Based on material by Ken and Jim Wheat
Revised First Draft
THE HARD COPY OF THIS SCRIPT CONTAINED SCENE NUMBERS
AND SOME "OMITTED" SLUGS. THEY HAVE BEEN REMOVED FOR THIS
THE HARD COPY OF THIS SCRIPT WAS IN THE NON-
PREFORMAT FONT "TIMES NEW ROMAN". THIS HAS BEEN CHANGED
TO PREFORMATTED TEXT FOR THIS SOFT COPY.
Though mentioned often in the script, the creatures in PITCH BLACK are
seldom seen at length; rather, they are glimpsed, they are heard, they are
felt. They are, really, the embodiment of your nocturnal fears: A howling
coyote that jars you awake; the painting on the wall that comes to life
when stared at too long...the sway of your bed just before the earthquake
hits. Chimera of the night. The point is made so the reader appreciates
that the focus of the finished film will not be on what the creatures do,
but on what the creatures do to reveal the inner nature of the characters.
For PITCH BLACK is, at its heart, a story of humanity and courage -- and
lack of the same.
INT. MAIN CABIN
A CRYO-LOCKER BLOWS OPEN, spitting out...
CAROLYN FRY. She hits the deck of the main cabin: Four crew
lockers in a forward section, countless more in back. But the
deck is canted at a sick angle and ALARMS SCREAM everywhere:
The world is dying around her.
Legs wobbly, shivering like a flu victim, Fry stumbles to the
next forward locker. It's riddled with holes. One DEAD CREWIE
is seen through fractured plexi, body pocked and bloodied. But
in the next cryo-locked...
The CAPTAIN is struggling awake. Fry's face floods with relief.
Slapping an intercom:
Hear me? Cap'n? Some kinda compromise to
the hull...holding for now, but...Goddamn,
I'm glad you're alive. Gotta pull your
E-release...no, red handle, red handle.
I'll get the warm-ups out while --
PHFUT-PHFUT-PHFUT-PHFUT: Particles bore through the cabin,
blasting open the captain's chest, shattering plexi, DETONATING
INSTRUMENTS on the opposite wall and leaving CONTRAILS
HISSING in the air.
Fry lands on her ass, horrified. Suddenly...
Another LOCKER BLOWS OPEN. A body falls right on top of Fry --
but this one's still alive. Disoriented, frantic:
Why did I fall on you?
He's dead. Cap'n's dead. Christ, I was
looking right at him when --
I mean, I mean, chrono shows we're 22
weeks out, so gravity wasn't supposed to
kick in for another 19. I mean, I mean,
I mean, why did I fall at all?
You hear me? Captain's dead. Owens too.
Oh, no. Not Owens, not.... Wai', wai',
wait. I'm Owens. Right?
They swap nightmare looks, momentarily unsure of their own
Cryo-sleep. Swear to God, it sloughs