King Kong

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SURABAYA:

INDONESIA:

-OK Boan, how much you got here?

-About 1,800.

-What's going on?

-There's Bagley.

Mr. Bagley! Something haywire.

We haven't loaded enough pipe.

-Less than 2,000 feet.

-That'll be enough.

On Huangatan, it didn't come

until we were past 26,000 feet.

This hole proves out within 2,000,

or it's a write-off.

How are you this evening?

All right.

The barometer is still falling.

It's a lousy forecast all right.

We should stay here

another 48 hours.

Every hour we delay gives others

a chance of beating us to the island.

-I thought only we knew...

-We'll sail right away.

You'll be sorry.

All right, Mr. Carnahan,

ready to let go.

-Stand by fore and aft.

-OK, haul the gangway ashore!

Let it go.

-Roy.

-Fred.

Well, here's to the big one.

MAIN TITLE:

Mayday, mayday.

Mayday.

I'm reminded of Amsterdam.

Ever eat a raw herring with a beer

chaser and a scoop of ice cream?

-Captain here.

-I picked up a mayday call.

-It faded before I couId get a fix.

-Keep listening.

Let me know if you get anything.

Like you said:

"The hell with the weather."

We can get out of this

by backtracking around Timor.

-It'll only cost us a few days.

-Keep on course, I'm fine.

I gotta admit, for a New York

desk guy, you got a lot of guts.

I sold this one to the board.

If that island doesn't produce huge,

I'll be wiping windshields.

Men.

Carnahan.

I'd have told you earlier,

but I couldn't risk any talk.

Men, we may be sailing into

the history books. Hit the lights.

I believe we're headed for

the biggest oil strike ever.

-Here in the magic circle.

-It's magic all right.

Are we supposed to find oil

under 2,000 fathoms of sea?

Just sea is what the charts say.

Now let's take a look a low angle.

This was taken in 1943.

This wake was left by the ship

that took the photograph.

No sign of land. Here's a fog bank

you wouldn't look at twice.

Let's look at another picture.

This is taken from precisely

the same angle.

Same area, same fog bank.

This was taken two weeks ago.

A bank of fog that doesn't change

a wisp in 35 years. Fantastic.

Still nothing to explore,

except for one reason.

A spy satellite photographed it

by mistake.

I got hold of the classified pictures

via a donation to someone.

No names, but he lives

on Pennsylvania Ave.

OK, fellas.

Roy Bagley, would you take over

and let science make the point?

The satellite was to analyse

exhaust gases from a missile test.

So it was loaded with

two special kinds of film.

No, first the infrared.

The different colors represent

different surface temperatures.

-You mean there's land there?

-Correct, Joe.

An island,

hidden by a perpetual fog bank.

Never seen by human eye

nor walked by human foot.

The infrared patterns aren't like

any I've ever seen.

More surprising, though, is

what the spectrograph picked up.

Chemical composition

of our mysterious fog bank.

Free hydrocarbon radicals,

excess nitrogen, carbon dioxide.

And, not poisonous

but very damn curious...

This has to be caused by vapors

seeping up through the ground.

-Vapors from petroleum deposits.

-Yes!

That island is the tip of a huge

underground tankjust waiting for us.

-I'm betting everything I've got.

-I'll take 50 cents of that.

The excess CO2 might also be

accounted for by animal respiration.

-Turn the lights on.

-Animal breathing.

Are you crazy?

And I'm not so sure human feet

have never walked the island before.

In 1605, Fernando De Queres

was blown south from Tenotang.

He wrote of the piercing the

white veil. That's the cloud bank.

And landing on the beach of the skull,

where he heard the roar -

-of the greatest beast...

The rest of that log entry

was suppressed by Rome.

In 1749, a water-Iogged lifeboat

was found in the same area.

It was empty,

but drawn in blood on the port -

-was a likeness of a huge,

slouchy humanoid thing.

And this strange warning:

"From thy wedding with the creature

who touches heaven, lady, -

-God preserve thee."

I also heard of a note in a bottle

from a dying Japanese in 1944...

What the hell are you talking about?

Who is this joker?

-Beats me.

-He's wearing a crew jersey.

I'll pay any fair amount

for my... passage.

-You're a stowaway?

-Jack Prescott. From Princeton.

-Dept. Of Primate Paleonthology.

-You lying hippie!

You're from another oil company!

The meeting's over.

He's got one of our T-shirts.

This doesn't mean a thing. Gulf

or Exxon can fix a fake passport.

-Who the hell are you?

-I am Jack Prescott...

My interest in your island

has got nothing to do with oil.

You're not even a good liar. You

couldn't find out where we're going.

-You bought charts!

-Come on. Who'd you pay off?

They hadn't sold charts for this area

in years. A friend tipped me.

I did pick up

some charts in Surabaya.

Take this spy below till he's hungry

enough to stop spouting ape sh*t.

Let's go. Come on.

-There's something out there.

-Oh, come on!

-Honest to God, look!

-Quit horsing around.

Come back here!

There's something out there!

About 2 o'clock. Use your glasses.

Son of a b*tch, it's a raft!

All stop.

She's alive!

Gently.

I've had first-aid training, Captain.

Will you all clear out of here?

-You have to undress her, huh?

-It's usual.

In case of internal injury

or shock syndrome.

-Get outta here!

-Clear out.

Eye Magnate. Beverly Hills.

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