POINT BREAK

PILOT

Look, we been in Mexico the last

half hour... can I quit mowing the

lawn here or what? I'm getting more

brush in the wheels than I usually

like, you know what I'm saying?!

BODHI

Yeah, get some height. Take her up

to eight thousand on this heading.

The pilot pulls back on the yoke and the plane climbs.

Bodhi moves back next to Roach, who's fading.

ROACH

We're gonna pop up on their screens.

BODHI

Doesn't matter now. We're almost

there, man. Here, let me help you

get your gear on.

Bodhi drags a parachute pack up onto the seat next to

Roach and starts helping him into the harness. Roach

keeps the shot gun pointed at Johnny.

ROACH

I'm cold.

BODHI

You're gonna be fine. Just fine.

Johnny, toss me that money bag will

you. Easy does it.

Utah hefts the duffel. Weighs its contents, and their

price.

UTAH

You're cold because all the blood is

running out of your body, Roach.

You're going to be dead soon.

(he tosses the bag)

I hope it was worth it.

Roach clutches the canvas sack to his chest like a Teddy

bear. Glares at Utah. He hooks the strap of the duffel

over one shoulder.

BODHI

Hey, Johnny's just trying to psych

you man, forget it. Just keep

thinking about all those senoritas

nursin' you back to health. Come

on, amigo, let's get you set for the

jump.

Bodhi props Roach next to the open door and takes a

walkie-talkie from the seat, keying it.

BODHI

Rosie, Rosie, this is Air Force One,

do you copy, over?

A burst of static is followed by a surprisingly clear

voice.

ROSIE (V.O.)

Copy you, Air Force One. We have a

visual on you. Lookin' fine.

UTAH

Tell him to release Tyler.

BODHI

Why should I?

UTAH

What if your chute fails, Bodhi?

Rescind the order. Let her off the

hook, she's served her purpose. Do

it, man, you owe me that much. Let

me hear it before you check out.

Bodhi meets his eyes and considers for a couple of

seconds, then keys the walkie.

BODHI

Rosie, listen carefully. Surgery

is canceled, is that clear? Repeat

it back to me.

ROSIE (V.O.)

Copy you. Surgery is canceled.

I'm lettin' the bitch go.

Bodhi looks out the doorway. Gauging distance, airspeed,

the geography below. He looks at Utah, aiming the Casull

at him.

Johnny stares back at him like a pit viper.

BODHI

I know it's hard for you Johnny.

You want me so bad it's like acid in

your mouth. But not his time.

(he braces Roach at

the door)

Let's go.

Bodhi signals the pilot and Utah feels the plane drop as

the engines are cut back to an idle. Bodhi slaps Roach on

the shoulder and Roach slumps backward out of the plane.

Bodhi braces to jump, looking at Johnny for a last split-

second.

BODHI

You lose, campadre.

He chucks the Casull onto the seat beside the door and

bails.

Bodhi tumbles out into space. It's over.

Utah's knuckles are white, gripping the seat. There's a

dynamo, spinning out of control in his head. He leaps up

in an explosion of rage and drives his fists into a

bulkhead. Looks around like a rabid animal. TWO SECONDS.

THREE SECONDS. Then...

UTAH

FUCK IT!!!

Utah grabs the Casull off the seat and dives out of the

plane.

EXT. PLANE

UTAH, WITHOUT A PARACHUTE, but carrying a very large gun,

rockets downward. He presses his arms to his sides and

falls head-down, building speed.

Three hundred feet below him is Bodhi, freefalling in a

spread-eagle position. Utah moves his feet and hands,

angling toward him.

Bodhi doesn't see him. Falling flat, he tops out at

terminal velocity for that position. 130 mph.

Utah slashes downward at 160 mph. The gap between them

closes.

Utah is almost blinded by the windstream. His eyes burn.

His lips are peeled back by the blasting air.

Bodhi is eighty feet below him... 4000 feet to terra

firma.

Utah focuses all his incredible will and concentration.

He's only going to have one shot at this.

Bodhi is right below him.

Utah is closing like a SAM missile.

He trims a little, and...

WHAM! Slams into Bodhi in a mid-air tackle.

Bodhi's eyes are wide with amazement as they tumble

together.

Utah has made the grab and locked his arms around Bodhi in

an iron grip.

He pulls the Casull's muzzle up to Bodhi's head and

screams in his face.

UTAH

Pull the parachute!!

