POINT BREAK

Enthused by the concept, Grommet turns to Nathaniel.

GROMMET

Head-butt!!!

They do. Their foreheads CRACK together. They stumble

backwards in giddy euphoria. Nathaniel laughs like Pee

Wee Herman.

BODHI

Something happened. You got nuked

in the last quarter.

UTAH

Yeah, my knee got folded about 90

degrees the wrong way.

BODHI

And that's why you never went pro?

UTAH

Two years of surgery. I missed my

window. Limped through law school

instead.

BODHI

Mmm. A lawyer, huh?

(like it's a disease)

Too bad. But at least you're

surfing now. So your life's not

over yet, right?

UTAH

Not yet.

CUT TO:

INT. FEDERAL BUILDING - 16TH FLOOR - DAY

Utah, in shorts and T-shirt, carries his flame-job

surfboard past surveillance cameras and portraits of Bush,

Hoover and Webster. Special Agent Cole walks by. Eyes

the board. Speaks deadpan.

COLE

Like totally rad stick, dude.

INT. BULLPEN

Utah tries to act casual as he carries the board to his

desk on the other side of the room. He has to walk past

the entire gauntlet to get there.

SEVERAL AGENTS

Gnarly, man... hang ten...

cowabunga... surf patrol... rip it

up!

Harp comes straight for him like a homing missile.

HARP

How was the beach?

UTAH

Fine.

HARP

Surf conditions okay?

UTAH

A little mushy.

HARP

A little mushy! You think the

taxpayers would like it, Utah, if

they knew they were paying a federal

agent to surf and pick up girls?

UTAH

Babes.

HARP

What?

UTAH

The correct term is babes, sir. Uh,

this type of undercover operation is

entirely dependent on picking up the

idiom of the speech. Otherwise

penetration is not possible, sir.

Of the social infrastructure, I

mean.

Harp inhales through his nose. A bad sign.

HARP

Where is Pappas?

Utah points across the room. Harp turns.

PAPPAS, sitting behind his desk in his "Surf This" T-shirt

and pink shorts, lifts the purple Vuarnets like Tom Cruise

in Risky Business.

Looks directly at Harp. Smiles innocently.

INT. HARP'S OFFICE

Harp paces. Type-A suppressed rage.

Utah and Pappas endure Harp's wrath.

HARP

Special Agent Utah, this is not some

job flippin' burgers at the drive-in.

Yes, the surfboard bothers me. Yes,

your approach to this case bothers

me. And yes, you bother me. You

two have produced squat in the last

two weeks, during which time the Ex-

Presidents have robbed two more

banks!! Do you have anything even

remotely interesting to tell me?

UTAH

Caught my first tube this morning.

Pappas signals, unseen by Harp, for Utah to shut the fuck

up.

INT. CORRIDOR TO COMPUTER ROOM

Johnny and Angelo walking.

PAPPAS

What, you couldn't have just left

the thing in your car?

UTAH

It sticks out, so I can't lock it.

Look, Angelo, you think I joined the

FBI to learn to surf? This was your

lame-o idea in the first place. You

gotta back me up on this.

PAPPAS

Johnny, all I can say is we better

come up with something real soon.

Johnny cocks an eyebrow and opens the door to the computer

room ceremonially, like a doorman at the Ritz-Carlton.

Miss Deer looks up as they enter.

INT. COMPUTER ROOM

TIGHT ON CRT as a lab report scrolls up the screen. Gas

chromatography and spectroanalysis. Columns of elements

and compounds, listed as percentage-of-sample.

MISS DEER (V.O.)

Encino Savings & Loan guard grabbed

LBJ's ponytail. We recovered one

hair.

WIDER, showing Utah and Pappas over her shoulder at the

terminal.

PAPPAS

Yeah, yeah, I remember, last year.

Guy got his jaw broken for it.

MISS DEER

One four centimeter strand. Color

brown. Oily. Slight wave.

PAPPAS

Hell, what're we waiting for, let's

go pick the guy up.

UTAH

Angelo, pay attention. There's

gonna be a test afterward. Lab is

showing traces of toxins. PCBs.

Heavy elements... selenium, titanium

and arsenic.

PAPPAS

Guy's the Toxic Avenger.

Utah is excited as he fits the pieces together for his

partner.

UTAH

The beaches are always being closed

because of waste spills, right? And

surfers are territorial. They stick

mostly to certain breaks. If we can

get some hair samples, and get a

match to a certain beach, we'd know

which break the Ex-Presidents surf.

You buyin' this?

