title: [Lungo] Watchmen, bozza di sceneggiatura di Sam Hamm

text:
Ho trovato per caso questa bozza di sceneggiatura, ovviamente mai sfociata
in un film, di Watchmen: sarei curioso di saperne di più in proposito.
***
WATCHMEN (1989)
--------------------------------
Unproduced first draft screenplay written by Sam Hamm
Adapted from the original DC Comics graphic novel WATCHMEN (1987),
written by Alan Moore and illustrated by Dave Gibbons.
WATCHMEN characters created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons.
WATCHMEN is a trademark of DC Comics.
---------------------------------
SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT!
Reading this screenplay WILL spoil numerous plot points found in the
original WATCHMEN graphic novel. Therefore, we respectfully ask you,
dear reader, to run -- don't walk -- to your nearest bookstore or
comics specialty shop, buy the graphic novel, and read it
cover-to-cover at least once before venturing further. We thank you,
Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons thank you, DC Comics thanks you, and the
fine folks at AOL/Time Warner thank you.
---------------------------------
FADE IN:
1. EXT. NEW YORK - LIBERTY ISLAND - DAY
The STATUE OF LIBERTY stands watch at the mouth of the Hudson. Over
scene, we SUPER TITLE:
NEW YORK CITY - JULY 1976
2. JERSEY CITY PIER - DAY
A live news update. Network correspondent CINDY CHAN stands at the
edge of the dock, the statue plainly visible in the distance behind
her.
CINDY
-- insist that the situation is under control. Authorities have just
agreed to the release of nine Radical Front prisoners in hopes of
freeing the hostages.
(adjusting her hair)
We repeat: terrorists have taken Liberty Island, and are holding some
forty hostages -- including tourists and maintenance workers --
captive in the Statue of Liberty itself.
3. FERRYBOAT - DAY
The ferry -- one of six anchored a half-mile off Liberty Island --
has been commandeered by a fully-armed SWAT TEAM. The SWAT CAPTAIN,
who's in charge of negotiations, speaks to the terrorists via
walkie-talkie.
SWAT CAPTAIN
Your demands have been met. The prisoners and the money are on their
way. If you tune your TV to Channel 4 you'll see the copters
preparing for takeoff.
4. INT. STATUE - THAT MOMENT
The screen of a portable TV shows THREE HELICOPTERS lifting off from
Laguardia. We're in the OBSERVATION ROOM inside the statue's head.
A TERRORIST holds a crowd of SQUEALING TOURISTS -- men, women,
schoolchildren -- at bay with an automatic rifle. Two others stand
by the windows, scanning the harbor for signs of a double-cross; and
a fourth, the RINGLEADER, speaks into a walkie-talkie.
RINGLEADER
Good. We got forty innocent people here. One false move . . . and
we blow her brains out.
SWAT CAPTAIN (O.S.)
(filter; from walkie-talkie)
Blow whose brains out?
5. EXT. STATUE - THAT MOMENT
TIGHT on the ring of OBSERVATION WINDOWS situated just below the
jutting spikes of the CROWN. CAMERA PULLS BACK rapidly to take in
the whole of the statue's head.
RINGLEADER (O.S.)
(a nasty laugh)
Lady Liberty, my friend. Lady Liberty's brains!
6. EXT. FERRY - THAT MOMENT - DAY
MOUNTING TENSION among the SWAT TEAM on deck.
SWAT COP
Sons of bitches.
SWAT CAPTAIN
Relax. We'll nail 'em on the transfer. Let's get those hostages out
first.
SWAT COP II
Captain . . . what the hell is that?
All eyes turn upward. In the distance, a TINY SPECK descends from
the clouds and drops, in a perfectly vertical line, toward the head
of the statue. The SWAT CAPTAIN hoists a pair of binoculars:
SWAT CAPTAIN
Shit. Shit fire!!
SWAT COP
Sir! What is it?
7. POV SHOT - THROUGH BINOCULARS
A magnified view of the SPECK, which turns out to be a futuristic,
blimplike HOVERCRAFT -- the OWLSHIP.
SWAT CAPTAIN (O.S.)
Christ almighty, it's the goddamned Watchmen!
8. INT. OWLSHIP - THAT MOMENT
In the cabin we find THREE COSTUMED SUPERHEROES: the red-and-gold
suited CAPTAIN METROPOLIS; RORSCHACH, whose face is a shifting
inkblot mask; and NIGHT OWL, who's manning the instrument panel.
NIGHT OWL
Okay, Adrian, we're in position. What now?
He looks up at a monitor mounted over the controls. ADRIAN VEIDT,
blond scientific wizard, answers pensively from Watchmen HQ:
VEIDT
(on monitor)
Let's take out their communications. Drop the scrambler.
9. EXT. HEAD OF STATUE - DAY
A line drops from the OWLSHIP, and an ELECTRONIC DEVICE lands with a
thud on the dome of Lady Liberty's crown.
10. INT. OBSERVATION ROOM - THAT MOMENT
TERRORISTS staring at the portable TV screen; suddenly, it shows
nothing but snow. The RINGLEADER, suspicious, lifts his
walkie-talkie:
RINGLEADER
Hey. We got a problem here --
He releases the button. No reply -- only loud, hissing STATIC.
RINGLEADER
Come in. Do you read me? Don't play around with us,
Goddammit !
11. EXT. FERRY - THAT MOMENT
The SWAT CAPTAIN curses at his useless walkie-talkie. Teeth bared,
he glowers up at the OWLSHIP and paces the deck in a psychotic
frenzy.
SWAT COP
Ignorant bastards! They've jammed us!
SWAT COP II
What do we do now?
SWAT CAPTAIN
We sit here with our thumbs up our butts. As usual.
12. EXT. LIBERTY ISLAND - THAT MOMENT - DAY
A HULKING FIGURE, outfitted in SCUBA GEAR, emerges from the water.
There's an evil-looking RIFLE slung over his shoulder. As he
swaggers toward the base of the statue, he peels off his wetsuit to
reveal yet another gaudy COSTUME underneath.
Superhero #4: THE COMEDIAN. He pins a BADGE to his leather
breastplate; incongruously, it's a HAPPY-FACE BUTTON -- and it
matches his own nasty SMILE as he marches forward into battle.
13. INT. BASE OF STATUE - THAT MOMENT - DAY
A TRIO OF TERRORISTS standing guard near the entrance in the base of
the statue. They're holding a JANITOR at gunpoint. One of them is
fumbling with his walkie-talkie, which has inexplicably gone
haywire.
TERRORIST I
Base to head. Base to head. Come in!
(flustered)
I can't get shit!
TERRORIST II
What the hell is going on??
There's a sudden metallic CLANG behind them. They turn in unison --
just as the COMEDIAN struts into frame, assault rifle in hand.
Panic. The three TERRORISTS fall into a tight cluster at the base of
a long metal stairway. One of them grabs the JANITOR, holds a gun to
his head.
TERRORIST I
I'M NOT JOKING!!
The COMEDIAN shrugs: okay. He lifts his rifle and fires TWO SILENCED
SHOTS directly into the JANITOR's gut. The old man's body jerks twice
and he slumps to the floor, stone dead.
The TERRORISTS stand there aghast. For an instant they're too
stunned to shoot. The COMEDIAN breaks into a dopey grin --
COMEDIAN
The joke's on you.
-- and opens fire with a look of VICIOUS PLEASURE on his face. As
the saying goes . . . it's nice to see a man who enjoys his work.
14. INT. OWLSHIP - THAT MOMENT
RORSCHACH and CAPT. METROPOLIS stand over an open hatch in the floor
of the cabin. At the console, NIGHT OWL hits a button. Then --
15. INT. OBSERVATION ROOM - A MOMENT LATER - DAY
A sudden BOOM. A FLASH OF COLOR. The startled TERRORISTS turn to
the nearest window, and see a spectacular display of BICENTENNIAL
FIREWORKS bursting above the harbor a short distance away.
While the TERRORISTS are distracted, our attention shifts to a point
behind them. Through an OBSERVATION WINDOW we see CAPT. METROPOLIS
and RORSCHACH sliding down a thin metal cable and LANDING on the
statue's upraised TORCH.
The TERRORISTS turn back just as the superheroes disappear around the
far side of the torch.
RINGLEADER
I don't like this. Go downstairs and see what's up.
16. EXT. STATUE - ON TORCH - THAT MOMENT - DAY
RORSCHACH and CAPT. METROPOLIS pry open a metal door on the torch.
RORSCHACH
Got your flashgun?
CAPT. METROPOLIS nods. He puts on a pair of IONIZED SUNGLASSES and
goes through the door, into the torch. RORSCHACH waits
behind.
17. INT. BASE OF STATUE - A MOMENT LATER - DAY
The COMEDIAN is wandering around with a MAP of the statue's layout.
He spots what looks like a MANHOLE COVER set in the concrete floor,
then strolls over and jimmies it open.
ANOTHER FIGURE in scuba gear climbs out. But this one's different.
This one's a WOMAN.
SILK SPECTRE
About time. It stinks down there.
COMEDIAN
B-team's upstairs. We gotta find that bomb.
As the COMEDIAN saunters off, she strips out of her slime-drenched
wetsuit. You guessed it -- a garish (and kinda skimpy) COSTUME
underneath.
SILK SPECTRE
Why do I get all the glamour jobs?
COMEDIAN
A woman's work is never done.
18. INT. OBSERVATION ROOM - THAT MOMENT - DAY
The TERRORISTS tense up at the sound of FOOTSTEPS. A moment later,
CAPT. METROPOLIS appears on the stairs. The TERRORISTS train their
guns on him -- all but the RINGLEADER, who grabs a
TEN-YEAR-OLD-GIRL.
RINGLEADER
I don't know who you are pal, but you just killed a little girl.
CAPT. METROPOLIS
Please. There's something I'd like you to see first.
He holds up what looks like an old-fashioned photographer's flash.
All at once, the ROOM GOES WHITE -- and by the time the blinding
light has dimmed, TERRORISTS and HOSTAGES alike are toppling to the
floor, their nervous systems temporarily FRIED.
All except CAPT. METROPOLIS, who's wearing his special sunglasses.
He pockets the shades and swiftly goes to work.
19. INT. STATUE - NEAR BASE - A MOMENT LATER
An edgy TERRORIST all alone, standing watch. Suddenly he's grabbed
from behind -- and THE COMEDIAN is holding the point of a BAYONET at
his throat.
COMEDIAN
Okay, Abdul. Where's the bomb?
20. INT. OBSERVATION ROOM - A MOMENT LATER - DAY
Everyone's slowly coming around. By now CAPT. METROPOLIS has the
TERRORISTS tied up; he's consoling a squawling THREE-YEAR-OLD.
CAPT. METROPOLIS
Don't cry, little one. You're in good hands.
(standing; to the crowd)
Now everyone. Listen carefully. We're going out through the torch.
He goes to a window, gives the thumbs-up sign to RORSCHACH out on the
torch. RORSCHACH signals the OWLSHIP.
21. EXT. STATUE - ON TORCH - A MOMENT LATER
A METAL LADDER descends from the belly of the OWLSHIP. RORSCHACH
secures it to the tip of the torch.
22. INT. STATUE - MIDSECTION - THAT MOMENT
SILK SPECTRE and THE COMEDIAN marching up a long metal stairway.
SILK SPECTRE
Should be just overhead. We have to distract them somehow . . .
COMEDIAN
Just barge in. While they're staring at your tits we'll blow their
balls off.
They look up. A TERRORIST is peering down at them from an overhead
landing. The COMEDIAN lifts his rifle: thwip. Before the terrorist
hits the floor, the COMEDIAN has lobbed a GAS GRENADE onto the
landing.
23. INT. STATUE - STAIRWAY LANDING - A MOMENT LATER
Gas everywhere. The TERRORISTS' BOMB, and it's a big fat one, sits
in a complicated housing at the center of the landing, with
UNCONSCIOUS TERRORISTS sprawled all around it. SILK SPECTRE and the
COMEDIAN, in gas masks, march up the stairs to scope things out:
COMEDIAN
Well. They look distracted.
(turning to face her)
Don't suppose you know how to disarm one of these babies . . . ?
SILK SPECTRE
Eddie -- !
Suddenly panicked, she grabs his shoulder, points behind him. He
turns.
One of the TERRORISTS still has some life in him. He drags himself
over to the bomb and -- with his last ounce of strength -- FLIPS A
SWITCH on the housing.
A TIMER begins to count down. Thirty seconds. Twenty-nine.
COMEDIAN
SHIT!
He hits a trigger on his belt, and a RED SIGNAL LIGHT begins to
blink. He spots an elevator door, runs over, and pries it open. An
empty shaft; the car is some twenty stories below them.
SILK SPECTRE
What about the --
COMEDIAN
FUCK 'EM!
There's a mountain-climber's CARABINER on his belt; he fastens it
around the ELEVATOR CABLE -- and DROPS. SILK SPECTRE hesitates only
a second before following suit.