Bodhi looks at the gun. Looks at Utah. Grins wildly.

BODHI

Pretty radical, Johnny. Even for

you. Why don't you pull it?

UTAH

No games, Bodhi. Pull the cord!

Now!!

BODHI

Naw, you pull it!

Utah looks down. The earth is rushing at them. 2500

feet.

BODHI

Go on, Johnny. Pull it. But you

gotta drop the gun, first! Right?!

You use your other hand what you

gonna hold on with?

UTAH

Pull it right now or I'll blow your

fucking head off and pull it myself!

BODHI

Well that's the only way it's gonna

happen, man. Do it! Come on, you

want to do it. You're gonna die,

Johnny. Five more seconds. Four...

1000 feet. The ground is close enough to see details.

Cactus, sagebrush. They rocket past the bright yellow

canopy of Roach's chute a hundred feet away.

UTAH

You fucking crazy!? Pull it!!

They're right in each other's faces. Taking it way beyond

the edge.

Bodhi's eyes are wild. A gleeful, adrenalized madness...

his pupils are the entrance to Hell.

BODHI

Three seconds... two... one...

UTAH

SHIT!!

Utah flings the Casull away and pulls the rip-cord so hard

he almost loses his grip anyway. POOM! The canopy cracks

out.

Full and round and bright red.

The ground roars at us.

WHAP! Utah and Bodhi hit. Hard.

They slide and tumble down the slope of an arroyo in a

cloud of dust.

Rocks and debris clatter into silence.

NEARBY Roach hits the ground limp as a rag doll.

He moves listlessly as his chute lines tug at him but his

eyes stare without blinking right at the sun. Next to him

the money satchel's contents are spilled right into the

sand. Roach's lifeless hands lie limp among the bills

that caper in the desert wind.

UTAH AND BODHI are both completely still as the dust

clears. Finally they groan and stir. Necks move, hands

move, legs move. Bodhi rolls to his knees. He is cut and

scraped, the blood running bright down his dust-covered

skin.

Utah looks around, blinking.

Surreal that he should be plopped down here in the red-hot

Mexican desert.

Bodhi staggers to his feet and grins at him.

BODHI

Wild ride, huh?

UTAH

(gasping)

Jesus Christ, Bodhi!

Utah tries to rise and -- grabs his knee in agony. We see

by his mask of pain that it's totaled inside.

BODHI

That pesky knee, huh? Too bad.

He looks up at the sound of an engine.

BODHI'S POV of his big four-by roaring toward us with a

meteor tail of dust. It slides to a stop next to them.

Rosie gets out of the driver's side and stands calmly with

a sawed-off over his shoulder.

Utah blinks through his sweat and pain at--

TYLER running toward him out of the dust. She kneels next

to him and puts her arms around him. Bodhi limps to the

truck. Through the swirling dust we see him look back.

BODHI

You had me worried there, for a

second, Johnny U.

He swings up into the four-by and guns the engine. Rosie

hops into the shotgun seat and the truck hurls up

roostertails as it tears out across the desert toward

Roach's billowing gravemarker.

Johnny touches Tyler's face tenderly, leaving a smear of

blood.

He gives her a wan version of the Johnny Utah grin.

HOLD ON the truck moving off in a heat-shimmered cloud of

dust, becoming a mirage, then a memory as we--

DISSOLVE TO:

AN ENORMOUS WAVE which FILLS FRAME, seeming to rise

endlessly before thundering down in a holocaust of spray.

EXT. BEACH DAY - DAY

An unfamiliar beach laid waste by monster waves under a

storm sky.

Wind whips sand across the narrow beach-road, throwing it

against the front doors of the LIGHTHOUSE PUB.

TITLE OVER: ONE YEAR LATER...

INT. LIGHTHOUSE PUB - DAY

Dark. Almost empty. A snarling crocodile head is mounted

above a tapper of Guinness Stout. A Koala bear with

plastic eyes holds a Foster's. A BARTENDER with leathered

skin washes glasses.

At the bar, a single disheveled customer... human

driftwood.

GUST OF WIND blows open a shuttered window.

The bartender moves to close it.

BARTENDER

Gonna close early today, mate, 'fore

the bloody storm hits.

JOHNNY UTAH swivels toward CAMERA. His tanned face is

barely recognizable, jaws hidden underneath a slight

beard, long bleach-out hair swept behind an ear. His

muscular shoulders pop from a sleeveless football jersey.

The man seems deadly focused.