英文片名: rush hour
中文片名: 尖锋时刻
上映: 1998
rush hour
original screenplay
by
ross lamanna
fade in:
ext. los angeles - day
the whole dysfunctional megalopolis, beige and blurry in the
summer smog. if this is the american dream, do me a favor and
wake me up.
ext. lax - day
the traffic loop outside the terminals is gridlocked -- mostly
with stretch limousines.
int. lax - (include news report montage) - day
inside, the airport is done up with festive posters, streamers
and banners: welcome - pacific partners summit
a planeload of cheerful chinese delegates come into the
crowded terminal. some sport red t-shirts with a picture of
mao wearing mickey mouse ears.
they get onto the people mover, passing by a tv reporter:
reporter
(to tv camera)
eager to mend its tarnished image,
los angeles has really put out the
welcome mat for tomorrow's summit.
the city promises quite a party as
leaders from japan, china, south
korea, australia, the u.s. and
others begin talks for the largest
free-trade treaty in history.
the scene changes to tape of delegates from other countries
arriving.
then, we see massive security preparations all around the city.
reporter (vo)
(continuing)
the one sour note is north korea,
the only pacific rim country not
participating. there are rumors of
secret meetings with north korean
representatives, but u.s. officials
insist the north must first hold
democratic elections, and halt its
nuclear weapons program -- as they
claimed to have done back in 1995.
we cut to a heated debate in the un security council.
then artillery fire over the korean dmz.
the scene returns to lax.
reporter (vo)
(continuing)
tensions remain high since last
year's skirmishes between north korea
and the u.s. so any chance of the
communist north joining the pacific
partners seems highly unlikely.
dissolve to:
ext. fremont place - day
an exclusive, walled-off section of hancock park. there's only
one route in and out, past a manned guardhouse on wilshire.
ext. north korean consulate - day
a colonial-style mansion, surrounded by an imposing, wrought-
iron fence. there is a bronze plaque, in english and korean,
next to the entranceway:
consulate
of the
democratic people's republic of korea
the driveway gate opens and a long, black mercedes with tinted
windows and diplomatic license plates glides out.
int. north korean consulate - surveillance room - day
an alert north korean corporal watches the perimeter monitors.
he pushes a switch to close the gate behind the mercedes.
ext. utility pole - olympic blvd - day
from atop a pole outside the south wall, a man with binoculars
overlooks the private streets of fremont place.
his pov - through binoculars
as the mercedes cruises through the quiet neighborhood.
back to scene
the man, paul javal, is thirtyish, nervous; with short, sandy
hair. he takes the binoculars away from his face and we see
his eyes -- they're a strange, unnaturally light gray.
javal takes an orange pill from an unlabeled prescription
bottle and pops it into his mouth. he climbs down the pole to
a van with a phone company logo on it.
ext. wilshire blvd - day
the mercedes comes out of the fremont place gate, and turns
into the heavy morning traffic.
int. mercedes - (moving shot) - day
it is extremely quiet, due to inch-thick glass on the windows
and 4,000 pounds of armor plating on the car's chassis.
the driver is a north korean army major. on the seat beside
him is an amd-74, a 5.45x39mm-caliber machine gun.
a hand from the back seat darts between the front seats and
turns on the radio to a rock station. the driver turns it off.
new angle
the hand belongs to 10-year-old sam ke han. sam sits back and
sighs to his sister, joy
(1
5). between them sits a middle-aged
scandinavian governess.
sam
i can't stand it -- half an hour to
get to the stupid school every
morning... with no music...
(korean; subtitled)
[just our damn nanny...]
ext. crenshaw blvd - day
javal's van, also with tinted windows, turns onto crenshaw. it
follows the mercedes, several cars behind it.
int. javal's van - (moving shot) - day
javal, wired, drums on the steering wheel while driving. he
glances at some expertly constructed, radio-control remote
units sitting on the seat next to him.
ext. santa monica freeway - day
traffic is moving at about 35 mph. the mercedes merges onto
the freeway, heading west. javal's van follows.
the thumping of a rap song rattles the other drivers' fillings
as a lowrider with its stereo turned up to '11' cruises by.
int. mercedes - (moving shot) - day
even 500 watts of bass cannot penetrate the armored silence.
the driver scans the road, wary but sensing no danger. he puts
on his blinker to take the 405 south exit.
ext. santa monica freeway - day
the van follows, now directly behind the mercedes, in a
procession of vehicles going up the long, curved overpass
arcing 100 feet above the 10, toward the 405.
int. javal's van - (moving shot) - day
as they approach the crest of the overpass, javal flips a
switch on his radio-control unit...
close - road surface of overpass
six small semicircles, exact replicas of the stay-alert bumps
on the white lines of the overpass, explode. they spew hundreds
of sharp, triangular nails across the roadway. immediately,
scores of tires on passing cars blow out...
