Wes Craven’s New Nightmare

FADE IN:

INT. BOILER ROOM

DEEP, GRIM MUSIC in ULTRA-STEREO, SUPERSATURATED COLORS,

CAMERA MOVES SLICK AND OMINOUS, as we BEGIN A SERIES OF CLOSE

SHOTS OF GRIMY HANDS. BUILDING --

A STEEL HAND, shining dully in the dark shadows of a filthy

boiler room - being assembled slowly over --

METAL FINGERS -- COMPOSITE SINEW -- the SPARK of hammer on

metal -- then -- the thing suddenly flexes as if alive --

CLOSE ON REMOTE CONTROL DEVICE -- clean hands manipulating

levers --

THE STEEL HAND -- forms into a heavy fist -- thumps on table -

- then the GRIMY HANDS of the CREATOR thrust in again --

begin affixing long, shining blades to the end of the steel

fingers --

CLOSER ON BLADES -- gleaming, dangerously long.

CUTAWAYS TO FURNACES -- belching FIRE and SMOKE.

STEAM PIPES -- hissing and dripping into endless depths of

this hellish place.

THE HAND -- fitted with the final claw -- now a super-modern,

almost futuristic version of Freddy's glove -- flexing and

trembling.

THE MAKER'S RIGHT HAND -- caresses it -- then retracts and

lays itself on the filthy work bench -- the MAKER'S LEFT HAND

ENTERS FRAME WITH A HUGE CLEAVER and raises it over the wrist

of the right hand -- then strikes down hard!

CUT TO A CAMERA AND DOLLY -- BEHIND, IN THE SHADOWS -- A

SHADOWY CREW GASPS -- we hear a muffled EEUWWW --

THE STUMP OF THE MAKER'S RIGHT ARM -- now spurting blood --

raises --

VOICE (O.S.)

More blood, more blood!

Nearby, CHUCK and TERRY, two young SPFX assistants, pump fake

blood through tubing, using large plastic syringes. It's a

messy job, they're covered with fake blood themselves, as

their boss, CHASE PORTER, good-looking, early 30's, tweaks

the levers of a remote control device.

BEHIND THEM, at the edge of the set, Chase's wife, HEATHER

LANGENKAMP, 30, dressed in woman's pajamas, and his son

DYLAN, 5, watch from their chairs. Heather, appalled by the

scene's violence, puts her hand over Dylan's startled eyes.

THE STUMP OF THE MAKER'S ARM thrusts now into the cuff of the

steel hand, synthetic tendons snake out of the steel hand and

bury themselves in the maker's wrists, and the unseen actor

flexes the razor-sharp steel blades, wheels and SLASHES INTO

CAMERA as we hear

VOICE (cont'd) (O.S.)

CUT! Fantastic!

BUZZER. THE FURNACES STOP BELCHING FIRE. SMOKE, STEAM and

WATER stop dead. Instead there's CHATTER, LIGHTS and

movement as the crew bustles in to reset for the next take.

The director, WES CRAVEN, rushes over to Chase ad thumps him

on the back.

CRAVEN:

Chase, you're a genius! This makes his

old claw look like Mother Theresa's!

Chase waves a 'them too' hand towards his assistants.

CRAVEN (cont'd)

You, too, Terry, Chuck. Great blood!

CHUCK:

Thank you.

TERRY:

It's some of our best work.

Laughter. Craven cracks a bottle of Lipovitan. Chuck walks

by with dripping steel hand as Chase rumples Dylan's hair.

CHASE:

Want to see some neat stuff?

Dylan looks up wide-eyed.

HEATHER:

Chase, no.

Chase laughs.

CHASE:

Come on, it's only make believe!

And lifts Dylan, leading Heather away. STEADICAM WITH THEM

as they move off-set through crew and equipment into a work

area behind the boiler room flats.

He sets Dylan on a workbench. The kid's surrounded by

SNARLING MONSTER HEADS, LON WITHERED ARMS, EVISCERATED

TORSOS, propped in corners and peering off temporary shelves.

The handiwork of Chase's SPFX MAKEUP wizardry.

CHASE (cont'd)

You hungry, Dylan?

He give Dylan a large Chinese food takeout container. Dylan

opens it and a reptilian head jumps out. Dylan gives a start

as Chase laughs.

CHASE (cont'd)

Gotcha!

HEATHER:

Chase!

Chase takes it back from Dylan. Shows it's only a hand

puppet. Meanwhile Chuck's brought the claw back from the set

and placed it on a work armature.

CHUCK:

It should have flexed more. I think the

servos got shorted out with blood.

CHASE:

Insulate 'em with some styro. It wasn't

designed to be submerged, for Petesakes.

Heather looks at it eerily.

HEATHER:

I don't like that thing.

He turns, a funny gleam in his eye.

CHASE:

This thing puts bread on our table.

DYLAN:

Is it alive, Daddy?

A.D. (O.S.)

Heather, you're in the next shot!

Heather turns, a little confused.

CHASE:

(putting Dylan on again)

Might as well be, Dylan. State of the

art animatronics enhanced with bio-

organic grafting. Bull tendons, nerve

bundles from a Doberman, even half the

brain of a homicidal primate was...

HEATHER:

Chase...

heather is looking at the hand again, but now her expression

is growing more alarmed. Chase looks over, reacts to

THE HAND:

flexing. Trembling.

CHASE:

Hey...

Chase reaches out to steady the hand, but with incredible

speed it contorts. The claws flick and Chase reels back with

a cry, staring at his own bloody fingers.

CHASE (cont'd)

Sh*t!

Chase grabs the remote and switches it off. THE CLAW falls

still. The other assistant, CHUCK, peers down at it in

curiosity.

CHUCK:

Must've picked up something from an AD's

walkie-talkie...

He flops it over with a screwdriver and pokes at it. The

hand lets out a LITTLE SOUND, half machine, half animal.

Terry puts his hand near it, palm down, then looks at Chase.

TERRY:

You sure it's turned off?

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