24. INT. OBSERVATION ROOM - A MOMENT LATER
CAPT. METROPOLIS is herding HOSTAGES down the stairway. All at once,
he FREEZES. There's a red SIGNAL LIGHT flashing on his belt as
well.
25. INT. OWLSHIP - THAT MOMENT
YET ANOTHER RED LIGHT is flashing on NIGHT OWL's instrument panel.
He looks up at VEIDT on the monitor.
NIGHT OWL
Adrian!
VEIDT
Yeah, I see it. Mission aborted.
NIGHT OWL
Well, good God, we can't just --
VEIDT
Mission aborted, Daniel!
NIGHT OWL reluctantly agrees. He lets out the throttle.
26. INT. STATUE - STAIRWAY LANDING - THAT MOMENT
On the BOMB. The timer shows ten seconds to go.
27. INT. STATUE - ELEVATOR SHAFT - A MOMENT LATER
The COMEDIAN and SILK SPECTRE plummet downward, their BELT CLASPS
throwing off sparks against the cable.
28. INT. OBSERVATION ROOM - A MOMENT LATER
CAPT. METROPOLIS at the window, petrified with fear, his hands
pressed to the glass. He watches as the OWLSHIP flies away -- and
RORSCHACH, who's hanging onto the metal ladder, is YANKED BODILY off
the torch.
29. INT. STATUE - ELEVATOR SHAFT - THAT MOMENT
THE COMEDIAN makes a hard landing on the roof of a car. SILK SPECTRE
touches down behind him just as he manages to pry a set of elevator
doors open, and the two of them dive through.
30. AERIAL SHOT - MOVING OVER HARBOR - A MOMENT LATER
RORSCHACH clings desperately to the metal ladder as the OWLSHIP
streaks across the harbor. Behind him is the rapidly receding figure
of Lady Liberty.
Three beats later, a GAPING HOLE blows open in her midsection.
31. INT. OWLSHIP - THAT MOMENT
A heartsick NIGHT OWL pounds the control panel in frustration. On an
overhead monitor, the upper portion of the statue is TOPPLING.
32. INT. STATUE - A MOMENT LATER
Smoke everywhere. The COMEDIAN and SILK SPECTRE are pressed flat
against a CONCRETE BULKHEAD. An overhang protects them from falling
DEBRIS -- which is raining down in copious amounts.
33. EXT. FERRY - A MOMENT LATER
The furious SWAT CAPTAIN watches in astonishment as the top half of
the statue disintegrates into RUBBLE and tumbles to the ground. He
turns away from the sight, shaking his head in vehement disgust.
SWAT CAPTAIN
That's it. I quit.
The water stirs. The boat begins to ROCK. On deck, all eyes turn --
34. EXT. LIBERTY ISLAND - THAT MOMENT - DAY
-- as a LUMINOUS BLUE-SKINNED GIANT, SIXTY FEET TALL, wades through
the harbor and steps up onto the island. He stares in dismay at the
demolished statue . . . like a modern-day Colossus of Rhodes
wondering what the hell happened to his date.
Meet the last -- and most powerful -- member of our happy band: DR.
MANHATTAN.
Down below, THE COMEDIAN and SILK SPECTRE -- battered but intact --
are crawling out of the wreckage. The COMEDIAN looks up at the huge
blue figure looming over them, and shakes a gnat-sized fist:
COMEDIAN
ASSHOLE! WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?!?
CUT TO:
35. INT. TV STUDIO - NIGHT
The Channel 4 Newsroom, with anchors SHEILA SHEA and JIM BRADLEY.
SHEILA
In the face of mounting public pressure, the city of New York has
revoked its contract with Adrian Veidt's super-team. Local police
have threatened a city-wide walkout if criminal charges against the
Watchmen are dropped.
On the bluescreen behind them, red circles with diagonal crossbars
surround SIX HEAD SHOTS of the individual WATCHMEN.
JIM
And in Washington today, the Senate introduced legislation which
would ban all costumed adventurers nationwide. Easy passage
is expected.
(shuffling his papers)
Well, Sheila, it looks like the age of the superhero is officially
history.
DISSOLVE TO:
36. CREDITS SEQUENCE
TIMEPIECES of every description -- pocket watches, grandfather
clocks, travel alarms, all perfectly synchronized -- DRIFT UPWARD
through a vast black void, ticking off the seconds. At the stroke of
midnight, GONGS sound, BUZZERS buzz, BELLS tinkle -- and without
warning the clocks EXPLODE. As gears and coils and crystals cascade
downward through the void, we SUPER TITLE:
WATCHMEN
FADE THROUGH TO:
37. EXT. HIGH-RISE - NIGHT
Darkened windows glow with the dim fire of reflected neon as we TILT
UP the towering facade of a forty-story apartment building. A BLIMP
drifts lazily through distant clouds; the sounds of traffic echo
faint and dreamlike in the wind as we reach the penthouse -- where
heavy curtains flutter behind the ragged matte of a SHATTERED
PLATE-GLASS WINDOW. SUPER TITLE:
NEW YORK CITY - TEN YEARS LATER
38. EXT. STREET BELOW - THAT MOMENT - NIGHT
A ramshackle NEWS KIOSK. The OWNER, fat and stubbly, sits framed by
the garish covers of comic books and nudie mags, staring at the
high-rise across the street. THREE POLICE CARS -- oddly truncated
bubble-shaped vehicles, recognizable from the flashing red beacons on
their roofs -- sit on the curb amid a throng of ONLOOKERS.
A CUSTOMER picks up a copy of the New York Gazette: "NEW SKIRMISH ON
AFGHAN BORDER. RUSSKIES WALK OUT ON PEACE POWWOW."
CUSTOMER
Crazy reds don't know who they're messing with.
(indicating the cop cars)
What happened over there?
NEWS VENDOR
Some guy went sidewalk divin' Twenny-five cents.
39. EXT. HIGH-RISE - STREET LEVEL - NIGHT
A riot of noise and color. A plainclothes COP takes a statement from
the DOORMAN as PEDESTRIANS, clustered around an NYPD cordon, stare
with sickened expressions at a gruesome mess on the sidewalk.
PATROLMAN
STAND BACK! MOVE ALONG!
We are not in New York as we know it; in this strange offshoot of
reality, everything -- the clothes, the cars, the very look of the
city -- seems just a touch off. The PATROLMAN, for instance:
his standard-issue uniform consists of full riot gear, and his
plastisteel breastplate is festooned with heavy artillery. He clears
a path for a squad of PARAMEDICS, who load a bloody parcel into the
back of a waiting ambulance.
DET. LT. BURNS climbs out of his car, squeezes through the crowd and
buttonholes his colleague, HYDE, the cop in charge of the
investigation.
BURNS
Had a lot of blood in him.
HYDE
You oughta see upstairs. It's a slaughterhouse.
BURNS
No idea who's behind this?
HYDE
Small army, from the looks of it. He put up one hell of a fight.
BURNS nods once and stares up toward the penthouse window.
BURNS
He would -- You might as well know. It's gonna get messy. We got a
call from Washington.
HYDE
Washington?
BURNS
They want in. Seems our friend here was hardcore CTU.
HYDE, suddenly wide-eyed at this new development, stares off after
the ambulance as it merges with the northbound traffic.
40. EXT. STREET - ANOTHER ANGLE - THAT MOMENT - NIGHT
TIGHT ON a large placard: "THE END IS NIGH." The bearer of the sign,
a hunched STREET CRAZY in a ratty raincoat, plods up the sidewalk
spreading his message of cheer; his back is to us, but we can make
out an unruly shock of bright RED HAIR.
The NEWS VENDOR eyes him suspiciously as he passes, then turns up his
collar and looks pointedly away. A SMALL BLACK KID, leaning against
the kiosk with a comic book, spots him too, and makes a quick,
cross-eyed face. The STREET CRAZY lets out a low, hissing GROWL in
response and plugs on.
At the high-rise, a sanitation crew has just arrived to hose down the
sidewalks; RIVULETS OF WATER crisscross the street. As the STREET
CRAZY wanders along, he spots something unusual snagged in the rain
grate.
It's a HAPPY-FACE BUTTON. A tiny diagonal fleck of BLOOD stains its
surface, like the hand of a clock poised at twelve minutes to
midnight.
The STREET CRAZY bends to retrieve it. He stares off at the
shattered window some forty stories above.
DISSOLVE TO:
41. INT. HIGH-RISE - HALLWAY - NIGHT
CAMERA DRIFTS from the penthouse elevator down a long, plush-carpeted
corridor. The hallway is cordoned with thin plastic strips reading
"POLICE LINE -- DO NOT CROSS." At the far end is a single door,
SEALED OFF.
42. INT. PENTHOUSE APARTMENT - NIGHT
MOONLIGHT SHINES on an obstacle course of broken chairs and
overturned tables as we move inexorably toward the shattered picture
window. At this altitude, the wind is fierce, and the curtains are
flapping wildly.
A ROPE drops into view. A DARK SILHOUETTE lands on the ledge outside.
SHARDS OF GLASS crunch underfoot as this strange INTRUDER steps
inside. He wears a slouch hat, a heavy trenchcoat; his face is
invisible to us as he snaps on a flashlight and sweeps it around the
room.
The apartment is, as promised, a slaughterhouse: smashed art prints,
gaping holes in the wallboard, and gallons of BLOOD everywhere. The
flashlight beam shines on the front door, where THREE DEADBOLT LOCKS
and an electronic alarm system are still in place, undisturbed.
The INTRUDER turns suddenly. His beam strikes the splintered remains
of a full-length WALL MIRROR -- and there, in the cracked and spiky
glass, we get our first good look at his face. Or what passes for
his face.
He has no eyes, no nose, no mouth, nothing but a strange and
ever-shifting series of symmetrical patterns where his face should
be. . .a living, crawling inkblot on a luminescent field of white.
We've met him before. He goes by the name of RORSCHACH.
43. INT. PENTHOUSE - KITCHEN - THAT MOMENT - NIGHT
RORSCHACH'S BEAM falls on the kitchen table. HUNGRY FLIES walk
dainty-legged through a sticky puddle of congealing blood.
Offhandedly, he brushes the flies away; then he spots a SUGAR BOWL.
He tips it over, scoops up a handful of cubes, deposits them in his
trenchcoat pocket.
44. INT. PENTHOUSE - BEDROOM - A MOMENT LATER - NIGHT
The beam shines across rumpled bedclothes, searches around the walls,
and settles finally on the half-open door to a walk-in closet.
RORSCHACH steps inside, examines rack upon rack of expensive
suits.
He shoves the suits aside. Then, mysteriously, he begins to POUND on
the wall with his fist, moving left, right, up, down: THUMP. THUMP.
THUMP.
He pauses. He's found a hollow section. He feels his way carefully
along the seams of the wall and floorboard until he discovers a
CONCEALED TRIGGER. He presses it and a panel slides back, revealing
a SECOND, SECRET CLOSET, hidden inside the first.
He reaches up, flicks on a light. Inside the secret closet: a
bizarre UNIFORM -- helmet, mask and gloves, a gaudy-colored bodysuit,
rows of exotic weaponry. On the wall nearby hangs a dusty framed
PHOTOGRAPH.
RORSCHACH examines the photo. It's a group shot, six men, one woman,
all dressed in similarly garish uniforms. The man in the center is
wearing the costume on the wall before us. . .the COMEDIAN's
costume.
They're all there, all the Watchmen: NIGHT OWL. SILK SPECTRE. CAPT.
METROPOLIS. DR. MANHATTAN. ADRIAN VEIDT. And of course, RORSCHACH
himself. As he eyes this quirky memento of days gone by, we
DISSOLVE TO:
45. EXT. STREET CORNER - BROOKLYN - NIGHT
A LIGHT RAIN is falling as a weary figure emerges from a corner
store. DANIEL DREIBERG, 44, thickset and bespectacled, walks with
the heavy gait of an athlete gone to seed. He seems meek, defeated
-- old before his time.
He holds a hand to the skies, sets down his grocery bags long enough
to open an umbrella. Then he turns down a deserted access street.
46. EXT. ACCESS STREET - NIGHT
In an alleyway just off the access street, there's a MUGGING in
progress: two young street toughs, their tinted hair tied up in
knot-tops, rolling a middle-aged man. Across the street, DREIBERG
sees what's happening; it takes some effort, but he makes a conscious
decision to move on. Then --
VOICE
Hold up, papa-san!
The KNOT-TOPS have emerged from the alleyway with their loot, and
spotted DREIBERG -- an unwanted witness. Menace in their eyes, they
march toward him. He sets his bags down and turns to face them,
almost welcoming the challenge; and suddenly, without warning, we
CUT TO:
47. FLASHBACK - PROCESSED FOOTAGE
Slow-mo, double-frame, or sepia-tone; you call it. But whatever the
gimmick, it should suggest that the events we're watching take place
in a stylized dream-time, midway between flashback and fantasy.
