BRAZIL Screenplay by Terry Gilliam, Tom Stoppard & Charles McKeown Final Draft Copyright (C) October 1983 EXT. CITYSCAPE - SUNSET A beautiful golden sun is setting. The sky is on fire. The CAMERA starts to move downwards. A large neon sign rises into shot. It rests on top of a skyscraper and fills the frame. The building is neither past nor future in design but a bit of both. Slowly we pan downwards revealing the city that spreads below... A glittering conglomeration of elevated transport tubes, smaller square buildings which are merely huge, with, here and there, the comparatively minuscule relics of previous ages of architecture, pavement level awnings suggesting restaurants and shops... Transparent tubes carry whizzing transport cages past us... an elevated highway carrying traffic composed primarily of large transport lorries passes through frame. As we descend, the sunlight is blocked out and street lights & neon signs take over as illumination. Eventually we reach the upper levels of a plush shopping precinct. INT. SHOPPING PRECINCT - NIGHT Xmas decorations are everywhere. PEOPLE are busy buying, ogling, discussing, choosing wisely from the goodies on display. SHOPPERS are going by laden with superbly packaged goods... the shop windows are full of elaborately boxed and be-ribboned who-knows-what. In one window is a bank of TV sets on the great majority of the screens is the face of Mr. Helpmann the Deputy Minister of Information. He is being interviewed. No-one bothers to listen to Helpmann. INTERVIEWER Deputy minister, what do you believe is behind this recent increase in terrorist bombings? HELPMANN Bad sportsmanship. A ruthless minority of people seems to have forgotten certain good old fashioned virtues. They just can't stand seeing the other fellow win. If these people would just play the game, instead of standing on the touch line heckling INTERVIEWER In fact, killing people HELPMANN In fact, killing people they'd get a lot more out of life. We PULL AWAY from the shop to concentrate on the shoppers. Helpmann's voice carries over the rest of the scene. INTERVIEWER Mr. Helpmann, what would you say to those critics who maintain that the Ministry Of Information has become too large and unwieldy... ? HELPMANN David... in a free society information is the name of the game. You can't win the game if you're a man short. Fur bedecked shoppers pass in front of what appears to be banks of snow but as we pan along with them the "snow" turns out to be fire-fighting foam. It oozes out of a shop front that is a charred twisted mass of metal frames. WORKMEN are busily sealing the opening with plywood sheets, SHOPPERS pay no attention to this. Xmas carols are being played by a Salvation Army style band calling themselves Consumers For Christ. Santa Claus's grotto is busy, all is well with the world. INTERVIEWER And the cost of it all, Deputy Minister? Seven percent of the gross national produce... HELPMANN I understand this concern on behalf of the tax-payers. People want value for money and a cost-effective service. INT. OFFICE - NIGHT CUT TO TV screen with Helpmann still talking. HELPMANN That is why we always insist on the principle of Information Retrieval Charges. These terrorists are not pulling their weight, and it's absolutely right and fair that those found guilty should pay for their periods of detention and the Information Retrieval Procedures used in their interrogation. PULL BACK to reveal a rather clinical office. The TV rests on a desk. A WHITE COATED TECHNICIAN is sorting out his in- tray. Several Christmas cards are amongst he paperwork. He comes upon a Christmassy package which he rips open, to discover a shiny, metal "executive toy". CUT TO: THE BEETLE Droning up near the ceiling. The Technician is disturbed by the buzz of the BEETLE as it whirrs around the fluorescent light. He rolls up some paper and forms and gets up to swat the insect. INT. OFFICE - NIGHT The Technician gets up and balances a chair on top of his desk. He climbs up onto it attempting to swat the Beetle still buzzing about the room just out of reach. Beneath him an automatic type-writing machine rattles away compiling a typed list of names under the heading "Information Retrieval, Subjects For Detention & Interview". The machine is being fed from a spool of paper which is being rhythmically chopped by an automatic guillotine which neatly leaves each name on a separate sheet, with the title above each name, each sheet following its predecessor into a holding basket. In CLOSEUP we see the names on the sheets of paper building up in the holding basket: "TONSTED, Simon... TOPPER, Martin F... TROLLOPE, Benjamin G... TURB, William K... TURNER, John D..." Every name begins with T. INTERVIEWER Do you think that the government is winning the battle against