POINT BREAK

PAPPAS

Yeah. That was thirty years ago

anyway.

(stares out at the

bright horizon)

L.A.'s changed a lot since then.

The air got dirty and the sex got

clean.

(after a beat)

So you want to nail the Ex-

Presidents? Be a big hero?

UTAH

Yeah. What's your theory?

PAPPAS

The fucking punks are surfers.

CUT TO:

GRAINY BLACK & WHITE VIDEO WITH TIME CODE

Ex-Presidents charge into bank, raise shotguns.

Image STOPS, then FAST-FORWARDS to the end.

WE ARE IN--

INT. FEDERAL BUILDING - BULLPEN - NIGHT

Dark, lit by the TV at the far end of the bullpen. PAPPAS

and UTAH sit in front of the flickering Sony in the big

empty room. Angelo punches a button on the VCR.

ON THE SCREEN--

LBJ turns his back to the fish-eye lens, drops trousers

and moons the camera. Thank you.

Angelo FREEZES on LBJ'S butt.

PAPPAS

I'm tellin' ya, kid, it's in our

face. Lookit the tan on this guy.

The young agent looks forward.

Stares at the white inscribed butt bracketed by deep

bronze tan lines.

UTAH

Oh well he must be a surfer.

PAPPAS

Shutup, you might learn somethin'

you're not careful... So last year

Nixon scuffs a counter going over.

There was a soil sample. Non-

specific mud traces of asphalt,

oils, blah, blah... sand and...

carnuba wax. So I became a wax

expert. There's 80 some uses for

this stuff, something like five

hundred products.

He tosses Utah a ream of computer printout. Utah scans

lists of brand names.

UTAH

Candle wax. Car wax. Mustache wax?

Could be anything. Guy's waxing his

mustache at the beach. Gets sand in

it. Wipes it off with a shoe. Shoe

scuffs the counter.

PAPPAS

The lab made three possible matches,

this was one of 'em.

Pappas opens his desk drawer, takes something out and

throws it to Johnny. A pastel blue hockey puck wrapped in

cellophane.

A block of "Mr. Zog's Sex Wax".

UTAH

(reading)

Sex wax? You're not into kinky

shit, are you Angelo?

PAPPAS

Surfers use it on their boards.

They rub sand into it for traction.

UTAH

Thanks for the tip. I needed this

knowledge.

Pappas shoves a thick file folder toward Utah.

PAPPAS

Now lookit the dates on the

robberies. This is strictly a

summer job for these guys.

Johnny leafs through it.

UTAH

... Four months. June to October.

Mmmm...same the year before.

PAPPAS

Another month and we don't see 'em

again 'til next summer.

Utah stares at Angelo as it dawns. Grins suddenly.

UTAH

They're traveling the rest of the

year on the money, going where the

waves are...

Pappas starts to smile. Suddenly, he jumps up onto his

desk, gets down in a speed-crouch, arms extended.

PAPPAS

(to one and all)

The Ex-Presidents rip off banks to

finance their endless summer!

Johnny watches, grinning. The night security GUARD walks

in. Utah turns to the guard, shrugs.

UTAH

I think he needs a vacation.

The guard nods understanding.

CUT TO:

INT. SURFSHOP - MALIBU PIER - DAY

Long stack-up rack of gleaming SURFBOARDS.

A HAND reaches in, pulling out a board from the middle of

the deck.

JOHNNY UTAH hefts it. Sights along it. Trying to look

familiar with alien equipment. Behind him is a whip-thin

15 YEAR OLD SALESMAN. Nut-brown with platinum hair,

jammed day-glo shorts, sleeveless T-shirt, unlaced Ug-

boots.

15

Highest performance, very kind. If

you want to get aggro, man, this

stick can handle your best rage.

Where you surf?

UTAH

I don't.

15

Whoa!! Back up! This's a 5'6" tri-

fin squash-tail thruster. You'd eat

major shit on this, dude.

ACROSS THE ROOM we see Pappas trying on purple wraparound

sunglasses.

The salespunk pulls down a wide board with a garish

firebird paint scheme. Like a lowrider flame-job. The

logo reads "Dance with the Universe."

15

Here, you need a rhino chaser like

this one to learn on. Good board.

I mean for a pig board.

Utah hefts the board. Scowls. Hates anything he's not

great at.

PAPPAS sets his purchases on a counter: the glasses, some

plutonium-pink shorts, T-shirts, sun-block. The GIRL

behind the counter is sixteen, barely contained in a

macrame bikini-top and "Dolphin" shorts. Angelo picks up

a package of Sex Wax from a rack. Sniffs it.

PAPPAS

(reading the label)

"Best for your stick", huh? This

might not be enough. I better get

two.