It's out old friend NIGHT OWL, duking it out with a gang of HOODS in
an alleyway not unlike the one we've just left. There's a flurry of
fists; the HOODS topple, in quick succession--
-- and all at once a burst of BLINDING LIGHT BLEACHES OUT THE FRAME,
transporting us back to:
48. EXT. ACCESS STREET - NIGHT
Real-time again. Our reverie's been interrupted by a SHAFT OF
WHITE-HOT LIGHT sweeping across the street, past DREIBERG, toward the
alley.
LOUDSPEAKER
HALT! DO NOT TRY TO RESIST --
The KNOT-TOPS run for it. DREIBERG shields his eyes against the
LIGHT -- which emanates from a POLICE HOVERCRAFT hanging in midair
some forty feet above his head. The craft swoops off in pursuit of
the kids.
DREIBERG bends to retrieve his things and crosses to the mouth of the
alleyway. He finds the old man slumped against a wall, obviously past
help.
49. INT. DREIBERG'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
THREE DEADBOLT LOCKS slide back as DREIBERG lets himself in. The
security system is almost as impressive as the one in the COMEDIAN's
apartment, but the decor is considerably less plush.
DREIBERG sets his bags on the floor, removes his raincoat, and hangs
it carefully in a closet. Then he gathers his groceries, heads for
the kitchen -- and STOPS IN HIS TRACKS, confronted with a most
peculiar sight:
DREIBERG
 . . Rorschach.
50. INT. DREIBERG'S KITCHEN - NIGHT
Leaning back in a chair, his feet propped up on the kitchen table, is
the aforementioned RORSCHACH. His inkblot mask is rolled partway up,
exposing a mouthful of bad teeth, and he's calmly eating a plate of
baked beans.
DREIBERG
How did you get in here?
Ignoring the question, RORSCHACH greets him in a soft, rasping,
utterly emotionless whisper:
RORSCHACH
Hiya, pardner. Long time no see.
DREIBERG
Did anybody follow you? See you come here?
DREIBERG is mildly panicked. RORSCHACH -- who couldn't care less --
emits his trademark hissing GROWL. He spoons more beans from a can
onto his plate, tops it all off with a generous squirt of ketchup
from a squeeze bottle.
DREIBERG (cont.)
I can't believe you're back on the streets. Good God, man, you're
wanted on fourteen counts of murder.
RORSCHACH
At least six of those are trumped-up. -- Here.
He reaches into his pocket, finds the HAPPY-FACE button, and flips it
to DREIBERG. DREIBERG eyes it for a moment, automatically uses his
fingernail to scrape at the small red STAIN on its surface.
RORSCHACH (cont.)
Look familiar?
DREIBERG
Sure. You got some kind of -- bean juice on it.
RORSCHACH
Human bean juice.
(beat)
The Comedian is dead.
DREIBERG stares down at the button, suddenly getting the picture.
His jaw goes slack.
RORSCHACH (cont.)
Had a real nice place -- penthouse suite, forty stories up --
beautiful view.
Hope he enjoyed it on the way down.
DREIBERG
Jesus. What. A burglar . . . ?
RORSCHACH snorts: the possibility is too comical to consider.
DREIBERG (cont.)
Well, God, he'd been working with the CTU for almost a decade -- he
must've had enemies.
RORSCHACH
So do I. So do you.
DREIBERG
Rorschach, that was a long time ago. I mean, that -- that's just
paranoia.
RORSCHACH's head jerks violently at the sound of the word. DREIBERG
blinks involuntarily, half-expecting some kind of reprisal. But
RORSCHACH merely stands, adjusts his mask, and starts toward the
front door.
RORSCHACH
Maybe. Or maybe somebody's finally caught up with us. Somebody with
a grudge.
(pause)
Thought you might want to spread the word.
DREIBERG
Hey. Hey. If you don't mind, use the back stairs, all right?
RORSCHACH growls, shakes his head in disgust -- but complies. He
opens the back door, pauses, turns to DREIBERG.
RORSCHACH
You the sentimental type, Daniel? -- Brought you a souvenir.
He reaches into his trenchcoat and hands DREIBERG the framed photo
from the COMEDIAN's wall. A moment later, he's gone.
DREIBERG sits down, unnerved. As he reaches for the wall phone,
CAMERA ZEROES IN on a face from the photo: a blonde man, in a purple
tunic and mask . . .
51. INT. OFFICE SUITE - DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN - NIGHT
A GREAT SHADOWY JUNGLE CAT pads across acres of carpet. The cat is
far from its natural habitat; in back of it is a glass-and-chrome
desk outfitted with a computer terminal, and at the terminal is
ADRIAN VEIDT, the brains behind the Watchmen. Although he's
DREIBERG's age, his face is serene and unlined by worry. Blond and
pale, he looks thirty. When he's sixty he'll look forty.
VEIDT -- millionaire industrialist, and holder of over forty basic
patents -- is also something of an Egyptologist, and the decor of his
office reflects it: ancient vases sarcophagi, busts of Anubis, and the
like. He keys a string of figures into the computer; the PHONE
RINGS.
VEIDT
Veidt here.
52. INTERCUT DREIBERG AND VEIDT
DREIBERG
Adrian? Listen, it's Dreiberg. I just had a visit from Rorschach.
I had to call you before he --
VEIDT
Daniel, slow down. What's this about Rorschach?
DREIBERG
The Comedian. He's dead. Murdered. That's all I know.
VEIDT
My God. Murdered? -- What's this have to do with Rorschach?
DREIBERG
It's -- he's got some kind of conspiracy theory. He thinks someone's
 . . I don't know, stalking us.
VEIDT
Us. You mean the Watchmen.
The big CAT purrs; it's a mutant lynx, genetically tailored, with red
fur and long, tufted, antenna-like ears. VEIDT tosses the lynx a
chunk of raw meat from a platter on his deak while he ponders
DREIBERG's words.
VEIDT (cont.)
Daniel, Rorschach is insane.
DREIBERG
I know, I know, it's just -- he's back on the street, he smells
blood.
VEIDT
You know how he is. He goes on these binges, kills a couple of thugs
-- then he's satisfied. It blows over.
DREIBERG
He's bound to get caught. I don't want my name coming out. Not at
this late date.
VEIDT
If he comes here, I'll handle him. Remember -- I've always protected
you. Haven't I?
(slight pause)
Do you need money?
DREIBERG
No. I just wanted you to --
VEIDT
You did the right thing, Daniel. Let's stay in touch, okay? Good
night.
DREIBERG
Good night.
VEIDT leans back in his chair, reaches for a gold case and extracts a
cigarette. It's "matchless"; you ignite it guy striking the tip of
the cigarette against the edge of the case. He lights up and takes a
long, slow drag.
CUT TO:
53. EXT. MILITARY INSTALLATION - NIGHT
Barbed wire, armed GUARDS everywhere. A vehicle waits at the
checkpoint; the GUARDS wave it through, and a huge cast-iron GATE
rolls into place behind it. On the gate is a small, tasteful sign
which reads "ROCKEFELLER MILITARY RESEARCH CENTER."
54. INT. MILITARY INSTALLATION - NIGHT
ADRIAN VEIDT walks down a long, greenish corridor flanked by ARMED
ESCORT TROOPS. At the end of the hallway is a foot-thick metal door
with a KEYPAD off to one side; one of the TROOPS punches in a
six-digit access code, and the door slides back to reveal . . .
 . . another door, this one outfitted with a simple
doorbell. The TROOPS ring the bell, stand rigidly at attention, and
wait -- to VEIDT's great amusement.
The inner door slides open. Peering out is an attractive, big-boned
woman in her mid-thirties: LAURIE JUSPECZYK -- aka the SILK
SPECTRE.
LAURIE
Adrian.
VEIDT
Laurie! Good to see you.
She gives him a warm hug. The ESCORT TROOPS march back down the hall
in perfect lockstep as the giant metal doors ease shut behind them.
LAURIE escorts VEIDT into a huge laboratory space: great oversized
machines, blinking computer terminals, advanced scientific
paraphernalia of every description.
VEIDT (cont.)
Nice. Who's your decorator -- Edward Teller?
LAURIE
Don't rub it in. I live here.
VEIDT
And how's life with the walking H-bomb?
LAURIE
He's in by the superaccelerator. -- Let me take your coat.
She takes his coat and vanishes into the living quarters. VEIDT
wanders through the lab with an envious eye. Suddenly he stops. A
SMILE crosses his face as he gazes up at the ceiling:
VEIDT
Hi, Jon.
DR. MANHATTAN (O.S.)
(a deep, booming voice)
Hello, Adrian.
DR. MANHATTAN -- Jon Osterman to his friends -- is a big guy under
any circumstances, but at the moment he's downright gargantuan.
Forty feet tall, bright blue and buck naked, he's calmly adjusting a
calibration atop his particle accelerator.
DR. MANHATTAN (cont.)
I think I'm about to detect a gluino.
In case you were wondering, this blue-skinned superman can do just
about anything. He can manipulate matter effortlessly; the
physical universe is his plaything. When it comes to the laws of
time and space, DR. MANHATTAN is a chronic offender.
Any government would be glad to have him.
VEIDT
Supersymmetrical theory, hmm? Say, I understand old Schwartzmann
caught a decaying proton in that German mineshaft . . .
LAURIE, who's just reappeared, shakes her head and groans.
LAURIE
Please, you guys, no shop talk.
(to DR. MANHATTAN)
Jon, you're being rude. Why don't you shrivel on down and join us?
DR. MANHATTAN shrugs and shrinks down to a somewhat more manageable
six-foot-five. A pair of BLACK TRUNKS materializes about his waist
-- preserving his modesty. Satisfied, LAURIE turns to VEIDT:
LAURIE (cont.)
Good to see you, Adrian. What's the occasion?
He tosses a casual glance around the lab. A number of VIDEO
SURVEILLANCE CAMERAS are mounted on the walls.
VEIDT
 . . Are we being monitored?
DR. MANHATTAN looks at each of the cameras in turn. One by one, the
little red "ON" lights wink out.
DR. MANHATTAN
The bearer of bad news.
VEIDT
We've lost a colleague. The Comedian is dead.
LAURIE
Blake? Dead?
DR. MANHATTAN
Yes. I heard this morning. Washington's asked me to attend the
funeral as a matter of protocol.
LAURIE shoots an irritated look at DR. MANHATTAN. This is the first
she's heard about it.
VEIDT
Rorschach's on the case. He's got Dreiberg in a lather. He seems to
think that someone is "stalking" the Watchmen.
DR. MANHATTAN
Oh? The CTU suspects a Libyan hit squad.
VEIDT
What's your theory?
DR. MANHATTAN
Life and death are unquantifiable abstracts. They don't concern
me.
VEIDT peeks at LAURIE, cocks an eyebrow: same old Jon. But LAURIE is
considerably less amused.
LAURIE
I could use a drink. How about you, Adrian?
VEIDT nods yes. DR. MANHATTAN, meanwhile, has moved off to another
part of the lab. He stands before a vast bank of machinery -- and as
we watch, a panel detaches itself from the front of the console and
floats off to one side.
A module of circuit boards, chips, and pin connectors slides out of
the hole. Individual components detach themselves and HANG in
midair. DR. MANHATTAN hasn't lifted a finger; he's dismantling and
reassembling his equipment through sheer force of mind.
VEIDT has seen these parlor tricks before. He ambles up and resumes
the conversation without missing a beat:
VEIDT
I guess you'll be dismantling Russian tanks soon.
DR. MANHATTAN
You mean Afghanistan?
(beat)
It won't require my attention. What I'm doing here is far more
interesting.
The module, now fully reconstructed, slides back into place. The
cover panel rises off the floor, settles over the hatch, and screws
itself shut.
VEIDT
Well . . . I wanted to bring you the news about Blake, but -- as
usual -- I can't tell you anything you don't already know. Goodbye,
Jon.
DR. MANHATTAN nods -- just barely. VEIDT heads for the door, finds
his coat where LAURIE put it. He's just about to leave when she
arrives with two stiff drinks in hand.
LAURIE
Adrian! Don't leave so soon. I --
VEIDT
I'll take a raincheck, Laurie.
LAURIE
Please.
There's a note of desperation in her voice. VEIDT glances over his
shoulder at DR. MANHATTAN -- who's forty feet tall again, playing
with his superaccelerator.
VEIDT
He's a little farther gone every time.
LAURIE
Stay, Adrian. I just -- every once in a while, I need to talk to
someone human.
(beat)
He doesn't think like we do. He doesn't even feel what we feel. I
mean -- he even scares the research teams.
VEIDT
Laurie -- he's the most powerful man who's ever lived. He's changed
the world.
LAURIE
(embarrassed)
I know. I shouldn't be saying this. He's happy, he's content, he's
doing his work --
VEIDT
What about you?
LAURIE
I suppose I'm serving my purpose, aren't I.
(pause)
I'll ring for the guards.
