X-Men

                                 X-Men  

                                    By

                                Ed Solomon

                                Revisions:
                              Chris McQuarrie
                                Tom DeSanto
                               Bryan Singer

                                                   February 24, 1999

       BLACK

       Sounds of a train rolling to a halt, a shrill whistle.

       EXT. CAMP - DAY

       UP ON the door of a weathered cattle car as a German
       soldier steps into frame wearing that familiar gray of
       the all-too familiar era.

       He throws the door to reveal a mass of huddled and
       frightened people inside.

       The words are not necessary.  The language is not ours
       and the images say enough.

       Men, women and children are herded off the train like
       cattle toward a large open yard.  There they huddle until
       the Germans begin to shout and shove through the mob.

       EXT. FENCE CORRIDOR - DAY

       We are looking up at rows and rows of fences topped with
       barbed wire all designed to create a separator for the
       thousands of Jew who pour through each day.

       Then we see the eyes themselves that look up at them.

       A LITTLE BOY.  A boy who will not die this day.  A boy
       who will live to see the end of the war and the world of
       the future.

       He stares at the metal wire with an unusual fascination.

       The boy looks up at HIS WORRIED PARENTS - a sturdy-
       looking couple who try to smile and comfort him.

       The corridor comes to a junction where it splits in
       several different directions.

       Soldiers here push the mob using rifles as pikes,
       screaming and terrorizing the lot of them.  Suddenly it
       is clear what they are doing.  They are dividing the mob
       into smaller groups.

       Soon, the groups themselves become evident.

       Men from women.  Children from adults.

       The family tries to stay together, clinging to one
       another dearly, until finally, they are put upon by a
       number of gray uniforms and pulled apart. The boy is
       dragged screaming his feet no longer touching the ground.
       Two soldiers carry him as they follow the back of a large
       column of children being led through a gate of barbed
       wire so dense, it resembles wool.

       The gate closes and the boy looks back to see his parents
       - along with many others - being restrained by a number
       of soldiers.  The screaming is deafening.

       And the boy's can be heard above it all.  The soldiers
       seem to be having a hard time carrying such a frail
       child.  The farther they get from the fence, the heavier
       he seems to get, until they are literally pulling him as
       though he were anchored to something.

       His outstretched fingers claw at the thin air and he
       screams until the blood in his face is blue.

       The soldiers are literally pulled back a step and they
       begin to slip in the mud. They look at one another and
       then over their shoulders as they hear a sound.

       A groaning, creaking sound.  And then the unmistakable
       twang of wire stretched to snapping.

       ANGLE ON:

       The fence.  The gate that separates the parents.  It bows
       toward them like iron filings to a magnet, and several of
       the strands of barbed wire have given way.

       The boy continues to scream as all the other faces simply
       freeze and wonder.

       One of the soldiers pulls a wooden baton from his belt
       and brains the boy violently.

       He slumps and the soldiers carrying him spring forward as
       through a rope that was holding them back has been cut.
       They nearly fall, looking at one another with some
       concern, some confusion....

       Then they follow the line of children that has gotten
       ahead of them.

       ANGLE ON:

       The boy's parents watch him as he -- as they, are taken
       away.

       The rest of their story is as you would expect.

       EXT. SKY - DAY

       Bright, bright blue framing a blinding white sun.

       PAN DOWN AGAIN TO REVEAL:

       The cracked, drought-stricken soil of nowhere.

       TITLES:

       KENYA - 1978

       A group of children at play.  Tribal children who,
       without the help of the titles, could be from any age.

       They run through a tiny village of tents, playing.  Every
       child holds a long reed-like stick and they chase each
       other playing their version of tag.

       As each child is tapped, they chase the others.  Each
       trying to avoid being "it", though never going far enough
       away to miss the fun.

       One girl in particular.  A PRETTY GIRL OF 12, with
       unusual white hair, is tagged and immediately shunned.

       She chases kids this way and that, but to no avail.  She
       is not strong enough, nor agile enough, to win.

       She tumbles and lands on her stick, snapping it.  She
       stands and, when the children see that her stick is
       broken, they begin to giggle.

       The giggles become laughter and the laughter becomes a
       taunt, and before we even realize, the inherent cruelty
       of children let loose becomes evident.

       They have now formed a circle, at first avoiding her
       touch with distance, but now growing tighter with menace.
       In the unspoken manner of children at prey, the group
       begins to chant in their native tongue - a song we have
       not heard but sung in a way none-too inviting.  They
       begin to poke at her with the reeds, driving her back.

       The girl now moves to the center of the circle, no longer
       wishing to tag anyone.

