Bush's* Police State

“I'm sorry. Here's you're thread back, Holitary Hiker.
****************************************


This is for all the Bush Bashers. But just think about the asterisk I put in the thread title. I did that because it could have been Gore's name there. The two are interchangable. The only difference is they pitch their scams to different groups of the American ignorati.

Read, enjoy, discuss amongst yourselves!


"Happy New Year It's 1984 -
Bush's Orwellian Address
By Jacob Levich
10-26-1

Seventeen years later than expected, 1984 has arrived. In his address to Congress Thursday, George Bush effectively declared permanent war -- war without temporal or geographic limits; war without clear goals; war against a vaguely defined and constantly shifting enemy. Today it's Al-Qaida; tomorrow it may be Afghanistan; next year, it could be Iraq or Cuba or Chechnya.

No one who was forced to read 1984 in high school could fail to hear a faint bell tinkling. In George Orwell's dreary classic, the totalitarian state of Oceania is perpetually at war with either Eurasia or Eastasia. Although the enemy changes periodically, the war is permanent; its true purpose is to control dissent and sustain dictatorship by nurturing popular fear and hatred.

The permanent war undergirds every aspect of Big Brother's authoritarian program, excusing censorship, propaganda, secret police, and privation. In other words, it's terribly convenient.

And conveniently terrible. Bush's alarming speech pointed to a shadowy enemy that lurks in more 60 countries, including the US. He announced a policy of using maximum force against any individuals or nations he designates as our enemies, without color of international law, due process, or democratic debate.

He explicitly warned that much of the war will be conducted in secret. He rejected negotiation as a tool of diplomacy. He announced starkly that any country that doesn't knuckle under to US demands will be regarded as an enemy. He heralded the creation of a powerful new cabinet-level police agency called the "Office of Homeland Security." Orwell couldn't have named it better.

By turns folksy ("Ya know what?") and chillingly bellicose ("Either you are with us, or you are with the terrorists"), Bush stepped comfortably into the role of Big Brother, who needs to be loved as well as feared. Meanwhile, his administration acted swiftly to realize the governing principles of Oceania:

WAR IS PEACE. A reckless war that will likely bring about a deadly cycle of retaliation is being sold to us as the means to guarantee our safety. Meanwhile, we've been instructed to accept the permanent war as a fact of daily life. As the inevitable slaughter of innocents unfolds overseas, we are to "live our lives and hug our children."

FREEDOM IS SLAVERY. "Freedom itself is under attack," Bush said, and he's right. Americans are about to lose many of their most cherished liberties in a frenzy of paranoid legislation. The government proposes to tap our phones, read our email and seize our credit card records without court order. It seeks authority to detain and deport immigrants without cause or trial. It proposes to use foreign agents to spy on American citizens. To save freedom, the warmongers intend to destroy it.

IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH. America's "new war" against terrorism will be fought with unprecedented secrecy, including heavy press restrictions not seen for years, the Pentagon has advised. Meanwhile, the sorry history of American imperialism -- collaboration with terrorists, bloody proxy wars against civilians, forcible replacement of democratic governments with corrupt dictatorships -- is strictly off-limits to mainstream media. Lest it weaken our resolve, we are not to be allowed to understand the reasons underlying the horrifying crimes of September 11.

The defining speech of Bush's presidency points toward an Orwellian future of endless war, expedient lies, and ubiquitous social control. But unlike 1984's doomed protagonist, we've still got plenty of space to maneuver and plenty of ways to resist.

It's time to speak and to act. It falls on us now to take to the streets, bearing a clear message for the warmongers: We don't love Big Brother."

Jacob Levich (jlevich@earthlink.net) is an writer, editor, and activist living in Queens, New York.



Solitary Hiker
12:31:33 PM
10/26/01


RE: Bush's* Police State
Personally, I like Bush's Baked Beans, I haven't tried the police state yet.
Buddha Bear
12:42:44 PM
10/26/01


RE: Bush's* Police State
I am thinking SH is a "solitary" hiker for a reason. You really ought to give it a rest. Your personal political agenda is getting tiresome. Orwellian future... what a bunch of hog poop.
BobK
12:56:46 PM
10/26/01


RE: Bush's* Police State
Roll that beautifull bean footage!

So we have another whinny cut and paste from SH. What's new? All we ever get is articles. He shows himself to be so intellectually lazy, not only does he get all his opinions from articles he probably has someone read them to him too. How about an original thought for a change?
Nigal
1:02:49 PM
10/26/01




RE: Bush's* Police State
Baaaaah!
Le Subtil
1:07:46 PM
10/26/01


RE: Bush's* Police State
The fruits of freedom come at w/a price. These new changes in the way BigBrother does its business should not affect the common man unless you are guilty to begin with.

Many of you will not even notice the change. So keep your head down and keep feeding and stay away from the fence if you don't like being shocked.


Minister of Truth
1:10:56 PM
10/26/01




RE: Bush's* Police State
When I first heard that news today, I got a definite creepy feeling about our government. We're not a police state yet.... Do they have a reason to do it? SURE!

But small restrictions can easily grow into bigger restrictions when a climate of fear is fostered.

We funded bin Laden's secret training to fight Russians in Afghanistan. Seems like the government often has its tunnel vision on what is best for the government. And who knows when their direction changes, or why?

(OK, if I'm carted away now, we'll know they're reading TT and figure I'm a leader of a rebellious faction. LMAO!!)
lizs
1:28:02 PM
10/26/01


RE: Bush's* Police State
"Let the bodies hit the floor, let the bodies hit the floor!"
-- Drowning Pool
Buddha Bear
1:30:43 PM
10/26/01




RE: Bush's* Police State
Don't these broader powers have a time limit on them? I heard the liberals were concerned (rightly so) and had likie a 3-5 year limit put on them.
Nigal
1:43:48 PM
10/26/01


RE: Bush's* Police State

It's a 4 year time limit and the most Draconian measures were eliminated.

Violin
1:46:42 PM
10/26/01






RE: Bush's* Police State
If your are going to have a police state, then its best to let the libertarians set it up.
Idaho Bob
2:03:48 PM
10/26/01


RE: Bush's* Police State
Yawn
bacpac
2:05:01 PM
10/26/01”

“null”

“Oh you bad little monkey! How did you do that?”

“This is a new thread.
The 'nuked' one is still here.

I got to feeling bad.”

“SHHHHH they can hear you.”

“Ya should have left it dead. It was an obvious troll thread.”

“Yeah, but it's not up to me to kill it. I repent.”

“Hmmmm....I guess Matt laid down the law and clarified the rules to some of the scufflaws in here?

And Nigal, you can call this whining if you want. I call it thinking outside the box. As a Southerner I was bought up to distrust (even loathe) the federal government. And history has proven that this is not an unwise way of looking at it. The bottom line is they/it lie.

I never started any of these threads saying that I had answers or solutions. Check them over. all I'm saying is consider what the government and mass media is telling you, look for alternate sources or opinions on the story, and then try to discern the truth. I'm giving you an alternate version of what could be happening. There is some compelling evidence to back up alternate versions of what is really happening.

There are some great old quotes that kind of sum up how I feel about all this. Here they are:

John Kettle, 17th century English philosopher
"Any time any opinion comes to be held by nearly everyone, it is nearly always wrong."

Thomas Jefferson, 1816 in a letter to a Col. Yancey
"If a Nation expects to be ignorant and free in a state of civilization, it expects what never was and never will be.... If we are to guard against ignorance and remain free, it is the responsibility of every American to be informed."

Abraham Lincoln
"Public sentiment is everything. With public sentiment nothing can fail. Without it nothing can succeed. He who molds opinion is greater than he who enacts laws."

H.L. Mencken
"The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed and hence, clamorous to be led to safety - by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary."

Joseph Goebbels
"Think of the press as a great keyboard on which the government can play."”

“Dude. Matt didn't say anything, at least not that I'm aware of. I reposted this on my own. Don't tempt me.

I'd thought about posted a thread on this topic a couple of weeks ago. If you copied less and posted more original thought, it might seem more authentic.

You ever see Terry Gilliam's movie Brazil?”

“Grow up Geek!!!!!!”

“Brazil was cool.”

“You don't have the cajones to do it again!

And Violin, maybe you should do some posting instead of playing HMTL pranks.”

“Sam Lowry: My name's Lowry. Sam Lowry. I've been told to report to Mr. Warrenn.

Porter - Information Retrieval: Thirtieth floor, sir. You're expected.

Sam Lowry: Um...don't you want to search me?

Porter - Information Retrieval: No sir.

Sam Lowry: Do you want to see my ID?

Porter - Information Retrieval: No need, sir.

Sam Lowry: But I could be anybody.

Porter - Information Retrieval: No you couldn't sir. This is Information Retrieval.”

“Brazil
Screenplay (Draft)






1 EXT. CITYSCAPE SUNSET 1

A beautiful golden sun is setting. The sky is on fire. The
CAMERA starts to move downwards. A large neon sign rises
into shot. It rests on top of a skyscraper and fills the
frame. The building is neither past nor future in design
but a bit of both.