She goes to the steel door, hits a buzzer. VEIDT watches her,
concerned. She COUGHS, violently, and he reaches into his vest
pocket for a cigarette case:
VEIDT
Nasty cough. -- Try one of mine.
(handing her a cigarette)
Darling, you need to get out of the house. Why don't you give
Daniel a call? I'm sure he'd be glad to hear from you.
LAURIE
Maybe I'll do that.
VEIDT
I'm sorry about Blake.
He pats her on the shoulder. The door slides open and the TROOPS
appear to escort VEIDT back down the hallway.
LAURIE takes a long pull on her drink and gazes up at her superhuman
lover. He tinkers with his equipment; then, satisfied, he turns and
WALKS THROUGH A SOLID BRICK WALL -- as if it weren't there.
CUT TO:
55. EXT. HAPPY HARRY'S - ESTABLISHING - NIGHT
A decrepit waterfront bar in a particularly rough neighborhood,
popular with denizens of the underworld, accessible by a narrow
stairway which dips well below street level.
56. INT. HAPPY HARRY'S - NIGHT
The usual crowd, living it up. HOOKERS line the bar. DRUG DEALERS
hover at the entrance to the men's room. ASSORTED GOONS AND THUGS
stand clustered at the pool table, watching a TOPLESS DANCER bump and
grind. Suddenly there's a terrible RACKET, and everyone TURNS.
Over by the entrance, RORSCHACH is hard at work ripping a PAY PHONE
off the wall. Once he has it on the floor, he gives it a couple of
vicious licks with a crowbar; then he strides casually over to the
bar -- where the proprietor, HAPPY HARRY, is nervously polishing
glasses.
RORSCHACH
Harry.
HARRY
(petrified)
R-Rorschach.
RORSCHACH
Phone's out of order. Mind if I use yours?
He reaches under the counter, sets a phone on the bar. RORSCHACH
picks it up and FLINGS IT at a nearby table, scattering the PATRONS
and yanking the cord cleanly out of the wall.
He turns and faces the assembled multitudes:
RORSCHACH
Edward Blake. Friend of mine. Fell through a window. Might've had
help.
(wandering through the room)
Thought maybe you could fill me in.
ENORMOUS TOUGHS sit riveted to their chairs, staring up in horror as
RORSCHACH strolls past.
RORSCHACH (cont.)
You. Gideon. Whoremonger. Nothing?
(moving on)
Johnny Gobs. What's new at the schoolyard?
Behind RORSCHACH's back, a shadowy figure is slinking furtively
toward the exit. RORSCHACH pivots suddenly, grabs him by the collar,
yanks him off his feet and slams him into a wall.
RORSCHACH (cont.)
Nicky the Jap. In a hurry? You keeping secrets, Nicky?
NICKY sits slumped against the wall, quaking with fear. RORSCHACH
extends a hand to help him up. He reaches out hesitantly --
-- and RORSCHACH grabs him by the wrist, pulling him off balance. He
closes a gloved fist around NICKY's pinky finger, twists it back and
SNAPS IT.
RORSCHACH (cont.)
Edward Blake. Who killed him?
No answer forthcoming. NICKY lets out a horrible moan as RORSCHACH
grabs his index finger and repeats the process.
RORSCHACH (cont.)
Who killed Edward Blake?
NICKY passes out. RORSCHACH releases his grip, lets NICKY sink to
the floor, and reaches for his crowbar. He's standing poised to let
fly at NICKY's ribs when a VOICE IN THE CROWD shouts out.
VOICE
JESUS! HE'S IN SHOCK!!
RORSCHACH
THE COMEDIAN. WHO KILLED HIM?
By now HARRY's pulled a sawed-off shotgun from underneath the bar.
Without looking up, RORSCHACH spins and HEAVES THE CROWBAR. It
catches HARRY in the jaw, pitching him back into a rack of
glassware. The SHOTGUN discharges TWO HARMLESS BLASTS into the
ceiling.
SILENCE in the bar as the ONLOOKERS await RORSCHACH's next move. He
looks at the bleeding HARRY, shakes his head in disgust:
RORSCHACH (cont.)
So many vermin . . . so little time.
He bends, pulls a topcoat off NICKY's quivering frame, and tosses it
contemptuously at the NUDE DANCER. Then he turns to go, pausing long
enough to HISS at the crowd:
RORSCHACH (cont.)
Go back to your heroin and your child pornography. I'll be
around.
CUT TO:
57. INT. MILITARY INSTALLATION - LIVING QUARTERS - PRE-DAWN
The bedroom which LAURIE shares with DR. MANHATTAN at the Rockefeller
research complex. It's not quite six A.M., still dark outside, and
LAURIE is asleep. She tosses around under the covers, reaches over
to where DR. MANHATTAN should be -- but his side of the bed is
empty.
LAURIE
(muttering; groggy)
Jon . . . ?
A LUMINOUS BLUE HAND enters frame, strokes her cheek gently. LAURIE
closes her eyes and sighs.
DR. MANHATTAN
I'm here, Laurie.
LAURIE
Is it time? D'you have to leave for the funeral?
DR. MANHATTAN
Not yet, there's plenty of time.
A SECOND BLUE HAND strokes her hair. LAURIE stretches luxuriantly.
DR. MANHATTAN kisses her softly on the throat.
LAURIE
Mmm. You feel so good. Do you have to go?
The BLUE HAND runs down the length of LAURIE's shoulder and arm,
toward her hip. She sighs dreamily.
DR. MANHATTAN
Would you like me to stay?
LAURIE
Mm hmm.
DR. MANHATTAN
I could stay and go.
LAURIE
 . . And just how would you manage that?
She leans up to kiss him. The SECOND BLUE HAND continues its
downward progress, almost colliding with a THIRD blue hand, which is
massaging LAURIE's thigh.
Third blue hand? Wait a minute. LAURIE's eyes go suddenly
wide. She sits bolt upright in bed.
DR. MANHATTAN is stretched out beside her. He is also sitting at the
foot of the bed. There seem to be two of him.
LAURIE
AAAAAAAAAA!!
DR. MANHATTAN I
Laurie? Are you --
DR. MANHATTAN II
Don't be upset.
This unique menage a trois proves a bit much for LAURIE's
fragile nerves. She climbs angrily out of bed and reaches for a
dressing gown.
LAURIE
Jon, please. I don't enjoy these tricks. Just -- be one
person again, please?
The big blue twins stand up, spreading their hands in identical
gestures of apology as LAURIE stalks past.
DR. MANHATTAN I
Laurie, I did it to please you. I thought --
DR. MANHATTAN II
-- you would find it erotic.
LAURIE
All right, all right. It's just -- my nerves, I'm going stir-crazy
in this place, I --
While fumbling in her purse for a cigarette, LAURIE happens to glance
through a doorway, into the lab outside. To her utter astonishment,
she sees a THIRD DR. MANHATTAN out there, calmly running an
experiment on one of his oversized toys. She marches angrily through
the door . . .
58. INT. LAB - A MOMENT LATER
 . . to confront DR. MANHATTAN number three:
LAURIE
You've been out here all along, haven't you? Running one of your
stupid experiments --
DR. MANHATTAN III
Yes, I thought I could finish up before I leave for Washington.
LAURIE
So you sent your, your proxies in there to -- Jon, really, how
could you do this?
DR. MANHATTAN III
You seem to feel I've been neglecting you. Isn't that the case?
(pause)
I thought I'd solved the problem quite elegantly.
LAURIE
That's all it is to you, isn't it? Just another problem you
can --
She doesn't see the other two DR. MANHATTANS, who have just entered
the room behind her. They speak in perfect unison:
DR. MANHATTANS I & II
Laurie, please --
LAURIE pivots, lets out a little squeal of shock. She turns back
slowly, steadies herself on a lab table.
LAURIE
Jon -- just go to Washington, all right? And take them with you. I
could really use the time alone.
She storms back into the living quarters, past DR. MANHATTANS I &
II -- who pop out of existence as soon as she passes. The original
DR. MANHATTAN cocks an eyebrow, sighs, and returns to his
equipment.
FADE THROUGH TO:
1. INT. ROOFTOP RESTAURANT - NIGHT
A pricey joint in midtown. DREIBERG and LAURIE, well-fed, are hard
at work on their second bottle of wine. She looks amazingly
beautiful in full makeup and low-cut evening gown -- but it's largely
wasted on her preoccupied date.
At the moment, she's filling him in on life with Dr. Manhattan:
LAURIE
The government's really worried. He gets so flaky sometimes. I
guess it's no picnic being the world's only superhuman.
(mock-macho)
I have to keep him in line.
She flexes her bicep and holds the pose, waiting for DREIBERG to
laugh. He doesn't. In fact, he barely even notices; his gaze has
wandered off into a far corner of the room.
LAURIE (cont.)
Excuse me -- where exactly are you tonight?
DREIBERG
Sorry, it's this thing with Blake. I mean, you don't really think
anyone's out to get us -- do you?
LAURIE
Dan, are you really that paranoid? Let's face it, Eddie Blake was no
Mother Teresa.
DREIBERG
Psychotic pig. He had it coming. Mr. CTU . . .
LAURIE
Now wait. We all had the same option as Blake. It was work for the
government or do time.
DREIBERG
Fine, but the Civil Terrorism Unit? It's a fucking Gestapo! Dirty
tricks -- political assassinations --
Now he's got LAURIE nervous. She scans the restaurant quickly, then
leans forward and speaks, in hushed tones:
LAURIE
Okay, okay. You made your choice. You went underground. Some of us
made other choices.
DREIBERG
(shaking his head in disgust)
Yeah. That pig Blake gets buried at Arlington, full military honors
 . . and I'm still in the psycho file with Rorschach.
LAURIE looks at him a moment. She starts to chuckle.
DREIBERG (cont.)
What's so funny? Have I got food in my teeth?
LAURIE
I'm just wondering what you would've said ten years ago if you could
see yourself right now.
(raising her glass)
Well, here's to the Comedian. 'Cause the fact is, he's dead . . .
and we're not.
DREIBERG makes a face -- and smiles despite himself.
1. EXT. ROOFTOP OUTSIDE RESTAURANT - NIGHT
DREIBERG and LAURIE have repaired to the romantic rooftop terrace,
which overlooks the Manhattan skyline. They're holding big snifters
of brandy, and they're both pretty well drunk.
DREIBERG
The pisser is, nobody ever remembers all the good shit we did. I
mean, we were heroes!
LAURIE
Damn straight.
DREIBERG
Damn straight! We were heroes.
LAURIE
Of course, we looked like idiots in those bondage outfits.
DREIBERG
Well, that was Adrian's idea. I know he's the smartest man in the
world and all that, but -- talk about publicity hounds . . .
LAURIE
(smiling)
Hey. You remember that nut in the hockey mask? With the asthma?
What was his name . . .
DREIBERG
Oh yeah. The one that used to confess to everything? Hoping we'd
beat him up?
LAURIE
That's the one. Whatever happened to him?
DREIBERG
(deadpan)
He pulled it on Rorschach . . . and Rorschach dropped him down an
elevator shaft.
LAURIE looks aghast for a second and a half. Then her hand goes to
her mouth -- and like DREIBERG she's GIGGLING helplessly. CAMERA
PULLS UP AND AWAY, isolating them on the rooftop, and we hear a
stentorian VOICE over scene:
CHAPLAIN (V.O.)
In the midst of life we are in death . . .
CUT TO:
59. EXT. ARLINGTON NATIONAL CEMETERY - DAY
AN AMERICAN FLAG lies across the coffin of Edward Blake.
CHAPLAIN
 . . and so we commend our brother Edward Blake unto God, who shall
change our vile body that it may be like unto his glorious body --
TIGHT ON DR. MANHATTAN, standing at graveside amid a tight know of
mourners. There's no weeping, no gnashing of teeth; most of the
attendees are bureaucrats or military men, obviously here for reasons
of protocol. Nearby is a cadre of riflemen, ready to send Blake off
with the traditional twenty-one gun salute.
CHAPLAIN (cont.)
-- according to the mighty working whereby he is able to subdue all
things unto himself.
A light rain begins to fall; umbrellas open all around. DR.
MANHATTAN, of course, doesn't need one -- the raindrops vanish
miraculously before they strike him. CAR HORNS sound in the
distance, and he glances off at:
60. EXT. ANOTHER PART OF THE CEMETERY - THAT MOMENT
SENTRIES stand at attention. They've blocked off the part of the
cemetery where the funeral is taking place, but the good Doctor has
been spotted nonetheless, and word of his presence is spreading like
wildfire.
MOURNERS and TOURISTS are rushing in from every corner of the
cemetery to get a look at the bright blue superman. With all due
respect for the dead, Arlington National's turning into a zoo:
gawkers are lined up three or four deep. The sentries have their
hands full managing the crowd.
A KID breaks free from his parents and sprints across the graves to
join the excited throng. As he does, our attention settles on the
VIETNAM WAR MEMORIAL.