       ONE DEVIOUS CHILD seems to get an idea.  He takes his
       stick and smacks it across her shoulder.  She turns to
       face the child and another swings his stick across her
       back with a solid THWACK.  Before long, mob rule gives
       way and all the kids are swinging at her and laughing.

       It grows to the brink of frenzy, the laughing and the
       shouting not too unlike the noise of the previous scene.

       So much so, we may miss the first flake of snow.  The
       children certainly do.  It is snowing for a good ten
       seconds before the last of them stops.

       By then, the snow is thick as flies and wafting down to
       melt instantly on the hot African soil that has never
       seen snow before.

       ANGLE ON:

       Adults come out of their huts and in from the fields and
       the whole of the village is soon gathered around the
       little girl, staring up from the clear blue sky and the
       snow that falls from nowhere.  From nothing.

       One by one, all eyes fall on the little girl and the
       looks of curiosity become looks of fear.  Of
       superstition.

       Punctuated by a solid thump.

       And then another.

       AN OLD MAN looks down at his feet and sees a tiny,
       misshapen ball of ice, no bigger than his eye.  He looks
       at it, bites it, then pops it in his mouth - breath
       turning to steam.

       Another such chunk of ice pops him on the head.  THE
       CROWD LAUGHS.

       They look up again and see that mixed with the snow are
       tiny pellets of hail, seeming to increase in number as
       the snow mysteriously wanes.

       And the pellets are getting larger.  Until they land as
       hunks.

       The white haired girl drops to the ground and covers her
       head as hailstones the size of baseballs plow into the
       Earth.

       Before long, tents are collapsing and panic ensues.

       And all along the white haired girl sits huddled in the
       dust, crying.

       As hailstones fall in a circle around her, never coming
       closer than then a few feet or so.

       INT.  HIGH SCHOOL GYMNASIUM - NIGHT

       ONE MORE SKY.  This one a backdrop.  Cheap paint and
       tissue paper hung with hooks on a wall just behind the
       basket on a full court.

       As we pull back, we see the skyline of New York, crudely
       made out with its silhouette buildings of dark gray and
       black - windows of yellow.

       Among the famous landmarks represented is the Statue of
       Liberty, complete with a real light bulb burning in the
       torch.

       We are at a prom. The theme is RHAPSODY IN BLUE and the
       decor has made tragic efforts to show it.  The
       tablecloths are blue, the napkins are blue - far too many
       of the tuxes are powder blue, and the blue eye shadow is
       as heavy as expected.

       Peter Gabriel's "In Your Eyes" gives painful indication
       of the era, but here it is, nonetheless:

       SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA - 1986

       MOVE ACROSS THE FLOOR and through the swaying, clutching,
       sweating dancers to the bathroom.

       Through the door to the usual -

       INT.  BOYS BATHROOM - NIGHT

       Several boys are here, bow ties undone - unclipped in
       most cases.  Smoking, drinking from whatever inventive
       container was used to smuggle in booze.  Breath freshener
       and Visine are the chaser.

       Some of the guys are rolling joints while others make the
       sad effort to wave smoke away.  Who are they kidding?
       It's a fog in here.

       MOVE DOWN THE ROW OF TOILET STALLS to one in particular.
       Here we find A FRECKLED KID standing in front of mirror,
       clearly holding himself up from the effect of God knows
       what.

       He talks to his friend in the he stall behind him.

                           FRECKLED KID
                 Man, what's the matter with you?

       His friend is on the toilet with his head in his hands.
       He seems to be in some pain.  He is SCOTT SUMMERS - AGE
       17.

                           FRECKLED KID (contíd)
                 Dude.  Lighten up.  She's just a girl.
                 You just gotta-

                           SCOTT
                 No, my eyes... my eyes are killing me.

       The Freckled kid offers a small plastic bottle.

                           FRECKLED KID
                 You want some Visine, man?

                           SCOTT
                 My... eyes...

       The freckled kid looks and sees that Scott's eyes are
       watering so badly that tears are literally streaming
       through his fingers.

       He goes back to the mirror to look at his own.

                           SCOTT
                 ... they're burning...

       The freckled kid turns back to him.

                           FRECKLED KID
                 Dude, how much did you smoke?

                           SCOTT
                 I didn't smoke anything.

       Scott looks up, taking his hands away, revealing for an
       instant that his eyes are merely bright red embers in his
       head.  Featureless but for the color.

       Freckles takes a step back.

       INT. GYM - OUTSIDE BOYS ROOM - NIGHT

       A blinding flash of light shows through the frosted glass
       in the double door and cuts through the crack into the
       dark of the gym.

       All who see it are stunned. Frozen.  A lingering moment
       of confusion, then:

       BOOM, the doors to the Boys Room burst open and the
       occupants scatter into the gym.

