The Relic
- R
- Year:
- 1997
- 110 min
- 277 Views
TITLE CARD... BELEM BRAZIL - JULY...
A taxi careens down narrow roadways at breakneck speeds.
INT. TAXI - NIGHT
In the back seat is WHITTLESLEY. Early 40's, the wreck of a once
handsome man. Unshaven. Sweat stained. Rail thin. Scratches on his
arms, a fresh scar on one cheek. As the taxi roars downhill towards
the harbor, Whittlesley leans over the front seat. (Italics indicate
Portuguese to be subtitled)
WHITTLESLEY:
Faster! We won't make it.
DRIVER:
You want to die?
Whittlesley pulls out A KNIFE, puts it to the driver's jugular vein.
WHITTLESLEY:
Do you?
Sweat pouring down his brow, the driver re-doubles his speed.
The taxi swerves around a corner, nearly crashing into a fruit cart,
flies out of sight.
Light rain obscures the bulky outlines of tethered freighters. We hear
faint laughter leavened with Portuguese phrases, distant Calypso music
from waterfront bars. One of the smaller boats, the SANTA LUCIA, is
loading as the TAXI fishtails to a halt.
Whittlesley gets out, sees the boat still at dock. His face floods
with relief.
WHITTLESLEY:
Thank God.
He tosses a handful of bills into the driver's lap, sprints up the
pier as the driver shouts curses after him in Portuguese. Whittlesley
shoves past the dock hands as the last load goes onto the Santa Lucia.
The boat's engines churn to life.
WHITTLESLEY:
I need to speak to the captain!
Where is he?
The sailors hold Whittlesley back.
WHITTLESLEY:
Get your hands off me! I'm trying
to save your lives, you fools!
Several crew members murmur the word "loco". Hearing the commotion, a
squat man wearing a billed hat and smoking a cigar approaches. CAPTAIN
FRANCO.
FRANCO:
American?
WHITTLESLEY:
Yes. Thank Christ somebody speaks
English. I'm Dr. John Whittlesley.
You have some crates of mine on
board. They were shipped by mistake
to the Natural History Museum. We
have to get them off the boat.
FRANCO:
You have I.D.?
Whittlesley runs a trembling hand through his hair, trying to keep
control and appear reasonable.
WHITTLESLEY:
No. Let me explain. I was on an
expedition for the museum on the
Upper Xingu. Something horrible
happened. I'm the only one who got
out alive. I lost everything, my
I.D., everything. I have to make
sure no one else dies. The crates,
the crates were sent out before we
knew. There's something unspeakable
inside. If your boat leaves harbor
with those crates on board, I can't
be responsible. My God, if they
reach New York...
Whittlesley's fists clench spasmodically. Franco looks to his men.
Translation
Translate and read this script in other languages:
Select another language:
- - Select -
简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
Español (Spanish)
Esperanto (Esperanto)
日本語 (Japanese)
Português (Portuguese)
Deutsch (German)
العربية (Arabic)
Français (French)
Русский (Russian)
ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
한국어 (Korean)
עברית (Hebrew)
Український (Ukrainian)
اردو (Urdu)
Magyar (Hungarian)
मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
Indonesia (Indonesian)
Italiano (Italian)
தமிழ் (Tamil)
Türkçe (Turkish)
తెలుగు (Telugu)
ภาษาไทย (Thai)
Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
Čeština (Czech)
Polski (Polish)
Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
Românește (Romanian)
Nederlands (Dutch)
Ελληνικά (Greek)
Latinum (Latin)
Svenska (Swedish)
Dansk (Danish)
Suomi (Finnish)
فارسی (Persian)
ייִדיש (Yiddish)
հայերեն (Armenian)
Norsk (Norwegian)
English (English)
Discuss this The Relic script with the community:
Citation
Use the citation below to add this screenplay to your bibliography:
"The Relic" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 9 Dec. 2019. <https://www.scripts.com/script/the_relic_630>.