The Island at the Top of the World

Synopsis: An Edwardian gentleman hopes to find his long-lost son, who vanished whilst searching for a mysterious Viking community in a volcanic valley somewhere in uncharted Arctic regions. The gentleman puts together an expedition team to go on the search, but when they reach their destination they must escape from some Viking descendants who will kill to keep their existence a secret.
Director(s): Robert Stevenson
Production: Walt Disney Productions
 
IMDB:
6.3
Rotten Tomatoes:
43%
G
Year:
1974
93 min
140 Views


- Good evening.

- I'm Professor Ivarsson.

Yes, Sir Anthony

has been expecting you.

It's in your hands, Milo.

- Stand fast. They'll come to terms.

- Very well.

If problems come up,

consult with the board.

They know my thinking.

Ah, Professor Ivarsson.

I cannot tell you how grateful I am

you've joined me.

I haven't agreed to anything.

Someone woke me up

at 6.00 yesterday morning

saying he was the

British ambassador.

It was the British ambassador.

He'd arranged my passage

on a mail-boat to England,

and a large man packed my bags

and drove me to the dock.

- Your train leaves in ten minutes.

- Good. Come along, Ivarsson.

But the... Sir Anthony.

Expedition to the Arctic?

I'm hardly a professional explorer.

No, let me finish.

- I've had you looked into.

- Oh.

You're an American

from the University of Minnesota,

currently a guest lecturer

at the University of Christiania.

Your specialty is

the archaeology of the North.

In the past, you've led

several successful expeditions.

You've done interesting work

in Greenland.

Oh, no. You're the right man

for the job, all right.

For what job? What's so urgent

about it? What is it you hope to find?

My... son.

You see, my wife died

when Donald was a child.

I began to groom him

to take my place in the business.

I pushed him too hard, I think.

Anyway, we had words.

And suddenly,

Donald dropped everything

and went off on a whaling ship

as an ordinary seaman.

Three months later, I got word

that he'd left the ship in Bathenland.

Why?

I had no idea

until I received this from a trading post

at Fort Conger on Ellesmere Island.

Donald had left it with the factor

for safe keeping

when he had gone off

on some sort of expedition.

When he didn't come back,

the factor sent it on to me.

Hmm. It's an old page from

a Hudson's Bay Company journal.

Look at the entry for January 15, 1856.

"To this post, this day came

John Merchison with his Eskimos,

"who hunt the white bear

far beyond the land's end.

"He told of seeing a lone cloud,

as if lying on the ice,

"and hidden beneath it, an island.

"This island, he sought to examine,

but his Eskimos refused him,

"saying it's guarded by evil spirits.

"For it's the place

where the whales go to die."

- We're coming into Dover now.

- Thank you.

Sir Anthony, the graveyard of whales

is just a fantasy, a whaler's El Dorado,

where he thinks he's going to find a

fortune in whalebone and ambergris.

Fact is, it simply doesn't exist.

It's a legend, nothing more.

Legend or not, the graveyard

is what my son went after.

It's my son I'm looking for.

- Quarters?

- Take our luggage to the admiral DPO.

Sir Anthony, I'm afraid this has

to be the end of the line for me.

I'd help if I could. I know

how much this means to you.

But you're trying the impossible.

To try to find one man with nothing

more than a page from a journal...

There is something more.

Donald also left this with the factor.

I was hoping

you might know what it was.

It's a carved bone. It's Eskimo work.

It's quite common in the Arctic.

- This one's a kind of a map.

- Map?

If I had a chart,

I could show you how this works.

My yacht is at the pier.

You can have all the charts you need.

This pattern, hopefully, will correspond

to some part of the shoreline

here on the chart.

Look.

See how this matches.

It's not exactly to scale, of course.

Then this red mark could be

what we're looking for.

If there were such an island.

- Why shouldn't there be?

- There's no land here.

It's just a gigantic frozen sea.

All explorers agree.

Peerey, Nance and all of them.

And what is Ivarsson's opinion?

Of course, there's a lot

they haven't covered.

But if there were such an island,

if the graveyard of whales

really did exist...

The world will never know, will it?

Unless you discover it,

or unless someone else beats you to it.

Sir Anthony, you're a devious man.

Yes, I am, aren't I?

I've got your contract here.

Your leave from the university.

Power of attorney. My solicitors will

handle your affairs in your absence.

- We're under way.

- And have been for some time.

We'll be in France in the morning.

Why France? That's hardly

the most direct route to Fort Conger.

On the contrary.

I think you'll find that it is.

Can't you slow him down?

You'd think we were

leaving tomorrow morning.

We are.

What?

I said, we are.

First thing in the morning.

Impossible. It's winter.

No ship can get through

the ice before spring.

- I've made other arrangements.

- What arrangements?

If I told you, you'd think I was mad.

Sir Anthony, you are mad.

And now you're gonna meet

another mad one. Capt. Brieux!

Ah, Monsieur Ross!

What a pleasure!

He was building this for Americans,

but he ran through all their money.

I heard of it and took it over.

- Ah, Capt. Brieux.

- Good evening, Sir Anthony.

- Professor Ivarsson.

- I'm honoured.

- Do you mind if I take a closer look?

- No, please.

I'm proud we shall have you with us

for the ceremony tomorrow.

- What ceremony?

- Why, the first flight of my creation.

Tomorrow, the whole world

will know of me on my Hyperion.

France will rule the air!

Whatever you planned, cancel it.

Tomorrow, we leave for the Arctic.

The Arctic?

The Arctic?

Sir Anthony, that's ridiculous!

It can't be done.

That's impossible.

We would need food, supplies,

fuel for the motors.

The fuel, I'll leave to you, Captain.

All other necessities have

been amply provided by my staff.

I think it is best that we

have an understanding.

We have an understanding.

I bought and paid for your airship.

It's mine.

I intend to use it to find my son,

who is lost in the Arctic.

But I cannot do it without your help.

I can offer you nothing

except hardship and danger,

except your place in history.

- History?

- Think of it, Captain.

You have an opportunity which

comes but once in a generation.

The world will know you not only

as the first man to fly over the Arctic,

but the first man, perhaps,

to brave the North Pole itself.

Today, we make history.

There should be flags, music,

a speech from the president.

But what do we have?

Two children and a herd of goats.

When you bring her back to France,

the celebration's

gonna break all records.

- We are ready to depart.

- Very good, carry on.

Silence!

There will be no speaking.

Well, we are on our way.

A glorious day, Monsieur.

We rise with the sun.

Congratulations, Captain.

This will be a morning to remember.

Something in the food hamper

just bit me.

That is not the food hamper,

that is the small boudoir of Josephine.

It's some kind of a dog.

Of course, the best kind: French.

I am not interested in its nationality.

- Who brought it aboard?

- No one brought her aboard.

She lives here. This is her home

since the airship was begun.

I'm not running some kind

of flying kennel.

Get rid of it.

Very well, if you wish, Monsieur.

Of course, it will take time.

The sun has warmed the gas.

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John Whedon

John Ogden Whedon (November 5, 1905 – November 22, 1991) was an American screenwriter. He is best known for his writing for the television series The Donna Reed Show during the 1950s. Whedon also wrote for The Great Gildersleeve on radio, The Andy Griffith Show, The Dick Van Dyke Show and Leave It to Beaver. He and wife, Louise Carroll Angell, are the parents of television screenwriter Tom Whedon and Julia Whedon, and the grandparents of film and TV screenwriter and director Joss Whedon and screenwriters Jed Whedon and Zack Whedon. Whedon died in Medford, Jackson County, Oregon, on November 22, 1991. more…

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