wider
causing, 50 yards ahead of the mercedes and van, the most
hellacious, gut-wrenching, piss-your-pants, chain-reaction
pile-up you can imagine.
dozens of drivers lose control of their vehicles... sideswipe
their neighbors... grind against the guard rails. some
fishtail into 180's, smashing headlong into the traffic still
coming onto the overpass.
brakes squeal, people scream, metal crumples, airbags deploy,
glass shatters.
and then it gets really nasty...
a honda gets jammed under a truck hauling cinder blocks. the
truck jackknifes, tipping over like a drunken giant.
it smashes through the concrete wall and guard rail...
along with several cars and their screaming occupants, swept
over the edge by the truck like discarded soda cans.
they plummet through space, crashing onto the freeway below.
int. mercedes - (moving shot) - day
sam, joy, and the governess brace themselves as the driver
slams on the brakes. he barely avoids hitting anything.
driver
(korean)
[stay in the car.]
ext. freeway overpass - day
a nightmare scene of smoke, twisted wrecks, dazed victims. the
mercedes and van sit motionless in the backed-up traffic.
int./ext. javal's van & roadway - day
javal slides open a trap door on the floor of the van. he
slips a wheeled, mechanic's repair platform through it.
angle with javal
as, unnoticed amid the chaos, he lies on the platform and
rolls under the mercedes.
the undercarriage of the mercedes is armored with steel. javal
stops at a patch of perforations -- an air exchange vent. he
attaches a slim device over the vent, flips a switch on it,
then rolls back toward the van.
int. mercedes - day
oblivious to javal's actions below them, everyone watches as
police and news helicopters circle above. then, some chp
motorcycles straddle the lanes and zoom by.
int. javal's van - day
sweating, javal sits back in the driver's seat and checks
another radio unit. working.
ext. freeway overpass - day
the chp has cleared a path through the devastation, and
traffic trickles through. as the mercedes and the van pass by,
javal looks proudly at the misery he's wrought. he follows the
mercedes onto the 405 south.
int. javal's van - (moving shot) - day
javal drives behind the mercedes, with one hand on the radio
unit. the mercedes signals to take the venice exit.
javal fingers the radio unit, itching to use it...
but he passes by the mercedes as it gets off the freeway.
insert angle - under the mercedes
javal's device is armed, and waiting...
fade to:
ext. sierra bonita avenue - carson's house - night
a pretty street in the miracle mile, lined with neat, single-
family homes. timed sprinkler systems water some of the yards.
every house on the block except the one we're in front of has
a 'for sale' sign on the lawn. from the weathered looks of the
signs, they've been there for quite a while.
int. carson's house - bedroom - night
it's a hot night. the ceiling fan above the bed spins slowly.
pete carson tosses restlessly in bed, the sheets half-covering
him. next to him his wife, miranda knoll, snores contentedly.
carson is in his late thirties, outdoorsy, with a tight,
muscular build. emotionally he's tightly-wound as well.
miranda is 35, raven-haired, sensible, pretty. she believes
above all else that one should never raise one's voice.
carson groans... he's dreaming...
cut to:
ext. beverly drive - (carson's dream) - day
quick, silent images: a street cordoned off with police tape.
cops, swat teams, fbi surround beverly thrift, a bank.
carson, younger, hair shorter, sits in an fbi command truck
across from the bank. covering the mouthpiece of the phone in
his hand, he's arguing with the other agents in the truck.
suddenly, a huge, fiery explosion blows out the front of the
bank building. horrified, carson runs toward it...
cut to:
int. carson's house - bedroom and hallway - night
carson is snapped awake by a car alarm going off outside.
carson
son of a bitch!
he bolts out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of striped
bikini briefs. miranda rolls over, sleepy, unconcerned...
miranda
pete... please... we have to be up
early tomorrow. call the police.
carson
yeah, right.
he races down the hall -- right past the house alarm keypad,
its lcd reading 'armed.'
he grabs an aluminum baseball bat from the umbrella stand.
forgetting to disarm the house alarm, he yanks the front door
open. the house alarm begins shrieking.
carson
(continuing)
shit!
miranda
pulls the pillows over her head and sighs.
miranda
not again...
ext. carson's house - night
carson comes around to the driveway, which is illuminated by
the streetlight --
where two 20-ish assholes are sitting in his 1965 mustang
convertible, their presence courtesy of a huge cut they've
made in the otherwise-perfect ragtop.
car-theft tools in a leather case between them, they're prying
the ignition switch out of the dashboard.
asshole #1 spots carson. he gets out of the car, wielding a
crowbar. his partner keeps working.
new angle
asshole #1 lunges viciously, swiping at carson with the
crowbar, taking a piece out of his side. carson starts
bleeding profusely, but he's too pissed to notice.
