Apocalypse Now Page #3

We are now RESTING on his back. Occasionally, he sips

from a beer, but we cannot see his face.

WILLARD (V.O.)

(continuing)

There was only one part that

mattered -- for me, anyway. I

don't even know if I remember

all of it. I can't remember

how it ended, exactly -- because

when it ended I was insane.

DISSOLVE TO :

4 EXT. A STREET IN SAIGON - DAY

A Saigon boom street in late 1968. There are bars and

shops for servicemen; the rickshaws, the motorbikes.

Our VIEW MOVES TOWARD one particular officer; B.L.

WILLARD , in uniform, a Captain of the Airborne, followed

by four or five Vietnamese kids trying to shine his

shoes and sell him things.

WILLARD (V.O.)

But I know how it started

for me -- I was on R. and R.

in Saigon; my first time south

of the DMZ in three months. I

wasn't sure, but I thought this

guy was following me.

Willard looks back.

5 HIS VIEW

an American CIVILIAN.

6 MED. VIEW

Willard ducks into a bar.

7 INT. THE SAIGON BAR - DAY

Not much in this place -- a bar, linoleum flooring, a few

tables and chairs, and a juke box. The lounge is fairly

crowded. Willard takes off his cap and walks quietly

past the soldiers at the bar. Some of them, catching

sight of his ribbons, stop talking as he moves by.

An INFANTRY CAPTAIN enters the bar, buys a couple of

drinks and approaches Willard's table.

CAPTAIN:

How about a drink ?

WILLARD:

Sure, thanks.

He sits down at the table with the drinks.

CAPTAIN:

Winning the war by yourself.

WILLARD:

(he calls for the waiter)

Part.

CAPTAIN:

Which part is that ?

WILLARD:

My part.

(TO THE WAITER)

Beer, with ice and water.

CAPTAIN:

That's good gin.

WILLARD:

I'm sure it is, but I had hepatitis.

CAPTAIN:

Delta ?

WILLARD:

No.

CAPTAIN:

North ?

WILLARD:

Yeah. Way north.

CAPTAIN:

What unit were you with ?

WILLARD:

None.

CAPTAIN:

Rangers, eh?

WILLARD:

Sort of.

The JUKE BOX starts BLARING. Annoyed , Willard looks over

his shoulder.

CAPTAIN:

Were you Longe Range Recon --

WILLARD:

No -- I worked too far north for

LRRP.

He reaches into his shirt pocket for a cigarette, and the

Captain leans over the table to light it for him. Willard

notices the CIVILIAN on the street has glanced in the bar,

then enters and sits down at a table by the doorway.

CAPTAIN:

That's quite an array of ribbons...

WILLARD:

Let's talk about you.

CAPTAIN:

I was an FO for the 25th.

WILLARD:

Tracks ?

CAPTAIN:

Yeah.

WILLARD:

Fat. That's real fat.

CAPTAIN:

Sometimes.

WILLARD:

At least you always have enough

water. How many gallons does

each one of those damn things

carry ?

CAPTAIN:

Thirty -- sometimes fifty.

WILLARD:

You know, I can remember once,

getting back below the DMZ -- and

the first Americans we ran into

were a track squadron. I just

couldn't believe how much water

they had. We'd been chewing

bamboo shoots for almost a week,

and before that, for two weeks,

we'd been drinking anything --

rain water, river sh*t, stuff

right out of the paddies. And

there were these guys standing

by their trucks spilling water

all over. I could've killed them.

(solemnly)

I swear to God I would have, too,

if ...

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