Slowly we pan downwards revealing the city that spreads
below ... A glittering conglomeration of elevated
transport tubes, smaller square buildings which are merely
huge, with, here and there, the comparatively minuscule
relics of previous ages of architecture, pavement level
awnings suggesting restaurants and shops ... Transparent
tubes carry whizzing transport cages past us ... an
elevated highway carrying traffic composed primarily of
large transport lorries passes thru frame. As we descend,
the sunlight is blocked out and street lights & neon signs
take over as illumination. Eventually we reach the upper
levels of a plush shopping precinct.

2 INT. SHOPPING PRECINT NIGHT 2

Xmas decorations are everywhere. PEOPLE are busy buying,
ogling, discussing, choosing wisely from the goodies on
display. SHOPPERS are going by laden with superbly
packaged goods ... the shop windows are full of
elaborately boxed and be-ribboned who-knows-what. In one
window is a bank of TV sets - on the great majority of the
screens is the face of MR. HELPMANN - the Deputy Minister
of Information. He is being interviewed. No-one bothers to
listen to HELPMANN.

INTERVIEWER
Deputy minister, what do you believe
is behind this recent increase in
terrorist bombings?

HELPMANN
Bad sportsmanship. A ruthless
minority of people seems to have
forgotten certain good old fashioned
virtues. They just can't stand seeing
the other fellow win. If these people
would just play the game, instead of
standing on the touch line heckling -

INTERVIEWER
In fact, killing people -

HELPMANN
- In fact, killing people - they'd
get a lot more out of life.

We PULL AWAY from the shop to concentrate on the shoppers.
HELPMANN's voice carries over the rest of the scene.

INTERVIEWER
Mr. HELPMANN, what would you say to
those critics who maintain that the
Ministry Of Information has become
too large and unwieldy ...?

HELPMANN
David ... in a free society
information is the name of the game.
You can't win the game if you're a
man short.

Fur bedecked shoppers pass in front of what appears to be
banks of snow but as we pan along with them the "snow"
turns out to be fire-fighting foam. It oozes out of a shop
front that is a charred twisted mass of metal frames.
WORKMEN are busily sealing the opening with plywood
sheets, SHOPPERS pay no attention to this. Xmas carols are
being played by a Salvation Army style band calling
themselves Consumers For Christ. Santa Claus's grotto is
busy, all is well with the world.

INTERVIEWER
And the cost of it all, Deputy
Minister? Seven percent of the gross
national produce ...

HELPMANN
I understand this concern on behalf
of the tax-payers. People want value
for money and a cost-effective
service.

3 INT. OFFICE NIGHT 3

CUT TO TV screen with HELPMANN still talking.

HELPMANN
That is why we always insist on the
principle of Information Retrieval
Charges. These terrorists are not
pulling their weight, and it's
absolutely right and fair that those
found guilty should pay for their
periods of detention and the
Information Retrieval Procedures used
in their interrogation.

PULL BACK to reveal a rather clinical office. The TV rests
on a desk. A WHITE COATED TECHNICIAN is sorting out his in-
tray. Several Christmas cards are amongst he paperwork. He
comes upon a Christmassy package which he rips open, to
discover a shiny, metal "executive toy".

CUT TO the BEETLE droning up near the ceiling.

The TECHNICIAN is disturbed by the buzz of the BEETLE as
it whirrs around the fluorescent light. He rolls up some
paper and forms and gets up to swat the insect.

Scenes 4-12 Deleted. 4-12 Deleted.

13 INT. OFFICE NIGHT 13

The TECHNICIAN gets up and balances a chair on top of his
desk. He climbs up onto it attempting to swat the BEETLE
still buzzing about the room just out of reach. Beneath
him an automatic type-writing machine rattles away
compiling a typed list of names under the heading
"Information Retrieval, Subjects For Detention &
Interview". The machine is being fed from a spool of paper
which is being rhythmically chopped by an automatic
guillotine which neatly leaves each name on a separate
sheet, with the title above each name, each sheet
following its predecessor into a holding basket. In CLOSE-
UP we see the names on the sheets of paper building up in
the holding basket: TONSTED, Simon ... TOPPER, Martin F.
... TROLLOPE, Benjamin G. ... TURB, William K. ... TURNER,
John D. ... Every name begins with T.

INTERVIEWER
Do you think that the government is
winning the battle against
terrorists?

HELPMANN
On yes. Our morale is much higher
than theirs, we're fielding all their
strokes, running a lot of them out,
and pretty consistently knocking them
for six. I'd say they're nearly out
of the game.

The TECHNICIAN is tottering on one leg on the chair on the
desk as he strains to swat the BEETLE. Swish, swash, oops,
WHAP! Gottcha!!

INTERVIEWER
But the bombing campaign is now in
its thirteenth year ...

HELPMANN
Beginner's luck.

The BEETLE's career comes to a halt ... squashed flat on
the brilliantly clean ceiling ... or has it? As the
TECHNICIAN clambers down from the rickety heights, the
BEETLE's carcass comes unstuck from the ceiling and drops
silently into the typewriting machine which hiccoughs,
hesitates and then types the letter "B" and hesitates and
then continues so that the next name is BUTTLE, Archibald.

The TECHNICIAN fails to notice this and the machine
continues smoothly TUTWOOD, Thomas T. ... TUZCZLOW,
Peter...

INTERVIEWER
Thank you very much, Deputy Minister.

HELPMANN
Thank you, David ... and a very merry
Christmas to you all.

14 EXT. HOUSING TOWERS NIGHT 14

ZOOMING past foreground outdoor Xmas decorations we
TIGHTEN in on one of several massive residential tower
blocks that loom over what appears to be a poorer part of
the city

15 INT. BUTTLE FLAT NIGHT 15

HELPMANN and INTERVIEWER are on the TV, the end credits
rolling over them to the beat of a Mozart theme tune.
PULLING BACK we reveal that the TV is in a conventional
sitting room, conventionally decorated for Christmas; out
the room is oddly encumbered by huge metal conduits that
snake unpleasantly across and through the walls. Smaller
conduits radiate from the main one connecting the various
services that Central Services (the name emblazoned on the
metal) supply to this household. A conventionally poor but
proud family occupies the room. MRS BUTTLE is reading
Dickens' Christmas Carol to GIRL BUTTLE who is about six.
BOY BUTTLE plays quietly with a toy machine gun and some
action men dressed in security gear. MR. BUTTLE is putting
the final touches to a neatly wrapped Christmas present
which looks identical to the "executive toy" we have just
seen in he TECHNICIAN'S office.

Faintly from outside comes a burst of laughter. A tilt of
the CAMERA indicates that the laughter is coming from the
floor above.

16 INT. JILL'S FLAT NIGHT 16

The flat is very bare and basic. The laughter is coming
from a cheap portable television showing "Sgt. Bilko. From
BILKO'S POV we look through an open door of a bathroom
straight at a mirror propped up by the bath, to enable the
person in the bath to watch the TV. The person in the bath
is JILL LAYTON, washing the grime off herself while she
watches Bilko in the mirror. From her POV in the mirror,
the T.V. screen is suddenly obscured by part of the body
of a MAN in uniform.

JILL
(scared)
Who's there?

17 INT. BUTTLE'S FLAT NIGHT 17

The BUTTLE FAMILY as before. MRS BUTTLE is closing the
book.

MRS BUTTLE
There, that's enough for tonight. He
won't come Xmas Eve if you don't get
plenty of sleep.

GIRL BUTTLE
Father Christmas can't come if we
haven't got a chimney.

MRS BUTTLE
You'll see.

The GIRL exchanges goodnight kisses with her parents and
leaves the room.

GIRL BUTTLE
How will he get down from upstairs?

BOY BUTTLE
It's a secret.

We follow GIRL BUTTLE out of the sitting room into ...

18 INT. HALLWAY AND CHILDREN'S BEDROOM NIGHT 18

GIRL BUTTLE enters her bedroom. There is little or no
light there, and she sees a bulky figure apparently
lowering himself into the room from the direction of the
ceiling.

GIRL BUTTLE
(unalarmed)
You've come ...

As she moves, the light from the hallway shows us the
figure of what looks like a commando on a night raid,
slowly sliding down a pole in he middle of the room. The
pole at the top end disappears through a hole in the
ceiling. Things become immediately clearer

19 INT. BUTTLE SITTING-ROOM NIGHT 19

Crash! It's a raid! Battle-dressed SECURITY TROOPS smash
trough the door. Another ONE, swings from a rope, kicks in
the window from the outside and enters that way. Most
alarmingly of all, a shower of plaster comes down from the
ceiling in which a fairly neat round hole appears and
through the hole comes a fireman's pole down which slide
TWO MORE SECURITY TROOPS. The whole thing is short, brutal
and violent.