carson uses his bat to take the offensive. they go at each
other like combatants in a swordfight, the clanking of metal
echoing through the neighborhood along with the screaming
house and car alarms, and frantic neighborhood dogs.
surprised at carson's fury and strength, asshole #1 backs onto
the lawn, oblivious to the running sprinklers.
as he backs away, his shoe catches on one of the sprinkler
heads. it breaks off, and a huge geyser of water sprays out.
carson holds his bat in both hands and jams the front of it
into asshole #1's breadbasket. he doubles over.
carson grabs asshole #1's arm, and pulls it quickly against
his raised knee. there is a snap and a loud howl as the arm
breaks, and carson tosses him aside.
seeing this, asshole #2 gives up on the car. he takes off
toward the street. carson runs to head him off, but he's a lot
faster in his air jordans than carson is in his bare feet.
wider
carson grabs the metal lid from a garbage can at the curb and
flings it like a huge frisbee. it sails across the street --
and nails asshole #2's head. he kisses the pavement, stunned.
carson runs up and grabs him, but he pulls out a long, sharp
screwdriver and jabs at carson with it.
then, blue flashing lights appear from around the corner: a
westec chevy blazer. two uniformed guards get out, and fumble
with their sidearms.
westec guard
everybody... chill! bikini boy! on
the ground!
asshole #2 is still trying to gouge carson with the
screwdriver. carson glares at the dopey guards.
carson
asshole was trying to boost my car!
angle across street
carson's fiftyish, black, next-door neighbor, wearing pajamas
and a robe, comes out of his house. carson sees him.
carson
mike -- call 911!
neighbor
been trying...
(has a cordless phone)
it's busy.
(to guards; re carson)
he's the good guy, you schumcks.
the guards seem to get it. without warning, one takes out a
taser and zaps asshole #2. carson lets go just in time.
closer
holding his bleeding side, carson walks back to his house. he
notices the 'neighborhood watch' sign has graffiti spray-
painted on it. he touches it -- the paint is still wet. his
neighbor shrugs -- whatta ya gonna do?
the paper guy drives by... and tosses carson's newspaper right
under the gushing sprinkler.
carson
i hate this fuckin' town.
ext. north korean consulate - establishing - day
int. north korean consulate - upstairs bathroom - day
joy is standing on the toilet, blowing cigarette smoke into
the exhaust fan. someone knocks on the door. she flicks the
cigarette into the toilet, puts a zippo lighter in her pocket.
int. north korean consulate - hallway - day
joy opens the bathroom door. sam is standing there, grinning.
joy
there are six bathrooms in this
house, sam.
sam
(fanning the air)
but only one with a smoking section.
she quickly closes the door behind her. sam laughs.
int. north korean consulate - dining room - day
sam and joy sit at the table. ambassador han and mrs. han are
having breakfast: radish soup, kimchi and grilled fish.
ambassador han reads through the morning's faxed communiqu萻.
he's 43, rarely smiles, and hates living in the u.s. he's
dressed in an impeccably-tailored, valentino two-piece suit.
mrs. han is slender, soft-spoken, but as iron-willed as her
husband. she, however, is quick to smile. she's wearing a
summery dress with a white sweater over her shoulders.
ambassador han pulls the front of sam's shirt to reveal the
'nirvana' logo on his t-shirt.
ambassador han
(korean)
[go change.]
ambassador han's x-ray stare turns to joy.
ambassador han
(continuing)
[you smell like a fireplace.]
a butler appears with a phone. he whispers to mrs. han.
mrs. han
it's the governess...
(into phone)
hello, hilda...
cutaway - close on governess
as she speaks into a cellular phone. she's extremely nervous.
we cannot see her surroundings.
governess
(thru phone)
mrs. han... i am very sick today...
int. north korean consulate - dining room - day
mrs. han
(into phone)
we will see you next week...
(hangs up; smiles to kids)
it appears i'll be taking you to
school.
int. javal's van - day
in the back of his van, javal pats the governess' hand.
javal
very good. you may go now...
he speaks with a slight accent, french, perhaps. he pops an
orange pill, then unlatches the rear doors of the van. with a
quick glance back at him, she goes to open the doors.
javal grabs a plastic tarp and throws it over the governess'
upper body. he puts his arm across her neck, flicks open a
gravity knife and plunges it through the tarp, into her chest.
he drops her on the floor of the van and fastidiously wipes a
small smudge of blood from his hand with a handkerchief.
int. carson's house - bathroom and bedroom - day
carson steps out of the shower. he looks exhausted. toweling
off, he goes into the bedroom, where miranda is riding an
exercise bike, listening to music on headphones and reading
the sprinkler-soaked newspaper, all while watching the tv.
angle on tv
a perky blonde traffic reporter, bobbi marchfelder, talks to
us from a local news copter.