It's not the familiar stark black wall. It is, bizarrely, a chiseled
marble representation of DR. MANHATTAN; his eyes are turned skyward,
and he's cradling a WOUNDED AMERICAN GRUNT in his massive arms,
Pieta-style. On the pedestal beneath it, a bronze
plaque bears the inscription:
IN MEMORY OF THE BRAVE AMERICANS
WHO GAVE THEIR LIVES
TO ACHIEVE VICTORY IN VIETNAM
Below it are the names of the American dead. There are almost four
hundred of them.
61. EXT. MILITARY INSTALLATION - NIGHT
The Rockefeller Military Research Center -- LAURIE's home sweet
home. Her car pulls up to the guard's booth and he waves her
through. As soon as the chain-link gate rolls back into place behind
her, the GUARD picks up a phone and punches in a number.
62. EXT. RESEARCH CENTER - NIGHT
LAURIE strides up a concrete walkway at the entrance to the complex,
fumbling in her purse for a mag-striped ACCESS CARD. She inserts the
card into a slot at the door. Nothing happens.
She tries again. Still no luck. Just then, a long black car pulls
up behind her -- and a uniformed officer, MAJOR ADAMSON, steps
out.
LAURIE
Major Adamson, I can't seem to get in the door.
ADAMSON
Laurie, I'll have to ask you to come with me.
LAURIE
Why? What's the problem?
ADAMSON
I can't tell you that. It is quite urgent.
LAURIE
(chuckling)
I would like to use the bathroom --
As she speaks, TWO ARMED GUARDS come marching up the walkway.
ADAMSON
The access code's been changed. Your card won't work anymore.
LAURIE
What?!
ADAMSON
Please.
The major puts a firm hand on her elbow and leads her off. The
GUARDS stand at attention, then fall in behind them as they pass.
ADAMSON holds the car door open. LAURIE's climbing inside when she
sees something which turns her confusion into outright panic.
The entrance to the research center has just opened -- and emerging
from it, onto the walkway, are a half-dozen men in FULL RADIATION
SUITS.
63. INT. MEDICAL LAB - NIGHT
LAURIE enters with full military escort. The troops hand her off to
a team of DOCTORS and LAB TECHNICIANS, then drop back to stand guard
at the door. A brusque NURSE presents her with a short white
gown:
NURSE
Miss Juspeczyk. Put this on, if you would.
LAURIE
What -- ?
DOCTOR
Drink this.
The DOCTOR hands LAURIE a glass full of iridescent green fluid. She
stares at it, still somewhat nonplussed.
DOCTOR
Drink it.
64. INT. MEDICAL LAB - ANTEROOM - NIGHT
TECHNICIANS monitor a series of computer screens. On the screens are
shifting, multicolored GRAPHICS PATTERNS representing the interior of
a human body as seen from a variety of angles. A leaded window opens
on:
65. INT. MEDICAL LAB - NIGHT
We're watching what looks like an electronic sarcophagus. A
donut-shaped housing traverses its length repeatedly, head to foot,
foot to head, sending a three-dimensional readout telemetrically to
the anteroom.
Through a glass panel in the sarcophagus we see LAURIE, he head
wedged into a fixed metal brace, eyes darting fitfully left and right
as she wonders just what the hell is going on.
66. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE - NIGHT
A MAN'S HAND slides a photograph across a table.
LAURIE (O.S.)
That's Col. Brent Dabbs. Jon's military liaison.
LAURIE, still dressed in the white gown, is seated at a table
surrounded by GOVERNMENT AGENTS in three-piece suits. Chief Agent
SCHMIDT nods at his cronies and replaces the photo with another taken
from a thick sheaf.
LAURIE (cont.)
Dr. Candelaria. He works on one of Jon's research teams. The
quantum-whatever.
SCHMIDT lays a third photo before her. It's a group shot of the
Watchmen -- the same picture that hung in BLAKE's closet. LAURIE
hesitates.
LAURIE (cont.)
That's Jon. Obviously. And me. Adrian Veidt.
(long pause)
Rorschach . . .
SCHMIDT
Their real names, please.
LAURIE
I don't know their real names.
SCHMIDT
You're lying, Miss Juspeczyk.
LAURIE
I don't know their real names!
SCHMIDT
You're not "protecting" anyone. These people's lives may depend on
the answers you give.
(holding up the sheaf of photos)
These are all former associates of Dr. Manhattan --
LAURIE
Then why don't you ask him?!?
Furious, she pushes herself away from the table and moves to a nearby
window. The AGENTS exhange cool glances. Like all experienced
torturers, they understand the value of patience.
LAURIE (cont.)
I want to get dressed. -- And I'd like a cigarette.
One of the AGENTS pulls a pack from his coat, shakes a cigarette out
for LAURIE. As he's lighting it -- a perfect gentleman -- the door
opens and a LAB TECHNICIAN enters with a clipboard.
He passes the clipboard to SCHMIDT, who examines its contents -- and
tilts an eyebrow. LAURIE, looking on, is about to burst with
curiosity:
LAURIE (cont.)
Someone had better tell me what's going on here!
SCHMIDT
Sit down, Miss Juspeczyk. As I mentioned, the people in this file
are all close associates of Dr. Manhattan. They have something else
in common as well.
(beat)
They've all developed a fairly . . . exotic form of lymphatic cancer.
LAURIE
What are you saying? That Jon is radioactive?
All at once, the obvious hits home -- and LAURIE's face goes
bone-white. SCHMIDT nudges the clipboard toward her. Trembling, she
takes it. . .then sets it down, staggered by what she's read.
SCHMIDT
I'm terribly sorry.
LAURIE
What does this mean? What does it --
SCHMIDT
Six to eight months. That's with treatment. -- Perhaps now you can
see why it's so vital that we locate your . . . friends.
LAURIE
That's it. This is all a trick, isn't it? Some kind of horrible
joke to make me --
She scans the room. No one's laughing. SCHMIDT gets up, signals to
his comrades, and heads for the door.
SCHMIDT
Take a day or two. If you "remember" any names . . . do give us a
call.
The AGENTS leave, and LAURIE sits alone in the office. She reaches
for the clipboard and takes another long hard look. Then, quaking,
she buries her face in her hands.
67. INT. OBSERVATION ROOM - THAT MOMENT
A darkened room just off the office; LAURIE is visible through a
two-way mirror. The door opens, and MAJOR ADAMSON -- who's been
watching all along -- is joined by SCHMIDT.
ADAMSON
Poor kid.
SCHMIDT
We'll keep her in isolation awhile. She'll give us some names.
ADAMSON
To hell with those costumed idiots. I'm worried about Doc
Manhattan.
SCHMIDT
What do you mean?
ADAMSON
She's his last link to humanity. Once she's gone . . . God knows
which way he'll jump.
DISSOLVE TO:
68. INT. HOTEL ROOM - WASHINGTON, D.C. - DAY
DR. MANHATTAN stands in front of a full-length mirror. He's wearing
a navy-blue double-breasted suit, a white shirt, and a maroon necktie
with an irregular mauve pattern.
The tie doesn't quite suit him. His brow wrinkles, and the tie
magically transmutes into a more sedate wide-red job with diagonal
gold stripes.
Too staid. DR. MANHATTAN frowns, and the tie transforms itself into
a handsome royal-blue number with tiny hydrogen atoms for
decoration.
It does nice things for his complexion. Satisfied, he turns from the
mirror, starts for the door, and DEMATERIALIZES.
69. INT. TELEVISION STUDIOS - DAY
TECHNICIANS running to and fro. A harried DIRECTOR checks the green
room, where the STAFF is beginning to panic.
DIRECTOR
We're on the air in five minutes. Where the hell is
that big blue son of a --
He stops, wisely, in mid-sentence. DR. MANHATTAN has just
rematerialized inside the studio, two feet from the DIRECTOR's
face.
DR. MANHATTAN
I'm sorry. Am I late?
DIRECTOR
No problem. We'll have to head straight for the set. -- Oh, I'm
Kent Turner, the director. . .
The DIRECTOR shakes DR. MANHATTAN's hand and marches him down a
hallway. Within seconds they're joined by a GOVERNMENT LIAISON.
LIAISON
Dr. Osterman. I've got a list of taboo areas here we'd like you to
steer clear of. Obviously, Afghanistan will come up, but if you'll
just play it cool --
DIRECTOR
Doc, that blue of yours tends to wash out on camera. Could you give
us something a little darker . . . ?
DR. MANHATTAN pauses briefly. His skin tone darkens two shades.
DR. MANHATTAN
Will this do?
DIRECTOR
Perfect.
LIAISON
Now Doc, please -- on this Afghanistan thing --
But the good doctor is already at the edge of the set, surrounded by
a cluster of SOUND MEN, PRODUCTION ASSISTANTS, etc., who are
hurriedly prepping him for the telecast. The frustrated LIAISON
hangs back and glances up at an OVERHEAD MONITOR. The "ABC NEWS
SPECIAL REPORT" graphic is already onscreen, with THEME MUSIC
underneath.
70. INSERT - TV MONITOR
Stock footage. We open on a shot of terrified Viet Cong racing for
their lives through a dense jungle; the camera WHIP PANS to the right
and takes in an extraordinary sight.
A towering, ninety-foot tall DR. MANHATTAN strides blithely through
the jungle, occasionally directing a blast from his fingertips at the
greenery below. AMERICAN HUEYS hover behind him, spitting out bursts
of automatic fire, performing mop-up duty as this one-man defoliation
crew does his apocalypse thing. A SUPERIMPOSED TITLE reads:
"VIETNAM. 1965."
ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
Dr. Manhattan: the nuclear titan spawned in a freak scientific
mishap. For more than twenty years the "Manhattan Option" has been
the linchpin of America's conventional strategy --
We CUT to PRAGUE, where RUSSIAN TANKS are rolling through a broad
thoroughfare. DR. MANHATTAN, only forty feet tall this time, rounds
a corner and emerges from behind a municipal building.
His EYES gleam eerily, and the lead tank begins to HEAT UP, the grey
gunmetal turning red before our eyes. The hatch springs open, STEAM
hisses, and TERRIFIED RUSSIAN SOLDIERS clamber out -- only to be met
with a barrage of ROCKS thrown by the local citizenry. Title reads:
"CZECHOSLOVAKIA. 1968."
ANNOUNCER (V.O., cont.)
-- in trouble spots from Vietnam to Czechoslovakia to Nicaragua: a
one-man cavalry coming to the aid of our democratic allies, holding
the Communist menace in check.
DANIEL ORTEGA, in Sandinista drabs, sits at a table across from
American Secretary of State G. Gordon Liddy. The two men shake
hands, hold up a signed treaty for the camera. DR. MANHATTAN, in a
three-piece suit, stands behind them, presiding over this historic
accord. Title: "NICARAGUA. 1979."
ANNOUNCER (V.O., cont.)
In the famous words of General William Westmoreland, "Yes, Virginia,
there is a Superman -- and thank God, he's American."
71. INT. SOUNDSTAGE - A MOMENT LATER - DAY
A sparse, businesslike talk-show set: two chairs, a table, a backdrop
of the Washington monument, and a gallery full of MEDIA PEOPLE. Jaded
news vet DAVID BRINKLEY is manning the host's chair:
BRINKLEY
For this live question-and-answer session we'll be joined by
correspondents from all three networks. But since I am moderating,
I'll ask you to keep your questions short and snappy.
(turning)
Now let's welcome our special guest, Jonathan Osterman . . . better
known to the world as Dr. Manhattan.
Applause from the crowd. ANGLE WIDENS to include Doctor M, seated at
BRINKLEY's right. He nods in acknowledgement.
BRINKLEY (cont.)
I suppose the topic on everyone's mind this week is Afghanistan,
where Russian tanks appear to be poised for a massive invasion. Now
since you've dealt successfully with similar situations in the past .
 . I'll ask you point-blank: has the administration requested that
you intervene?
DR. MANHATTAN
I will not intervene in Afghanistan.
A HUBBUB goes up among the crowd.
72. ANGLE ON MILITARY LIAISON
Looking on from offstage. He rolls his eyes in frustration.
73. ANGLE ON SET - BRINKLEY AND DR. MANHATTAN
HANDS are already shooting up among the NEWSMEN in the audience.
BRINKLEY ignores them:
BRINKLEY
You're saying you would refuse a direct request?
DR. MANHATTAN
There will be no request. I will not intervene.
BRINKLEY
Well, Doctor, it's widely understood, or rumored, that you can
actually see the future. Does you answer indicate that the
hostilities in Afghanistan will blow over?
74. ANGLE ON MILITARY LIAISON
He's steamed, but like everyone else in the studio he's hanging on
DR. MANHATTAN's every word. He turns apprehensively to a COLLEAGUE
in the shadows behind him -- and snaps his fingers once:
LIAISON
I want a phone line to the booth. Now.
75. ANGLE ON BRINKLEY AND DR. MANHATTAN
DR. MANHATTAN
I see the future only as it relates to me. I have no control over it.
(long pause)
I can only repeat . . . that there will be no request. . .and I will
not intervene.