PAPPAS

No. But let's do it, anyway. It's

gonna bug the shit out of Harp.

CUT TO:

EXT. LATIGO - DAY

Department of Health sign reads, "Beach Temporarily

Closed." Beyond it crashes a wasted northwest swell.

Two frustrated teenage SURFERS huddle underneath a towel.

Marijuana smoke seeps upward.

A sandaled FOOT enters frame and taps their leg. Angry

heads poke up from beneath the towel, nostrils and mouths

billowing smoke.

The two wear T-shirts which read "Passion for Slashin" and

"Psycho Stick".

PAPPAS smiles, standing there in his beach wear, trying to

blend in. He doesn't.

PAPPAS

When you two are done makin' out, I

need to talk to you.

"PSYCHO-STICK" T-SHIRT

Hey, I ain't no butt-bouncer, dude.

We're from the valley. Mall babes

'n shit.

The kids proudly high-five.

PAPPAS

I just want to know if you surf here

a lot.

"PASSION FOR SLASHIN'" T-SHIRT

Shit yeah, like totally everyday

when it's jammin'. What is this,

fucking narco entrapment or what,

dude?

Pappas flashes his FBI star. He whips out a pair of

scissors.

Brandishes them like some over-the-hill "Jason".

PAPPAS

Not exactly, dudes.

EXT. COUNTY LINE - DAY

Row of SURFMOBILES parked along a cliff, facing the ocean,

doors open, stereos blasting, SURFERS hanging, sitting on

hoods.

Utah moves along the cars, looking surfed-out.

He's tanned, relaxed. Hair starting to bleach out. One

of the tribe.

UTAH

Whoa, brah, easy now... Don't move!

(Utah bends close,

reaching for Surf-

Rat's ear)

Got some huge sucker crawling into

your--

(he plucks at a tuft

of hair)

Got it! Uuuughhh.

SURF-RAT

Leave some fuckin' hair, man!

Utah squashes, then inspects the mysterious creepy-crawler

hidden in his palm. He wipes his hand on his towel, which

he keeps balled up in his other hand.

SURF-RAT

What was it?

UTAH

Saved your butt, bro. Close one.

Utah shivers in disgust, then coyly turns and walks away.

The surf-rat desperately pats his ear for traces.

CUT TO:

INT. FORENSICS LAB - NIGHT

A long series of ENVELOPES are displayed on a desk. Each

has the name of a Southern California beach and is

attached to a forensic printout.

HALSEY inspects each envelope.

HALSEY

Naw, this isn't it.

UTAH holds up an envelope with a skinny woven ponytail

sticking out.

PAPPAS shrugs.

PAPPAS

He moved.

Halsey picks up an envelope marked "Latigo Beach".

HALSEY

PCBs, selenium, titanium, arsenic.

The percentages look right. Here's

a match.

UTAH

Latigo Beach.

Pappas grabs the envelope, studies it, crooks his head.

PAPPAS

Surf's up, ace.

CUT TO:

EXT. LATIGO BEACH - DAY

EXTREME LONG LENS scans the beach from a height. A gray,

miserable day. Beach crowd thin except for diehards.

The image drifts across faces, BODIES. Surfers walking

with boards.

Talking, sitting with pubescent girls.

The image settles on Johnny, astride his board, bobbing

beyond the break.

ON PAPPAS, scanning with powerful binoculars from his car.

CLOSE ON UTAH, out among the flock of hardcore surfers.

Ostensibly waiting for a wave, his eyes search the others

around him, clicking methodically from face to face.

Finally he swings his board around and awkwardly catches a

ride.

The modest wave carries him toward the beach as he

balances, tense and style-less.

He passes someone we've seen before. The RAZORHEAD from

the first day. In concentration, Johnny doesn't see the

guy.

But Razorhead definitely sees him.

JOHNNY reaches the beach and jogs up the sand. He picks

up a towel and talks into it as he dries his hair. A

glimpse of the walkie-talkie hidden beneath.

UTAH

Big zippo so far. How about you?

PAPPAS (RADIO)

Patience hotshot. Patience. It'll

be subtle, if it's here at all.

PAPPAS WATCHES as Johnny crosses toward the outside shower

next to the public restroom.

LONG LENS view of Utah passing OUT OF SIGHT behind the

building.

AT THE SHOWER Johnny sets down his gear and opens his

wetsuit to the warm, salt-free jet of water. TRACKING

SLOWLY IN on him as he lets it pour over his face.

A HAND ENTERS FRAME, shutting off the water suddenly.