terrorists? HELPMANN On yes. Our morale is much higher than theirs, we're fielding all their strokes, running a lot of them out, and pretty consistently knocking them for six. I'd say they're nearly out of the game. The Technician is tottering on one leg on the chair on the desk as he strains to swat the Beetle. Swish, swash, oops, WHAP! Gottcha!! INTERVIEWER But the bombing campaign is now in its thirteenth year... HELPMANN Beginner's luck. The Beetle's career comes to a halt... squashed flat on the brilliantly clean ceiling... or has it? As the Technician clambers down from the rickety heights, the Beetle's carcass comes unstuck from the ceiling and drops silently into the typewriting machine which hiccoughs, hesitates and then types the letter "B" and hesitates and then continues so that the next name is Buttle, Archibald. The Technician fails to notice this and the machine continues smoothly "TUTWOOD, Thomas T... TUZCZLOW, Peter..." INTERVIEWER Thank you very much, Deputy Minister. HELPMANN Thank you, David... and a very merry Christmas to you all. EXT. HOUSING TOWERS - NIGHT ZOOMING past foreground outdoor Xmas decorations we TIGHTEN in on one of several massive residential tower blocks that loom over what appears to be a poorer part of the city INT. BUTTLE FLAT - NIGHT Helpmann and Interviewer are on the TV, the end credits rolling over them to the beat of a Mozart theme tune. PULLING BACK we reveal that the TV is in a conventional sitting room, conventionally decorated for Christmas; out the room is oddly encumbered by huge metal conduits that snake unpleasantly across and through the walls. Smaller conduits radiate from the main one connecting the various services that Central Services (the name emblazoned on the metal) supply to this household. A conventionally poor but proud family occupies the room. MRS. BUTTLE is reading Dickens' Christmas Carol to GIRL BUTTLE who is about six. BOY BUTTLE plays quietly with a toy machine gun and some action men dressed in security gear. MR. BUTTLE is putting the final touches to a neatly wrapped Christmas present which looks identical to the "executive toy" we have just seen in he Technician's office. Faintly from outside comes a burst of laughter. A tilt of the CAMERA indicates that the laughter is coming from the floor above. INT. JILL'S FLAT - NIGHT The flat is very bare and basic. The laughter is coming from a cheap portable television showing "Sgt. Bilko. From BILKO'S POV we look through an open door of a bathroom straight at a mirror propped up by the bath, to enable the person in the bath to watch the TV. The person in the bath is JILL LAYTON, washing the grime off herself while she watches Bilko in the mirror. From her POV in the mirror, the TV screen is suddenly obscured by part of the body of a MAN in uniform. JILL (scared) Who's there? INT. BUTTLE'S FLAT - NIGHT The Buttle Family as before. Mrs. Buttle is closing the book. MRS. BUTTLE There, that's enough for tonight. He won't come Xmas Eve if you don't get plenty of sleep. GIRL BUTTLE Father Christmas can't come if we haven't got a chimney. MRS. BUTTLE You'll see. The Girl exchanges goodnight kisses with her parents and leaves the room. GIRL BUTTLE How will he get down from upstairs? BOY BUTTLE It's a secret. We follow Girl Buttle out of the sitting room into... INT. HALLWAY AND CHILDREN'S BEDROOM - NIGHT Girl Buttle enters her bedroom. There is little or no light there, and she sees a bulky figure apparently lowering himself into the room from the direction of the ceiling. GIRL BUTTLE (unalarmed) You've come... As she moves, the light from the hallway shows us the figure of what looks like a commando on a night raid, slowly sliding down a pole in he middle of the room. The pole at the top end disappears through a hole in the ceiling. Things become immediately clearer INT. BUTTLE SITTING-ROOM - NIGHT Crash! It's a raid! Battle-dressed SECURITY TROOPS smash trough the door. Another one, swings from a rope, kicks in the window from the outside and enters that way. Most alarmingly of all, a shower of plaster comes down from the ceiling in which a fairly neat round hole appears and through the hole comes a fireman's pole down which slide TWO MORE SECURITY TROOPS. The whole thing is short, brutal and violent. Buttle is grabbed violently and stuffed into a baglike canvas device that covers him from head to waist. A metal clamp goes round his neck, a metal bar slides up the back of the bag. His hands are handcuffed to the metal bar. In seconds he has become a canvas parcel. Meanwhile, Girl Buttle has been carried out of her bedroom and dumped into the lap of her screaming mother. Boy Buttle has his toy machine gun knocked out of his hands by a Trooper who we see is identical in dress to the action men Boy Buttle has been playing with. He rushes to