He sits there like a big blue Buddha. BRINKLEY shrugs and presses on.
BRINKLEY
Well, then -- I hope we can take that as an optimistic sign. I'll
open up the floor to questions now. Doug?
REPORTER
Dr. Osterman, I'm Doug Roth of Nova Express. I'd like to read
you some names: Col. Brent Dabbs, Dr. J. M. Candelaria, Wallace M.
Weaver . . . do these names have any meaning to you?
DR. MANHATTAN
All friends, yes. Associates of mine.
ROTH
Let me go on. Stephanie Boris, William Charles Batts, Susan White.
Are you aware that these "friends" and "associates" of yours have all
been diagnosed with terminal cancer?
The CROWD NOISE begins to build. Even BRINKLEY's taken aback. He
gapes at DR. MANHATTAN -- who sits there silently, his inhuman face
an unreadable mask.
76. ANGLE ON MILITARY LIAISON
eyes wide, hand cupped over the in-house telephone
LIAISON
Oh Jesus.
(barking into phone)
I want this broadcast killed. I'll run out on that goddamn set if I
have to!
77. ANGLE ON SET - BRINKLEY, ROTH, DR. MANHATTAN
ROTH
I have here an official list of sixteen names, all similarly
diagnosed. Now, for the record, Doctor -- is there a
connection?
By now, the crowd is about to erupt -- ROTH is shouting to make
himself heard over the din. BRINKLEY, who's just gotten a message
from the booth, touches his headset and announces:
BRINKLEY
I'm told it's time for a break. We'll be back after this brief
message --
Within seconds the MILITARY LIAISON has rushed out onto the set,
flanked by two COLLEAGUES in mirrorshades.
LIAISON
THAT DOES IT! NO MORE QUESTIONS! SHOW'S OVER!!
The three of them all but yank DR. MANHATTAN out of his seat. Then,
PANDEMONIUM breaks loose as eager NEWSMEN bolt the gallery and MOB
THE SET.
RANDOM NEWSMEN
Dr. Manhattan! Are these allegations true? Do you cause
cancer??
DR. MANHATTAN
I don't wish to answer any questions.
RANDOM NEWSMEN
You see the future! Did you know in advance --
LIAISON
The Doctor will not answer your questions. Now STEP
ASIDE!!
The LIAISON and his boys form a wedge in front of DR. MANHATTAN, but
the mass of bodies and microphones is all but impenetrable.
RANDOM NEWSMEN
How long have you known -- why is the government concealing this
information --
DR. MANHATTAN
Please get out of my way.
The LIAISON throws an elbow, knocking a REPORTER to the floor.
SCUFFLING breaks out. Just as it's getting vicious, DR. MANHATTAN
lets out a THUNDEROUS SHOUT:
DR. MANHATTAN
I said LEAVE ME ALONE!!
In the wink of an eye, the soundstage is EMPTY -- no newsmen, no
microphones, no cameras -- nothing but the lone figure of DR.
MANHATTAN and, still sitting in the chair behind him, BRINKLEY.
BRINKLEY swallows hard and fidgets with his necktie. A moment later,
there's an ANGRY FLASH of WHITE LIGHT -- and DR. MANHATTAN VANISHES,
leaving BRINKLEY alone on the deserted set.
CUT TO:
78. INT. RESEARCH CENTER - LIVING QUARTERS - NIGHT
The place has been pretty well torn apart; MAJOR ADAMSON is
overseeing a crew of technicians in white suits as they post
quarantine notices at the entrances. He's not altogether surprised
when DR. MANHATTAN rematerializes at his side.
DR. MANHATTAN
Where's Laurie?
ADAMSON backs off slightly. He's not wearing a radiation suit, and
he's understandably reluctant to get any closer than absolutely
necessary.
ADAMSON
She's been relocated, Jon. It's strictly precautionary . . .
DR. MANHATTAN
There's no need to lie. I assume she's been tested. Were the
results positive?
ADAMSON hesitates the briefest of seconds.
DR. MANHATTAN (cont.)
Don't bother. I already know what you'll say.
He watches impassively as what's left of his home is dismantled. His
mind is already a million miles away.
ADAMSON
Jon, I know this is presumptuous, but . . . if you wanted to . . .
could you cure her?
DR. MANHATTAN
I don't know. I only know that I won't.
(long pause)
There'd be no point. It's finally begun.
ADAMSON
"Begun?" What's begun?
DR. MANHATTAN
I've seen this day. It's the day I've been dreading all these years.
(pause)
You see, Major Adamson, Laurie Juspeczyk was the only human being I
cared for . . .
ADAMSON doesn't know what he's talking about, but a chill runs down
his spine nonetheless.
DR. MANHATTAN
My work here is finished. God be with you, Major.
And with that, he VANISHES. His double-breasted suit he leaves
behind; it hangs in midair for a moment, then crumples into a pile at
the Major's feet.
ADAMSON
Good Lord --
CUT TO:
79. EXT. OUTER SPACE
-- and it's about as exterior as you can get. We're a few
hundred miles above Earth; the curvature of the globe is readily
apparent from this height, and the surface looks placid and eerily
beautiful
-- oceans and continents overlaid by a pattern of shifting white
clouds. From frame right, a BLUE FIGURE swings into view, eclipsing
our planetary vista and disappearing again off frame left.
It's DR. MANHATTAN. He's in a lotus position, sitting on
nothingness, calmly scanning the globe from his orbital vantage.
Stars twinkle behind him as he looks down on the planet he's about to
leave, his normally-inscrutable features tinged with regret.
80. EXT. ARIZONA DESERT - NIGHT
Black sky hangs over an empty stretch of desert -- so desolate, so
barren and otherworldly that it could pass for Mars. Could, that is,
until we see the residue of man's presence on the landscape: ruined
quonset huts, roofless, long since abandoned to the elements,
half-buried in drifts of sand; military vehicles, little more than
husks now, rusty and gutted; and a sign, dangling awkwardly from a
rotted upright -- GILA FLATS TEST BASE.
A gecko skitters across the sand and pauses. Above it, a sudden
RUPTURE appears in the night sky, bathing the sands in blinding blue
light. The gecko runs wildly as DR. MANHATTAN steps through the rift
in the sky and descends gently to earth.
The rupture heals itself, and the desert is dark and peaceful once
more as DR. MANHATTAN trudges through the sands toward the ghost town
of Gila Flats. He wanders through the ravaged doorway of what was
once a canteen: tables are overturned, bottles broken, but the long
mahogany bar, though pitted and scarred, stands intact.
A desert rat scurries down its length as DR. MANHATTAN looks on. We
MOVE IN on his emotionless glowing EYES and
DISSOLVE TO:
81. INT. CANTEEN (FLASHBACK) - DAY
It's twenty-odd years ago, and we're looking at DR. JONATHAN OSTERMAN
-- a big, boyish, clean-cut guy of twenty-six, dressed in a necktie
and a white lab coat. He's at a table sipping a mug of beer, wearing
a dopey smile as he gazes out of frame at his lunch companion:
JANEY SLATER (O.S.)
Nineteen million for the intrinsic field disruptor. You'd think they
could at least make us a decent hamburger.
JON laughs, looks sheepishly down at his hands. He's utterly smitten
with DR. JANEY SLATER, his colleague at the test base; she's a couple
of years older than he, and pretty, in a heavily-coiffed way -- just
close enough to LAURIE that you'd notice the resemblance. And she's
probably the only one in the room who can't see just how bad a crush
JON has on her.
JON
I'll say. If we ever get off this looney-tune project, I'm gonna
head straight for civilization and buy me a big thick steak.
JANEY
With lots of ketchup?
Smiling, she indicates JON's plate. He's emptied at least half a
bottle on his french fries.
JON
Nothing wrong with ketchup.
JANEY
Jon Osterman, you don't act like a Princeton boy. What's a big lug
like you doing in a place like this?
JON
Anything for science, I guess.
(long, hesitant pause)
Janey, there's something --
JANEY
(simultaneously)
We should get back --
(realizing she's cut him off)
What?
JON
Nothing. What were you going to say?
JANEY
We should get back to the lab.
(staring at him; chuckling)
You okay, Jon?
He stares at his hands, afraid to meet her eyes. After a moment he
pipes up:
JON
Oh, yeah. You go ahead. I'll be right behind you.
The lad seems a little screwy today. JANEY shrugs, gets up and heads
for the door. JON takes a moment to collect himself, then looks after
JANEY. She's paused in the doorway to unbuckle her wristwatch.
His face goes a little pale. He screws up his courage, rushes up
behind her.
JANEY
Stupid watch. Stopped again. Do you have the --
JON
(blurting it out)
Janey, will you marry me?
She turns and looks him squarely in the face. He's wearing the
pained expression of a convicted murderer waiting to hear the
verdict.
JANEY
Jon -- what?
JON swallows hard, and the two of them stare at each other, eyes
locked. For a moment it's as if they're the only souls in the
canteen. But just then two SCIENTISTS come bustling through the
door, clipboards in hand, deep in a conversation of their own; and
one of them -- DR. WALLY WEAVER -- walks smack into the startled
JANEY, causing her to drop her wristwatch.
There's a loud CRUNCH. JON and JANEY snap out of their private
trance as WALLY bends to retrieve the watch.
WALLY
Christ, Janey, I think I stepped on your watch.
JANEY
Oh Wally, don't feel bad. It was cheap, it never worked anyway --
JON
I can fix it.
JANEY
-- What?
JON
My dad's a watchmaker. I'll put it back together for you. Better
than ever.
He holds out his hand. Their eyes meet for a long moment.
WALLY
Take him up on it. It'd make me feel better.
Chuckling, WALLY and his colleague head off to find a table. JANEY
hands JON the watch; his hands close around her, and he gazes at her
with basset-hound eyes. She realizes he's still waiting for his
answer.
But before she can speak, JON produces a small BOX from his pocket.
He thrusts it abruptly into JANEY's hands --
JON
Here. I'll trade you.
-- and hustles off. She opens the box, finds an ENGAGEMENT RING.
With a little smile she tries it on, and turns to show JON -- but
he's already gone.
She stares at the ring. Her smile broadens.
82. INT. LABORATORY - DAY
JON's at a lab table, papers stacked all around him. In the center
of the table is a piece of black velvet strewn with JEWELER'S
TOOLS.
It's his lunch hour, and he's fixing JANEY's watch. He tightens the
central screw which holds the hands in place, then fits the crystal
into its housing and gives it a light tap.
With a big, childlike grin of satisfaction -- the boy's in love,
remember -- he gets up and starts for the door. The lab is jammed
with oversized, arcane machinery; the centerpiece is a concrete TEST
CHAMBER with two-foot-thick metal walls. Mounted on either side of
it are PARTICLE CANNONS -- great bulky devices which look like
anti-aircraft guns encircled by huge plexiglass coils.
He stops, spots his lab coat hanging on a peg in the corner, and
walks over to grab it. As he's putting it on, he hears a tiny SQUEAK
from the direction of the test chamber.
Mounted above the chamber is a DIGITAL CLOCK -- hours, minutes,
seconds, tenths of seconds. Just now it's 13:58 and change. JON
eyes the clock, hesitates briefly, then grabs a broom and steps to
the reinforced steel door of the chamber.
Inside, the chamber is empty but for a concrete block mounted on a
low platform -- and a MOUSE, which scurries into the corner when it
hears JON coming. He steps inside, sets JANEY's watch on the
concrete block, and swings the broom at the mouse.
JON
C'mon, little guy, outta here . . .
The mouse legs it out the door. JON follows, smiling, broom in
hand.
JON (cont.)
 . . don't wanna screw up a million-dollar experiment.
He stops. Feels around in his pocket. Realizes he's left the watch
inside.
He looks at the overhead clock again -- 13:59:30 and counting.
Agitated now, he races back toward the chamber, pauses in the
doorway, spots the watch resting where he left it on the far side of
the concrete block. He dashes inside, circles around the concrete
block, reaches for the watch --
-- and FREEZES at the sound of THREE WARNING BEEPS behind him.
White-faced, he snatches at the watch and ducks around the concrete
block -- too quickly. He nicks his shin on the projecting edge of
the support platform and tumbles to the floor of the chamber.
Before his eyes, a MASSIVE STEEL DOOR is sliding into place --
TRAPPING HIM INSIDE.
He LURCHES toward the door, gets a hand through. The door keeps
sliding. He jerks his hand back a half-second before the door slams
shut.
83. INT. LAB - ENTRY - THAT MOMENT
1300 hours sharp. A half-dozen SCIENTISTS stroll into the lab. One
of them is passing out goggles -- to his colleagues and a pair of
MILITARY BIGWIGS who are obviously on a walking tour of the
facilities.
SCIENTIST
-- actually, we don't know what happens when you disrupt the
intrinsic field. All we've managed to do so far is blow a few
concrete blocks all to hell.
GENERAL
(joking, but worried)
No danger of . . . fallout, is there?
