This the third draft for the episode, Rockets
of the Dead, written by Gavin Scott, December 31, 1997, almost 6 months
before filming began on SAJV. The first version of this screenplay was by
Brian Finch, from May 12, 1997. That version was first revised by Gavin Scott on
June 21, 1997. Note that this script was from a time when Rebecca Fogg was going
to be Phileas Fogg's sister, rather than a distant cousin.
ACT ONE
1
EXT. ROAD IN
WHITEHALL - NIGHT:
A carriage rattles out of the murk of a
fog-shrouded Whitehall.
JULES:
(VO)
On April 3rd
1860, a senior official of Britain's War Ministry was hurrying back from
the Ministry's research department in Woolwich with news that could
change the face of warfare.
2
INT. LORD PONTEFRACT'S
CARRIAGE - NIGHT:
The sole passenger in the carriage is LORD
PONTEFRACT - a heavily-built man with a spade-beard, a top hat and on his a red dispatch box - manacled to his wrist.
JULES:
(VO)
An explosive
mixture so powerful it could send a metal tube miles into the air. But
the formula containing details of the mixture never reached its intended
recipients.
3
EXT. WAR OFFICE - NIGHT:
The carriage comes to
a halt outside an impressive-looking doorway, on either side of which are two
BRITISH SOLDIERS with rifles over their shoulders.
JULES:
(VO)
The appalling
fate that befell Lord Pontefract left a permanent mark on all who were
present on that terrible night.
As Lord Pontefract
gets out of the carriage a CLOAKED MAN materialises in front of him in the
fog, smiles and embraces him in a bear hug.
SOLDIER:
Hoy
!
Tight on Lord
Pontefract. His eyes are wide with terror - as the cloaked man crushes him
to death.
SOLDIER:
(cont'd)
Get off him !
Get off - or I'll fire !
The
soldier fires: point blank into the cloaked man's chest. A bullet hole appears
- and there's the sound of the bullet ricochetting off the pavement behind -
but that's all. The shot has no other effect whatever.
Lord
Pontefract falls to the ground - dead.
SOLDIER:
(cont’d)
Oh,
my Gawd......
The
cloaked man calmly lifts the red dispatch box, sees that it is manacled to the
dead man's wrist - and bites through it.
Then
he makes a noise deep in his throat like an underground engine, raises his top
hat politely - and begins to rise vertically into the air.
Jets
of flame come from rocket units built into his cloak and strapped to his boots
as he soars into the night - the soldiers staring in superstitious awe, police
whistles already blowing up and down Whitehall.
JULES:
(VO)
At
the time, however, I was completely pre-occupied with a certain play that was
being produced in London's West End.
4
EXT. WEST END THEATRE. NIGHT:
A
billboard in the theatre entrance announces:
"REBECCA FOGG in THE MAID. OF ORLEANS - a new play by JULES VERNE.
Produced and directed by ABRAHAM STOKER."
Men
in evening dress escort glamorous women into the theatre, watched with great
delight by JULES VERNE, who is positively preening himself.
PHILEAS:
Take that smirk off your face, Verne: it
isn't-real first night, just a put-up job funded
by the British Secret Service to trap this poor devil.
(He
taps a brass bust set in the theatre wall)
By putting my sister in tights.
JULES:
Your
sister looks rather splendid in tights, Fogg. And I don't give a damn
who's behind this: I'm having a play put on in the West End, and that'd
good enough for me.
ABRAHAM
STOKER, the tall, handsome, red-bearded Irishman who manages the theatre,
surges up to them.
STOKER:
So it should be, Verne. Any play showing in my
theatre commands the attention of the world. I sometimes think that attention
is wasted on mere writers.
JULES:
Oh,
nobody thinks writers have anything to do with plays, Stoker. Most of
them are convinced the actors make it up as they go along.
A
magnificently ornate black and gold carriage, sporting a spectacular family
crest and drawn by two plumed black horses comes to a halt in front of the
theatre - scattering onlookers.
The
COACHMAN leaps down briskly and makes his way around to the door. THE CROWD
stares. Out of the carriage steps DUKE RIMINI - tall, graceful, aloof,
aristocratic.
