The Bourne Identity

DARKNESS. THE SOUND OF WIND AND SPRAY.

MUSIC. TITLES.

EXT. OCEAN -- NIGHT

The darkness is actually water. A SEARCHLIGHT arcs across

heavy ocean swells. Half-a-dozen flashlights -- weaker

beams -- racing along what we can see is the deck of an

aging FISHING TRAWLER.

FISHERMEN struggling with a gaff -- something in the water --

A HUMAN CORPSE.

EXT. FISHING BOAT DECK -- NIGHT

THE BODY sprawled there. The Sailors all talking at once --

three languages going -- brave chatter to mask the presence

of death --

SAILOR #1

-- Jesus, look at him --

SAILOR #2

-- what? -- you never saw a dead

man before? --

SAILOR #3

-- look, look he was shot --

(nudging the body--)

SAILOR #1

-- don't, don't do that --

SAILOR #2

-- he's dead, you think he cares? --

SAILOR #1

-- so have some respect -- it's a --

(stopping as--)

THE BODY MOVES! -- convulsing -- coughing up sea water --

the Sailors -- freaked -- jumping back -- standing there, as --

THE MAN begins to breathe.

INT. FISHING BOAT BUNK ROOM -- NIGHT

A wreck. Too small for all the people in here right now --

SAILORS sweeping off the table -- rough hands laying THE MAN

down --

THE CAPTAIN -- brutal and impatient -- watching from the

door as --

GIANCARLO tears through the clutter -- searching for a

medical kit buried in the shambles. GIANCARLO is sixty. A

bloodshot soul.

GIANCARLO:

-- it's here -- hang on -- it's

here somewhere -- give me a

minute -- get some blankets -- get

some blankets on him --

(finding the kit--)

-- here we go -- here it is --

GIANCARLO with an old trunk -- just getting it open, as --

THE CAPTAIN:

Giancarlo.

(Giancarlo turns

back--)

We pick him up? Okay, we have to

pick him up. But that's as far as it

goes.

GIANCARLO:

He needs a doctor.

CAPTAIN:

F*** that. He lives? He dies? I

don't care. We've wasted two hours

on this sh*t already. You do what

you can, but we're not going back.

(pure steel now)

You understand me?

GIANCARLO:

Yes, sir.

CAPTAIN:

(to the rest of them)

Let's get back to work!

GIANCARLO watching them run out. Snagging a quick pull on a

pint of rum he's got stashed and --

INT. FISHING BOAT BUNK ROOM -- DAWN -- TIME CUTS

Transformed into a makeshift operating room. A light swings

overhead. THE MAN layed out across the table. Sounds --

groans -- words -- snatches of them -- all in different

languages.

GIANCARLO playing doctor in a greasy kitchen apron. Cutting

away the clothes. Turning THE MAN on his side. Two bullet

wounds in the back. Probing them, judging them.

Now -- GIANCARLO with a flashlight in his teeth -- TINK --

TINK -- TINK -- bullet fragments falling into a washed-out

olive jar.

Now -- something catching GIANCARLO'S EYE -- A SCAR ON THE

MAN'S HIP -- another fragment -- exacto knife cutting in --

tweezers extracting A SMALL PLASTIC TUBE, not a bullet at

all, and as it comes free --

THE MAN'S HAND SLAMS down onto GIANCARLO'S and we SMASH CUT

INTO A --

FIRST PERSON POV -- we are staring up at --

GIANCARLO:

You're awake. Can you hear me?

(we're blinking--)

You've been shot. I'm trying to

help you.

(we're trying to find

our voice--)

You were in the water. You've been

shot. It's okay now.

THE MAN:

Where am I?

GIANCARLO:

(switching to English)

You're American. I thought so.

From your teeth -- the dental work --

THE MAN:

Where am I?

GIANCARLO:

You're on a boat. A fishing boat.

Italian flag. We're out of Vietri.

(he smiles)

It's the cold that saved you. The

water. The wounds are clean. I'm

not a doctor, but the wounds, it

looks okay. It's clean.

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