bobbi
(on tv)
...good morning, summit day! it's
gonna be the super bowl, the 4th of
july, the olympics and woodstock all
rolled into one! all over town
there'll be parades, concerts,
rallies, festivals... so get out
there everyone, but plan your drive-
time accordingly! this is bobbi
marchfelder, your eye in the sky...
we cut to the white house lawn, where the president is about
to board a helicopter.
morning anchor (vo)
(on tv)
the president is on his way...
president
(on tv)
...it's an honor hosting my fellow
leaders in los angeles, the capitol
city of the pacific rim...
we cut back to the studio and the morning anchor.
morning anchor
(on tv)
we'll see the menu for mayor
simpson's brentwood barbecue, right
after this...
we cut to a musical montage of preparations for the events
around town.
back to scene
as the music swells, carson turns the tv off.
miranda
i was watching that.
carson
if i hear one more beach boys song,
i'll shoot myself.
miranda points at the headphones -- she can't hear him.
carson
(continuing; while smiling)
i said, if we were having sex once in
a while, you wouldn't need to ride
that fucking bike every morning.
miranda
(hasn't heard a thing)
be right with you...
as carson dresses, we get a look at their bedroom -- miranda's
nightstand has two neat stacks of periodicals on it, with los
angeles magazine and psychology today on the top of them.
carson's nightstand is overflowing with books and magazines
about other cities and states: wonderland washington;
magnificent oregon; welcome to north carolina.'
int./ext. carson's house - patio & kitchen - day
miranda, dressed in a conservative skirt, jacket, black shoes,
is out on the patio. her breakfast -- a bowl of fruit and
wheat germ -- sits on the patio table while she waters some
sickly-looking rose bushes in a planter.
carson, dressed in shirt and tie, looking beat, fries a steak
and three eggs in butter. he comes outside with his breakfast
and a magazine article: 'american expatriates in new zealand.'
miranda
(looks him over)
have you gotten any sleep lately?
carson
(ignores the question)
shop's gonna tow the car in --
goddamn ignition's trashed.
miranda
take mine. i'll ride in with diane.
carson watches as she carefully picks the dead leaves off the
rose bushes.
carson
you ask me, those suckers are a lost
cause.
she continues, then glances at the article carson is reading.
miranda
it's not for you.
carson
you mean it's not for you.
miranda
i don't chase car thieves in my
underwear. c'mon, you'd die of
boredom if we ever sold this house
and moved.
carson
i'd die of shock, from finding
anyone dumb enough to buy the place.
even for what it's worth now.
miranda
lots of people bought at the top of
the market...
carson
that sure cheers me right up.
miranda
i don't know why we even talk about
it. the city's not the problem. so
we move. it wouldn't matter. what's
that saying: 'wherever you go, there
you are.'
carson just looks at her. reaching for the salt, he winces
from the cut in his side.
miranda
(continuing)
i hope you're current on your
tetanus booster. was it worth it?
carson
one cut... two assholes in the
hospital... yep.
carson glances at his watch and gets up.
carson
(continuing)
well, another day of baby-sitting my
favorite bunch of people...
he grabs a bianchi shoulder holster with a sig-sauer p-229,
9mm pistol, straps it on, then pulls on a blue windbreaker.
emblazoned on the back are large yellow letters: fbi.
miranda
ask for a transfer.
carson
they're not gonna transfer me. you
know damn well why i was bumped down
to guard duty...
(as he's leaving)
my outstanding people skills.
miranda tries to return to tending her roses. but instead, she
sadly watches him go.
ext. carson's house - day
a look of sorrow crosses carson's face as he watches some
young kids laugh and shove, getting onto a school bus.
he then glances at his wounded mustang, parked in the street.
he spots something on the windshield: a pink parking ticket.
the parking sign above the graffiti-stained neighborhood watch
sign reads: street cleaning - friday 8-10 am.
carson
i hate this fuckin' town.
carson chirps open miranda's car: a red volvo 960.
as he pulls away, we see a bumper sticker on the car: a circle
and slash through cartoon weapons on one side, cartoon teddy
bears on the other, and 'arms are for hugging' in between.
ext. north korean consulate - day
the driver backs the mercedes out of the garage behind the
consulate. we notice there is another mercedes parked inside.
mrs. han, sam and joy come outside. they hear some heartfelt
swearing:
angry voice (os)
goddamn limey overpriced piece a
shit...
their pov
in the driveway across the street, a man in a business suit
has his head under the hood of a brand-new jaguar convertible.
the jag owner's 15-year-old, blonde daughter, lisa, sits in
the car with her schoolbooks in her lap.
joy
turns to mrs. han:
joy
can we give lisa a ride?
int./ext. mercedes - day
it pulls into the driveway across the street. the jag owner is
still swearing mightily. lisa climbs into the mercedes.
lisa
hey, joy... sam...
joy rolls the window up and the sound of cursing disappears.
lisa
(continuing)
excellent -- i can't hear him!
sam
(raps on window)
the glass is an inch thick.