his mother as guns are viciously trained on them. Troops are kicking open the doors of other rooms and generally doing a good job. An OFFICIAL, wearing plain clothes, now enters from the front door and during the turmoil is reading aloud from an official document. It goes something like this: OFFICIAL I hereby inform you under powers entrusted to me under Section 47, Paragraph 7 of Council Order Number 438476, that Mr. Buttle, Archibald, residing at 412 North Tower, Shangri La Towers, has been invited to assist the Ministry of Information with certain enquiries, the nature of which may be ascertained on completion of application form BZ/ST/486/C fourteen days within this date, and that he is liable to certain obligations as specified in Council Order 173497, including financial restitutions which may or may not be incurred if Information Retrieval procedures beyond those incorporated in Article 7 subsections 8, 10 & 32 are required to elicit information leading to permanent arrest notification of which will he served with the time period of 5 working days as stipulated by law. In that instance the detainee will be debited without further notice through central banking procedures without prejudice until and unless at such a time when re-imbursement procedures may be instituted by you or third parties on completion of a re-imbursement form RB/CZ/907/X... ... and more of the same, most of which is part of the audible wall paper while the chaos reigns. As the front door slams behind the captive relative peace returns, broken by Mrs. Buttle's anguished sobbing. OFFICIAL (proffering a pen and a thick book of pink receipts to Mrs. Buttle) Sign here please. MRS. BUTTLE (dazed; she signs weakly) What? Where have you taken him? OFFICIAL (taking the book) Thank you. (he hands her another book, this one of blue receipts) (indicating place to sign) Same again please. Just there. (checking first book of receipts) Press harder his time. Good. MRS. BUTTLE (signing again) What is this all about? OFFICIAL (tearing out sheet from pink book) That's your receipt for your husband. (taking blue book from her) Thank you. And this is my receipt for your receipt. (he turns to leave along with troopers) Jill's shocked face appears looking down through the hole in the ceiling. The faces of the workmen BILL and CHARLIE also appear, above and behind her. JILL Mrs. Buttle, are you alright? The helmeted Security Troops in Buttle's flat drop to defensive positions and swing their machine guns up towards the hole in the ceiling. All three faces retreat. INT. JILL'S FLAT - NIGHT CHARLIE (starting back from the hole with Bill and Jill) Eh! Eh! Eh! We're Department of Works! Department of Works up here! Careful with those bloody things! Jill, Charlie and Bill are hustled aside by a SECURITY MAN who clears the fireman's pole from the hole. We can see the Troops in the room below leaving. A SECOND SECURITY MAN has untied a rope hanging out of the open window. He coils the rope up neatly and the two Security Men leave the flat. BILL (to Jill as they watch this highly efficient operation) Don't take any notice, love, it's their training makes them like animals. Best in the world, though. JILL Who are you? CHARLIE Don't you worry love, we'll have everything shipshape in a jiffy. BILL That's it. Nothing to worry about. CHARLIE It's Buttle downstairs who can worry, eh? JILL There must be some mistake... Mr. Buttle's harmless... BILL We don't make mistakes. So saying, he drops the manhole cover, which is faced with same material as the floor, over the hole in the floor. To his surprise it drops neatly through the floor into the flat below. CHARLIE Bloody typical, they've gone back to metric without telling us INT. BUTTLES' FLAT - NIGHT Mrs. Buttle stands stunned in the middle of her decimated flat. The kids wail. Slowly Mrs. Buttle collapses slumping to the floor with the receipt in her hand: we tighten into CLOSEUP of "Receipt". JILL (O.S.) Mrs. Buttle? Mrs. Buttle? INT. RECORD CLERK'S POOL - DAY We come in on a CLOSE-UP of a pink version of the RECEIPT being stamped and impaled on desk spike as we PULL OUT to reveal an infinite expanse of regularly arranged metal desks, each desk with a built-in TV console, and each (except one) occupied by a CLERK. Every desk is snowed under with pieces of paper much like the receipts seen in the previous scene. More pacers are delivered to each desk intermittently by way of pneumatic tube. OFFICE BOYS bustle about with even more paperwork. From the back of the room we get a view of the screens which show graphs, tabulations, figures... All of this activity is supervised from an elevated walkway by MR. KURTZMAN. Satisfied that all is well with his clerks he turns and walks towards his glass enclosed private office at the top of the room, his name