIGORI:

Captain, I implore you. The men are frightened

and angry. They want your assurance.

WALTON:

They knew the risks when they signed on. I've

come too far to turn back now.

GRIGORI:

Then you run the danger of pushing them to

mutiny.

Walton pulls a pistol from his drawer and slams it flat on

the table before him.

WALTON:

(low, tight)

Let them try.

Grigori is taken aback. He hears a shifting of blankets and

glances to the captain's bed. Walton follows his look.

Frankenstein has awakened and is watching them.

Grigori exits, uneasy under Frankenstein's gaze. Walton

rises, retrieves a pot from the stove.

WALTON:

You're awake. I've prepared some broth. It'll

help restore you.

VICTOR:

(hoarse, faltering)

I'm ... dying.

Victor draws a hand from under the blanket and holds it

before his face. Fingers skeletal and black.

VICTOR:

Frostbite. Gangrene. A simple diagnosis.

WALTON:

Are you a physician?

VICTOR:

(faint smile)

How is it you come to be here?

(CONTINUED)

9

WALTON:

There's a startling question, coming from you.

(beat)

I'm captain of this ship. We sailed from

Archangel a month ago, seeking a passage to the

North Pole.

VICTOR:

Ah. An explorer.

WALTON:

Would-be. I'm plagued with my share of

difficulties just at the moment.

VICTOR:

I heard.

WALTON:

I can't say I blame them. We're trapped in this

ice and bedeviled by some sort of ... creature.

VICTOR:

Creature? A ... human like creature?

WALTON:

(stunned)

You know of it?

VICTOR:

Your men are right to be afraid.

WALTON:

Then explain it, whatever it is. It could save

the voyage. I've spent years planning this. My

entire fortune

VICTOR:

You'd persist at the cost of your own life? The

lives of your crew?

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