Hellboy
OMIT:
In a photographic DARKROOM: old optical enlargers, porcelain
trays, timers, and stills hanging out to dry.
GEORGE MATLIN, a slightly obese, nearsighted man in his
seventies.
OLD MATLIN:
Is he real? Oh yeah -- Absolutely.
Super:
CPL. GEORGE MATLIN, combat photographer.OLD MATLIN:
I haven't talked about it for years,
you know?
(looks at the camera)
Everyone called me crazy...
Matlin smiles as he paws through a box of old negatives.
OLD MATLIN:
But I have the negative.
Someone turns on the darkroom's red safety light for an eerie,
dramatic effect.
TECHNICIAN'S VOICE
Get ready, 3-2-1... Roll tape.
OLD MATLIN:
It all started back in �44. I was a
Corps photographer aboard an allied
submarine...
CUT TO:
INT. SUBMARINE HALLWAY - NIGHT
YOUNG MATLIN's hands again paw through a bunch of negatives,
again under a red light. Now, at 21, he's wedged in a
submarine corridor, a crowded maze of pipes and gauges.
35mm still cameras dangle from his neck. He shrinks back as
a squad of MARINES hustles past him, loading weapons.
OLD MATLIN'S VOICE
...off the coast of Scotland.
Classified mission. I was 21...
SGT. WHITMAN, 44, tough as nails, pushes through, his uniform
soaked in sweat.
OLD MATLIN'S VOICE
We had an English civilian on board.
Not much older than me but already
an advisor to President Roosevelt.
"Paranormal" advisor, I kid you not --
Whitman continues down the passageway until he reaches a
small...
INT. SUBMARINE STATEROOM - NIGHT
Within, an incongruously proper young Englishman "reading"
an ancient set of Tarot cards.
OLD MATLIN'S VOICE
His name was Trevor. Profesor Trevor --
WHITMAN:
-- Broom! Topside, now.
TREVOR "BROOM" BRUTTENHOLM is a gaunt, olive-skinned man in
his late twenties. In his hands, a tarot deck. He turns the
cards face up:
THE FOOL, THE MOON...WHITMAN:
The sooner we're done, the better.
Broom grabs a worn-down wooden box full of books and amulets.
It has a leather strap that allows him to carry it, much
like a carpenter's tool box.
BROOM:
This is an important mission, Sgt.
Whitman. I hope you realize that.
WHITMAN:
Oh -- you don't wanna know what I
think. Topside, now.
He moves away. Broom takes a small box and a few amulets.
Before exiting, he pauses and tensely turns the last TAROT
CARD:
THE DEVIL.CUT TO:
OMIT:
INT/EXT. SCOTLAND - TUNNEL - NIGHT
Super:
OCTOBER 9, 1944, SCOTLAND.It's raining like hell now. Soldiers move through a short
tunnel carved into the mountain.
Whitman signals his men to spread out, then comes alongside
Broom.
BROOM:
Sgt. Whitman!! Sgt. Whitman!! May I
have a word??
WHITMAN:
(impatient)
What is it?
BROOM:
In private, if you don't mind...
They enter the remains of a small chapel. Broom produces the
small box. It's full of rosaries.
BROOM:
Your men -- They'll need these --
Whitman scowls and huffs. A life-sized wooden Christ
contemplates the scene from above.
WHITMAN:
You are a Catholic??
BROOM:
Amongst other things, yes -- but
that's hardly the point.
Whitman locks and loads an automatic.
WHITMAN:
Here. You'll need one of these.
BROOM:
I abhor violence.
(Whitman moves away)
Sergeant Whitman, I hope you don't
think me mad --
WHITMAN:
Three days too late for that one,
"professor."
He moves away. Broom looks up to the wooden Christ: It has
no eyes.
EXT. DITCH
MATLIN hauls his tripod and gear and joins the troops on the
move. Broom catches up with Whitman.
WHITMAN:
You're wasting our time: There's
nothing on this island but sheep and
rocks.
BROOM:
Ruins. Not rocks. The remains of
Trondham Abbey. Built on an
intersection of Ley Lines, the
boundaries between our world and the
other --
WHITMAN:
(interrupts him)
What a load of crap. Hell, a week
ago I hadn't even heard the word
parabnormal --
BROOM:
"Paranormal"
(Whitman moves on)
But -- you read the transmission.
WHITMAN:
Half transmission. Nonsense -- German
ghost stories!
BROOM:
I have seen ghosts, Whitman.
WHITMAN:
Oh, I'll bet you have.
Reaching a slope, Matlin sets down his camera. Turning, he
sees lights.
MATLIN:
Sweet Jesus.
Drenched, Broom and Whitman look down upon an impressive
ROMANESQUE RUIN. Under worklights, dozens of NAZI SOLDIERS
swarm among thick stone walls and archways.
BROOM:
They must be here for the sheep.
OMIT:
A dozen German soldiers swiftly assemble a large steel
MACHINE. The work is monitored by a spindly Nazi in BLACK
LEATHER, his face covered by an odd gas mask: KROENEN.
WHITMAN:
The freak in the gas mask --
BROOM:
Karl Ruprecht Kroenen, one of the
Reich's top Scientists. Head of the
Thule Occult Society.
He lowers a pair of binoculars and passes them to Whitman.
BROOM:
If he's here, this is worse than I
thought.
WHITMAN:
(to the radio man)
Air and sea backup. What's closest?
The RADIOMAN cranks a transmitter to life.
RADIO MAN:
Londonderry, sir. Forty minutes away.
BROOM:
We don't have forty minutes.
EXT. ABBEY RUINS - ALTAR AREA - NIGHT
Kroenen throws a switch: On the machine, dozens of gears
respond!
Steam pistons thrust copper rails upright, lifting two mighty
metal rings, not unlike a gyroscope. Kroenen grunts and
signals for more floodlights to be turned on.
The lights flood an ancient sacristy lined with eroded stone
saints. GRIGORY, tall and gaunt, stands naked, arms fully
extended.
GRIGORY:
No matter what happens to me, you
must carry on with the work.
ILSA, a severe, ageless Aryan beauty, reverentially drapes
an embroidered robe over his bony shoulders.
ILSA:
I will not leave you.
GRIGORY:
Yes, you will... Leave me. Deny me.
ILSA:
Never --
He hands her a small LEATHER-BOUND BOOK. It contains hand-
drawn notes and illustrations.
GRIGORY:
This will guide you back to me.
He pulls her close, the clouds of their breath mingling.
GRIGORY:
I grant you everlasting life, youth
He dips his fingers in a wooden bowl full of blood, then
wipes her tears away with a crimson thumb, both a consolation
and a ritual.
VON KRUPT, an acrid German General, wearing dark SCARLET
glasses and LEATHER GLOVES, appears. Looks at his pocket
watch. On the gold lid: a SWASTIKA.
VON KRUPT:
It's time.
OMIT:
EXT. ABBEY RUINS - ALTAR AREA - CEREMONY - NIGHT
Grigory walks towards the machine, its colossal steel and
copper clockworks gleaming in the floodlights.
VON KRUPT:
construction, Grigory. Five years!!
He strides alongside Grigory and Ilsa, who holds an umbrella
to shield her master from the pouring rain.
VON KRUPT:
The furhrer doesn't look kindly on
failure.
GRIGORY:
There will be no failure, General. I
promised Herr Hitler a miracle. I'll
deliver one.
Kroenen mutters excitedly as he opens a polished oak box
containing a massive gold and copper MECHA-GLOVE.
Grigory extends his hand so that KROENEN may fit him with
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"Hellboy" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 21 Nov. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/hellboy_868>.
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