(points to doors, roof)
armor-plated. bulletproof. bomb-
proof.
lisa
perfect car for l.a.
(looks back at her dad)
starts, too.
ext. crenshaw blvd - day
as the mercedes travels its usual route down crenshaw, javal's
van begins following it.
insert angle - under the mercedes
where javal's device is attached, still waiting...
ext. north korean consulate - day
a dark-green government dodge pulls up and parks behind one
just like it on a paved area near the consulate gate.
dave juarez, (chubby, 40, mexican-american, a desk jockey) gets
out of the dodge and hangs an fbi shield over his top pocket.
he glances over at north korean security chief colonel lee,
(4
5), who has paused inside the gate to regard dave, and the
outside world, with profound contempt.
dave, attach?case in one hand and notebook computer in the
other, walks to a 10-by-15 detached guardhouse on the far
corner of the property, just outside the high fence.
int. fbi guardhouse - north korean consulate - day
inside are two desks and four chairs, a console of
communication equipment, a microwave and a mr. coffee.
dave enters. two fbi agents, finishing their shift, gather
their belongings: robbins (late 20's; male; thinning hair) and
sabatini, (early 30's; cute; dark, bobbed hair; female).
they wear blue fbi blazers and have standard-fbi-issue 10mm
heckler & koch mp-5 machine pistols in oversized shoulder
rigs. dave is in civilian clothes, and is not armed.
robbins
yo, dave the computer man! actually
escaped the office!
dave
i'm doin' field upgrades. gives 'em
a chance to hose out my cage.
he glances through the window at colonel lee.
dave
(continuing)
who's the fuckin' gargoyle?
robbins
their chief of security, colonel lee.
sabatini makes the jerk-off sign with her hand.
sabatini
'chuckles,' as we're inclined to
call him.
(yawns; flops in a chair)
friggin' graveyard shift...
robbins
love to know what dope made it the
bureau's job to give full-time
protection to foreign consulates.
(offers coffee to dave)
cup a mud?
dave
not if you made it. why don't you
get sabatini to brew the java? she's
the alleged chick.
sabatini
blow me.
dave
where's carson?
sabatini
on his way. some creeps tried to rip
off his mustang last night.
(beat; solemnly)
they cut the ragtop.
dave
motherfuckers...
dave takes three pcmcia computer cards from his attach?case.
dave
(continuing)
latest and greatest. wireless
network link-ups.
sabatini
whoa, slow down, i'm gonna pee.
robbins
me, too.
dave
ingrates.
ext. crenshaw blvd - day
the van drives in the lane alongside the mercedes.
int. javal's van - (moving shot) - day
humming, javal drives with one hand, while tapping with his
other on the top of the radio-controlled remote box.
ext. crenshaw blvd - day
as they approach the light at washington blvd, just turning
yellow, javal's van gets in front of the mercedes.
their lanes stop for the red light. a fruit vendor holding a
bag of oranges walks from car to car.
javal slips the van into neutral and lets it roll back until
his rear bumper taps gently against the mercedes' front bumper.
int. mercedes - include pov through rear view mirror - day
the driver hits the horn. the van doesn't move. the driver
glances in the rear-view:
there's a jeep cherokee tight on his tail, and the black lady
in it is busy dealing with a carpool full of 8-year-old kids.
the driver looks at mrs. han, who's peering out the side
window, fascinated by the african-american-themed storefronts.
they're all festooned with summit-related banners, and shop
owners are preparing for a community sidewalk bazaar.
sam, bored, stuffs several pieces of gum into his mouth.
int. javal's van - same
javal flips the switch on his radio-controlled remote.
insert
under the mercedes, the device javal planted there begins to
emit thick, white cs tear gas.
int. mercedes - day
the gas pours in through the ventilation system. everyone
inside starts coughing and choking uncontrollably. the driver
grabs his amd-74 machine gun and pops the door locks.
ext. crenshaw blvd - day
the driver, mrs. han, joy, sam and lisa pile out of the car.
jittering with excitement, fear and speed, javal hops out of
his van, holding a benelli m-1, a semi-automatic shotgun.
he shoots the driver in the chest. the blast from the shotgun
muzzle, however, is unlike anything we've ever seen before: it
is blindingly bright, even in broad daylight, belching a huge
cluster of glowing, white-hot magnesium.
the driver flies back against the mercedes, emptying his
machine gun into the air. the wound in his chest is full of
burning magnesium shrapnel.
wider
the other drivers in the intersection see this and go
completely nuts. some duck for cover under their dashboards.
others peel away. a few collide with oncoming traffic.
the carpool lady in the cherokee pushes the kids down on the
floor. the fruit vendor hides by rolling under a car.