TIGHT ON UTAH, his eyes opening.

REVERSE, revealing RAZORHEAD and THREE OTHERS.

They are powerfully built SURF-NAZIS.

Scalps shaved on the sides. Hair military short on top,

lengthening into pigtails in the back. Tattoos. Wrist

chains.

TONE, ARCHBOLD and WARCHILD. The one who socked Utah

before is BUNKER. They spread out flanking him.

WARCHILD

This the guy?

BUNKER

Yeah.

UTAH

(good natured)

Okay, so this is where you tell me

all about how locals rule and yuppie

insects like me shouldn't be surfing

your break and all that, right?

BUNKER

No.

TONE

Waste of time.

WARCHILD

We're just going to fuck you up.

UTAH

Oh.

As they lunge, Utah grabs his board and swings it in a

whistling roundhouse. Its edge slams Warchild in the gut

and folds him double. The bad news is... Warchild gets an

arm around it and brings a pile-driver hammer-punch down.

The board splits into two pieces.

Utah drops his end as the others close. A flurry of

punches and kicks, most of which he blocks. But he's lost

the offensive.

Bunker takes him to his knees with a vicious karate-style

side-kick.

TIGHT ON Utah's towel, talking with Pappas' voice.

PAPPAS

Johnny? You there?

ANGELO gets out of the car fast. He jogs twenty feet and

raises the binoculars. Catches a glimpse of the carnage

around the edge of the building. Breaks into a run,

massive legs pistoning.

JOHNNY HITS THE GROUND hard. He rolls and comes up fast.

The razorhead brothers are a little surprised.

ARCHBOLD

The dude can fight!

Warchild grabs Utah from behind. Gets him in a headlock.

Archbold and Tone pin his arms. Bunker starts working him

like a practice bag. At this moment, Johnny is getting

the proverbial shit beat out of him.

SUDDENLY, a new figure blurs INTO FRAME.

BODHI seizes Bunker and flings him aside. He spins with

remarkable agility and drives his heel into Warchild's

face.

Utah breaks free, staggering back on the sand. The fight

is still there in his eyes.

Bodhi is at his side -- holding the others at bay with a

raised hand and an evil look.

BODHI

Back off! Now!! Just let it go!

BUNKER

Stay outta this, Bodhi!

BODHI

He's with me. Now back off.

Seriously.Just do it!

(they relax slightly)

You alright Warchild?

WARCHILD

(holding his bleeding

nose)

Fuck you.

Everybody has backed off a bit, panting.

Utah steps toward Bunker. Like he's maybe going to shake

hands.

UTAH

What's your name?

BUNKER

Bunker.

UTAH

Well, listen, Bunker... I'm actually

kinda glad you found me.

BUNKER

Yeah? Why?

Johnny answers with a LIGHTNING ROUNDHOUSE that hits with

a CRACK! They can hear it in Pomona.

BUNKER HITS THE GROUND. Flat out. Lights out.

Tone, Archbold and Warchild lunge like dogs.

Bodhi yanks Utah out of the line of fire.

BODHI

Whoa! Whoa! Hold it, ladies. Give

it a rest.

(to Utah)

Let's go.

He literally turns Utah around.

They begin to walk, stepping over the pieces of Johnny's

board.

BODHI

(under his breath)

Do me a favor, Johnny, just keep

walking.

Tone starts to go after them. Archbold grabs his arm.

They help Bunker up. Warchild holds he bleeding nose.

Utah and Bodhi start up the stairs, turn a corner and run

HEAD-ON into a huffing PAPPAS.

The big man clocks a battered but intact Utah.

We see him shift gears in his head in 2 tenths of a

second.

PAPPAS

(out of breath)

Uh, you guys seen a kid, maybe 10,

12, running with a car stereo?

Stole the fucking CD too, you

believe it?

Utah is grateful for the cover.

UTAH

No, but there are four guys back

there you might check out.

PAPPAS

Thanks, buddy.

He shoves on.

EXT. PARKING LOT

Bodhi and Utah weave among the cars and motorcycles,

beach-types coming and going.

UTAH

Friends of yours, huh?

BODHI

The one you decked is Bunker Wiess.

The big one is his brother,

Warchild. The other two always

hang. They think they're some kinda

death squad around here.

UTAH

What's their program?

BODHI

They're punks. Nazis. Their brains

are wired wrong. They hurt surfing

because they give nothing back, and

they have no respect for the sea.

They just want to get radical. It's

mindless aggression. They'll never

get it, the spiritual side of it.