BUTTLE is grabbed violently and stuffed into a baglike
canvas device that covers him from head to waist. A metal
clamp goes round his neck, a metal bar slides up the back
of the bag. His hands are handcuffed to the metal bar. In
seconds he has become a canvas parcel. Meanwhile, GIRL
BUTTLE has been carried out of her bedroom and dumped into
the lap of her screaming mother. BOY BUTTLE has his toy
machine gun knocked out of his hands by a TROOPER who we
see is identical in dress to the action men BOY BUTTLE has
been playing with. He rushes to his mother as guns are
viciously trained on them. TROOPS are kicking open the
doors of other rooms and generally doing a good job. An
OFFICIAL, wearing plain clothes, now enters from the front
door and during the turmoil is reading aloud from an
official document. It goes something like this:

OFFICIAL
I hereby inform you under powers
entrusted to me under Section 47,
Paragraph 7 of Council Order Number
438476, that Mr Buttle, Archibald,
residing at 412 North Tower, Shangri
La Towers, has been invited to assist
the Ministry of Information with
certain enquiries, the nature of
which may be ascertained on
completion of application form
BZ/ST/486/C fourteen days within this
date, and that he is liable to
certain obligations as specified in
Council Order 173497, including
financial restitutions which may or
may not be incurred if Information
Retrieval procedures beyond those
incorporated in Article 7 subsections
8, 10 & 32 are required to elicit
information leading to permanent
arrest - notification of which will
he served with the time period of 5
working days as stipulated by law. In
that instance the detainee will be
debited without further notice
through central banking procedures
without prejudice until and unless at
such a time when re-imbursement
procedures may be instituted by you
or third parties on completion of a
re-imbursement form RB/CZ/907/X ...

... and more of the same, most of which is part of the
audible wall paper while the chaos reigns. As the front
door slams behind the captive relative peace returns,
broken by MRS BUTTLE's anguished sobbing.

OFFICIAL
(proffering a pen and a
thick book of pink receipts
to Mrs Buttle)
Sign here please.

MRS BUTTLE
(dazed. She signs weakly)
What? where have you taken him?

OFFICIAL
(taking the book)
thank you.
(he hands her another book,
this one of blue receipts)
(indicating place to sign)
Same again please. Just there.
(checking first book of
receipts)
Press harder his time. Good.

MRS BUTTLE
(signing again)
What is this all about?

OFFICIAL
(tearing out sheet from
pink book)
That's your receipt for your husband.
(taking blue book from her)
Thank you. And this is my receipt for
your receipt.
(he turns to leave along
with troopers)

JILL's shocked face appears looking down through the hole
in the ceiling. The faces of the workmen BILL and CHARLIE
also appear, above and behind her.

JILL
Mrs Buttle, are you alright?

The helmeted SECURITY TROOPS in Buttle's flat drop to
defensive positions and swing their machine guns up
towards the hole in the ceiling. All three faces retreat.


20 INT. JILL'S FLAT NIGHT 20

CHARLIE
(starting back from the
hole with Bill and Jill)
Eh! Eh! Eh! We're Department of
Works! Department of Works up here!
Careful with those bloody things!

JILL, CHARLIE and BILL are hustled aside by a SECURITY MAN
who clears the fireman's pole from the hole. We can see
the TROOPS in the room below leaving. A SECOND SECURITY
man has untied a rope hanging out of the open window. He
coils the rope up neatly and the TWO SECURITY MEN leave
the flat.

BILL
(to Jill as they watch this
highly efficient operation)
Don't take any notice, love, it's
their training makes them like
animals. Best in the world, though.

JILL
Who are you?

CHARLIE
Don't you worry love, we'll have
everything shipshape in a jiffy.

BILL
That's it. Nothing to worry about.

CHARLIE
It's Buttle downstairs who can worry,
eh?

JILL
There must be some mistake ... Mr
Buttle's harmless...

BILL
We don't make mistakes.

So saying, he drops the manhole cover, which is faced with
same material as the floor, over the hole in the floor. To
his surprise it drops neatly through the floor into the
flat below.
CHARLIE
Bloody typical, they've gone back to
metric without telling us


20a INT. BUTTLES' FLAT NIGHT 20a

MRS BUTTLE stands stunned in the middle of her decimated
flat. The KIDS wail. Slowly MRS BUTTLE collapses -
slumping to the floor with the receipt in her hand: we
tighten into CLOSE UP of "Receipt".

JILL (off CAMERA)
Mrs Buttle? Mrs Buttle?

21 INT. RECORD CLERK'S POOL 21

We come in on a CLOSE UP of a pink version of the RECEIPT
being stamped and impaled on desk spike as we PULL OUT to
reveal an infinite expanse of regularly arranged metal
desks, each desk with a built-in T.V. console, and each
(except one) occupied by a CLERK. Every desk is snowed
under with pieces of paper much like the receipts seen in
the previous scene. More pacers are delivered to each desk
intermittently by way of pneumatic tube. OFFICE BOYS
bustle about with even more paperwork. From the back of
the room we get a view of the screens which show graphs,
tabulations, figures ... All of this activity is
supervised from an elevated walkway by MR KURTZMAN.
Satisfied that all is well with his clerks he turns and
walks towards his glass enclosed private office at the top
of the room, his name lettered on the opaque glass door.

MR KURTZMAN goes through this door and as he closes it
behind him, all activity in the CLERKS pool ceases. each
CLERK adjusts his T.V. screen with the flick of a switch,
and all the screens change to something which looks very
like "The Good, The Bad And The Ugly".

22 INT. MR KURTZMAN'S OFFICE DAY 22

MR KURTZMAN also has a T.V. console. He sits behind his
desk, reaches for his In-tray, and without looking at the
console he turns his screen on. He looks through a number
of files in his In-tray. He is surprised to hear a VOICE
say, "Turn around real slow, amigo". MR KURTZMAN turns
around real slow, his expression relaxes, he thumps his
T.V. console with a large fist, and the screen obediently
flicks to a display of figures. He picks up a file which
we see as marked "Buttle, Archibald". He opens the file
and starts punching the keyboard of the console. The T.V.
starts bleeping in an alarmed way. MR KURTZMAN is puzzled.
He punches more figures. The screen starts to flash
"Error, error, error". MR KURTZMAN sighs with frustration.
He presses an intercom.
MR KURTZMAN
(into intercom)
Mr Lowry, will you step in here
please?

He returns his attention, puzzled to the file. Nobody
comes into the office. MR KURTZMAN gets up and walks over
to his door and opens it. Beyond the door the room full of
CLERKS is obediently concentrating on the bleeping and
whirring consoles. From MR KURTZMAN'S POV we see that in
the centre of the room is an unoccupied desk.

MR KURTZMAN
Does anyone know where Lowry is?

Nobody knows. MR KURTZMAN closes his door again. A moment
later it seems to him, and to us, that he has heard the
crash of six guns blazing away at each other. He re-opens
the door. The only sound again. He goes back to his desk.
He punches a few keys. The machine starts emitting even
more alarming beeps, then horse whinnies, then "Admit
you're whupped, you drygulching scum". KURTZMAN explodes
with anger, and presses the intercom again.

MR KURTZMAN
(Shouting into intercom)
Where the hell is Sam Lowry?!

23 EXT. SKY DAY 23

CUT TO brilliantly clear sky. From on high an odd bird-
like figure swoops down on the CAMERA. As it comes closer
we can see that it is, in fact, a MAN wearing strange wood
and metal bird wings. In the bright sunshine their
flapping movements create a brilliant, flashing effect.
Along with the wings, SAM LOWRY (for this is he) wears an
outfit that combines the best of Flash Gordon and a WWI
fighter pilot. He sweeps past the CAMERA and then,
banking, rises BACK INTO SHOT IN MCU. An ethereal voice
can be heard calling "Sam ... Sam ... Sam". He hovers,
looking beyond the CAMERA to something wonderful. CUT TO
face of stunningly beautiful GIRL, she is the idealised
twin of JILL LAYTON ... Her long hair swirls across her
face partially obscuring it and making her appear slightly
mysterious. The CAMERA PULLS AWAY from her as soft
billowing material sinuously undulates about her. It rises
and falls like waves carried on the wind. As the CAMERA
GLIDES BACK through this sea of gossamer we can see that
the GIRL is being held aloft by and in it. A vast
landscape stretches below her. The sun frames her in the
sky. She and SAM are engaged in a beautiful sensual aerial
ballet.

Romantic music fills the soundtrack.

SAM swoops up and away. The GIRL floats in the distance as
SAM. rises in the foreground. She beckons to him. SAM
begins to flap back towards her. But then the dreamy
quality of this scene is interrupted by threatening
rumble. SAM looks down.

The ground far below him suddenly erupts as a massive,
monolithic stone skyscraper bursts through the surface and
soars upwards with a mighty rush.

CUT to the GIRL in LONG SHOT. The monolith rises up into
FRAME partially cutting her off from view.

Before SAM can do anything, another stone skyscraper
breaks through the ground and rushes upwards. Then another
and another. There is nothing SAM can do. The GIRL is
being cut of from him by these gigantic faceless
structures. And then she is finally lost from view
somewhere in the depths of this strange stone metropolis.
SAM lies closer. The stone skyscrapers appear to be solid.
No windows. No doors. Nothing whatsoever to interfere with
their clean, harsh, rectilinear design. As he flies among
these towering blocks he sees no sign of the GIRL, only
sheer walls rising high above him. Below him the walls
plummet vertiginously into the darkish streets. No sound
but the creaking flapping of his wings can he heard in
this dead place. Coming round a corner he sees something
in the distance. far below him a dark procession is
wending its way through the narrow passages... away from
him.

