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Point Break Page #10
- R
- Year:
- 1991
- 122 min
- 961 Views
PAPPAS:
When you two are done makin' out, I
need to talk to you.
"PSYCHO-STICK" T-SHIRT
Hey, I ain't no butt-bouncer, dude.
We're from the valley. Mall babes
'n sh*t.
The kids proudly high-five.
PAPPAS:
I just want to know if you surf here
a lot.
"PASSION FOR SLASHIN'" T-SHIRT
Sh*t yeah, like totally everyday
when it's jammin'. What is this,
f***ing narco entrapment or what,
dude?
Pappas flashes his FBI star. He whips out a pair of
scissors.
Brandishes them like some over-the-hill "Jason".
PAPPAS:
Not exactly, dudes.
Row of SURFMOBILES parked along a cliff, facing the ocean,
doors open, stereos blasting, SURFERS hanging, sitting on
hoods.
Utah moves along the cars, looking surfed-out.
He's tanned, relaxed. Hair starting to bleach out. One
of the tribe.
UTAH:
Whoa, brah, easy now... Don't move!
(Utah bends close,
reaching for Surf-
Rat's ear)
Got some huge sucker crawling into
your--
(he plucks at a tuft
of hair)
Got it! Uuuughhh.
SURF-RAT
Leave some f***in' hair, man!
Utah squashes, then inspects the mysterious creepy-crawler
hidden in his palm. He wipes his hand on his towel, which
he keeps balled up in his other hand.
SURF-RAT
What was it?
UTAH:
Saved your butt, bro. Close one.
Utah shivers in disgust, then coyly turns and walks away.
The surf-rat desperately pats his ear for traces.
CUT TO:
A long series of ENVELOPES are displayed on a desk. Each
has the name of a Southern California beach and is
attached to a forensic printout.
HALSEY inspects each envelope.
HALSEY:
Naw, this isn't it.
UTAH holds up an envelope with a skinny woven ponytail
sticking out.
PAPPAS shrugs.
PAPPAS:
He moved.
Halsey picks up an envelope marked "Latigo Beach".
HALSEY:
PCBs, selenium, titanium, arsenic.
The percentages look right. Here's
a match.
UTAH:
Latigo Beach.
Pappas grabs the envelope, studies it, crooks his head.
PAPPAS:
Surf's up, ace.
CUT TO:
EXTREME LONG LENS scans the beach from a height. A gray,
miserable day. Beach crowd thin except for diehards.
The image drifts across faces, BODIES. Surfers walking
with boards.
Talking, sitting with pubescent girls.
The image settles on Johnny, astride his board, bobbing
beyond the break.
ON PAPPAS, scanning with powerful binoculars from his car.
CLOSE ON UTAH, out among the flock of hardcore surfers.
Ostensibly waiting for a wave, his eyes search the others
around him, clicking methodically from face to face.
Finally he swings his board around and awkwardly catches a
ride.
The modest wave carries him toward the beach as he
balances, tense and style-less.
He passes someone we've seen before. The RAZORHEAD from
the first day. In concentration, Johnny doesn't see the
guy.
But Razorhead definitely sees him.
JOHNNY reaches the beach and jogs up the sand. He picks
up a towel and talks into it as he dries his hair. A
glimpse of the walkie-talkie hidden beneath.
UTAH:
Big zippo so far. How about you?
PAPPAS (RADIO)
Patience hotshot. Patience. It'll
be subtle, if it's here at all.
PAPPAS WATCHES as Johnny crosses toward the outside shower
next to the public restroom.
LONG LENS view of Utah passing OUT OF SIGHT behind the
building.
AT THE SHOWER Johnny sets down his gear and opens his
wetsuit to the warm, salt-free jet of water. TRACKING
SLOWLY IN on him as he lets it pour over his face.
A HAND ENTERS FRAME, shutting off the water suddenly.
TIGHT ON UTAH, his eyes opening.
REVERSE, revealing RAZORHEAD and THREE OTHERS.
They are powerfully built SURF-NAZIS.
Scalps shaved on the sides. Hair military short on top,
lengthening into pigtails in the back. Tattoos. Wrist
chains.
TONE, ARCHBOLD and WARCHILD. The one who socked Utah
before is BUNKER. They spread out flanking him.
WARCHILD:
This the guy?
BUNKER:
Yeah.
UTAH:
(good natured)
Okay, so this is where you tell me
all about how locals rule and yuppie
insects like me shouldn't be surfing
your break and all that, right?
BUNKER:
No.
TONE:
Waste of time.
WARCHILD:
We're just going to f*** you up.
UTAH:
Oh.
As they lunge, Utah grabs his board and swings it in a
whistling roundhouse. Its edge slams Warchild in the gut
and folds him double. The bad news is... Warchild gets an
arm around it and brings a pile-driver hammer-punch down.
The board splits into two pieces.
Utah drops his end as the others close. A flurry of
punches and kicks, most of which he blocks. But he's lost
the offensive.
Bunker takes him to his knees with a vicious karate-style
side-kick.
TIGHT ON Utah's towel, talking with Pappas' voice.
PAPPAS:
Johnny? You there?
ANGELO gets out of the car fast. He jogs twenty feet and
raises the binoculars. Catches a glimpse of the carnage
around the edge of the building. Breaks into a run,
massive legs pistoning.
JOHNNY HITS THE GROUND hard. He rolls and comes up fast.
The razorhead brothers are a little surprised.
ARCHBOLD:
The dude can fight!
Warchild grabs Utah from behind. Gets him in a headlock.
Archbold and Tone pin his arms. Bunker starts working him
like a practice bag. At this moment, Johnny is getting
the proverbial sh*t beat out of him.
SUDDENLY, a new figure blurs INTO FRAME.
BODHI seizes Bunker and flings him aside. He spins with
remarkable agility and drives his heel into Warchild's
face.
Utah breaks free, staggering back on the sand. The fight
Bodhi is at his side -- holding the others at bay with a
raised hand and an evil look.
BODHI:
Back off! Now!! Just let it go!
BUNKER:
Stay outta this, Bodhi!
BODHI:
He's with me. Now back off.
Seriously.Just do it!
(they relax slightly)
You alright Warchild?
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"Point Break" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 30 Aug. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/point_break_730>.
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