sam and joy are incapacitated by tear-gas coughing fits. mrs.
han stumbles toward them, trying to get them to run away.
javal punches her, knocking her down.
he turns to lisa, surprised to see her. sweating, he points
the shotgun at her... almost pulls the trigger... then notices
mrs. han's expression of horror and thinks the better of it.
he spots a motorist in a ford escort, peering cautiously over
his dashboard to get a look at the action.
javal shoots the motorist through the windshield with another
bright, searing blast of magnesium. the motorist and the
entire front of his car burst into flames.
mrs. han is on her knees, sobbing. javal grabs her by the arm
and pulls her to the back of the van. he opens the doors.
javal
you see that i'm serious in my
intention, yes?
(she nods)
if you cooperate, you and your
children will be home for dinner
tonight.
he tightens his grip on her. she nods again, then looks at the
kids. javal shoves her, sam, joy and lisa into the van.
int. javal's van - day
he grabs three pairs of handcuffs off a c-shaped bar welded on
both ends to the inside of the van. he handcuffs one of mrs.
han's arms, passes the chain through the bar, then handcuffs
the other. he does the same with sam; then handcuffs one of
joy's arms, passes the chain through and attaches the other
handcuff to lisa.
javal hops in his seat and drives away on washington.
ext. crenshaw blvd - day
several people, including the carpool lady, rush over to the
driver, who lies dead and smoldering on the ground.
his hand is halfway inside his bloody pants pocket, holding a
small plastic card with the consulate's phone number on it.
ext. north korean consulate - day
colonel lee and a north korean army officer come running out.
another officer starts up a car in the back of the house.
int. fbi guardhouse - north korean consulate - day
robbins and sabatini see the commotion and go to investigate.
dave follows.
ext. north korean consulate - day
ambassador han runs out. he has a stricken look on his face.
colonel lee
(korean; to ambassador han)
[you must stay here.]
ambassador han nods. the fbi agents run up. to them:
ambassador han
someone took my family!
the agents look at each other -- holy shit! colonel lee's car
screeches to a stop. sabatini stands in front of it.
sabatini
you got no jurisdiction outside
this property!
colonel lee shoves a big, ugly tokorev 7.62x25mm-caliber
pistol in her face as he's opening the car door.
sabatini
(continuing)
shit!
(to ambassador han)
yank his fuckin' leash!
ambassador han
my men are going!
colonel lee jumps into the car and it screeches away, almost
running sabatini over.
ambassador han
(continuing; to sabatini)
it's a white telephone van, driving
west on washington boulevard.
the agents rush back to their guardhouse. dave's government
dodge is blocking theirs.
robbins
keys!
dave tosses them to robbins. sabatini shoves dave into the
back seat. he looks at her, dumbfounded.
sabatini
you're ridin' shotgun.
int. dave's dodge - (moving shot) - day
dave is thrown against the back of the seat by the acceleration.
robbins
cherry?
dave
under the seat.
sabatini grabs the red flashing light, puts it on the dashboard.
robbins
siren?
dave
i don't know! i'm never in a fuckin'
hurry..!
ext. fremont place - day
just as they race out of fremont place past the guard gate,
carson, in miranda's volvo, comes in on the other side.
int. carson's volvo - (moving shot) - day
carson sees the agents in the dodge and floors the volvo. he
fishtails, making a u-turn.
he straddles the lanes on wilshire to pull up next to them.
all the cars in front of them swerve to clear out of the way.
he rolls down his window. sabatini shouts over to him:
sabatini
someone snatched han's family! white
phone van, westbound on washington!
carson looks like he's been punched in the stomach.
carson
give me a secure radio!
sabatini takes a small two-way motorola radio out of her
pocket and throws it through her window to carson. dropping it
in his lap, he punches the gas. robbins floors dave's piece-of-
shit dodge, trying to keep up.
ext. federal building, westwood - establishing - day
int. federal building - state department offices - day
diplomatic liaison earl walther is using the reflection in his
office window to adjust his necktie. walther is 30, good-
looking, black; a gs lifer working his way up the ranks by
virtue of his quiet competence.
a co-worker sticks his head into the office, then shields his
eyes from the sight of walther's sharp new suit.
co-worker
someone's been to nordstroms, big
time.
walther
clothes make the man.
co-worker
but does the man make enough for the
clothes?
walther
(smiles)
the man makes payments on his visa.
walther's secretary rushes in.
secretary
mr. walther... priority line!
walther
(into phone)
this is diplomatic liaison earl
walther... what's the nature of your
emer --
(grimaces)
aw, jesus... not today...
