Gattaca Page #8

High up the side of a building, washing windows, VINCENT pauses

occasionally to practice typing commands on his cardboard keys -

viewing a screen in his imagination - or the nightsky itself.

He hears his name being called.

GERMAN:

Vincent...Vincent...

VINCENT:

(staring through his glasses)

German, is that you?

GERMAN:

Vincent, come down. I've found him.

INT. IN-VALID HOUSING PROJECT. NIGHT.

GERMAN leads VINCENT through a maze of corridors.

JEROME (VO)

For the genetically superior, success

is easier to attain but is by no means

guaranteed. After all, there is no gene

for fate. And when, for one reason or

another, a member of the elite falls on

hard times, their genetic identity becomes

a valued commodity for the unscrupulous.

One man's loss is another man's gain.

He gives a conspiratorial nod to another passing DNA BROKER,

both men carrying their palm-top computers.

GERMAN:

(enthusiastically reading from data on

his portable screen as he walks)

He has the heart of an ox. He could run

through a Goddamn wall--if he could still run.

Actually, he was a big college swimming star.

VINCENT:

I hope he's not just a body.

GERMAN:

No problem. Before he dropped out he was

an honor student, the right majors--

VINCENT:

How do I square the accident?

GERMAN:

(still reading data from his

palm-top computer)

It happened in Australasia. He checked

in yesterday. No family complications, no

record he ever broke his neck. As far as

anybody's concerned, he's still a walking,

talking, fully-productive member of society.

You just have to get him off the pipe and

fill in the last two years of his life.

(correcting himself)

Excuse me, your life.

German has stopped walking as if they have arrived.

VINCENT:

(looking around for a likely

candidate but finding none)

Where is he?

German reaches towards a PARAPLEGIC sitting in his wheelchair

in the stairwell directly in front of them, his head slumped, an

incriminating bong nestled in his lap. German pulls the man's

head up by the hair. EUGENE. Depsite the patchy, unkempt

beard and thick glaze over his eyes he bears a striking

similarity to Vincent. Vincent holds a mirror beside the face

of the lethargic Eugene to compare his own reflection.

GERMAN:

(smiling confidently

What did I tell you? Which one's the mirror?

VINCENT:

(still not fully convinced)

That's the hair color in his profile?

German checks an entry in his computer: "HAIR: BLONDE"

GERMAN:

Yeah.

VINCENT:

(touching his own dark strands)

I'd have to bleach my hair.

GERMAN:

(irritated, impatient)

Why are you inventing problems? You two

are a couple of goddam clones. You look

so right together, I want to double my fee.

VINCENT:

(a thought occurs, addressing the

paraplegic for the first time)

How tall are you?

EUGENE:

(deadpan)

Four foot six.

Vincent grins, realizing that Eugene is referring to his seated

height. There is an instant connection between the two men.

VINCENT:

Okay, how tall did you used to be?

EUGENE:

(apathetic, still under the

influence of whatever he's been smoking)

Six one.

VINCENT:

(to German, disappointed)

He's too tall.

GERMAN:

(shrugs)

You can wear lifts.

VINCENT:

Even with lifts I'm never that tall.

GERMAN:

There's a way.

INT. BACKSTREET SURGERY. NIGHT.

In a primitive operating theatre, VINCENT lies on a table, his

lower legs masked off for surgery. The SURGEON switches on a

surgical saw and lines it up with handdrawn incision marks.

Metal struts are ready to elongate his legs.

INT. IN-VALID HOUSING PROJECT - APARTMENT. DAY.

GERMAN wheels the dazed EUGENE into the apartment, cluttered

with space paraphenalia. One wheel of his rusting wheelchair is

flimsily held on with wire. VINCENT follows behind on crutches,

both lower legs in casts and cross-braces. Vincent signs the

contract German puts in front of him.

EXT. STREET OUTSIDE A BAR. DAY.

EUGENE, glassy-eyed, strides out of a bar, past camera and into

the street. We hear a squeal of brakes and a sickening thud.

INT. HOUSING PROJECT - APARTMENT. DAY.

EUGENE awakens with a scream, bathed in sweat, arms bound to a

bed - the only real piece of furniture in the room. VINCENT,

sitting on a crate beside him, soaking a towel in a bowl of

water, is taken by surprise. Eugene continues to scream and

thrash, fighting against his bindings. Vincent stuffs the towel

into Eugene's mouth and holds onto his arms.

JEROME (VO)

I confess, at first I wondered if I had rescued

a man who was already dead.

INT. HOUSING PROJECT - APARTMENT - BATHROOM. NIGHT.

VINCENT holds EUGENE's head over the toilet bowl as he vomits

violently. Eugene's paralysis and Vincent's broken legs make

the operation doubly difficult.

Finally Eugene has nothing left in his stomach to vomit. He

drops to the floor in exhaustion. Vincent, also exhausted from

the effort of holding Eugene over the bowl, joins him on the

broken linoleum. Both men stare up at the ceiling that carries

a map of the constellation.

VINCENT:

You okay, Jerome?

EUGENE:

(ironically referring to

their mutual immobility)

Yeah. You want to go dancing tonight?

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