CUT TO LOW ANGLE SHOT of the procession making its way
past the CAMERA. Black-robed and cowled, the sinister
figures look like heavily armed monks. These are the
FORCES OF DARKNESS. Together they are straining at several
heavy hawsers that rise in long arcs up to a huge metal
cage floating above and behind the procession. Binding the
cage are metal straps to which ropes are attached. Inside
is the GIRL - still enveloped in gossamer which billows as
if there were a breeze in constant attendance.

CUT TO SAM as He dives out of shot.

CUT to the FORCES OF DARKNESS suddenly stopping in their
tracks. They've seen something.

CUT to their POV. There at the end of the passage between
two stone skyscrapers stands SAM ... barring the way.

CUT to swords being unsheathed. Cowls being thrown back.
Underneath are rotting, broken dolls' faces. All the faces
are the same except for the manner in which they have
decayed. They smile - slobbering, sickeningly. Suddenly
the robed bodies change shape - some rising up to become
long, others expanding sideways to become bulbous, others
shrinking. From the folds of cloth come evil weapons. The
FORCES are massed ready to charge.
CUT to long shot of SAM. He removes his arms from his
wings and folds the wings behind him. He is ready.

Cut to the FORCES. Nothing moves ... except for the
constant dribble from their cracked mouths.

CUT back to SAM. Stillness. The tension is unbearable.
Suddenly SAM unleashes a terrifying scream and charges the
fearsome horde. Unarmed!

CUT to the FORCES thundering down to SAM. Weapons flailing
madly.

SAM skillfully dodges the swordthrust of the leading
field, and karate chops him senseless - at the same time
catching his sword as he falls. Spinning around he parries
a spearthrust and skewers a third attacker. Slash! Hack!
Stab! He lays waste to the FORCES. Nothing can stop this
boy. The pile of black-robed bodies grows with each swing
of SAM's sword. Wham! Bam! Smash! SAM carves his way
through the mob with nary a scratch. And then, suddenly,
they are all dead, but a heap of blackness to commemorate
SAM's prowess. The GIRL is beaming as SAM makes his way
toward the hawsers holding the cage. But then a noise
behind him makes him turn. There, behind him the pile of
black shapes begin to rise. The ropes become a mass of
flapping black cloth. This evil churning cloud coalesces
and lifts off the ground. The horrible flapping apparition
emits a terrifying maniacal laughter as it flies away. SAM
is about to rush after it to halt its escape but is
stopped by the sound of a telephone ringing. He looks
around - confused.

24 INT. SAM'S BEDROOM MORNING 24

TIGHT SHOT of telephone. The ringing continues. A hand
grapples with the receiver. SAM is in bed in a darkened
room. Sleepily he drags receiver to his ear.

SAM
Hello ... What ... what? Oh ... Mr
Kurtzman! ... You're up late. Oh, is
it?

There is an electronic box of tricks by his bed,
incorporating an alarm. SAM thumps it. The alarm goes off.
This sets of a series of other things ... The window
shutters roll up letting in the morning light. Both taps
turn on in the bathroom ...

SAM
(into phone)
The electronics here are up the
spout. Yours too, sir? Don't worry
sir - I'll be there.

SAM puts down the phone and gets into his suit which is
moving towards him. Noticing one of his film posters is
loose he pushes the pin in firmly.

In the kitchen a coffee maker starts up. In the sitting
room the television switches on. Back in the bedroom a
cupboard door springs open and a rack slides out with
SAM's clothes neatly hanging - ready to be put on. SAM
comes out of the bathroom, having turned off the bath
taps, and starts to get dressed. In the kitchen the coffee-
maker has finished making s small pot of coffee. SAM pours
a quick cup and is gone at the door. Throughout all this
we have had a chance to get a glimpse of SAM's flat. It is
functional, soulless and, though neat, has not been
assembled with a loving hand. Most of the furnishings are
built in. The walls are divided into two-foot square metal
panels painted a non-committal colour. Certain of the wall
panels have Central Services logos on them with the
admonition "Do not obstruct or remove" below. SAM has
livened his bedroom up with large and colorful film
posters. The sitting room sports several framed pictures
of wide beautiful vistas.

25 INT. MINISTRY OF INFORMATION LOBBY DAY 25

This is a gigantic, vaguely 30's monumental-style
building. The lobby is a vast impressive space containing
reception desks, fountains, statues etc. Prominent are the
security measures, which include automatic mobile cameras,
video screens and groups of SECURITY MEN who search all
who enter. SAM is finishing going through Security when he
meets JACK who is on his way out of the building.

JACK
Sam!

SAM
Jack!

JACK
Long time no see!

SAM
Well, since you disappeared up the
ladder of Information Retrieval ... I
don't expect to see you slumming in
Records - what's the problem?

JACK
Problem? - No problem - yes,
everything's going fantastically
well, wonderful, marvelous, great
career prospects, Alison in great
shape, kids fine, beautiful home, I'm
on Security Level Five now, and Mr
Helpmann relies on me more and more,
yes, couldn't be better, I feel
terrifically motivated and job-
rewarded -

SAM
You sound worried.

JACK
Me? - if I'm worried about anyone,
it's you. What happened to you, Sam?
You were the brightest of us -

As they have been talking, a nearby bank of closed circuit
TV screens has been displaying shots of people entering
the lobby. As each one enters the CAMERA ZOOMS IN TIGHT on
their faces for a frozen CLOSE-UP. JILL has just entered
and the CAMERA ZOOMS IN and freezes on her face. SAM
happens to glance up at this moment. He is startled - the
over-exposed TV image is the face of the GIRL FROM THE
DREAM. The face is only there a few seconds before being
replaced by another picture. SAM looks about to see where
the GIRL is, but JILL, in overalls, has her back to him as
she stands in the queue for the Information desk and so
there is no-one even vaguely reminiscent of the DREAM
GIRL. SAM decides he must have imagined it. Over this JACK
has been talking.

JACK
What's the matter?

SAM
Sorry. Nothing.
(snapping out of it)
See you - I'm going to be late.

JACK
(looking at his watch)
You are late.

SAM
Even later.

JACK
Sam, your life is going wrong - let
your friends tell you - Records is a
dead end department, no Security
Level worth a damn, it's impossible
to get noticed -

SAM
Yes, I know, fantastic, marvellous,
wonderful - remember me to Alison -
and the - er - twins.

JACK
Triplets.

SAM
Really? - God, how time flies!

As SAM heads off to the lift, he passes a group of MEN
standing around a temporary TV monitor. Several of them
are dressed in white lab coats. They are being explained
the benefits of a new surveillance system by a salesman
type. His assistant is operating the controls. On the
monitor we can see JILL standing in the queue for the
Information desk. The CAMERA appears to he tracking in on
her.

CUT TO JILL at top of queue with several forms in her
hand. A strange prototype radio controlled camera on a
wheeled base is whirring and clicking as it approaches
her. Throughout the next sequence it pokes around JILL in
an annoying manner - thrusting itself at her face, trying
to see what is written on the forms, peering over her
shoulder. JILL hands a form to the Information Porter.

JILL
I want to report a wrongful arrest.

PORTER
(looking at form)
You want Information Adjustments.
Different department.

JILL
(exasperated but
controlled)
I've been to Information Adjustments.
They sent me here. They told me you
had a form I had to fill in.

PORTER
Have you got an Arrest Receipt?

JILL
Yes.

PORTER
Is it stamped?

JILL
(producing Buttle receipt)
Stamped?

PORTER
(examining receipt)
No, there's no stamp on it. You see!
I can't give you the form until it's
stamped.

JILL
Where do I get it stamped?

PORTER
Information Adjustments.

The radio-controlled camera noses right up to JILL's face
as she turns. She swats the annoying thing with her stack
of forms as she storms off. The camera overbalances and
crashes into the desk - sparking and spluttering.

CUTTING BACK to the GROUP around the monitor we see a
deeply hurt SALESMAN and several sceptical white-coated
TECHNICIANS.


26 INT. MR KURTZMAN'S OFFICE DAY 26

SAM is busily working at the console, unraveling a problem
while KURTZMAN looks on anxiously and ineffectually.

KURTZMAN
Perhaps the machine's on the blink!
It keeps picking up old films. That
can't he right, can it?

SAM
It's not the machine. There's a
mismatch on the personnel code
numbers... Ah there we go! That's a
B58/732 when it should be a T47/215
... Tuttle ... he should have £31.06,
debited against his account for
electrical procedures, not Buttle.

KURTZMAN
Oh my God, a mistake!

SAM
It's not our mistake!

KURTZMAN
(eagerly)
Isn't it? Whose is it?

SAM
Information Retrieval.

KURTZMAN
Oh, good!

SAM
Expediting has put in for electrical
procedures in respect of Buttle,
Archibald, shoe repair operative, but
Security has invoiced Admin for
Tuttle, Archibald, heating engineer

SAM is still punching keys.

KURTZMAN
What a relief! I don't know what I'd
do if you ever got promoted.

SAM
Don't worry.

KURTZMAN
But if they did promote you

SAM
I've told you before. I'd turn it
down.

KURTZMAN
Would you really, Sam?

SAM
Really.

KURTZMAN
(churned up)
You've been promoted.

