Men in Black Page #13

KAY:

(picking something up)

Here. A new recording device to

replace CD's. So now I gotta buy the

White Album again?

(something else)

This is amusing. Universal translator.

He holds up a cylindrical metal tube and a small wire clip

that looks like a lapel microphone.

KAY:

We're not supposed to have it. I'll

tell you why. Human thought is so

primitive it's considered an

infectious disease. Makes you proud,

doesn't it?

Edwards picks up a small yellow ball from one of the shelves.

EDWARDS:

What's this?

KAY:

Don't touch that!

THE BALL ZINGS OUT OF EDWARDS' HANDS -- it flies out into

the main complex -- hits the ceiling and ricochets around

the room, faster than the eye can follow --

VARIOUS SHOTS OF HUMANS AND ALIENS ducking, dodging, and

jumping out of its way.

ON KAY as he calmly, a little wearily, slips an odd-looking

metal glove over his right hand...

He raises his hand and the yellow ball zings into it -- Kay

catches the ball, calmly.

KAY:

Caused the '77 New York blackout.

Practical joke by the Great Attractor.

He thought it was funny as hell.

They leave the room.

EDWARDS:

Sorry!

ON THE MAIN FLOOR, they walk briskly across the room, reaching

a giant screen on the far wall.

KAY:

Observation, the heart of our little

endeavor.

The screen displays a map of the world on which thousands of

tiny lights blink in all parts of the globe, log lines of

data flashing next to them.

KAY:

This map shows the location of every

registered alien on earth at any

given time. Some of them we keep

under constant surveillance.

He hits a button on the console and the map is replaced by

hundreds of boxes, each with smaller video images.

KAY:

Everyone on these screens is an alien.

In public -- normal. In private --

you'll get the idea.

ON THE SCREENS, we see live images of aliens. Aliens who

look alien are in spots where they can't be seen. Aliens who

look human are functioning right out in public -- including

SAM DONALDSON. MICHAEL JACKSON. And TONY ROBBINS.

KAY:

Meet the twins.

Kay gestures to two small, bony CREATURES with eight arms

each and a single eye growing out of a central stalk in their

heads. They turn around and wave two or three arms each.

EDWARDS:

I gotta be honest about something.

KAY:

It makes no sense?

EDWARDS:

It makes perfect sense. When I was a

third grader in Philadelphia, they

told me I was crazy 'cause I swore

that our teacher was from, like,

Venus or something.

KAY:

Mrs. Edelson.

Edwards, stunned, looks at Kay as 4-Eyes boots her onto the

screen:
Mean face, cat glasses. Bony fingers. Extremely well-

hidden tail.

KAY:

Jupiter, actually. Well, one of the

moons.

With their remaining arms, they punch button after button on

the enormous console. ZED, who was standing up close to the

screen, walks over to Edwards, sizing him up.

ZED:

What's your jacket size, Edwards?

EDWARDS:

Uh -- forty regular.

ZED:

Then let's put it on.

EDWARDS:

Put what on?

ZED:

The last suit you'll ever wear.

CUT TO:

INT. MIB BUILDING - LOCKER ROOM - DAY

Like the rest of the place, the MIB locker room is all white.

White walls, white floor, white ceiling, white lockers. ZED'S

VOICE comes over:

ZED (O.S.)

From now on, you'll dress only in

attire specially sanctioned by MIB

Special Services.

EDWARDS reaches out and opens a white locker, revealing a

BLACK SUIT hung from a hanger in the middle. Above it, on

the shelf, a BLACK HAT and a pair of BLACK SUNGLASSES. On

the bottom, a pair of SHINY BLACK SHOES.

INT. MIB BUILDING - HEADQUARTERS - DAY

KAY is at a computer terminal. On screen are Edwards's birth

certificate, driver's license, social security card, library

card, everything. ZED'S VOICE continues:

ZED (O.S.)

You'll conform to the identity we

give you, eat where we tell you,

live where we tell you, get approval

for any expenditure over a hundred

dollars.

INT. MIB BUILDING LASER BOOTH - DAY

EDWARDS stands in a cramped white booth.

He holds both his hands on a TEN-FINGERED KEYPAD, pressing

down hard. The pad glows red, a SEARING sound comes from his

hands, and he grimaces as more lasers instantly and (not at

all) painlessly change his fingerprints.

Rate this script:3.8 / 4 votes