(beat)
i'll inform channels and get a copter
in the air. for god's sake, keep it
quiet. do what you can, but don't
endanger civilians or the family!
int. carson's volvo - (moving shot) - day
carson drives with one hand, while holding the radio.
carson
(into radio)
you bet -- nice and easy.
real easy, until he narrowly misses a bunch of cars when
screeching around a corner.
int. federal building - state department offices - day
walther presses the intercom button on the phone.
walther
(into phone)
get the secretary of state on the
horn.
(listens)
i know he left already. i'm familiar
with the concept of time zones. find
his ass.
int. carson's volvo - (moving shot) - day
carson turns the frequency on his two-way.
carson
(into radio)
robbins, sabatini... chopper's on
its way.
ext. washington blvd - day
driving skillfully, carson edges past the north koreans.
int. carson's volvo - (moving shot) - day
and then, carson can't believe it: he spots javal's van, a
couple blocks ahead, driving at normal speed.
carson
(into radio)
check it out! ahead, on the right!
sabatini (vo)
(thru radio)
think it's them?
carson
(into radio)
yeah... but it seems too easy... i'll
move up; he won't suspect a civilian
car. stay back, then get on his ass
when i signal. we'll box him in.
he looks over at colonel lee, whose car is pacing his.
carson
(continuing; into radio)
if the mod squad gets in your way,
don't be shy about getting 'em out.
sabatini (vo)
(thru radio)
copy that one.
int. colonel lee's car - (moving shot) - day
glaring, colonel lee looks over at the fbi cars as they pass.
int. dave's dodge - (moving shot) - day
sabatini pulls out her machine pistol, and tosses the two-way
to dave. he looks scared, and carsick.
sabatini
don't puke... i hate when guys puke!
ext. washington blvd - day
carson tries to approach javal without drawing his attention.
int. javal's van - (moving shot) - day
he still drives at the same speed as the surrounding traffic.
his pov
as carson nonchalantly passes, javal notices the government-
issue two-way radio sitting on the seat of carson's volvo.
javal
grins... it's show-time. he stomps on the gas.
int. carson's volvo - (moving shot) - day
pissed that he's been made, carson speeds up.
int. javal's van - (moving shot) - day
driving fast, javal makes a hard right. as the van leans with
the turn, something rolls out from under a sheet of canvas on
the floor -- the governess' body, bloodied and grotesque under
the plastic tarp it's wrapped in.
joy starts screaming, as does everyone else when they see it.
javal pulls out a beretta centurion 9mm pistol and fires a
deafening round through the roof of the van.
javal
i need to concentrate!
ext. washington blvd - day
during a lull in traffic, a well-dressed woman jaywalks across
the street. an lapd black-and-white changes lanes and puts on
its flashing lights. as two cops write her a ticket...
around the corner two men make a quick exchange of money and a
vial of crack.
new angle
the cops do notice javal speeding by, with carson's volvo, the
fbi dodge and colonel lee's car in hot pursuit. they shove the
ticket in the well-dressed woman's hand and hop in their car.
ext. la cienega blvd / side streets - day
javal turns onto the side streets -- rows of run-down
apartment buildings. he takes a circuitous route, gaining a
one-block lead on carson and the others.
then, he makes a sudden turn into a one-way alley.
int. javal's van - (moving shot) - day
javal hits a remote garage door opener. ahead, rickety doors
on one of a line of detached garages facing the alley open up.
across from the garage, parked parallel against the back of an
empty building, we notice a duplicate van. it's facing the
same direction as javal is driving.
javal slams on the brakes, stopping just past the garage, and
then quickly backs up into the garage.
int. alleyway garage / javal's van - day
as he pulls in, we catch glimpses of the van slipping backwards
into a fiberglass superstructure that fits tightly around the
rear two-thirds of it. as the van comes to a stop, several snap-
buckles on the edge of the superstructure spring closed.
javal reaches out the van window and pulls on a rope hanging
from the ceiling of the garage. the rope releases the door
from the opening mechanism, so it immediately falls closed.
then, javal turns several switches on another of his neatly-
constructed remotes:
int. duplicate van - series of shots - day
steel straps are holding the steering wheel rigid.
a set of relays, triggered remotely, start the engine;
engage the transmission;
and supply fuel to the carburetor.
ext. alleyways
the duplicate van takes off down the alley. just as it gets up
to speed, carson and the others round the corner into the alley
behind it. as far as they know, they're still chasing javal.
the alley is several blocks long, running parallel to the main
road, separated at each block by perpendicular streets. the
duplicate van races along, scraping against parked cars and
the rear walls of buildings...
int. carson's volvo - (moving shot) - day
carson
(into radio)
he's gonna wrap it around something!
ext. alleyways - day
indeed, as the duplicate van crosses a street, cars swerve to
avoid hitting it. it continues into the next alley.
up ahead, a garbage truck lumbers into the far end of the
alley, its metal lift-rods extended to pick up a dumpster.
carson (os)
oh, shit...
