Hancock

FADE IN:

BLACK. It's everywhere. It swallows the screen. And so we stare

into a sea of BLACK.

NARRATOR (V.0.)

I saw a severed head once. Except for the,

paleness, it looked healthy, well-fed.

The end came abruptly you could tell

'cause the mouth froze in mid-sentence.

"Shh. ," the curled lips attempted. Like

it started saying "shucks" or "Shirley"

or... "sh*t happens." Your eyes don't

forget things like that. Like you don't

forget the sound animals make when

they're humping. Primal.

Raw. They endure

in you forever because the senses have a

brain all their own and they recall long

after you've succumbed to the la-la of

forgetfulness.

(a pregnant beat)

Sometimes when it's dark out,-so dark

it's black, I'll see HIM.

(BEAT)

And it starts all over again.

From this blackness, a streak of LIGHTNING splits the night sky.

EXT. SKY - NIGHT

We are in the eye of a STORM, an angry mass of clo uds raging

o f a howling WIND. across the black sky..It brings RAIN and THUNDER an d the swirl

An ENTITY emerges from this moist darkness.

weather and advances into our scope of visibilityies through the

A FLASH, of lightning erupts and it illuminates the sky. We SEE

the approaching entity as it hovers before us.

It's a man.

It's a man, plus.

It's a SUPERHERO,

garbed in an elastic dark-grey outfit - a faded RED CAPE extends b

ehind him, thrashing against the wind and rain.

This Superhero (30). Unshaven.

Disheveled. Worn. A face

chiselled with mileage.

2.

In the eyes, we can see his soul. Intense. Fierce. An exposed

nerve, snagged in a fish hook.

He hangs in the air, tired, rain-soaked, pissed-off.

He stares down at the earth below and he beholds the saturated

visage of SHEEPSHEAD BAY, a seaside Brooklyn neighborhood.

And from the bowels of his very soul, this Superhero belches a

thunderous ROAR. He pivots in the air and dives toward land.

He slices through the downpour, arms extended, body erect,

engulfed in the dimensions of his cape.

The ground approaches, fast. He accelerates as if to embrace it.

Velocity sucks up all remaining space and there is IMPACT.

An EXPLOSION as he rips through the street surface, penetrating

the asphalt - head first. Debris and concrete spew from the

ruptured orifice as he disappears inside.

There is an expulsion of subterranean pressure and it launches

nearby manhole LIDS from their spots - they bounce and CLANG

down the street like loose change.

The rain continues its onslaught.

INT. APARTMENT - NIGHT

Rain sloshes against a kitchen window. Where the sink is. Not

far from the kitchen table. Where the LONGFELLOW Family sits,

dinner before them.

HORUS (35) leans over his plate, eating his meal. Here idles a

man of diminutive frame, bespectacled, placid - as harmless as

low fat milk.

He sits opposite MARY (30), frenetically appropriating food. A

gentle beauty. entwined in maternal angst she is estrogen with an

attitude.

A meek little AARON (8), slouches between the folks - a BLACK

EYE tattoos the left of his face. Aaron stares at the damn

plate, finding no humor in eggplant.

MARY:

The principal did'nothing. Like

schoolyard terrorism is no worse than

being tardy. What's the matter with

education? Back when, you could go to

school and learn about Betsy Ross and...

mollusks and... not get stabbed on the

way home.

4.

INT. SUBWAY TUNNEL - NIGHT

A subway TRAM idles by a passenger ramp. STEAM hisses from its

side and plumes into a wall of white mist.

And from this cloud of angry vapors, a figure appears. He

surfaces from the dark subway tunnel, a cool nonchalance in his

gait.

It is the Superhero, his identity safely concealed under the

collar of a tattered TRENCHCOAT. He traverses the loading deck,

PASSENGERS boarding and disembarking around him.

He wades through them - to a deserted section of the subway. He

strolls over to a CIGARETTE MACHINE, up against the grafetti-

raped subway wall.

On the wall, a line of profanity declares that...

"YOUR MOTHER TAKES IT UP THE ASS."

He surveys the machine. His right arm appears from the coat

pocket. Fingers merge into a tight fist. And casually, he rips

into the metal vendor like it was Jello.

His fist withdraws a handful of bills, coins. He pockets the

loot. He reaches back in and withdraws a carton of LUCKY STRIKE.

Deposits it under his coat.

And with that, he heads for the stairs - to the flooded streets

above.

At the ramp, and on cue, the subway tram closes its doors.

Trembles. Moves. Steams into the deep dark tunnel. White SMOKE

mushrooms from its tail. It lingers in the air as we...

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