The Bourne Identity

DARKNESS. THE SOUND OF WIND AND SPRAY.

MUSIC. TITLES.

EXT. OCEAN -- NIGHT

The darkness is actually water. A SEARCHLIGHT arcs across

heavy ocean swells. Half-a-dozen flashlights -- weaker

beams -- racing along what we can see is the deck of an

aging FISHING TRAWLER.

FISHERMEN struggling with a gaff -- something in the water --

A HUMAN CORPSE.

EXT. FISHING BOAT DECK -- NIGHT

THE BODY sprawled there. The Sailors all talking at once --

three languages going -- brave chatter to mask the presence

of death --

SAILOR #1

-- Jesus, look at him --

SAILOR #2

-- what? -- you never saw a dead

man before? --

SAILOR #3

-- look, look he was shot --

(nudging the body--)

SAILOR #1

-- don't, don't do that --

SAILOR #2

-- he's dead, you think he cares? --

SAILOR #1

-- so have some respect -- it's a --

(stopping as--)

THE BODY MOVES! -- convulsing -- coughing up sea water --

the Sailors -- freaked -- jumping back -- standing there, as --

THE MAN begins to breathe.

INT. FISHING BOAT BUNK ROOM -- NIGHT

A wreck. Too small for all the people in here right now --

SAILORS sweeping off the table -- rough hands laying THE MAN

down --

THE CAPTAIN -- brutal and impatient -- watching from the

door as --

GIANCARLO tears through the clutter -- searching for a

medical kit buried in the shambles. GIANCARLO is sixty. A

bloodshot soul.

GIANCARLO:

-- it's here -- hang on -- it's

here somewhere -- give me a

minute -- get some blankets -- get

some blankets on him --

(finding the kit--)

-- here we go -- here it is --

GIANCARLO with an old trunk -- just getting it open, as --

THE CAPTAIN:

Giancarlo.

(Giancarlo turns

back--)

We pick him up? Okay, we have to

pick him up. But that's as far as it

goes.

GIANCARLO:

He needs a doctor.

CAPTAIN:

F*** that. He lives? He dies? I

don't care. We've wasted two hours

on this sh*t already. You do what

you can, but we're not going back.

(pure steel now)

You understand me?

GIANCARLO:

Yes, sir.

CAPTAIN:

(to the rest of them)

Let's get back to work!

GIANCARLO watching them run out. Snagging a quick pull on a

pint of rum he's got stashed and --

INT. FISHING BOAT BUNK ROOM -- DAWN -- TIME CUTS

Transformed into a makeshift operating room. A light swings

overhead. THE MAN layed out across the table. Sounds --

groans -- words -- snatches of them -- all in different

languages.

GIANCARLO playing doctor in a greasy kitchen apron. Cutting

away the clothes. Turning THE MAN on his side. Two bullet

wounds in the back. Probing them, judging them.

Now -- GIANCARLO with a flashlight in his teeth -- TINK --

TINK -- TINK -- bullet fragments falling into a washed-out

olive jar.

Now -- something catching GIANCARLO'S EYE -- A SCAR ON THE

MAN'S HIP -- another fragment -- exacto knife cutting in --

tweezers extracting A SMALL PLASTIC TUBE, not a bullet at

all, and as it comes free --

THE MAN'S HAND SLAMS down onto GIANCARLO'S and we SMASH CUT

INTO A --

FIRST PERSON POV -- we are staring up at --

GIANCARLO:

You're awake. Can you hear me?

(we're blinking--)

You've been shot. I'm trying to

help you.

(we're trying to find

our voice--)

You were in the water. You've been

shot. It's okay now.

THE MAN:

Where am I?

GIANCARLO:

(switching to English)

You're American. I thought so.

From your teeth -- the dental work --

THE MAN:

Where am I?

GIANCARLO:

You're on a boat. A fishing boat.

Italian flag. We're out of Vietri.

(he smiles)

It's the cold that saved you. The

water. The wounds are clean. I'm

not a doctor, but the wounds, it

looks okay. It's clean.

THE MAN:

How did I get here?

GIANCARLO:

You we're lost at sea. They pulled

you out.

(we say nothing)

Who are you?

(still nothing)

You were shot -- two bullets -- in

the back. You understand me?

(we try to nod)

Who are you?

Long dead pause.

THE MAN:

I don't know.

EXT. OCEAN -- DAY

The Trawler plows through heavy seas.

INT. FISHING BOAT BUNK ROOM -- DAY

GIANCARLO is hunched over a desk -- tweezers and

flashlight -- busy working at that strange plastic tube that

came out of THE MAN's hip.

THE MAN is bandaged. He's sitting up, and it must hurt like

hell, but physical pain is not the thing troubling him right

now. He's staring around the room -- at his body -- at the

walls -- haunted --

THE MAN:

What if it doesn't come back?

GIANCARLO:

(still working that tube)

I told you. You need to rest.

Silence. THE MAN can't rest. Too busy trying to make sense

of all this.

THE MAN:

I can read. I can read that sign

on the door. I can count. I can

talk...

(focusing now--)

What are you doing?

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