SCIENTIST
No sir. The chamber's radiation-proof once it's sealed. That's why
we waited outside.
The translucent coils on the particle cannons have begun to glow a
dull red.
The crowd draws closer, goggles in place. There's a dim, distant
THUMPING.
The SCIENTISTS look at the chamber -- and go slackjawed in perfect
unison.
GENERAL
What's the matter?
SCIENTIST
Sweet Jesus -- !
We DOLLY IN rapidly on the observation panel mounted inthe wall of
the test chamber -- leaded glass, two feet thick. Behind it is the
terrified face of JON OSTERMAN -- pounding frantically on the glass,
screaming soundlessly.
Pandemonium in the lab as the SCIENTISTS rush right and left,
punching buttons, twisting knobs -- to no avail. The GENERAL comes
to a belated and painfully obvious realization:
GENERAL
Say, there's a man in there!!
The coils on the cannons have gone from red to bright yellow. One
SCIENTIST stands at the observation window and SHOUTS --
SCIENTIST I
Stay calm, Jon! We'll try and kill the power!
-- while another barks furiously into a wall phone:
SCIENTIST II
Building six! Kill the power! Osterman's trapped in the I.F.
chamber!!
The GENERAL stands there looking rather nonplussed.
GENERAL
Well -- why doesn't someone let him out??
SCIENTIST III
It's a timelock. It can't be opened once the sequence
starts.
(to SCIENTIST II)
What's the word?
SCIENTIST II
(covering the phone)
They're sending a crew to the generator building --
SCIENTIST IV
TWENTY SECONDS!
In a glass box on the wall is a fire ax -- with the instructions "IN
CASE OF FIRE BREAK GLASS." WALLY WEAVER, Jon's friend from the
canteen, wraps his lab coat around his forearm, punches through the
glass, and grabs the ax.
SCIENTIST I
Wally! What are you doing?
WALLY
The power cables!!
And now another figure enters the lab -- the unsuspecting JANEY
SLATER.
JANEY
Am I late for the --
She stops in midsentence at the sight of the frenzied action in the
lab. SCIENTIST III spots her, grabs her, tries to push her back
through the door.
SCIENTIST III
Janey! Get her out of here. Get out!
But she resists. She's just spotted WALLY with his ax, poised to
take a swing at a thick black cable on the floor. The cannon coils
have just gone from yellow to a brilliant, luminous white.
JANEY
What in the name of -- where's Jon?
SCIENTIST III
Janey! Please! Go!!
WALLY strikes at the cable. Nothing. He takes another whack, and a
sudden jolt of current knocks him off his feet and throws him into a
wall.
Sparks fly, but the process continues. The room is full of white
light. JANEY, fighting her way past the SCIENTIST, gets a good look
at the observation panel -- and the blood drains from her face.
JANEY
Jon.
84. INT. TEST CHAMBER - THAT MOMENT
JON backs away from the glass panel, a look of disbelief on his
face. He blinks; his hands fall limply at his sides; the watch,
which he's been holding all along, falls on the floor and shatters .
 .
 . . and everything in the room goes blue.
85. INT. LAB - THAT MOMENT
The SCIENTISTS slowly cluster around the observation panel, unable to
tear their eyes away. JANEY, past hope, wanders up unsteadily behind
them.
JANEY
Jon . . .
(shrieking)
JON!!!
86. INT. TEST CHAMBER - THAT MOMENT
JON's back is arched. His arms go up. His face is a mask of
unbelievable agony.
A moment later, his skin is gone. A black skeleton -- like a
photographic negative -- stands in his place.
Then the skeleton BURSTS. . . into its constituent atoms. The
iridescent blue light has quite literally taken Jon Osterman to
pieces.
And then, the test chamber is empty. The blue light begins to dim,
and we're looking through the window panel at the stagger faces of
the SCIENTISTS. One by one, they back away . . . leaving only JANEY,
who gazes into the chamber with a blank, soulless stare.
DISSOLVE TO:
87. INT. RUINED CANTEEN (PRESENT DAY) - NIGHT
The desert rat chitters on the bar. On the partially collapsed wall
behind it hangs a broken clock, which stopped some twenty years ago
at 11:48 PM.
For a moment DR. MANHATTAN, even more abstracted than usual, watches
the rat. Then he turns and walks through more drifted sand out the
door of the canteen.
88. EXT. DESERT - NIGHT
DR. MANHATTAN walks aimlessly through the rubble of the compound.
89. INT. MEN'S ROOM (FLASHBACK) - NIGHT
TWO SCIENTISTS washing their hands at the sinks. They glance up into
the mirror simultaneously, and BLANCH. Behind them, a hideous
thing is coalescing in midair -- a brain, eyes, a dangling spinal
cord, wriggling neurons -- a gruesome, disembodied central nervous
system.
They pivot, shrieking, just in time to see the creature evaporate in
a haze of shimmering blue light.
90. EXT. DESERT - NIGHT
DR. MANHATTAN keeps on walking.
91. EXT. TEST BASE (FLASHBACK) - NIGHT
HORRIFIED SENTRIES fire their rifles, then turn and run. A
partially-muscled skeleton stands by the perimeter fence and SCREAMS
for several seconds before vanishing altogether.
92. EXT. DESERT - NIGHT
DR. MANHATTAN keeps on walking.
93. INT. GILA FLATS MESS HALL (FLASHBACK) - NIGHT
Dinnertime. JANEY and WALLY at a table.
JANEY
I can't help it. I'm going to quit this place. It feels . . . it
feels haunted.
WALLY
It'll be all right, Janey. You need time, that's all.
(tugging at his ear)
Do you hear some kind of -- whistling?
Indeed she does, and within moments it builds to a deafening whine.
Odder yet, WALLY's hair is standing on end -- and so is JANEY's.
Everyone in the mess hall seems to be experiencing the same freakish
phenomenon.
UTENSILS rise from tables and drift magically into the air. Without
warning, the overhead lights blow out -- and a BRILLIANT BLUE GLOW
suffuses the room. All eyes turn toward the source of the glow . . .
 . . the fully formed figure of DR. MANHATTAN, floating above them,
nude, hands spread like some majestic blue messiah. Metal trays and
utensils hover in midair around him, throwing off sparks.
JANEY gapes at his face. She recognizes it instantly. Her hands go
to her mouth and she lets out a horrible, endless shriek.
JANEY
JON-N-N-N!!!
DISSOLVE TO:
94. EXT. DESERT - NIGHT
THE SHRIEK DIES as DR. MANHATTAN stares up into space. He turns,
stares at the ground. Nothing but sand. He stoops nonetheless and
begins to dig.
A couple of inches down, he finds what he's looking for: an ancient,
tattered photograph, faded almost beyond recognition. Young Jon, and
Janey Slater. She's holding up her hand, showing off her brand-new
engagement ring.
His fist close around the snapshot. His eyes slowly shut.
95. SERIES OF SHOTS
Quick, almost subliminal visions of the past and future:
-- JON's black skeleton, bursting to atoms in the test chamber;
-- JANEY shrieking in the mess hall, her face bathed in blue
light;
-- LAURIE at a breakfast table, drinking coffee, reading the paper.
There's a sudden flash of light; the windows shatter inward; a
terrible blast of heat chars the skin off her bones . . .
-- A CITY demolished by a nuclear blast, the inevitable mushroom
cloud rising swiftly, blotting out the sky.
96. EXT. DESERT - ON DR. MANHATTAN
Fists still clenched, he stands -- grimacing, distraught, alone in
the ghostly calm of the desert. He rises into the air, slowly at
first, then faster . . . finally disappearing in a sudden blue
starburst a mile above the ground.
97. EXT. OUTER SPACE
All at once, we're back in the starry void, hurtling away from Earth
at unimagined speeds . . . through empty space, past the moon, on
toward Mars.
The red planet looms larger and larger, finally dominating the frame
as we descend toward the chaotic terrain of the Martian surface.
Individual features of the landscape grow gradually more distinct:
vast canyons, oceans of fog, volcanoes the size of Missouri.
Herschel's famous canali. And finally, the argyre
planitia, an enormous shallow crater, its rocky rim encircling
two jutting blue mountains and, to the south, a ragged, semicircular
ridge.
Two eyes, a big broad smile. It looks uncannily like a
happy-face.
Many miles below us, a tiny rupture opens in the Martian
atmosphere. BLUE LIGHT spills out an instant before we
CUT TO:
98. INSERT - TELEVISION SCREEN
The late news, with highlights of DR. MANHATTAN's press conference.
As the throng of REPORTERS shove microphones at him, we ZOOM IN on
his angered face:
DR. MANHATTAN
I said leave me alone!!
Then there's a sudden CUT. We see the same REPORTERS, in the same
positions, only DR. MANHATTAN is gone -- and they're all standing on
the White House lawn, in the midst of a torrential downpour.
PULL BACK TO:
99. INT. ROOM - GOVT. SECURITY COMPLEX - NIGHT
A restless LAURIE watching the broadcast from an overstuffed chair.
She's in a big open room with a bed and kitchenette; except for the
big metal door and the bars on the windows, it could pass for a comfy
furnished studio.
TV ANCHORWOMAN (O.S.)
-- in Washington, where an irate Dr. Manhattan teleported
a crew of reporters into the midst of a rainstorm on Pennsylvania
Avenue!
TV ANCHORMAN (O.S.)
Well, Katie, I know some politicians who'd like to learn that trick --
LAURIE turns at the sound of keys in the door. A moment later,
SCHMIDT enters, followed by a pair of FEDERAL AGENTS.
SCHMIDT
All right, Miss Juspeczyk. Pack your things.
LAURIE
Am I free to go?
SCHMIDT
You're free to do whatever you goddamn well please. Let's move
it.
LAURIE
(fed up; exploding)
I don't know why you've been keeping me here, but you're in deep shit
--
SCHMIDT
Oh, I am, honey. You see, Russian tanks are crossing the Afghan
border this very minute. And we are all of us, every living
soul, in deep, deep shit -- because our number-one strategic
weapons has finally flipped out.
LAURIE
Jon?? You mean he's --
SCHMIDT
That's right. Your meal ticket's flown the coop. That blue bastard
has apparently left the planet.
CUT TO:
100. EXT. NEWSTAND - DAY
The same headlines scream from every edition on the rack:
DR. MANHATTAN LEAVES EARTH
Russian Tanks Advance
President Vows "Maximum Force"
WHERE IS DR. MANHATTAN?
And on the street, tensions are running high. The familiar NEWS
VENDOR is engaged in a heated exchange with one of his CUSTOMERS:
NEWS VENDOR
I'll tell you what the problem is. We shoulda been building tanks,
bombs, ICBM's! Instead we been relying on that big blue son of a
bitch --
CUSTOMER
Anyone ever tell you you're full of shit?
NEWS VENDOR
Kiss my ass, buddy! Keep your goddamn quarter!
VOICE
New Frontiersman, please.
The NEWS VENDOR turns suddenly, finds himself confronted by an old
friend: the red-haired STREET CRAZY with the end-of-the-world sign.
He rolls his eyes -- this is all I need -- and reaches under
the counter.
NEWS VENDOR
Here you go, pal. Two bucks.
(beat)
Well, I see the world ain't ended yet.
The STREET CRAZY eyes the lurid cover of his magazine. "EXPOSED: RED
PLOT TO FRAME DR. MANHATTAN!"
STREET CRAZY
 . . How do you know?
CUT TO:
101. EXT. TENEMENT BUILDING - NIGHT
A row of decayed walk-ups in a fringe neighborhood downtown. A
DRUNKEN COUPLE -- a gaunt, middle-aged MAN and a blowsy, overweight
WOMAN -- totter down the street arm in arm. NEON SIGNS blink on and
off as they mount the front steps of a seedy building, exchanging
tipsy giggles.
102. INT. TENEMENT APARTMENT - NIGHT
A three-room hellhole, decor by Goodwill. A door opens, and the MAN
ushers his date inside with exaggerated formality. Her name is LUCY;
his is Edgar William Jacobi, but -- for reasons soon to be revealed --
we'll call him MOLOCH.
MOLOCH
Now. What was milady drinking?
LUCY
Gin. Straight up --
(mock-ladylike)
-- with a little twist of lime.
She laughs convulsively, as if she's just told the world's funniest
joke. MOLOCH lifts a single finger and starts toward the kitchen:
MOLOCH
I think I can oblige.
103. INT. KITCHEN - A MOMENT LATER - NIGHT
MOLOCH FREEZES in the doorway, his face taut with apprehension. The
contents of his refrigerator have been strewn all over the kitchen
floor -- overturns milk cartons, broken eggs, the like. It's a
disaster area. As he steps inside to investigate, LUCY appears in
the doorway behind him -- and SNORTS.
LUCY
Jeez, honey! You got some kind of animal in here?
On cue, the refrigerator door KICKS OPEN -- and out pops RORSCHACH.
He grabs MOLOCH by the lapels, pins him back against the kitchen
table.
RORSCHACH
Moloch. Did you miss me?