       INT. GYM - STALL - NIGHT

       Freckles is still there, legs locked.

       FRECKLES' P.O.V.

       He looks at Scott who is now crying meekly in the stall,
       covering his eyes again -- afraid to open them.

       The door of the stall across from him swings closed TO
       REVEAL:

       A HOLE, PUNCHED THROUGH THE STALL DOOR framing Scott's
       face perfectly.  Pull back to reveal that the hole
       continues through the wall, into the girl's bathroom next
       door.

       In the corner several girls huddle together, they are
       afraid.

       INT. SENATE HEARING ROOM - DAY

       Packed with reporters and photographers.  There's a dais -
       a raised panel of senators - and a second, lower panel.
       This is where the "experts" are testifying.

       Panning across the faces of several G.O.P. creeps as they
       watch something with varying degrees of interest.

       TITLES:

       WASHINGTON D.C. - THE NOT TOO DISTANT FUTURE

       A woman's voice holds over the proceedings.  It is the
       voice of JEAN GREY - whom we will soon meet.

       As she is speaking, we come to a large screen television
       at one end of the room.

                           JEAN (O.S.)
                 In every organism on Earth there
                 exists a mutator gene - the X-factor,
                 as it has come to be known.  It is the
                 basic building block of evolution -
                 the reason we have evolved from homo
                 habilus...

       FOOTAGE REFLECTS THE VARIOUS STAGES OF HUMAN EVOLUTION.
       Accompanying it is a GRAPH with a DIAGONAL LINE
       indicating the ascent of the "human being" as we know it.
       Accompanying the graph are evolving images of the
       "evolution of man."

                           JEAN (O.S.) (contíd)
                 ... to homo erectus, to homo sapiens
                 Neanderthals, and, finally, to homo
                 sapiens.

       The animated demo on the screen zooms in on the lowest
       order of human depicted - homo habilus - a primitive, ape-
       like humanoid covered in hair.  As he is singled out, the
       terrain of his time appears, along with the harsh signs
       of his winter.

                           JEAN (O.S.) (contíd)
                 Taking it's cues from the climate,
                 terrain, various sources of
                 nourishment, the mutator gene tells
                 the body when it needs to change to
                 adapt to a new environment.  The
                 process is subtle, normally taking
                 thousands of years.

       As the graphic changes and depicts WARMER CLIMATE, the
       HAIR STARTS TO DISAPPEAR ON THE MAN'S BODY - gradually
       evolving into the human we now know as ourselves.

       Now the terrain is modern, the weather pleasant.  The
       image pulls back and places this man back in line at the
       front of evolution.

                           JEAN (O.S.) (contíd)
                 Only in the last few thousand years
                 did mankind begin to make clothes for
                 himself, build shelters, use heat and
                 grow food in large quantities.  With
                 this man-made environment remaining
                 relatively stable, the X-factor became
                 dormant.

       QUICK SHOTS: early huts, early clothing; then early
       homes, later homes, air conditioning, cars, modern high-
       rises, etc.

       PULL BACK WIDER

                           JEAN (O.S.) (contíd)
                 Until now.

       On the room, the reactions, and on JEAN herself.

       A strong, attractive woman in her early 30's.  A simple
       placard before her:

       JEAN GREY.  GENETICALLY ENHANCED RIGHTS ASSOCIATION.

       The screen shows the words "PRESENT DAY," where the
       "evolution line" has resumed its rise.

                           JEAN (contíd)
                 For reasons still not known to us, we
                 are seeing what some are calling the
                 beginnings of another stage of
                 evolution -

       A MICROPHONED VOICE interrupts.  Bearing down is the
       flamboyant SENATOR SCOTT "FRANK" KELLY, a conservative
       from Florida, and the hearing's Chairman.

       Just behind him sits his aide HENRY GUYRICH - mid 30's,
       typical government cog.

                           KELLY
                 You're avoiding the question I posed
                 to you at the beginning of the
                 hearing, Ms. Grey.  Three words: Are
                 mutants dangerous?

                           JEAN
                 I am avoiding a question that is
                 decidedly loaded, Senator.  The wrong
                 person behind the wheel of a car can
                 be dangerous.

       Another SENATOR (LUCINDA ROWEE) speaks into her
       microphone:

                           SENATOR ROWEE
                 Well, we do license people to drive.

                           JEAN
                 But not to live.

       Kelly raises a hand, continuing his tirade.

                           KELLY
                 Ms. Grey -- you work at a school for
                 mutants in Westchester, New York.  Can
                 you tell the members of this committee
                 what exactly you are teaching these
                 mutants?