lettered on the opaque glass door. Mr. Kurtzman goes through this door and as he closes it behind him, all activity in the Clerks pool ceases. each Clerk adjusts his TV screen with the flick of a switch, and all the screens change to something which looks very like "The Good, The Bad And The Ugly". INT. MR. KURTZMAN'S OFFICE - DAY Mr. Kurtzman also has a TV console. He sits behind his desk, reaches for his In-tray, and without looking at the console he turns his screen on. He looks through a number of files in his In-tray. He is surprised to hear a VOICE say, "Turn around real slow, amigo". Mr. Kurtzman turns around real slow, his expression relaxes, he thumps his TV console with a large fist, and the screen obediently flicks to a display of figures. He picks up a file which we see as marked "Buttle, Archibald". He opens the file and starts punching the keyboard of the console. The TV starts bleeping in an alarmed way. Mr. Kurtzman is puzzled. He punches more figures. The screen starts to flash "Error, error, error". Mr. Kurtzman sighs with frustration. He presses an intercom. MR. KURTZMAN (into intercom) Mr. Lowry, will you step in here please? He returns his attention, puzzled to the file. Nobody comes into the office. Mr. Kurtzman gets up and walks over to his door and opens it. Beyond the door the room full of CLERKS is obediently concentrating on the bleeping and whirring consoles. From Mr. Kurtzman's POV we see that in the centre of the room is an unoccupied desk. MR. KURTZMAN Does anyone know where Lowry is? Nobody knows. Mr. Kurtzman closes his door again. A moment later it seems to him, and to us, that he has heard the crash of six guns blazing away at each other. He re-opens the door. The only sound again. He goes back to his desk. He punches a few keys. The machine starts emitting even more alarming beeps, then horse whinnies, then "Admit you're whupped, you drygulching scum". Kurtzman explodes with anger, and presses the intercom again. MR. KURTZMAN (shouting into intercom) Where the hell is Sam Lowry?! EXT. SKY - DAY CUT TO brilliantly clear sky. From on high an odd bird- like figure swoops down on the CAMERA. As it comes closer we can see that it is, in fact, a MAN wearing strange wood and metal bird wings. In the bright sunshine their flapping movements create a brilliant, flashing effect. Along with the wings, SAM LOWRY (for this is he) wears an outfit that combines the best of Flash Gordon and a WWI fighter pilot. He sweeps past the CAMERA and then, banking, rises BACK INTO SHOT IN MEDIUM CLOSEUP. An ethereal voice can be heard calling "Sam... Sam... Sam". He hovers, looking beyond the CAMERA to something wonderful. CUT TO face of stunningly beautiful GIRL, she is the idealised twin of Jill Layton... Her long hair swirls across her face partially obscuring it and making her appear slightly mysterious. The CAMERA PULLS AWAY from her as soft billowing material sinuously undulates about her. It rises and falls like waves carried on the wind. As the CAMERA GLIDES BACK through this sea of gossamer we can see that the Girl is being held aloft by and in it. A vast landscape stretches below her. The sun frames her in the sky. She and Sam are engaged in a beautiful sensual aerial ballet. Romantic music fills the soundtrack. Sam swoops up and away. The Girl floats in the distance as Sam. rises in the foreground. She beckons to him. Sam begins to flap back towards her. But then the dreamy quality of this scene is interrupted by threatening rumble. Sam looks down. The ground far below him suddenly erupts as a massive, monolithic stone skyscraper bursts through the surface and soars upwards with a mighty rush. CUT TO THE GIRL IN LONG SHOT. The monolith rises up into FRAME partially cutting her off from view. Before Sam can do anything, another stone skyscraper breaks through the ground and rushes upwards. Then another and another. There is nothing Sam can do. The Girl is being cut of from him by these gigantic faceless structures. And then she is finally lost from view somewhere in the depths of this strange stone metropolis. Sam lies closer. The stone skyscrapers appear to be solid. No windows. No doors. Nothing whatsoever to interfere with their clean, harsh, rectilinear design. As he flies among these towering blocks he sees no sign of the Girl, only sheer walls rising high above him. Below him the walls plummet vertiginously into the darkish streets. No sound but the creaking flapping of his wings can he heard in this dead place. Coming round a corner he sees something in the distance. far below him a dark procession is wending its way through the narrow passages... away from him. CUT TO: LOW ANGLE SHOT Of the procession making its way past the CAMERA. Black- robed and cowled, the sinister figures look like heavily armed monks. These