The Abyss
- PG-13
- Year:
- 1989
- 145 min
- 654 Views
EXT. OCEAN/UNDERWATER -- DAY 3
Blue, deep and featureless, the twilight of five hundred feet down.
PROPELLER SOUND. Materializing out of the blue limbo is the enormous but
sleek form of an Ohio-class SSBN ballistic missile submarine.
In the attack center, darkened to womb-red, the crew's faces shine with sweat
in the glow of their instruments. The SKIPPER and his EXEC crowd around
BARNES, the sonarman.
CAPTAIN:
Sixty knots? No way, Barnes... the reds don't
have anything that fast.
BARNES:
Checked it twice, skipper. It's a real unique
signature. No cavitation, no reactor noise...
doesn't even sound like screws.
He puts the signal onto a speaker and everyone in the attack room listens to
the intruder's acoustic signature, a strange THRUMMING. The captain studies
the electronic position board, a graphic representation of the contours of
the steep-walled canyon, a symbol for the Montana, and converging with it, an
amorphous trace, representing the bogey.
CAPTAIN:
What the hell is it?
EXEC:
I'll tell you what it's not, it's not one of
ours.
BARNES:
Sir! Contact changing heading to two-one-four,
diving. Speed eighty knots! Eighty knots!
EXEC:
Eighty knots...
BARNES:
Still diving, depth nine hundred feet. Port
clearance to cliff wall, one hundred fifty feet.
FRANK:
(simultaneously)
Still diving, depth nine hundred feet. Port
clearance to cliff wall, one hundred fifty feet.
Tension builds in the attack room as the Montana surges to intercept the
intruder. The exec tensely watches the vector-graphic readout for the side-
scan sonar array. The sub is running uncomfortably close to the cliff walls.
EXEC:
(low, to Captain)
It's getting tight in here.
CAPTAIN:
We can still give him a haircut. Helm, come
right to oh six niner, down five degrees.
HELMSMAN:
Coming right to oh six niner, sir. Down five
degrees.
NAVIGATOR:
Port side clearance one hundred twenty feet
narrowing to seventy-five. Sir, we have a
proximity warning light.
EXEC:
That's too damn close! We've gotta back off.
BARNES:
Range to contact, two hundred. Contact junked to
bearing two six oh and accelerated to... one
hundred thirty knots, sir!
EXEC:
(really freaked now)
Nothing goes one thirty!
Suddenly the control room lights dim almost to blackness.
EXT. U.S.S. MONTANA 5
We see only the effect, not the source, as a large diffuse light passes
rapidly under the sub's hull. Moments later a shockwave, like an underwater
sonic boom, impacts the sub, slamming it sideways.
INT. U.S.S. MONTANA 6
The bride crew are knocked off their feet, as the ship is buffeted.
EXEC:
Turbulence! We're in its wake!
SIRENS. Everyone shouting at once. The power flickers low.
CAPTAIN:
Helm, all stop! Full right rudder!
HELMSMAN:
All stop. Full right rudder. Hydraulic failure.
Planes are not responding, sir!
Power returns in time for the sonarman to get a glimpse at the side-scan
display... AS THE SHEER CLIFF WALL LOOM BEFORE THEM.
HELMSMAN:
Hydraulics restored, sir.
EXT. U.S.S. MONTANA 7
The cliff wall materializes out of the blue limbo off the port bow with
nightmarish slow-motion. The sub slams into it with horrific force, scraping
along and bouncing off. One tail stabilizer is sheared off and the big screw
prangs the wall with an earsplitting K-K-KWANG!
INT. PORT TO TORPEDO ROOM 8
With the outer tube-doors torn off, seawater slams in, busting the inner
hatches. Two-foot thick columns of water, like fire-hoses of the gods,
blast into the room. Everything vanishes instantly in white spray.
INT. CONTROL RM/ATTACK CENTER 9
Everyone is hurled off his feet. The planesman flights to recover control of
the yoke.
CAPTAIN:
Collision alarm! Collision alarm! Lighten
her up, Charlie!
NAVIGATOR:
The torpedo room is flooded, sir!
CAPTAIN:
Blow all tanks! Blow everything!
HELMSMAN:
Passing twelve hundred feet...
EXEC:
Blowing main tanks!
HELMSMAN:
Twelve hundred fifty feet...
EXT. MONTANA10
The great sub is being hauled down by the mass of its flooded bow section,
its flanks rushing past us like a freight train headed for Hell.
INT. MONTANA CONTROL ROOM 11
The command crew fights futility for control, everyone shouting and terrified.
EXEC:
Main forward tanks ruptured!
HELMSMAN:
Passing thirteen hundred feet...
EXEC:
Too deep to pump auxiliaries!
CAPTAIN:
All back full! All back full!
HELMSMAN:
Answering all back full. Passing thirteen hundred
fifty feet... fourteen hundred... fourteen
fifty...
The Captain locks eyes with the Exec amid the din...
CAPTAIN:
We're losing her. Launch the buoy!
The Exec opens the door to a small box and punches a button. A red light
comes on. The Captains takes a deep breath.
EXT. MONTANA12
A tiny transmitter is ejected from the sub's hell and begins its long ascent
to the surface. A second later the sub slams down like a piledriver onto a
ledge, tearing open its pressure hull.
INT. MONTANA13
VARIOUS QUICK CUTS, just flashes and impressions, as...
Seawater blasts down the corridors --
Explodes across the control room, hurling men like dolls --
Floods the cavernous missile bay in seconds --
Bursts through hatches into the reactor room --
Blasts men OUT OF FRAME in a micro-second.
EXT. OCEAN/UNDERWATER 14
In the cobalt twilight we see the Montana slide down the sea cliff, its hull
SCREECHING like the death agonies of some marine dinosaur. Descending in an
avalanche of silt, it finally disappears into the blackness below... a
blackness which continues almost straight down, 20,000 feet to the bottom of
the Cayman Trough. The abyss.
Above, in the world, the Caribbean rolling gray under a stormy sky. The
Montana's emergency buoy pops to the surface, transmitting.
CUT TO:
EXT. OCEAN/20 MILES AWAY -- DAY 16
LONG LENS SHOT:
three massive Navy Sea King helicopters thundering straightat us, FILLING FRAME.
REVERSE, as they barrel OVER CAMERA toward a lone civilian ship... an ugly
but very sophisticated deep-sea drilling support ship, the BENTHIC EXPLORER.
It is a twin-hulled monstrosity with a central opening in its deck, around
which crouch enormous cranes, winches and other arcane equipment.
The first Sea King settles onto the helipad, disgorging a contingent of Naval
officers, technicians, and a squad of armed seamen. A pantomime in the
rotorwash, we see the Benthic Petroleum "company man" KIRKHILL greeting
COMMODORE DEMARCO, the on-scene commander.
INT. BENTHIC EXPLORER/BRIDGE -- DAY 17
The bridge is state-of-the-art, with computers and sophisticated navigation
and communications gear, looking like mission control with its bank of video
monitors. The Drilling Operations Supervisor, LELAND MCBRIDE, and BENDIX,
the crew chief, watch the invaders swarming the deck below.
MCBRIDE:
Does not look good at all.
TIGHT ON VIDEO SCREEN (MINUTES LATER) showing divers working in total
blackness around some sort of installation on the bottom of the ocean. They
move through the harsh floodlights in dreamlike slow motion, looking like
space-suited figures with their helmets and umbilical hoses.
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"The Abyss" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 22 Dec. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/the_abyss_614>.
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