KURTZMAN hands SAM a sheet of printed paper. SAM takes the
paper, not pleased, and glances at it.

CLOSE UP of paper: "LOWRY, S. (RECORDS. MIN OF INF.)
TRANSFER TO INFORMATION RETRIEVAL - (Expediting, Security
Level 3).

KURTZMAN
It's your mother isn't it? Pulling
strings again.

SAM
(explodes)
What a BITCH!


27 INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE DAY 27

CUT TO an old WOMAN's face reflected in triplicate in a
three-panelled mirror. A pair of MAN's hands have a grip
on her flabby cheeks, pulling them out several inches on
either side of her face. When I say several inches that's
just what I mean. Not only are her jowls being stretched
like silly putty but they are also being wrapped around to
the back of her neck to demonstrate how tight and smooth
her face can be made by DOCTOR who is prattling on over
this freak show.

DOCTOR
Now, when you come in tomorrow, Mrs
Lowry, we'll make a little tuck here
... and there ...

CUT TO WIDE SHOT of DOCTOR's surgery. It looks a bit like
a cross between an operating theatre and a boudoir. The
cold steel, glass and plastic surfaces are badly disguised
with pastel coloured chintz and satin. At the dressing
table sits the old WOMAN, SAM'S MOTHER. Behind her stands
the DOCTOR. He is much like his surgery. He has tailored
his surgical garments like a gigolo's dressing gown. It
seems that he has done a bit of tuck-taking on himself.
There is a certain plastic smoothness to his skin, but all
in all he has been fairly successful. SAM is pacing
around, raving.

SAM
(angrily)
I just wish you would stop
interfering, mother! I don't want
promotion. I'm happy where I am.

MOTHER
No you're not. Jack Lint is a lesson
to you - he never had your brains but
he's got the ambition. You haven't
got the ambition but luckily you've
got me. And Mr Helpmann. Mr Helpmann
was very close -

DOCTOR
Now, Mrs Lowry, don't get upset
(so SAM)
Please wait in reception, Mr Lowry,
you're giving her wrinkles.

MOTHER
You see!

SAM
(groans)

DOCTOR
Now Mrs Lowry, try to relax. You must
trust me. I'll make you twenty years
younger ...

SAM
Huh!

DOCTOR
(giving Sam a dirty look)
... twenty-five if we just drain the
excess fluid from the pouches ...

MOTHER
Dr Jaffe, you're a genius. Would you
like to be Surgeon General? Four
Star. I know everybody.

DOCTOR
Well they won't know you when I've
finished with you.

The DOCTOR reaches into his smock pocket for a coloured
marker. He starts colouring up her face with strokes of
different coloured markers.

DOCTOR
First we must eliminate the excess
derma ... so! ... Then the flaccid
tissues under the eyes ... And now
the forehead ... Zip! I lift the
wrinkles and worry lines right up
into the wi- into the hairline, comme
ca ...

SAM looks disgusted.

DOCTOR
And now the template ... There ...
there ... there ... Now a bit of
sticky ... There we go!
(triumphantly)
Already she is twice as beautiful as
she was before - voila!

The DOCTOR moves his body aside, revealing MRS LOWRY's
face, covered with coloured lines and wrapped in
cellophane held in shape by cellotape. SAM stares at her.

SAM
My God, it works.


28 INT. POSH RESTAURANT (ENTRANCE) DAY 28

The conversation between SAM and his MOTHER takes place
while they are going through the sort of security checks
familiar at airports. They are, however, just outside the
velvet rope of the posh restaurant.

MOTHER
(in full flow)
Mr Helpmann was very close to your
poor father. He was very close to me.
Still is. He'll take you under his
wing at Information Retrieval. You'll
like it when you get there.

SAM
You're not listening, mother.

A warning buzzer goes off as MOTHER's handbag goes thru
security check. It turns out to have been activated by a
gaily wrapped package. A SECURITY GUARD relieves her of it
and unwraps the package which contains the same kind of
executive toy which we have seen twice before.

MOTHER
It's a present for my son.

She takes the toy back and hands it to SAM.

MOTHER
I hope you like it. It's very
exclusive.

SAM
What is it?

MOTHER
It's something for executives.

At this point the MAITRE D arrives on the scene.

MAITRE D
Madam Lowry, how exquisite to see you
again. Merry Christmas.

He pulls aside he velvet rope with a grand flourish. He
looks disdainfully at SAM's unfashionable clerk's suite

MOTHER
Hello, Spiro. Merry Christmas.

SPIRO
(blocking Sam's way)
I'm sorry but ...

MOTHER
You remember Samuel, my son.

SPIRO
{suddenly unctious)
Oh, but of course ...

MOTHER
We're meeting Mrs Terrain.

SAM
Are we?

SPIRO
Ah yes, the lady is waiting.

SPIRO leads the way. SAM and his MOTHER follow, across the
restaurant which is much like the Palm Court at the Plaza
New York. Trellises, marble columns, antique mirroring,
potted palms combine to impress us with their
sophistication and taste. A string quartet can just be
made out against the far wall. Except for the unfortunate
intrusion of metal tubing and ducting brutally thrusting
across areas of the ceiling, occasionally penetrating
right through the middle of a particularly valuable-
looking mirror, the general effect is one of confident
wealth and breeding. SAM, MOTHER and MAITRE D make their
way across the room. The waltzing strains of the string
quartet accompanying them.

CUT to group of tables with diners. At one of them sits a
wealthy-looking OLDER WOMAN with a rather plain-looking
DAUGHTER in her 20s. The OLDER WOMAN is easily
distinguished from the other clientele by a large bandage
that covers a goodish part of her head. The two of them
(the MOTHER and DAUGHTER, not the MOTHER and bandage) are
perusing the menus. SAM notes the DAUGHTER, unpleased.

SAM
Mother, I thought we were going to be
able to talk .... Oh God, she's got
what's he name with her.

SAM and his MOTHER arrive at the table.

MRS TERRAIN
Ida! Sam!

MOTHER
Alma, how are you? You're looking
wonderful! Hello, Shirley.

SHIRLEY
(shy to Sam)
Salt?

MRS TERRAIN
(to Shirley)
Not yet.
(to Sam and Mother)
Happy Christmas, Sam.

She hands SAM a gaily wrapped package which obviously
contains the same executive toy.

MOTHER
Sorry we're late. Shall we order? Get
it out of the way. What are you going
to have Alma?

She starts to hunt through the huge menu the MAITRE D has
just handed her with full colour photos of the splendid
dishes available.

MRS TERRAIN
I can't make up my mind whether to
have a number one or a number two.
What do you recommend, Spiro?

SPIRO
(conspiratorially)
Between you and me, Madam, today the
number two.

MRS TERRAIN
Thank you, Spiro. Shirley, what are
you going to have?

SHIRLEY
(panics quietly)

SPIRO
(conspiratorially)
Between you and me, Mademoiselle,
today the number one. Madam Lowry?

MOTHER
Oh, to hell with the diet, a number
eight, please.

SPIRO
A most perceptive choice, Madam, if I
may say so.
(to Sam)
Monsieur?

SAM
(brusquely)
A steak, please. Rare.
(to his mother)
Mother, I need to ...

SPIRO
(piqued)
Monsieur. Quel numero.

SAM
(handing back menu)
I don't know which numero.

SPIRO
(writing on pad)
Numero, trois.


EVERYONE is a bit embarrassed here. MOTHER gives SAM a
withering look. SPIRO stalks away.

MOTHER
(trying to restart things)
Alma, you wicked thing ...
(indicating bandages)
you've started your treatment.

MRS TERRAIN
You noticed.
(enthusiastically)
I must tell you all about it.

SAM
(to his mother)
Mother, will you listen to

At this moment the food arrives. SPIRO elaborately lifts
off the silver covers and with a flourish distributes the
plates of food. Each order looks identical - a big splodge
of brown lumpy stuff. The only differences between the
lumps are the Identifying photographs on sticks stuck in
each. The beautiful colour photos match the photos which
were on the menus.

SPIRO
(showing off that he
remembers who's ordered
what)
Numero huit, braised veal in wine
sauce.
(he sets it in front of
Sam's Mother)

MRS TERRAIN
It's too exciting. I've left Dr Jaffe
and gone to Dr. Chapman.

SPIRO
Numero deux, duck a l'orange.
(he sets it in front of Mrs
Terrain)

MOTHER
The acid man?

MRS TERRAIN
Really, Ida, just because his
techniques are revolutionary ... I
don't go around calling Dr Jaffe the
knife man.

SPIRO
Numero une, crevettes à la
mayonaaise.
(he sets it in front of
Shirley)

MOTHER
I'm sorry Alma, I didn't mean to
sound so ...

MRS TERRAIN
That's all right Ida ... it's just
that he's such an artist. To him,
cutting is so crude ... so primitive.

SPIRO
Numero trois, steak.
(He sets this in front of
Sam)
Monsieur, Mesdames, Bon appetit.

ALL BUT SAM
Merci.

MRS TERRAIN
Acid on the other hand, can be used
for such wonderfully subtle shading,
such delicate nuances - just like a
Rembrant etching ... and it's so much
quicker. Why, if it weren't for a
teensy-weensy complication - the
doctor said it could have happened to
anyone - I would have had these
bandages off yesterday.