are the FORCES OF DARKNESS. Together they are straining at several heavy hawsers that rise in long arcs up to a huge metal cage floating above and behind the procession. Binding the cage are metal straps to which ropes are attached. Inside is the Girl still enveloped in gossamer which billows as if there were a breeze in constant attendance. CUT TO: SAM As he dives out of shot. CUT TO: THE FORCES OF DARKNESS Suddenly stopping in their tracks. They've seen something. CUT TO: THEIR POV There at the end of the passage between two stone skyscrapers stands Sam... barring the way. CUT TO: SWORDS BEING UNSHEATHED Cowls being thrown back. Underneath are rotting, broken dolls' faces. All the faces are the same except for the manner in which they have decayed. They smile slobbering, sickeningly. Suddenly the robed bodies change shape some rising up to become long, others expanding sideways to become bulbous, others shrinking. From the folds of cloth come evil weapons. The Forces are massed ready to charge. CUT TO LONG SHOT of Sam. He removes his arms from his wings and folds the wings behind him. He is ready. CUT TO: THE FORCES Nothing moves... except for the constant dribble from their cracked mouths. CUT BACK TO SAM Stillness. The tension is unbearable. Suddenly Sam unleashes a terrifying scream and charges the fearsome horde. Unarmed! CUT TO: THE FORCES Thundering down to Sam. Weapons flailing madly. Sam skillfully dodges the swordthrust of the leading field, and karate chops him senseless at the same time catching his sword as he falls. Spinning around he parries a spearthrust and skewers a third attacker. Slash! Hack! Stab! He lays waste to the Forces. Nothing can stop this boy. The pile of black-robed bodies grows with each swing of Sam's sword. Wham! Bam! Smash! Sam carves his way through the mob with nary a scratch. And then, suddenly, they are all dead, but a heap of blackness to commemorate Sam's prowess. The Girl is beaming as Sam makes his way toward the hawsers holding the cage. But then a noise behind him makes him turn. There, behind him the pile of black shapes begin to rise. The ropes become a mass of flapping black cloth. This evil churning cloud coalesces and lifts off the ground. The horrible flapping apparition emits a terrifying maniacal laughter as it flies away. Sam is about to rush after it to halt its escape but is stopped by the sound of a telephone ringing. He looks around confused. INT. SAM'S BEDROOM - MORNING TIGHT SHOT of telephone. The ringing continues. A hand grapples with the receiver. Sam is in bed in a darkened room. Sleepily he drags receiver to his ear. SAM Hello... What... what? Oh... Mr. Kurtzman!... You're up late. Oh, is it? There is an electronic box of tricks by his bed, incorporating an alarm. Sam thumps it. The alarm goes off. This sets of a series of other things... The window shutters roll up letting in the morning light. Both taps turn on in the bathroom... SAM (into phone) The electronics here are up the spout. Yours too, sir? Don't worry sir I'll be there. Sam puts down the phone and gets into his suit which is moving towards him. Noticing one of his film posters is loose he pushes the pin in firmly. In the kitchen a coffee maker starts up. In the sitting room the television switches on. Back in the bedroom a cupboard door springs open and a rack slides out with Sam's clothes neatly hanging ready to be put on. Sam comes out of the bathroom, having turned off the bath taps, and starts to get dressed. In the kitchen the coffee- maker has finished making s small pot of coffee. Sam pours a quick cup and is gone at the door. Throughout all this we have had a chance to get a glimpse of Sam's flat. It is functional, soulless and, though neat, has not been assembled with a loving hand. Most of the furnishings are built in. The walls are divided into two-foot square metal panels painted a non-committal colour. Certain of the wall panels have Central Services logos on them with the admonition "Do not obstruct or remove" below. Sam has livened his bedroom up with large and colorful film posters. The sitting room sports several framed pictures of wide beautiful vistas. INT. MINISTRY OF INFORMATION LOBBY - DAY This is a gigantic, vaguely 30's monumental-style building. The lobby is a vast impressive space containing reception desks, fountains, statues etc. Prominent are the security measures, which include automatic mobile cameras, video screens and groups of SECURITY MEN who search all who enter. Sam is finishing going through Security when he meets JACK who is on his way out of the building. JACK Sam! SAM Jack! JACK Long time no see! SAM Well, since you disappeared up the ladder of Information Retrieval... I don't expect to see you slumming in Records what's the problem? JACK Problem? No problem. Yes, everything's