the duplicate van crashes into the garbage truck and explodes.
new angle
carson, horrified, jumps out of his car. robbins and sabatini
run up. they have to hold carson away from the burning van.
dave hurries to the back of a building and gets sick.
colonel lee, wide-eyed with anger, gets in carson's face.
colonel lee
you should not have interfered!
carson shoves colonel lee out of his way, hard.
carson
i'm in no mood...
colonel lee comes back, ready for a fight. carson is happy to
oblige, but robbins grabs carson's arm.
robbins
forget about him!
by now, onlookers have begun to gather, as lapd black-and
whites and helicopters converge on the area.
ext. alleyway garage - day
a block away, the garage door opens, and we hear something
eerie and unexpected: a scratchy, music-box kids' song, coming
from a loudspeaker.
javal's van pulls out and we see its transformation: the
superstructure surrounding the body of the van makes it look
like a graffiti-covered, unlicensed ice cream vendor.
ext. alleyways - day
the entrance of the alley is blocked by a black-and-white. so,
accompanied by the song, javal drives along the one-way alley
in his camouflaged van, passing unnoticed by the authorities.
anguished, carson is staring at the burning duplicate van...
cut to:
ext. beverly drive - (flashback) - day
beverly thrift explodes and burns...
cut to:
ext. alleyways - day
carson tries to shake the memory away. he looks around, sensing
that something isn't right, then turns to the other agents.
carson
let's get back to the consulate.
off their perplexed looks, we
dissolve to:
int. bachelor apartment - day
one room, bathroom and kitchenette. a laptop computer and
peripherals are on a table, along with some cell phones, a
toolbox, and some jumbles of electronic circuitry.
in the main room, there are three large lazy-boy easy chairs,
side by side, facing a 27-inch tv on a stand. a cloth covers
two objects sitting atop the tv.
the door opens. mrs. han, joy, sam, and lisa walk in, rigid
with fear. javal, beretta 9mm in hand, comes in behind them
and closes the door. javal strips off his sweat-soaked shirt
and wipes his face with it. mrs. han realizes he's wired to
the moon... and it terrifies her.
javal
does anyone need to use the rest
room? this will be your last
opportunity for a few hours.
(no takers)
very well. mrs. han, sam, joy,
please sit here.
(indicates the lazy boys;
then turns to lisa)
and you... what is your name?
lisa
(after a beat)
lisa...
still holding the beretta, he grabs a polo shirt from the
closet and pulls it on. as the family sits in the chairs:
javal
no, mrs. han, this one. thank you.
he takes a pair of handcuffs out of his pants pocket. he tries
to handcuff lisa, hands behind her back, but she resists.
javal
(continuing; sotto)
you afford me some additional
bargaining power. but not much.
she wilts. javal cuffs her to the handles of the refrigerator.
he puts a strip of duct tape from his tool box across her mouth.
he uncovers one of the items atop the tv: an electronic box with
three pairs of oversized, led vu meters on the front of it.
we notice neat lines of wires running from each of the chairs
up into it. javal flips one of a row of switches on it; a
green light and the meters come to life.
javal
(continuing)
there. no taping your mouths, no
restraints. please remain still
while i explain. the meters on the
left indicate sound pressure --
decibels. there are microphones on
your chair backs. if you raise your
voices above certain level, putting
your meter in the red zone for more
than one sustained second, the
circuit will be closed.
(beat)
the right meters indicate motion.
there are pressure sensors inside the
armrests and seats. the sensors don't
like to get wet, so i hope you were
honest about not needing to use the
loo. if you make any excess
movements, or try to leave your
chair, the circuit will be closed.
mrs. han
i don't understand...
she looks at her sound meter, which jumped close to the red.
mrs. han
(continuing; softly)
what happens if the circuit closes?
javal
kaboom...
he uncovers the other item atop the tv -- a one-pound brick of
c-4 high explosive with the detonation mechanism jammed into
it. mrs. han gasps and begins to panic.
javal
(continuing)
easy... deep breath...
(to the kids)
do each of you understand?
they nod. tears roll down joy's face.
javal
(continuing)
keep your wits, and all will be fine.
he flips another switch and the green light turns yellow. he
then turns on the tv. coverage of the summit is everywhere.
commentator #1
(on tv)
...not since the '84 olympics has the
whole city had an such an opportunity --
javal turns the channel to a soap, and mutes it. he starts
pacing, and glances at his watch. it's 9:15 am.
int. government helicopter - (aerial shot) - day
earl walther looks through the window as his copter lands on
the lawn behind the north korean consulate.
ext. north korean consulate - day
as the copter lands, carson comes out to meet walther.
walther
carson?
(carson nods)
walther. who told the ambassador?
carson
his security chief.
(beat)
there was a civilian with them --
fifteen-year-old girl from across
the street. we're trying to reach
the parents.
