Titanic Page #9

ISMAY (V.O.)

She is the largest moving object ever made by the hand of man in all

history...

CUT TO:

59 INT. PALM COURT RESTAURANT - DAY

CLOSE ON J. BRUCE ISMAY, Managing Director of White Star Line.

ISMAY:

...and our master shipbuilder, Mr. Andrews here, designed her from the keel

plates up.

He indicates a handsome 39 year old Irish gentlemen to his right, THOMAS

ANDREWS, of Harland and Wolf Shipbuilders.

WIDER, showing the group assembled for lunch the next day. Ismay seated

with Cal, Rose, Ruth, Molly Brown and Thomas Andrews in the Palm Court, a

beautiful sunny spot enclosed by high arched windows.

ANDREWS:

(disliking the attention)

Well, I may have knocked her together, but the idea was Mr. Ismay's. He

envisioned a steamer so grand in scale, and so luxurious in its

appointments, that its supremacy would never be challenged. And here she

is...

(he slaps the table)

...willed into solid reality.

MOLLY:

Why're ships always bein' called "she"? Is it because men think half the

women around have big sterns and should be weighed in tonnage?

(they all laugh)

Just another example of the men settin' the rules their way.

The waiter arrives to take orders. Rose lights a cigarette.

RUTH:

You know I don't like that, Rose.

CAL:

She knows.

Cal takes the cigarette from her and stubs it out.

CAL:

(to the waiter)

We'll both have the lamb. Rare, with a little mint sauce.

(to Rose, after the waiter moves away)

You like lamb, don't you sweetpea?

Molly is watching the dynamic between Rose, Cal and Ruth.

MOLLY:

So, you gonna cut her meat for her too there, Cal?

(turning to Ismay)

Hey, who came up with the name Titanic? You, Bruce?

ISMAY:

Yes, actually. I wanted to convey sheer size. And size means stability,

luxury... and safety--

ROSE:

Do you know of Dr. Freud? His ideas about the male preoccupation with size

might be of particular interest to you, Mr. Ismay.

Andrews chockes on his breadstick, suppressing laughter.

RUTH:

My God, Rose, what's gotten into--

ROSE:

Excuse me.

She stalks away.

RUTH:

(mortified)

I do apologize.

MOLLY:

She's a pistol, Cal. You sure you can handle her?

CAL:

(tense but feigning unconcern)

Well, I may have to start minding what she reads from now on.

CUT TO:

60 EXT. POOP DECK / AFTER DECKS - DAY

Jack sits on a bench in the sun. Titanic's wake spreads out behind him to

the horizon. He has his knees pulled up, supporting a leather bound

sketching pad, his only valuable possession. With conte crayon he draws

rapidly, using sure strokes. An emigrant from Manchester named CARTMELL has

his 3 year old daughter CORA standing on the lower rung of the rail. She is

leaned back against his beer barrel of a stomach, watching the seagulls.

THE SKETCH captures them perfectly, with a great sense of the humanity of

the moment. Jack is good. Really good. Fabrizio looks over Jack's shoulder.

He nods appreciatively.

TOMMY RYAN, a scowling young Irish emigrant, watches as a crewmember comes

by, walking three small dogs around the deck. One of them, a BLACK FRENCH

BULLDOG, is among the ugliest creatures on the planet.

TOMMY:

That's typical. First class dogs come down here to take a sh*t.

Jack looks up from his sketch.

JACK:

That's so we know where we rank in the scheme of things.

TOMMY:

Like we could forget.

Jack glances across the well deck. At the aft railing of B deck promenade

stands ROSE, in a long yellow dress and white gloves.

CLOSE ON JACK, unable to take his eyes off of her. They are across from

each other, about 60 feet apart, with the well deck like a valley between

them. She on her promontory, he on his much lower one. She stares down at

the water.

He watches her unpin her elaborate hat and take it off. She looks at the

frilly absurd thing, then tosses it over the rail. It sails far down to the

water and is carried away, astern. A spot of yellow in the vast ocean. He

is riveted by her. She looks like a figure in a romantic novel, sad and

isolated.

Fabrizio taps Tommy and they both look at Jack gazin at Rose. Fabrizio and

Tommy grin at each other.

Rose turns suddenly and looks right at Jack. He is caught staring, but he

doesn't look away. She does, but then looks back. Their eyes meet across

the space of the well deck, across the gulf between worlds.

Jack sees a man (Cal) come up behind her and take her arm. She jerks her

arm away. They argue in pantomime. She storms away, and he goes after her,

disappearing along the A-deck promenade. Jack stares after her.

TOMMY:

Forget it, boyo. You'd as like have angels fly out o' yer arse as get next

to the likes o' her.

CUT TO:

61 INT. FIRST CLASS DINING SALOON - NIGHT

SLOWLY PUSHING IN ON ROSE as she sits, flanked by people in heated

conversation. Cal and Ruth are laughing together, while on the other side

LADY DUFF-GORDON is holding forth animatedly. We don't hear what they are

saying. Rose is staring at her plate, barely listening to the

inconsequential babble around her.

OLD ROSE (V.O.)

I saw my whole life as if I'd already lived it... an endless parade of

parties and cotillions, yachts and polo matches... always the same narrow

people, the same mindless chatter. I felt like I was standing at a great

precipice, with no one to pull me back, no one who cared... or even

noticed.

ANGLE BENEATH TABLE showing Rose's hand, holding a tiny fork from her crab

salad. She pokes the crab-fork into the skin of her arm, harder and harder

until it draws blood.

CUT TO:

62 INT. CORRIDOR / B DECK - NIGHT

Rose walks along the corridor. A steward coming the other way greets her,

and she nods with a slight smile. She is perfectly composed.

CUT TO:

63 INT. ROSE'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

She enters the room. Stands in the middle, staring at her reflection in the

large vanity mirror. Just stands there, then--

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