SHIRLEY
(to Sam, after attracting
her mother's attention and
receiving a nod)
Salt?

They are just about to dip into their respective splodges
when there is a terrific explosion - a huge hole is
blasted out of the wall to the kitchen. Chaos erupts
around the carnage as WAITERS try putting out the flames
with extinguishers. PEOPLE, bloody and dying, are moaning.
The DINERS not actually affected by the blast look up for
a moment and then, with a few raised eyebrows, go back to
their meals.

IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE EXPLOSION.

MOTHER
What were we saying?

SAM
(picking bomb debris out of
his brown lump)
This isn't rare!

MOTHER
By the way, I saw a wonderful idea
for Christmas presents at the
chemists. Gift tokens. Medical gift
tokens.

MRS TERRAIN
Oh, that sounds marvellous.

MOTHER
Yes, they're good at any doctor's and
at many of the major hospitals - and
they're accepted for gynecological
complications including Caesarian
section.

SAM, in the act of taking in another forkful of his
unappetising meal, drops his form in disgust

SAM
Look - please - I'm sorry - but
honestly, mother, this is -

MOTHER.
I quite agree! - It's impossible!

MOTHER raises her arm to gain the attention of the MAITRE
D who is frantically trying to deal with the emergency.
The activity in the background has increased throughout
the conversation. The fire-brigade has arrived with sirens
blaring. Ministry TROOPS have charged in and are arresting
WAITERS. Stretchers have been bought in for the injured
and these are being rushed past our little GROUP's table.
The MAITRE D comes to the table, his DJ now blood-
spattered.

MAITRE D
I am sorry, Madam ... I don't know
what to say ... this very rarely
happens to us - I'll do what I can
straight away

He hurries away.

MRS TERRAIN
Really, Sam - when are you going to
do something about these terrorists?

SAM
What? Now? It's my lunch hour.

MOTHER
Actually, Alma, that's one of the
little things I was dying to tell you
... Sam's been promoted to
Information Retrieval.

SAM
(angry and surprised)
Mother!

MRS TERRAIN
Oh that's wonderful! Congratulations
Sam...

SHIRLEY
You can show those f*cking murderous
b@stards a thing or two.

MRS TERRAIN
(shocked and embarrassed)
Shirley!

SAM
Stop this!
(leaping to his feet)
I'm not being promoted. I'm not going
to Information Retrieval!
(he scrumples promotion
notification which he has
been holding and throws it
on the floor)
If I want you to stick your oar in,
mother, I'll tell you where to stick
it!

EVERYBODY is shocked. He recovers his composure slightly.
Embarrassed, he bends, and picks up the ball of paper
which he starts smoothing back into Its flat state.

SHIRLEY
(back to her uncertain
form)
Pepper...?

SAM
Look - I've got to get back -

As SAM goes, MAITRE D reappears with a group of WAITERS -
those remaining unarrested - whom he has organised to gut
up a folding screen around the table. This cuts of the
sight if not the noise of the VICTIMS of the explosion.

MOTHER
Sam ... you haven't had dessert.

SAM
I'm sorry. I don' t want dessert. I
don't want promotion. I don't want
anything.

MOTHER
Don't be childish, Samuel. Of course
you want something. You must have
hopes, wishes, dreams.

Their voices have been rising towards a shout in order to
rise above the volume of the growing chaos around them.

SAM
(shouts loud)
NO, NOTHING. NOT EVEN DREAMS!

29 EXT. BRILLIANT SKY DAY 29

SAM as his dream-self rises INTO SHOT, his wings straining
as he tows the floating cage imprisoning the GIRL. They
are rising up and away from the monolithic stone
skyscrapers that stretch away below them.

SAM
I'm taking you to a safe place. A
place where they will never be able
to get at us ... ever.

An eyeball is scanning the sky. PULLING BACK we see it is
but one of thousands, tightly packed side by side forming
a landscape that extends as far as we can see. As SAM and
the GIRL in her cage come into view it becomes apparent
just how big these eyeballs are - they are gigantic -
about 10 feet in diameter. All of them follow SAM as he
comes to rest on a platform high atop a column that rises
from the centre of this bizarre place.

SAM
There's no way they can approach us
without being seen. You're safe here.

He anchors the hawser holding the cage and takes off his
wings. Just as he starts climbing up to the cage a
terrific cracking noise is heard. SAM freezes.

A dead straight crack is bisecting the sky from somewhere
beyond the horizon - running right up the sky and over the
camera. SAM follows it as it continues over the GIRL and
down to the opposite horizon. Another crackling noise is
heard. Another crack appears. Then another. And another.
All these cracks are emanating from a vanishing point over
the horizon. Soon the sky is covered with these cracks
from horizon to foreground. Then cracks begin appearing at
right angles to them. Very quickly the sky is covered with
a mammoth grid. Once it is complete, another noise is
heard. Something like massive blocks of stone sliding
against one another. One of the squares formed by the grid
pattern begins to slide upwards as if being pulled out
from the back side of the sky. A square hole is left in
its place. We can see the sides of the hole as it extends
upwards into blackness. As soon as this first block of sky
is withdrawn, another begins to slide up and away. SAM is
frozen in position as this terrifying spectacle goes on
above him. The eyeballs are madly looking this way and
that. The grinding noises are deafening as block after
block of sky is removed. With each successive loss the
light decreases. The GIRL is crying out for SAM to save
her. Frantically SAM tries to haul the cage down to the
platform but it's too late.

Where the sky was is now pitch black. Only one block of
sky remains. Slowly that final bit of sky is pulled up and
out of shot. Total blackness. A maniacal laughter can be
heard. A beam of light is switched on. SAM has a
searchlight in his hand and is searching the darkness. The
laughter continues. Suddenly the beam catches something
black and moving. it's the same black, flapping cloth that
appeared at the end of the previous dream. The horrible
flapping thing comes thundering down on SAM.

He is engulfed in the black awfulness.

30 INT. SAM'S BEDROOM NIGHT 30

SAM is in bed, grappling with the bedclothes. He is
dripping with sweat and screaming. The room is
oppressively hot. He gets up and looks at the thermostat.
It reads 99. He fumbles with it, but to no avail. It's
stuck.

CUT to SAM coming into the sitting room. He rushes over to
the window and tries to open it. But it wasn't designed to
be opened. Screws hold it firmly shut. SAM heads to the
kitchen He finds a knife which he uses to unscrew the
window. He swings the window open and takes a deep breath.
GAG! COUGH! HACK! A terrible greeny-brown smog pours in
through the window. Desperately SAM shuts the window and
madly tightens up the screws. Swinging a newspaper, he
tries clearing a path through the clouded atmosphere. He
makes it to the front door and staggers out into the hall
gasping for air.
CUT to telephone being lifted from its cradle. Pull back
as SAM with opened telephone directory in front of him
dials. He is seated in his kitchen. In front of his open
refrigerator. The phone rings at the other end.

SAM
(into phone)
Hello - Central Services - I'm at
579B Block l9, Northwestern Section D
- that's exit 1 on Green Pastures
Highway at the Orange Blossom Flyover
- and I've got trouble with the air-
conditioning

PHONE VOICE
Thank you or calling Central
Services. am sorry, due to temporary
staff shortage, Central Services
cannot take service calls centrally
between 2300 and 0900 hours - have a
nice day - this has not been a
recording, incident-

SAM
This is an emergency!

PHONE VOICE
Thank you for calling Central
Services. I am sorry, due -

SAM
Yes, but. I've got to have a heating
engineer

PHONE VOICE
Thank you for calling Cen -

SAM slams the phone down.

CUT to SAM sitting in front of the refrigerator. The door
is open and he has wedged a chair into the gap in a
desperate bid to keep cool. He is nodding off. As his head
slumps against one of the shelves, a jar of pickled onions
falls to the floor. The onions scattering everywhere.

31 EXT. DARKNESS NIGHT 31

The milky white spheres tumble everywhere. But they are
not onions, they are the giant eyeballs burtling through
space. SAM is clinging desperately to one. He grabs the
pupil for a better handhold and it opens like a hatch
cover. SAM manages to pull himself inside. Once out of the
intergalactic maelstrom, SAM turns to survey the cramped
and dark space inside the eyeball. It seems to be bisected
by a dividing wall, from which a thin sliver of light is
escaping. Pushing on the wall in the area of the slit, SAM
is able to move a section. More light shaftes into the
tiny space from around the edges of what appears to be a
small hatch. SAM scrunches down and really puts his
shoulder to the hatch. with a metallic rasp it gives way
and SAM crashes through.

CUT to other side of opening as SAM topples through. He
catches himself in the nick of time as the camera zooms
back revealing his close call with disaster. He is high on
a vast wall of what looks like filing”

“SAM
(Closing the door on them)
Thank you.

SAM turns back to TUTTLE who is coming forward pocketing
his gun.

TUTTLE
Thanks, Lowry, you're a good man in a
tight corner.

TUTTLE returns to work, fitting in the new by-pass gadget
and tightening the nuts, and happily humming "BRAZIL".