STOKER:
Your
Grace! Welcome to the theatre you have done so much to support ... I
hope you approve of the placement of the bust?
RIMINI:
(Glancing
at it casually)
Splendid,
Stoker, splendid.
(He
looks at the poster of Rebecca)
I
must say I'm looking forward to this.
As
Stoker leads Rimini inside we see SIR JONATHAN CHATSWORTH,
an aquiline man in his fifties. He is the Head of the British Secret
Service.
5
INT. REBECCA'S
DRESSING ROOM. NIGHT:
REBECCA
FOGG is sitting in front of her mirror working on her make-up - as Phileas
comes in.
PHILEAS:
I have to tell you,
Sis, I
don't like this.
REBECCA:
What
- me being on stage or me being the bait ?
PHILEAS:
Neither.
We know nothing about this Rimini fellow.
REBECCA:
We know that he's rich, that he's an
arms-dealer and that he's a fanatical theatregoer. What we don't know is
what he's up to in the Balkans.
PHILEAS
(Dismissively)
The
Balkans!
REBECCA:
Something
big's brewing there - it could even mean war.
There are thousands of lives at stake.
PHILEAS:
Starting with
yours.
REBECCA:
Well,
that's what being an agent is all about, isn't it?
But
she takes his hands anyway, empathising with his anxiety...
REBECCA:
But
Phil, if he does take the bait - all he'll do is invite me to dinner in
a luxurious restaurant where I'll proceed to pick his brains. There's
NOTHING to worry about. Hand me that number nine would you?
6
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND THE
THEATRE. NIGHT:
The
black horses snort and paw the cobbles as the fog swirls around Rimini's
carriage. There's a tremendous burst of applause from inside the theatre.
COACHMAN:
(To
the horses)
Stow
that, he'll be out in a minute.
As
the coachman speaks, the figure slips out from under the coach and runs at a
crouch along the alley. It is Passepartout.
7
INT. PHILEAS’
CAB - NIGHT:
Passepartout,
climbs into the cab, where Phileas is waiting tensely.
PASSEPARTOUT:
It
is attached, Master.
PHILEAS:
Very
good, Passepartout: though I don't think we'll need it. I don't intend
to allow this fellow out of my sight.
There's
another outburst of clapping from inside, and then Jules appears.
JULES:
It
was a triumph, Fogg, an absolute triumph! My words, your sister's voice
-what a combination!
PHILEAS:
And Rimini
- where's Rimini?
JULES:
Where do you
think?
9
DELETED
10
DELETED
11
DELETED
12
DELETED
13
DELETED
14
DELETED
15
INT. REBECCA'S DRESSING
ROOM.
NIGHT:
Rebecca is sitting at
her mirror combing her hair - when she is suddenly aware of someone behind
her. She looks into her mirror - and sees an enormous bouquet of flowers.
RIMINI:
A
tribute -
to beauty and to passion.
REBECCA:
From
...?
RIMINI:
Duke
Angelo Rimini. At your service. And after your incandescent performance
tonight, also at your feet.
He
hands her the flowers.
REBECCA:
Lilies!
How charming!
RIMINI:
I
would like to tell you how much your performance moved me. Over the best
dinner London can provide ...
REBECCA:
Tonight?
RIMINI:
To
wait any longer would be an eternity.
Rebecca
meets his eyes.
RIMINI:
Such
an interesting concept, don't you think? Oysters and champagne.
16
INT. PHILEAS’ CAB - NIGHT:
A
woman's laugh: they peer down the misty alley.
PHILEAS:
Quiet!
(Peering
into the murk)
He's getting her into the carriage.
JULES:
(Whispering)
Doesn't
the secret service have them under surveillance?
PHILEAS:
You
think I'd trust the British Secret Service to look after my sister?
18
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND THE THEATRE - NIGHT:
Rimini's
carriage clatters away round the corner.
Phileas' cab jolts into motion.
19
INT. RIMINI'S CARRIAGE - NIGHT:
RIMINI:
When
you spoke tonight as Joan of Arc, my dear Miss Fogg, I could easily imagine
you at the head of a real
army, routing your enemies.
