Point Break Page #5

Pappas starts to smile. Suddenly, he jumps up onto his

desk, gets down in a speed-crouch, arms extended.

PAPPAS:

(to one and all)

The Ex-Presidents rip off banks to

finance their endless summer!

Johnny watches, grinning. The night security GUARD walks

in. Utah turns to the guard, shrugs.

UTAH:

I think he needs a vacation.

The guard nods understanding.

CUT TO:

INT. SURFSHOP - MALIBU PIER - DAY

Long stack-up rack of gleaming SURFBOARDS.

A HAND reaches in, pulling out a board from the middle of

the deck.

JOHNNY UTAH hefts it. Sights along it. Trying to look

familiar with alien equipment. Behind him is a whip-thin

15 YEAR OLD SALESMAN. Nut-brown with platinum hair,

jammed day-glo shorts, sleeveless T-shirt, unlaced Ug-

boots.

15

Highest performance, very kind. If

you want to get aggro, man, this

stick can handle your best rage.

Where you surf?

UTAH:

I don't.

15

Whoa!! Back up! This's a 5'6" tri-

fin squash-tail thruster. You'd eat

major sh*t on this, dude.

ACROSS THE ROOM we see Pappas trying on purple wraparound

sunglasses.

The salespunk pulls down a wide board with a garish

firebird paint scheme. Like a lowrider flame-job. The

logo reads "Dance with the Universe."

15

Here, you need a rhino chaser like

this one to learn on. Good board.

I mean for a pig board.

Utah hefts the board. Scowls. Hates anything he's not

great at.

PAPPAS sets his purchases on a counter: the glasses, some

plutonium-pink shorts, T-shirts, sun-block. The GIRL

behind the counter is sixteen, barely contained in a

macrame bikini-top and "Dolphin" shorts. Angelo picks up

a package of Sex Wax from a rack. Sniffs it.

PAPPAS:

(reading the label)

"Best for your stick", huh? This

might not be enough. I better get

two.

The girl stifles a grin. Thinks he's cute. At the other

end of the counter, 15 is ringing up Utah's board.

15

Hey, man, guys your age learning to

surf, it's cool, there's nothing

wrong with it.

UTAH:

I'm twenty-five.

15

See that's what I'm saying, it's

never too late.

Utah picks up the board and moves to leave.

15

Hope you stay with it. Surfin's

the source. It'll change your life.

Swear to God.

EXT. MALIBU PIER - DAY

Utah and Pappas walking back to the car.

Two FBI agents in suits and ties walking with a day-glo

orange surfboard. Surreal image. The ocean shimmers in

B.G.

PAPPAS:

Johnny, it's the only way.

UTAH:

Why can't I just walk around with

this thing under my arm and act

stoned? Ask a few questions.

Angelo stops at the railing, points toward the ocean.

PAPPAS:

Look. Look at them out there.

LONG LENS on packs of surfers sitting outside. Bobbing

slowly. Hunched like sea birds. Waiting for an unseen

sign. Disappearing and reappearing beyond the break.

PAPPAS:

They're like some kind of tribe.

Got their own language. You can't

just walk up to these guys. You've

got to get out there. Learn some

moves. Get into their head. Pick

up the speech.

UTAH:

Angelo, this stuff is for little

rubber people who don't shave yet.

PAPPAS:

It's all balance, right? And

coordination. How hard can it be?

CUT TO:

EXT. SURFRIDER BEACH - DAY

WHAAAAAM! Johnny is CLOBBERED by a wave.

He's flipped off his board and hits the water face-first

as the wave crashes over him. Other surfers steer clear.

PAPPAS lounges in a beach chair in his plutonium pink

shorts, purple Vuarnet's and a T-shirt emblazoned with

"Surf This" across the chest. A picnic basket sits close

at hand. He winces at Utah's wipeout. Shouts from his

beach chair.

PAPPAS:

I think you gotta hit them straight

on!

UTAH:

(out of breath)

Got it...

UTAH holds the tip steady, gouges the face of a wave and

squirts out the other side. Another wave rises and Utah

glides up over the hump. He clears the swell and the

ocean suddenly smooths out like a giant lake. Triumphant

over having made the lineup, he sits up on the board, and

falls over.

PAPPAS slices a green apple, some feta cheese and eats off

the knife.

UTAH climbs back on his board. WHISTLES and HOOTS sound

as SURFERS spot a new swell. Utah watches as the regulars

start catching rides. Suddenly he feels like a lost dog

on a busy freeway.

A young LOCAL in a neon wetsuit slashes past him, inches

away.

LOCAL:

Outta the way, you dick!

Another, shredding viciously, is blasting toward him.

LOCAL 2

Move it, kook!

Johnny paddles rapidly, ducks under.

Sees another, bigger wave coming.

Pissed off... at himself, at the downy-cheeked hotshots,

at the frustration, he turns his board around and starts

paddling hard.

He somehow gets the soles of his feet in contact with the

top of the board, then struggles up. He's standing --

sort of.

Arms pinwheeling, he topples in a nasty crash...

Right in front of a SHAVED-HEAD SURFER on full

afterburner.

Johnny vanishes in an explosion of spray. His board

SHOOTS OUT.

It SMASHES SIDEWAYS INTO RAZORHEAD.

The guy does an ugly endo.

Utah comes up GASPING for air, arms flailing.

His board, floating a few feet away, tugging at his ankle.

He drapes his torso across the board and pants for breath.

Razorhead, already back on his board, paddles over.

Points to a small dent in the fiberglass.

RAZORHEAD:

You dinged my board, kook!!

Utah looks up in apology as--

A CRUSHING RIGHT HOOK SMACKS HIS FACE!

Knocks him under.

Razorhead pulls a KNIFE from a sheath held by a thong

around his neck. As Johnny surfaces, Razorhead slashes in

a vicious arc--

Severing Utah's leash, close to the board.

His flame-job surfboard bobs away.

RAZORHEAD:

Politeness counts, A**HOLE!

The surf punk plunges under a wave, disappearing.

UTAH:

Goddamn son-of-a--

Before Utah can finish, another wave engulfs him and he

tumbles to shore, Razorhead nowhere to be seen.

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