SAM
Listen .. um ... I don't want to get
involved in any of this. But I work
at the Ministry of Information, and I
happen to know that Information
Retrieval have been looking for an
Archibald Tuttle, Heating Engineer.
You wouldn't by any chance be -

TUTTLE
(pleased)
My friends call me Harry. Information
Retrieval, eh? Interesting!

SAM
What do they want you or?

TUTTLE
Time to go.

TUTTLE finishes the job and throws his tools into the bag.

SAM
Thank you very much. How much will
it...?

TUTTLE
On the house. You did me a favor.
Check the corridor.

SAM goes to the front door, opens it and looks out.

SAM
All clear.

TUTTLE slips out and heads off down the balcony corridor.

SAM
Hey that's a dead end.

But TUTTLE merely undoes a pre-arranged rope and swings
Tarzan-like off the end of the balcony and across a multi-
story void to a neighboring block. SAM is amazed - not to
say - stunned.

33 INT. RECORDS POOL DAY 33

SAM is at his desk among all the desks. Documents are
being delivered right, left and centre through the vacuum
tubes. All the CLERKS are busy. The screens are devoted to
their proper use. All this activity is explained by the
fact the MR KURTZMAN's door is wide open. At the next desk
is another CLERK much like SAM, his NEIGHBOUR.

NEIGHBOUR
I think Kurtzman getting is
suspicious.

SAM
What have we got on today?

NEIGHBOUR
Casablanca.

KURTZMAN appears in his doorway.

KURTZMAN
(calls out)
Mr Lowry! Would you step in here a
moment please.

We go with KURTZMAN as he closes the office door behind
him, we are now in ...


34 INT. KURTZMAN'S OFFICE DAY 34

KURTZMAN is pacing anxiously. SAM walks into the office.
During the brief opening and closing of the door we just
manage to hear the piano player in "Casablanca" singing,
"... a kiss is just a kiss ...". KURTZMAN is too worried
to notice. He is holding a piece of paper gingerly as if
it were contagious. He waves it frantically as SAM enters.

KURTZMAN
(hysterically)
Thank God you're here! We're in
terrible trouble! Look at this! Look
at this!

He thrusts the piece of paper at Sam.

SAM
(taking the paper)
A cheque.

KURTZMAN
The refund for Tuttle!

SAM
(startled)
Tuttle?

KURTZMAN
I mean, Buttle! It's been confusion
from the word go! He's been wrongly
charged for Electromemorytherapy and
someone somewhere is trying to make
us carry the can!

SAM
I've never seen a Ministry cheque
before.

KURTZMAN
We've got to get rid of it! There's
been a balls-up somewhere, and when
the music stops they'll jump on
whoever's holding the cheque!

SAM
Send it to somebody else. Send it to
Buttle. It's his cheque.

KURTZMAN
I've tried that! Population Census
have got him down as dormanted, the
Central Collective Storehouse
computer has got him down as deleted,
and the Information Retrieval have
got him down as inoperative ...
Security has him down as excised.,
Admin have him down as completed

SAM
Hang on.

SAM sits down at the console and punches keys. He does
this very efficiently, muttering to himself and generally
demonstrating an expertise which obviously leaves KURTZMAN
way out of his depth, until -

SAM
He is dead.

KURTZMAN
Dead! Oh no! That's terrible! We'll
never get rid of the damned thing!
What are we going to do?

SAM
Try next of kin.

KURTZMAN
(a revelation)
Next of kin!

SAM punches more keys.

SAM
There we go. Mrs. Veronica Buttle.
What's the number on the cheque?

KURTZMAN
(reading it)
27156789/074328/K.

SAM has been efficiently punching this in.

SAM
Into memory. Now ... Central Banking
... Buttle, Veronica ... Deposit

SAM rips off a print out, rapidly stuffs it and the cheque
into a cannister and then into a vacuum tube. A job well
done.

KURTZMAN
(fervently)
Please don't come back! Please don't
come back!

Unfortunately KURTZMAN's prayers are not answered and the.
vacuum tube returns almost immediately. SAM opens it up.
From the computer screen comes a voice "Play it again,
Sam" - SAM and KURTZMAN look at the screen. We get a quick
glimpse of Humphrey Bogart before the screen reverts to
numbers.

SAM
Problem. She doesn't have a bank
account.

KURTZMAN
(hysterically)
Well, that's it! I may as well go and
hang myself! This sort of thing
couldn't have happened before the
stupid seventh tier reorganization!
That was Simmons doing! And he and
Jeffries always sit together at
lunch! The b@stards!
(he thumps his hand hard on
the desk top)
Ow!
(He picks up the offending
cheque)
Perhaps we can lose it ... behind the
filing cabinet ... or destroy it ...
burn it ... eat it ...

Under this tirade SAM has begun to hum "BRAZIL" - not
entirely sure what inspired him.

SAM
You'd never get away with it.
Besides, you can't do that to
somebody's refund. It's Christmas.
There is one more option.

KURTZMAN
(depressed. Not really
believing it)
What?

SAM
Drive out to Mrs Buttle, give her the
cheque, tell her to sign her name on
the back, cash it at the corner sweet
shop.

KURTZMAN is dumbfounded by the audacity of this.

KURTZMAN
That's brilliant!

SAM takes over. In no time at all he has battered away at
the keyboard, slammed a cannister into a vacuum tube and
received almost immediately a cannister containing a sheaf
of different coloured papers.

SAM
I'll do it for you. Authorise the
cheque. What's the address?

KURTZMAN scribbles it down for him.

KURTZMAN
Here. What do I do next?

SAM
Call the motor pool and authorise
personal transport.

KURTZMAN
Of course, of course. Leave it to me.
How do I authorize a cheque?

SAM
(separating the and blue
sheets)
Here we are. Pink and blue receipts.
All you've got to do is sign these
and the back of the cheque.

KURTZMAN takes out his pen and tries to sign the papers
but his hand is giving him trouble.


KURTZMAN
(exhausted after all the
emotion)
Oh God! I think I've broken a bone.
What a pathetic thing I am.

SAM
(taking the pen from him)
Here.

SAM signs the cheque and receipts. A big CLOSE UP shows
that he is scribbling KURTZMAN's signature. SAM pockets
the papers and the pen.

SAM
That's it.

KURTZMAN
You are good to me Sam.

SAM
(leaving)
Don't mention it. See you later.

35 EXT. MOTORWAY TUNNEL DAY 35
CUT to SAM at the wheel of the little car, beetling along
in a seemingly endless, tube-like tunnel, menaced fore and
aft by huge buses, lorries and other carriers which
literally lift the little three-wheeler from the road
surface and shake it by the scruff of its tiny neck.

CUT to SAM in interior of the Messerschmidt. He is singing
along to an obscure arrangement of "BRAZIL".

RADIO
(plays music for a moment
which then fades out)
... We interrupt this programme to
bring you news of a terrorist bombing
at the ...
(Sam switches off)


36 EXT. MOTORWAY TUNNEL DAY 36

CUT to exterior view of Messerschmidt still merrily
progressing in arterial tunnel. CUT to very tiny exit
sign: Exit 49.

CUT to SAM peering at sign.

CUT to Messerschmidt taking the exit just as a huge lorry
roars by.


37 EXT. BUTTLE FLATS DAY 37

Beautiful utopian block of high-rise flats gleam in the
sunlight. Pulling back we reveal it to be an architect's
model in a protective perspex case standing in the centre
of a decorative fountain that has long ceased to work -
graffiti and junk are now the only decorations. In the
background is the grim reality of the massive housing
tower. SAM's Messerschmidt is just puling up in the shadow
of the building which is grey, decrepid, vandalised. Huge
conduits, pipes, and tubing frame the scene. SAM gets out
of the car under the cool and none-too-friendly gaze of a
few LOCALS. Self-consciously, SAM looks around him, then
at the paper in his hand. A little group of KIDS sit
pitching pennies against a wall. SAM goes over to them.

SAM
(super polite)
Excuse me. Can you tell me ...

But before he can finish, the smallest, tiny KID looks up.

KID
Eff off.

SAM, uncomfortably, effs off.

He is watched, at some distance, imapassively by the
little GIRL BUTTTLE. As SAM enters the buildings one of
the kids gets out a can of something and approaches the
car. Another is fiddling, with a box of matches.


38 INT. BUTTLE FLATS DAY 38

CUT to SAM hesitantly walking into the semi-derelict lobby
of the big block of flats. Graffiti, vandalism are in
evidence everywhere. He walks up to the lift. Pushes the
button. Nothing happens. He pushes again. This time the
lift door shudders and sparks. SAM tries to pull the doors
apart. They jam open with a three-inch gap between them -
still shuddering and grinding. In the sparking light, SAM
can make out an interior crammed with garbage, junk, old
furniture, dead cats. Yechhhh. Resignedly, he turns
towards the stairs.


39 INT. CORRIDOR DAY 39
CUT to SAM coming breathlessly out of the stairwell. On
the wall next to it is the number 37. Walking down the
corridor he looks at the number and starts to knock, but
then notices that the door is cracked open. SAM tries to
knock on the door, but it keeps edging open and he settles
for knocking on the door frame a bit feebly.

