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.