The girl stifles a grin. Thinks he's cute. At the other

end of the counter, 15 is ringing up Utah's board.

15

Hey, man, guys your age learning to

surf, it's cool, there's nothing

wrong with it.

UTAH

I'm twenty-five.

15

See that's what I'm saying, it's

never too late.

Utah picks up the board and moves to leave.

15

Hope you stay with it. Surfin's

the source. It'll change your life.

Swear to God.

EXT. MALIBU PIER - DAY

Utah and Pappas walking back to the car.

Two FBI agents in suits and ties walking with a day-glo

orange surfboard. Surreal image. The ocean shimmers in

B.G.

PAPPAS

Johnny, it's the only way.

UTAH

Why can't I just walk around with

this thing under my arm and act

stoned? Ask a few questions.

Angelo stops at the railing, points toward the ocean.

PAPPAS

Look. Look at them out there.

LONG LENS on packs of surfers sitting outside. Bobbing

slowly. Hunched like sea birds. Waiting for an unseen

sign. Disappearing and reappearing beyond the break.

PAPPAS

They're like some kind of tribe.

Got their own language. You can't

just walk up to these guys. You've

got to get out there. Learn some

moves. Get into their head. Pick

up the speech.

UTAH

Angelo, this stuff is for little

rubber people who don't shave yet.

PAPPAS

It's all balance, right? And

coordination. How hard can it be?

CUT TO:

EXT. SURFRIDER BEACH - DAY

WHAAAAAM! Johnny is CLOBBERED by a wave.

He's flipped off his board and hits the water face-first

as the wave crashes over him. Other surfers steer clear.

PAPPAS lounges in a beach chair in his plutonium pink

shorts, purple Vuarnet's and a T-shirt emblazoned with

"Surf This" across the chest. A picnic basket sits close

at hand. He winces at Utah's wipeout. Shouts from his

beach chair.

PAPPAS

I think you gotta hit them straight

on!

UTAH

(out of breath)

Got it...

UTAH holds the tip steady, gouges the face of a wave and

squirts out the other side. Another wave rises and Utah

glides up over the hump. He clears the swell and the

ocean suddenly smooths out like a giant lake. Triumphant

over having made the lineup, he sits up on the board, and

falls over.

PAPPAS slices a green apple, some feta cheese and eats off

the knife.

UTAH climbs back on his board. WHISTLES and HOOTS sound

as SURFERS spot a new swell. Utah watches as the regulars

start catching rides. Suddenly he feels like a lost dog

on a busy freeway.

A young LOCAL in a neon wetsuit slashes past him, inches

away.

LOCAL

Outta the way, you dick!

Another, shredding viciously, is blasting toward him.

LOCAL 2

Move it, kook!

Johnny paddles rapidly, ducks under.

Sees another, bigger wave coming.

Pissed off... at himself, at the downy-cheeked hotshots,

at the frustration, he turns his board around and starts

paddling hard.

He somehow gets the soles of his feet in contact with the

top of the board, then struggles up. He's standing --

sort of.

Arms pinwheeling, he topples in a nasty crash...

Right in front of a SHAVED-HEAD SURFER on full

afterburner.

Johnny vanishes in an explosion of spray. His board

SHOOTS OUT.

It SMASHES SIDEWAYS INTO RAZORHEAD.

The guy does an ugly endo.

Utah comes up GASPING for air, arms flailing.

His board, floating a few feet away, tugging at his ankle.

He drapes his torso across the board and pants for breath.

Razorhead, already back on his board, paddles over.

Points to a small dent in the fiberglass.

RAZORHEAD

You dinged my board, kook!!

Utah looks up in apology as--

A CRUSHING RIGHT HOOK SMACKS HIS FACE!

Knocks him under.

Razorhead pulls a KNIFE from a sheath held by a thong

around his neck. As Johnny surfaces, Razorhead slashes in

a vicious arc--

Severing Utah's leash, close to the board.

His flame-job surfboard bobs away.

RAZORHEAD

Politeness counts, ASSHOLE!

The surf punk plunges under a wave, disappearing.

UTAH

Goddamn son-of-a--

Before Utah can finish, another wave engulfs him and he

tumbles to shore, Razorhead nowhere to be seen.

ON PAPPAS as Johnny's flame-job board washes in at his

feet. He calmly picks it up as Utah staggers INTO FRAME

out of the knee-deep whitewash. Johnny rubs his jaw.

Spits blood.

PAPPAS

Kid, maybe this ain't your sport.

Utah grabs the board out of Pappas' hands and stalks off

across the beach.

INT. UTAH'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Johnny dead asleep. Silence. Then BRRRRR!!