SAM
Mrs Buttle
(silence)
Uh, Mrs Buttle?
(silence)

SAM stands not knowing what to do.
SAM pushes the door a bit more open gingerly and puts
about 65 per cent of his body into the hall of the flat.
CUT to SAM's POV of darkish hall.

SAM
Mrs Buttle ...

40 INT. BUTTLE SITTING ROOM DAY 40

CUT to SAM entering extremely tacky sitting-room shrouded
in half-darkness. This is the same flat from which the
FATHER was taken at the beginning of the film: the hole is
still in the ceiling. SAM becomes aware of a woman sitting
absolutely still at a small table by the only (still
broken) window in the room.

SAM
Are you Mrs Buttle?

The WOMAN nods very slightly without looking at him.

SAM
My name is Lowry - Sam Lowry. I'm
from the Ministry of Information.
(no response)
I've come to give you a cheque.

SAM takes the cheque out of his pocket and puts it on the
table to tempt MRS BUTTLE into a flicker of interest but
she fails to notice it - or him for that matter. SAM
pushes the cheque a little way towards MRS BUTTLE but she
does not respond.

SAM
(indicting cheque)
It's a refund ... I'm afraid there
was a mistake.

MRS BUTTLE
Mistake?

SAM
(encouraged)
Yes. Not my department ... I'm only
records. It seems that Mr Buttle was
overcharged by Information Retrieval.
I don't think they usually make
mistakes ... but, er ... I suppose
we're all human.

SAM looks around and sees the hole in the ceiling.

Oh ... what happened to the ...?

He gets nothing back.

Actually, my bringing this here is
rather unorthodox ... Usually any
payments are made through the central
computer ... but, er ... there were
certain difficulties, and rather than
cause delay, we thought you might
appreciate this now ... it being
Christmas.

MRS BUTTLE
My husband's dead, isn't he?

SAM
Er ... I assure you Mrs Buttle, the
Ministry is always very scrupulous
about following up and eradicating
error. If you have any complaints
which you'd like to make, I'd be more
than happy to send you the
appropriate forms.

MRS BUTTLE
What have you done with his body?

SAM
Um ...

MRS BUTTLE starts to cry.

SAM
Look, I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid
I don't know anything about it ...
I'm really just delivering the
cheque. Er ... If you wouldn't mind
signing these receipts
(producing blue and pink
receipts)
I'll go and leave you in peace.

SAM picks up the cheque and gives it to MRS BUTTLE
together with the receipts. MRS BUTTLE tears them up and
throws them in his face.

SAM
Uh ...

MRS BUTTLE
He hadn't done anything ... He was
good ... What have you done with his
body?

SAM looks around for an escape and sees a YOUNG BUTTLE
standing in the doorway. The BOY is looking at him with a
blank tearful face. Suddenly the BOY launches himself at
SAM with terrible ferocity. SAM is knocked against the
wall. A mirror falls off the wall and smashes on the
floor. The BOY is all over SAM kicking and pulling his
hair. MRS BUTTLE's reaction, however, is to try and pull
the BOY away from SAM. By the time she succeeds, SAM is on
his hands and knees, in pain. The BOY is crying and
shouting, and MRS BUTTLE is loudly trying to quieten the
BOY.

From SAM'S POV, a piece of broken mirror lying on the
floor reflects the hole in the ceiling ... with JILL's
head and shoulders framed in the hole. The moment is
unreal for SAM in his dazed condition. The vision seems
unreal too. JILL is staring at SAM out of the piece of
mirror and. she's very much the GIRL from his dream now.

JILL
Are you alright?

SAM
(mumbles)
It's you ... it's you ...

JILL
Mrs Buttle, are you alright?

SAM grabs at the image, i.e. at the mirror, shifting the
angle so that the vision disappears. He looks for the
vision on the floor but can't find it. Then he begins to
realise the reality of what he has seen. He stands up,
dazed and battered. MRS BUTTLE has been looking up at the
ceiling. SAM looks up at the ceiling but there is now only
the empty space of the hole.

SAM
Wait! Stop! Come back!!

MRS BUTTLE is shouting. SAM rushes out of the flat.


41 INT. BUTTLE'S CORRIDOR DAY 41

SAM looks both ways and heads for the stairs.


42 INT. BUTTLE'S STAIRCASE DAY 42

SAM runs up the stairs to the floor above and finds
himself in -


43 EXT. SIMILAR CORRIDOR DAY 43

He runs along the corridor but has omitted to count the
doors downstairs and now doesn't know which door to knock
at. He hesitates. He rings the bell on what he hopes is
the right door. The bell doesn't work. He bangs on the
door. The door opens a crack. A malevolent eye looks at
him.

SAM
Girl ... fair hair ...

The door shuts firmly. SAM rushes to the next door.


44 INT. JILL'S FLAT DAY 44

SAM bursts into JILL's flat. He sees the hole in the
floor. The place looks derelict. He hears an explosion and
looks out of a window to see his car in flames. JILL is
apparently retreating from it across the forecourt. She is
carrying a suitcase and bundles.


45 INT. STAIRCASE DAY 45

SAM rushes down the stairs.


46 EXT. BLOCK OF FLATS DAY 46

SAM charges out into the open air. JILL has disappeared.
The Messerchmidt, however, is in flames. SAM doesn't know
which way to turn. Spotting an old mattress lying by the
building he grabs it and throws it over the car in an
attempt to smother the flames. The group of CHILDREN watch
him silently. Suddenly with a great roar, JILL's lorry
comes round the corner at speed. SAM sees that JILL is at
the wheel. SAM runs after the lorry.

SAM
(shouting)
Wait! It was nothing to do with me!

The lorry roars away. SAM dashes back to his smoldering
three-wheeler. He flings himself into it and starts it up.
He also roars away, except that he doesn't move... all
three wheels have been removed. He turns round in despair
and sees the group of CHILDREN regarding him
expressionlessly.

They include the little GIRL BUTTLE.

Defeated, he slumps down against his charred vehicle. A
shadow passes across his face. Looking up he sees GIRL
BUTTLE standing over him.

SAM
Go away.

GIRL BUTTLE
Her name is Jill.

SAM
What? ...Jill? Jill who? Jill who?

GIRL BUTTLE
Layton.

SAM
Jill Layton ...
(getting up)
You're a very good little girl. What
are you doing here?

GIRL BUTTLE
I'm waiting for my daddy.

SAM
(uncomprehending)
He will be pleased when he comes
home.

GIRL BUTTLE doesn't answer and SAM starts to walk away.
After a few yards, the thought strikes him: he turns back
to look at the little GIRL BUTTLE who stands alone
patiently in the vandalised wilderness.


47 INT. RECORD CLERKS POOL DAY 47

It is the end of the work day. The CLERKS are busily
getting their coats and leaving the office. As the last
one goes MR. KURTZMAN comes out of his private office with
his hat and coat on. He turns out the office light. He
sees SAM isolated in the empty room, still working at his
computer console. Totally absorbed in what he is doing.

KURTZMAN
Oh ... Sam. I've had the transport
pool onto me ... You don't know
anything about a personnel
transporter gone missing do you?

SAM doesn't seem to hear him. On the computer screen is a
front and side view picture of JILL. Her name and code
number is at the top of the screen. SAM is punching up
personal dossier information like "age", "height",
"weight", "colour of hair", "colour of eyes",
"distinguishing marks" etc.

SAM
(preoccupied)
A "personnel" transporter? They've
got it wrong. I had a personal
transporter. I'll do the paperwork
tomorrow -

SAM punches up a few more categories for JILL's dossier.

KURTZMAN
Is it all right about Mrs Buttle's
cheque?

SAM
I delivered it.

KURTZMAN
Can I forget it?

SAM
Yes.

SAM punches a few more buttons on the computer.

KURTZMAN
What a relief!
(on reflection)
I shall probably have nightmares.

At this point the word "Classified" superimposes itself
over most of the screen and "IRQ/3" starts agitating at
the bottom

SAM
Damn! Blast!

KURTZMAN
What's the matter?

SAM
You don't happen to know how I can
get around an IRQ/3 do you?

KURTZMAN
All information on 3rd Level Suspects
is classified.

SAM
I know that.

KURTZMAN
All enquiries to Information
Retrieval. Which is hopeless, of
course. They never tell you anything.
But come the time they want something
from us ...

Throughout this verbal wallpaper SAM has been punching
keys cancelling the CLASSIFIED overprint. He then punches
in the code for a hard-copy print-out. JILL's two-view
computer portrait rolls out as SAM ponders his options.

SAM
(cutting off Kurtzman)
I've go to accept that promotion to
get behind this, haven't I?

KURTZMAN
Yes.
(realising what he's
suggesting)
NO! You can't! You've only just
turned it down!
(thinking Sam is joking)

SAM
I never signed the form.

KURTZMAN
I did it for you.

SAM
What! Sh!t!

KURTZMAN
It's what you wanted isn't it?

SAM
Yes ... No ... I don't, know.

KURTZMAN picks up JILL's print-out and glances at it. He
grimaces and drops it back on the desk with a shudder.

KURTZMAN
Come on, before they turn the lights
out.

SAM nods. He turns off the machine. He stands up and
follows KURTZMAN towards the door. The door is some