LUCY
Willie! Jesus! What's going on?
RORSCHACH
(glancing up)
Who's the welfare mother?
MOLOCH
I don't know who you are buddy, but I swear to God, you got the wrong
guy.
RORSCHACH
Edgar William Jacobi, aka William Edgar Bright, a.k.a. Moloch.
MOLOCH
You're making a big --
RORSCHACH lifts MOLOCH up slightly, then slams him down hard against
the table -- repeatedly, to the beat.
RORSCHACH
Terrorist. Radical agitator. Stool pigeon.
MOLOCH
ALL RIGHT! ALL RIGHT!! -- How'd you find me?
LUCY
Willie, what's he talking about?
RORSCHACH backs off, allowing MOLOCH to slump to the floor.
RORSCHACH kneels beside him.
MOLOCH
Look, I don't know what you want, but I been a private citizen for
ten years. I --
RORSCHACH cups one gloved hand under MOLOCH's chin and pulls him
close. Then, for LUCY's benefit, he explains:
RORSCHACH
Turned state's witness in '75. Earned himself a brand-new face.
(twisting MOLOCH's head to one side, for a better look)
Hnnrh. Butt-ugly then . . . butt-ugly now.
He shoves MOLOCH back onto the floor, then stands. There's a sugar
bowl on the table; RORSCHACH spots it and pockets a few cubes as
MOLOCH gets up to dust himself off.
RORSCHACH (cont.)
Comedian dead. Dr. Manhattan in exile. Obvious connection. Who's
behind it?
MOLOCH
Rorschach, you're talkin' heavy duty stuff. I got nothing to do with
--
RORSCHACH
Worked both sides of the fence. Ask your old buddies in the CTU.
MOLOCH
CTU? Jesus. You don't think --
RORSCHACH
Don't know. Ask around. I'll be back.
LUCY, still unsettled, crosses to MOLOCH's side and grips his arm as
RORSCHACH opens a rear window. He's climbing through the frame when
he stops suddenly and points a finger at the frightened pair:
RORSCHACH (cont.)
Word of advice for the lady . . . stock up on penicillin.
-- and he's out on the fire escape and GONE. LUCY looks suspiciously
at MOLOCH, who shrugs, embarrassed: I don't know what he's talking
about.
CUT TO:
104. INT. PENTAGON - WAR ROOM - DAY
The familiar set from Dr. Strangelove: top brass seated at a
big round table, with a huge Mercator-projection map of the world
looming in BG. The Afghan-Pakistani border is highlighted in red; a
MILITARY ANALYST paces in front of the big board with a penlight
POINTER,
highlighting areas of strategic importance.
ANALYST
Our projections show Pakistan falling within the week. From there
it's sixty percent certain they'll try to take Western Europe.
GENERAL
Respectfully, sir, out NATO allies are getting itchy. They're
quizzing us about the possibility of a first strike.
MOVE IN on a tall chair at the head of the table -- the back of which
bears the seal of the President of the United States.
PRESIDENT
First strike.
(long pause)
I'd like to view the simulation.
The ANALYST hits a button on a remote control device.
ANALYST
Optimally . . . we could expect to wipe out some eighty percent of
their retaliatory capability before they knew what hit 'em.
On the big board, BLUE ARROWS emanate from selected points in the
Pacific and the Arctic Circle and veer toward Russian turf --
blossoming in yellow-and-black RADIATION
SYMBOLS as they strike their targets.
PRESIDENT
What about our end?
ANALYST
Well, sir . . . in a worst-case scenario . . . we'd assume that
twenty-five percent of the Russian birds get through.
On the board, RED ARROWS inch westward from Mother Russia.
ANALYST (cont.)
Britain down -- Germany down --
PRESIDENT
What kind of time frame are we talking about?
ANALYST
Thirty minutes maximum. Of course, I assume we'd be in the fortified
command bunker at the time of the launch order.
RADIATION SYMBOLS sprout over New York, Baltimore, Washington,
Denver, Los Angeles, San Francisco.
PRESIDENT
 . . Of course.
By now, both coasts are pretty well blotted out. The ANALYST, a
dedicated optimist, turns to announce:
ANALYST
As you can see, we may be able to salvage a good-sized chunk of the
farm belt.
PRESIDENT
What about the aftermath? This so-called . . . "nuclear winter"
theory?
ANALYST
We don't really know, sir, but bluntly, our survival capability . . .
may depend on a quirk of the weather.
PRESIDENT
The weather. I see.
(pause)
Keep me posted. I want hourly forecasts and a full report on optimum
strike conditions.
The SECRETARY OF STATE -- our old pal G. Gordon Liddy -- pipes up:
SECRETARY LIDDY
Dick, before we act hastily, we should consider . . . Dr. Manhattan
may decide to return.
With a heavy heart, the Chief Executive pushes himself away from the
table -- and we get our first good look at him. His face is lined
and tired, his hair is flecked with white, but he's none other than
that beloved statesman RICHARD M. NIXON -- still vital and robust at
74.
PRESIDENT (cont.)
Good God. At times like this I wish I'd never come out of
retirement.
CUT TO:
105. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE - RECEPTION ROOM - DAY
A private practice in midtown Manhattan. LAURIE emerges from an
examination room, grim and hollow-eyed; the DOCTOR hangs back in the
doorway.
DOCTOR
I'm sorry, Miss Juspecyzk.
LAURIE
Not at all, Doctor. I appreciate your honesty.
106. INT. GUNGA DINER - DUSK
A greasy Indian restaurant in a Village storefront. In a booth near
the entrance we find LAURIE and DREIBERG munching on chicken
tandoori.
DREIBERG
Christ yes, I went in for a cancer scan first thing. Gave me a
couple of rough nights, I'll tell you . . .
(pause)
How about you, Laurie?
LAURIE
(lying -- with forced cheer)
Oh, yeah. They gave me a clean bill of health and then booted me the
hell out.
(shrugging)
No expense account. No place to live.
DREIBERG
You'll find something. -- I should go. You and me, seeing each
other, someone might put two and two together . . .
LAURIE shakes her head and laughs -- mirthlessly.
LAURIE
They're not following me, Dan. I mean -- Jon's gone, we're
right on the brink of World War III. Nobody cares about the
Watchmen.
DREIBERG
Maybe not, but why take chances?
LAURIE
Dan, what are you so scared of? I mean, me, I've spent
all these years keeping Jon together, and now that it's over I feel --
I feel glad. I'm finally free to, to go out and live my own
life, and --
-- and she's dying of cancer. The irony of it hits home, throws a
damper on her little burst of optimism. Depressed again, she starts
to get up.
LAURIE
I'm just running on, Dan. Thanks for dinner. I'd better go find
myself a cheap room.
DREIBERG watches on, paralyzed by indecision, as LAURIE heads for the
door of the restaurant. Then, submitting to impulse, he gets up and
chases her down:
DREIBERG
Laurie, wait. I've got a spare room. It's empty. If you'd like . .


author: Hytok

text:
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***
WATCHMEN (1989)
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FADE IN:
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RORSCHACH
Got your flashgun?
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COMEDIAN
SHIT!
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COMEDIAN
FUCK 'EM!
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NIGHT OWL
Adrian!
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VEIDT
Mission aborted, Daniel!
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CUT TO:
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DISSOLVE TO:
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WATCHMEN
FADE THROUGH TO:
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HYDE
Washington?
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DISSOLVE TO:
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VOICE
Hold up, papa-san!
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DREIBERG
. . . Rorschach.
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RORSCHACH (cont.)
Look familiar?
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VEIDT
Veidt here.
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. . . I don't know, stalking us.
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DREIBERG
Good night.
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. . . another door, this one outfitted with a simple
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LAURIE
Adrian.
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VEIDT
Hi, Jon.
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VEIDT
. . . Are we being monitored?
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LAURIE
Blake? Dead?
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LAURIE
Please.
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VEIDT
What about you?
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RORSCHACH
Harry.
HARRY
(petrified)
R-Rorschach.
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LAURIE
Mm hmm.
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LAURIE
. . . And just how would you manage that?
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LAURIE
AAAAAAAAAA!!
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. . . to confront DR. MANHATTAN number three:
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FADE THROUGH TO:
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. . . and I'm still in the psycho file with Rorschach.
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LAURIE
Damn straight.
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CHAPLAIN
. . . and so we commend our brother Edward Blake unto God, who shall
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LAURIE
What?!
ADAMSON
Please.
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LAURIE
What -- ?
DOCTOR
Drink this.
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DOCTOR
Drink it.
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ADAMSON
Poor kid.
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DIRECTOR
Perfect.
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. . I'll ask you point-blank: has the administration requested that
you intervene?
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ADAMSON
Good Lord --
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JANEY
Jon -- what?
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JANEY
-- What?
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JON (cont.)
. . . don't wanna screw up a million-dollar experiment.
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SCIENTIST IV
TWENTY SECONDS!
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WALLY
The power cables!!
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JANEY
Jon.
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. . . and everything in the room goes blue.
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DISSOLVE TO:
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. . . the fully formed figure of DR. MANHATTAN, floating above them,
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JANEY
JON-N-N-N!!!
DISSOLVE TO:
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CUT TO:
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PULL BACK TO:
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CUT TO:
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VOICE
New Frontiersman, please.
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STREET CRAZY
. . . How do you know?
CUT TO:
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CUT TO:
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PRESIDENT
. . . Of course.
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text:
Ho trovato per caso questa bozza di sceneggiatura, ovviamente mai sfociata
in un film, di Watchmen: sarei curioso di saperne di più su com'è andata a
finire.
http://www.scifiscripts.com/scripts/wtchmn.txt
--
Jolan Tru
Filippo "Hytok" Simone
http://perestroika.iobloggo.com/


author: beccoblu

text:
Il Sat, 14 Mar 2009 17:39:08 +0100, Hytok ha scritto:
> Ho trovato per caso questa bozza di sceneggiatura, ovviamente mai sfociata
> in un film, di Watchmen: sarei curioso di saperne di più su com'è andata a
> finire.
>
>
http://www.scifiscripts.com/scripts/wtchmn.txt
lol l'hai pubblicata 5 volte o sbaglio? :-)
d.


text:
beccoblu <daniele...@google.free.mail.service> sotto stretta
sorveglianza ha scritto:
>
>>
http://www.scifiscripts.com/scripts/wtchmn.txt
>
>lol l'hai pubblicata 5 volte o sbaglio? :-)
Huh? Il mio client mi ha dato errore, ci devono essere stati problemi col
news server, scusate.



author: danieletomasi

text:
On 14 Mar, 18:25, "Hytok" <
e...@fastwebnet.it
> wrote:
> beccoblu <daniele.mar...@google.free.mail.service> sotto stretta
> sorveglianza ha scritto:
>
>
>
> >>
http://www.scifiscripts.com/scripts/wtchmn.txt
>
> >lol l'hai pubblicata 5 volte o sbaglio? :-)
>
> Huh? Il mio client mi ha dato errore, ci devono essere stati problemi col
> news server, scusate.
> --
LOL
L'hai pubblicata per tre volte PER ESTESO, e solo alla quarta lettera
c'e' il link.
^___^
DT
http://danieletomasi.blogspot.com


text:
danieletomasi <
daniel...@gmail.com
> sotto stretta sorveglianza ha
scritto:
>
>> Huh? Il mio client mi ha dato errore, ci devono essere stati problemi col
>> news server, scusate.
>
>LOL
>L'hai pubblicata per tre volte PER ESTESO, e solo alla quarta lettera
>c'e' il link.
>^___^
Ma infatti mi dava errore, e ho deciso di pubblicare solo il link.



author: AntoBlueberry

text:
On 15 Mar, 19:30, "Hytok" <
e...@fastwebnet.it
> wrote:
>
> Ma infatti mi dava errore, e ho deciso di pubblicare solo il link.
Tu sei un pazzo scatenato.
Cmq era la prima versione della sceneggiatura poi affidata a Terry
Gilliam, che la riscrisse con Charles McKeown per renderla più fedele
al fumetto.
Sam Hamm era stato il primo sceneggiatore del Batman di Burton e
quando orgoglioso portò lo script ad Alan Moore per avere un giudizio,
il maestro dopo averlo letto disse diplomaticamente "Bah, hai fatto
delle scelte diverse dalle mie, ma capisco che sono media diversi e
che ci hai messo dell'impegno".
Moore era più giovane, meno disilluso e soprattutto ancora non
incazzato col mondo.


title: [GainBuy] ALMANACCO ILLUSTRATO DEL CALCIO 1992

text:
Ho messo in asta ALMANACCO ILLUSTRATO DEL CALCIO 1992
SERIE DEGLI ALMANACCHI SPORTIVI
http://www.gainbuy.it/index.asp?page=1&op=com&pag=4&cat=70&scat=500&ID=469539
L'oggetto è in ottime condizioni.................. vedete la foto su gainbuy
Pasquale