REBECCA:
How
flattering. I am of course merely an actress - but I could imagine you
in the uniform of a general.
RIMINI:
No,
my dear: I merely give the generals the guns they need to win their
victories.
REBECCA:
Tell
me, Your Grace - is there going to be another war in Europe?
Rimini
regards her with glittering eyes.
RIMINI:
Not
the kind anyone has ever imagined, my dear, you may rest assured of
that.
20
EXT. LONDON STREET - NIGHT:
Phileas
leans out of the window as his cab rattles along.
PHILEAS:
This
isn't the way to the Cafe Royale!
Driver - whip up the horses!
And
the cab speeds up. As it does so, the carriage also moves faster - and
suddenly the two are racing through the darkness.
21
EXT. ANOTHER LONDON
STREET - NIGHT:
At last the cab overtakes its quarry, slews
across the road in front of it and forces it to a halt. Phileas leaps out and
rips open the door, closely followed by Jules and Passepartout.
PHILEAS:
My
God!
The
couple inside turn towards him. The man is a sinister-looking roue, the
woman a thickly made up trollop: parodies of Rimini and Rebecca.
PHILEAS:
(cont'd)
He's
tricked us, the devil! TWO
carriages!
JULES:
Passepartout
- the detonator. If the real carriage is anywhere
near –
Passepartout
takes out a device that looks like a rugby football.
PASSEPARTOUT:
Please!
Everyone to contemplate the heavens most intently!
He
twists the top of the football - and a few streets away a firework shoots
up against the night sky.
22
DELETED
23
DELETED
24
EXT. RIVERSIDE
LANE – NIGHT:
Phileas
races along the river in the fog, past Rimini's stationery carriage, as a
fog-horn blares out in the river.
PHILEAS:
No!
All
he can see is a pair of riding lights heading swiftly away into the murk.
JULES:
Quick!
After her!
PHILEAS:
How?
She'll be halfway down the Thames before we have a boat.
JULES:
Where
can he be taking her?
A
horse gallops up and Sir Jonathon Chatsworth-dismounts.
SIR
JONATHON CHATSWORTH:
Don't
worry, Fogg: I've alerted the River Police - they won't let that boat
get out of the estuary.
PHILEAS:
Just
as the Secret Service wouldn't let my sister out of their sight after
she left the theatre.
SIR
JONATHON CHATSWORTH:
She
is a British agent, sir, and a very brave woman. She knows
the risks.
PHILEAS:
(Dangerously
casual)
Where
is he likely to take her, Sir Jonathon?
SIR JONATHON CHATSWORTH:
That is classified information, Fogg. We
don't want anyone interfering with -
Phileas
takes him by the throat.
PHILEAS:
You have exactly ten seconds, Sir
Jonathon, to give me the information I require, or I will throttle you.
SIR
JONATHON CHATSWORTH:
(Strangled
voice)
He
has several ... estates ... but he was rumoured to ... be planning to
visit ... Gradowice, in Carpathia.
Tight
on Passepartout: for some reason this information shocks him.
PHILEAS:
And
why did you set Rebecca onto him?
SIR
JONATHON CHATSWORTH:
As she told you, we're concerned about
the Balkans.
PHILEAS:
The
truth, Chatsworth, damn you!
SIR
JONATHON CHATSWORTH:
(Really
choking now)
We
think he had something to do with the death of Lord Pontefract ...
PHILEAS:
Pontefract?
Wasn't he the War Office man who was crushed to death in Whitehall?
SIR
JONATHON CHATSWORTH:
And
robbed of the deadliest explosive formula ever developed by a British
munitions plant.
JULES:
Arid
you think Rimini has it?
PHILEAS:
Does
Rebecca know of the Pontefract connection?
SIR
JONATHON CHATSWORTH:
There was
no need for her
to know, Fogg.
PHILEAS:
I
see. Are you interested in my honest opinion of your sending her on this
mission, Chatsworth?
SIR
JONATHON CHATSWORTH:
No,
not particularly.
PHILEAS:
Nevertheless
- let me express it to you. It is this.
And
with a single blow to the chin he knocks Sir Jonathon into the river and
strides away into the murk.
END
OF ACT ONE.
Continued on Page 2
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