He jacknifes up like he just took 20,000 volts. His eyes

read panic. He rolls up, legs scissor against tangled

sheets and he collapses over empty boxes. He stumbles

like a blind man through the mess until he finds--

A tiny Indianapolis Colts FOOTBALL HELMET with a digital

clock for eyes. 5:00 a.m. Johnny emits a drawn out

groan.

EXT. OCEAN - DAWN

Deafening BOOM as a monster wave CRASHES below a sky the

color of slate. A distant Pacific storm has brought the

swell. 10 foot faces. Glassy, green walls the size of

houses beckoning from beyond the soup.

A lone FIGURE bobbing out beyond the break.

The surfer disappears behind the swell.

Then REAPPEARS, grinning across the smooth offshore

barrel.

UTAH wearing a wetsuit stands beside his surfboard,

craning forward to get a better look.

The surfer is a WOMAN.

She moves with liquid grace, in perfect harmony with the

sea, long hair flying out behind her. She undulates like

a dancer.

Dipping, carving, slicing, making it look sooooo easy.

Johnny shakes his head. Oh man, if she can do it...

UTAH

Fuck it.

He stands, grabs his board and heads out into the icy

foam.

OCEAN BREAK

A horizon of whitecaps churn behind him.

He lies on his board, rising and dropping with the swell.

So far so good. He spots a wave. A fluid gray-green

house rising, forever rising. Utah turns. Paddles. The

house catching him, lifting him high upon its roof.

Utah is committed. He gets to his feet as his board

slices along the lip. He peers over the falls, down the

face -- holy shit! -- it looks like Niagara. He loses

balance and spirals airborne, falling bullseye into the

IMPACT ZONE. The entire force of the wave crashing upon

him, plunging him down into the--

WASHING MACHINE (UNDERWATER)

where he SPINS like a whirling dervish, LASHED to a

slamdancing surfboard at the mercy of God.

He is held prisoner in a grey-green churning nightmare,

like a six-ton pit bull has him by the neck, shaking him.

He looks around. Can't tell up from down.

WHAM! His head slams into the bottom -- rocks and sand.

Stunned, he struggles toward the light, finally bursting

to the--

SURFACE. Gasping for breath.

The good news is he's breathing, the bad news is he's

surfaced in the impact zone. Another wave crashes down,

stuffing him back into the washing machine. Leaving no

sign of life in the white froth. The orangeade surfboard

launches high into the sky, spinning like a misfiring

Trident missile, trailing its broken leash like a kite

tail.

IN THE WASHING MACHINE, Utah tumbles in a cold green hell.

His chest is convulsing, needing air now.

Suddenly a FIGURE lunges down INTO FRAME.

A hand snatches a fistful of his hair and yanks him

toward--

THE SURFACE. The WOMAN SURFER bursts through the foam.

Grabs her board for leverage. Hauls Utah's head above the

water with one strong arm.

He is choking, coughing, slapping fatigued arms against

the surf, panic registering in his movements.

WOMAN SURFER

(yelling above the

roar)

Swim, goddammit! Come on! Move

it!

The woman gets her board under one of his arms for support

and sidekicks fiercely into the wave, holding him in a

painful grip.

With powerful strokes, she helps Utah make it to calmer

water outside the break. The big waves, just forming up,

lift them and drop them as they pass. Muted thunder when

the waves hit the beach. She drags him half onto her

surfboard.

Practically slamming his face into the board.

He's coughing out saltwater.

ON THE WOMAN, our first good look at her.

She is EXQUISITE. Hair slicked tight to her high-

cheekboned face, she looks sleek and feral, with eyes that

burn bright.

Especially when she's pissed.

WOMAN

Look crazy son of a bitch! You

wanna commit suicide, you do it

someplace else!

She undoes her leash and swims rapidly off, returning in a

few seconds with Johnny's board. He takes it from her and

flops over it, still coughing.

Wipes at the salt-snot running out of his nose.

There is a cut over his eye from when he re-arranged the

rocks on the bottom.

WOMAN

Look at this pig-board piece-a-shit.

It's still got the price tag on it,

for Chrissakes. What'd you do, buy

it yesterday? You've got no

business out here whatsoever.

Still gagging and gasping, Johnny manages a goofy grin.

UTAH

Well, I saw you and--

WOMAN

Yeah, you saw me and you figured

that if a mere girl can do it, a big

strong stud like you shouldn't have

any problem. Right?! Well you

figured wrong, dork!

She yanks her board around and strokes powerfully away

from him.

UTAH

Hey! Uh, how do I get back in?

WOMAN

(without turning)

Carefully, tough guy. Very

carefully.

UTAH

(yelling now)

My name's Johnny Utah!

WOMAN

Who cares!

UTAH

I'm telling you so when you look

back on this moment, you can

think... there was this guy named

Utah and he was pretty much a dork

but maybe not such a bad person and

I let him drown in conditions he had

no business being in whatsoever...