Point Break Page #6

ON PAPPAS as Johnny's flame-job board washes in at his

feet. He calmly picks it up as Utah staggers INTO FRAME

out of the knee-deep whitewash. Johnny rubs his jaw.

Spits blood.

PAPPAS:

Kid, maybe this ain't your sport.

Utah grabs the board out of Pappas' hands and stalks off

across the beach.

INT. UTAH'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Johnny dead asleep. Silence. Then BRRRRR!!

He jacknifes up like he just took 20,000 volts. His eyes

read panic. He rolls up, legs scissor against tangled

sheets and he collapses over empty boxes. He stumbles

like a blind man through the mess until he finds--

A tiny Indianapolis Colts FOOTBALL HELMET with a digital

clock for eyes. 5:00 a.m. Johnny emits a drawn out

groan.

EXT. OCEAN - DAWN

Deafening BOOM as a monster wave CRASHES below a sky the

color of slate. A distant Pacific storm has brought the

swell. 10 foot faces. Glassy, green walls the size of

houses beckoning from beyond the soup.

A lone FIGURE bobbing out beyond the break.

The surfer disappears behind the swell.

Then REAPPEARS, grinning across the smooth offshore

barrel.

UTAH wearing a wetsuit stands beside his surfboard,

craning forward to get a better look.

The surfer is a WOMAN.

She moves with liquid grace, in perfect harmony with the

sea, long hair flying out behind her. She undulates like

a dancer.

Dipping, carving, slicing, making it look sooooo easy.

Johnny shakes his head. Oh man, if she can do it...

UTAH:

F*** it.

He stands, grabs his board and heads out into the icy

foam.

OCEAN BREAK:

A horizon of whitecaps churn behind him.

He lies on his board, rising and dropping with the swell.

So far so good. He spots a wave. A fluid gray-green

house rising, forever rising. Utah turns. Paddles. The

house catching him, lifting him high upon its roof.

Utah is committed. He gets to his feet as his board

slices along the lip. He peers over the falls, down the

face -- holy sh*t! -- it looks like Niagara. He loses

balance and spirals airborne, falling bullseye into the

IMPACT ZONE. The entire force of the wave crashing upon

him, plunging him down into the--

WASHING MACHINE (UNDERWATER)

where he SPINS like a whirling dervish, LASHED to a

slamdancing surfboard at the mercy of God.

He is held prisoner in a grey-green churning nightmare,

like a six-ton pit bull has him by the neck, shaking him.

He looks around. Can't tell up from down.

WHAM! His head slams into the bottom -- rocks and sand.

Stunned, he struggles toward the light, finally bursting

to the--

SURFACE. Gasping for breath.

The good news is he's breathing, the bad news is he's

surfaced in the impact zone. Another wave crashes down,

stuffing him back into the washing machine. Leaving no

sign of life in the white froth. The orangeade surfboard

launches high into the sky, spinning like a misfiring

Trident missile, trailing its broken leash like a kite

tail.

IN THE WASHING MACHINE, Utah tumbles in a cold green hell.

His chest is convulsing, needing air now.

Suddenly a FIGURE lunges down INTO FRAME.

A hand snatches a fistful of his hair and yanks him

toward--

THE SURFACE. The WOMAN SURFER bursts through the foam.

Grabs her board for leverage. Hauls Utah's head above the

water with one strong arm.

He is choking, coughing, slapping fatigued arms against

the surf, panic registering in his movements.

WOMAN SURFER:

(yelling above the

roar)

Swim, goddammit! Come on! Move

it!

The woman gets her board under one of his arms for support

and sidekicks fiercely into the wave, holding him in a

painful grip.

With powerful strokes, she helps Utah make it to calmer

water outside the break. The big waves, just forming up,

lift them and drop them as they pass. Muted thunder when

the waves hit the beach. She drags him half onto her

surfboard.

Practically slamming his face into the board.

He's coughing out saltwater.

ON THE WOMAN, our first good look at her.

She is EXQUISITE. Hair slicked tight to her high-

cheekboned face, she looks sleek and feral, with eyes that

burn bright.

Especially when she's pissed.

WOMAN:

Look crazy son of a b*tch! You

wanna commit suicide, you do it

someplace else!

She undoes her leash and swims rapidly off, returning in a

few seconds with Johnny's board. He takes it from her and

flops over it, still coughing.

Wipes at the salt-snot running out of his nose.

There is a cut over his eye from when he re-arranged the

rocks on the bottom.

WOMAN:

Look at this pig-board piece-a-sh*t.

It's still got the price tag on it,

for Chrissakes. What'd you do, buy

it yesterday? You've got no

business out here whatsoever.

Still gagging and gasping, Johnny manages a goofy grin.

UTAH:

Well, I saw you and--

WOMAN:

Yeah, you saw me and you figured

that if a mere girl can do it, a big

strong stud like you shouldn't have

any problem. Right?! Well you

figured wrong, dork!

She yanks her board around and strokes powerfully away

from him.

UTAH:

Hey! Uh, how do I get back in?

WOMAN:

(without turning)

Carefully, tough guy. Very

carefully.

UTAH:

(yelling now)

My name's Johnny Utah!

WOMAN:

Who cares!

UTAH:

I'm telling you so when you look

back on this moment, you can

think... there was this guy named

Utah and he was pretty much a dork

but maybe not such a bad person and

I let him drown in conditions he had

no business being in whatsoever...

when I could have easily helped him.

Johnny calmly starts paddling toward shore.

Thundering white water pounding the rocks ahead of him.

He's stoic in the face of certain death.

UTAH:

(over his shoulder,

gamely)

Bye.

WOMAN:

Wait! Jesus Christ!

(swimming back to

him)

You're f***ing crazy, you know that?

You go in there you're gonna eat it

on the rocks. Here, follow me.

The woman paddles parallel to the shore and Utah pumps

along behind her. She gets him away from the rocks, then

starts watching the incoming swell, timing it to the lull

between sets...

WOMAN:

Go when I say. But stay down. Just

lie on the board. Alright, let's

go!

Utah paddles rapidly, following her, watching what she

does.

He is borne up by a low glassy wall.

He bellyboards all the way into the mushy shorebreak.

Tumbles. Stands unsteadily, grabbing his board. Runs

clumsily out of the retreating foam as another wave comes,

sucking water out.

On terra firma he looks back to see the woman kick-out

gracefully and disappear beyond the wave.

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