Point Break Page #2

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. PACIFIC OCEAN - DAY

Red sky. A luminous Pacific. Five foot faces. Nice

curl. A lineup of SURFERS wait outside the break.

Silhouetted, bobbing like a pack of sea mammals.

INT./ EXT. TAXI

A flood of orange through the windshield as the cab crawls

down Ocean Park to the sea. CAMERA HANDHELD from the back

seat.

The driver turns to us.

DRIVER:

Anywhere? You don't care?

UTAH (V.O.)

Anywhere. I've just never seen the

ocean before.

CUT TO:

EXT. VENICE BEACH

JOHNNY UTAH trudging across the sand, holding his shoes.

Garment bag and a big duffel over his shoulder.

He looks silly in his dark suit, tie loosened, wearing a

turned around baseball cap.

He wiggles his toes in the sand, looks around like a kid.

A pack of BOUNCING BEAUTIES jog through frame.

Utah grins, reaches up and turns his cap around.

It reads "I Love L.A."

CUT TO:

EXT. FEDERAL BUILDING

Looking down the face of the concrete monolith at Wilshire

and Veteran. Ant-like, Johnny Utah's tiny figure moves

toward the entrance.

VOICE (OVER)

Day One in LA, special agent Utah.

You may have been top two percent of

your class at Quantico but you have

exactly zero hours in the field

here. You know nothing...

INT. FEDERAL BUILDING - FBI BULLPEN

Supervising Agent BEN HARP leads Utah across the bullpen.

Rows of desks. Agents sitting at computer terminals.

Data hell. Looks like he got a job at Xerox.

HARP:

You know less than nothing. If you

even knew that you knew nothing, at

least that would be something, but

you don't.

UTAH:

Yes, sir.

Utah is wearing a suit, carrying a briefcase. Harp is

mid-thirties, confident of stride, tanned of skin, perfect

of hair. GQ. Aggressive.

HARP:

Eating solid breakfasts, Utah?

UTAH:

Sir?

HARP:

All the food groups? Avoiding

sugar? Caffeine? I see to it that

my people maintain cardiovascular

fitness. We stay off hard liquor,

cigarettes...

UTAH:

(poker face)

I take the skin off chicken.

Harp glances at him, eyes narrowing. They reach a

glassed-in compound of small offices. Harp swings the

door open and the other agents look up as Utah enters.

HARP:

This is us. Bank Robbery. And

you're in the bank-robbery capital

of the world--

UTAH:

1322 last year in LA county. Up 26

percent from the year before.

HARP:

That's right. And we nailed over a

thousand of them. We did it by

crunching data. Good crime-scene

work, good lab work, good data-base

analysis. Nobody had to tackle a

car once. You getting the signal,

special agent?

UTAH:

Zero distortion, sir.

He picks up a donut from someone's desk, a succulent

glazed jelly.

UTAH:

I love these things.

He looks right at Harp. Takes a big f***-you bite.

HARP:

You're a real blue-flame special,

aren't you, Utah? I don't know why

they sent you to LA. Must be an

a**hole shortage.

UTAH:

Not so far.

CUT TO:

UNDERWATER:

A blue field with a pulsing network of rippling lines.

VOOM! A figure rockets down INTO FRAME in a curtain of

bubbles. A gawky AGENT, in less than stylish FBI trunks,

flails around blindfolded looking for bricks at the bottom

of a pool.

INT. GYMNASIUM POOL - DAY

The pool casts wavy distortions upon TWO DOZEN MEN, all

grumbling as they stand in line, wearing T-shirts with FBI

logos, sweats and sneakers. We hear a splash, and the men

shuffle forward.

PAPPAS (V.O.)

The dolls love this baby. It brings

them luck when they rub it -- right

between their buttons.

CLOSE ON tape measure wrapped around a generous belly.

PULL BACK to reveal VETERAN AGENT COREY measuring the

ample waist of ANGELO PAPPAS. This 54 year old silver

haired Greek stands rubbing his belly like a Zulu chief.

COREY:

Angelo, we need a bigger tape.

PAPPAS:

Just read the goddamn number.

COREY:

Still a 46. Maybe we can cinch it

down, wear a girdle--

PAPPAS:

Screw you and this holistic fitness

crap! At least my arms don't flap

in the wind.

Corey secretly squeezes his bicep as...

A whistle blows. A broad shouldered MAN wearing an FBI

cap barks at the Greek.

BIG SHOULDERS:

Okay, Pappas, let's put on the

blindfold. Wanna see you retrieve

at least two bricks from the bottom.

JOHNNY UTAH enters the pool area in the distance. Says

something to one of the agents. Is pointed toward us as--

Corey ties the blindfold and guides Pappas to the edge of

the pool.

PAPPAS:

I've been in the field 33 years,

fired my piece 23 times in the line

of duty, and I got no idea what a

blind man fetching bricks has gotta

do with being a Special Agent!

Johnny has walked up. Pappas, blindfolded, turns directly

to Utah as he continues, thinking it's Corey.

PAPPAS:

Added to which indignity, I got

three months left to retirement and

they saddle me with some blue-flamer

fresh out of Quantico for a partner.

Some quarterback punk, Johnny Unitas

or something.

UTAH:

The sh*t they pull, huh?

Pappas snorts agreement and cannonballs into the pool.

Huge backblast of water. The other agents hoot and

holler.

Corey swears and wipes off his clipboard.

Johnny steps to the edge, looks down.

We see the blindfolded Pappas groveling along the bottom.

The other agents cheer as Pappas heads for the surface.

COREY:

Here he comes. Hold up a fish,

he'll take it right outta your hand.

Pappas surfaces in an explosion of spray as he sputters

for breath. He grabs the edge and angrily slaps two

bricks on the tiles. He rips off the blindfold looks up

and frowns.

A HAND ENTERS FRAME to help him up. Pappas takes it and

Johnny hauls him on deck.

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