going fantastically well, wonderful, marvelous, great career prospects, Alison in great shape, kids fine, beautiful home, I'm on Security Level Five now, and Mr. Helpmann relies on me more and more, yes, couldn't be better, I feel terrifically motivated and job- rewarded SAM You sound worried. JACK Me? if I'm worried about anyone, it's you. What happened to you, Sam? You were the brightest of us. As they have been talking, a nearby bank of closed circuit TV screens has been displaying shots of people entering the lobby. As each one enters the CAMERA ZOOMS IN TIGHT on their faces for a frozen CLOSEUP. Jill has just entered and the CAMERA ZOOMS IN and freezes on her face. Sam happens to glance up at this moment. He is startled the over- exposed TV image is the face of the GIRL FROM THE DREAM. The face is only there a few seconds before being replaced by another picture. Sam looks about to see where the Girl is, but Jill, in overalls, has her back to him as she stands in the queue for the Information desk and so there is no- one even vaguely reminiscent of the Dream Girl. Sam decides he must have imagined it. Over this Jack has been talking. JACK What's the matter? SAM Sorry. Nothing. (snapping out of it) See you I'm going to be late. JACK (looking at his watch) You are late. SAM Even later. JACK Sam, your life is going wrong let your friends tell you Records is a dead end department, no Security Level worth a damn, it's impossible to get noticed SAM Yes, I know, fantastic, marvellous, wonderful remember me to Alison and the er.. Twins. JACK Triplets. SAM Really? God, how time flies! As Sam heads off to the lift, he passes a group of MEN standing around a temporary TV monitor. Several of them are dressed in white lab coats. They are being explained the benefits of a new surveillance system by a salesman type. His assistant is operating the controls. On the monitor we can see Jill standing in the queue for the Information desk. The CAMERA appears to he tracking in on her. CUT TO: JILL At top of queue with several forms in her hand. A strange prototype radio controlled camera on a wheeled base is whirring and clicking as it approaches her. Throughout the next sequence it pokes around Jill in an annoying manner thrusting itself at her face, trying to see what is written on the forms, peering over her shoulder. Jill hands a form to the Information Porter. JILL I want to report a wrongful arrest. PORTER (looking at form) You want Information Adjustments. Different department. JILL (exasperated but controlled) I've been to Information Adjustments. They sent me here. They told me you had a form I had to fill in. PORTER Have you got an Arrest Receipt? JILL Yes. PORTER Is it stamped? JILL (producing Buttle receipt) Stamped? PORTER (examining receipt) No, there's no stamp on it. You see! I can't give you the form until it's stamped. JILL Where do I get it stamped? PORTER Information Adjustments. The radio-controlled camera noses right up to Jill's face as she turns. She swats the annoying thing with her stack of forms as she storms off. The camera overbalances and crashes into the desk sparking and spluttering. CUTTING BACK TO THE GROUP AROUND THE MONITOR We see a deeply hurt SALESMAN and several sceptical white- coated TECHNICIANS. INT. MR. KURTZMAN'S OFFICE - DAY Sam is busily working at the console, unraveling a problem while Kurtzman looks on anxiously and ineffectually. KURTZMAN Perhaps the machine's on the blink! It keeps picking up old films. That can't he right, can it? SAM It's not the machine. There's a mismatch on the personnel code numbers... Ah there we go! That's a B58/732 when it should be a T47/215... Tuttle... he should have £31.06, debited against his account for electrical procedures, not Buttle. KURTZMAN Oh my God, a mistake! SAM It's not our mistake! KURTZMAN (eagerly) Isn't it? Whose is it? SAM Information Retrieval. KURTZMAN Oh, good! SAM Expediting has put in for electrical procedures in respect of Buttle, Archibald, shoe repair operative, but Security has invoiced Admin for Tuttle, Archibald, heating engineer. Sam is still punching keys. KURTZMAN What a relief! I don't know what I'd do if you ever got promoted. SAM Don't worry. KURTZMAN But if they did promote you SAM I've told you before. I'd turn it down. KURTZMAN Would you really, Sam? SAM Really. KURTZMAN (churned up) You've been promoted. Kurtzman hands Sam a sheet of printed paper. Sam takes the paper, not pleased, and glances at it. CLOSE-UP OF PAPER: "LOWRY, S. (RECORDS. MIN OF INF.) TRANSFER TO INFORMATION RETRIEVAL (Expediting, Security Level 3)." KURTZMAN It's your mother isn't it? Pulling strings again. SAM (explodes) What a BITCH! INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE DAY CUT TO AN OLD WOMAN'S FACE Reflected in triplicate in a three-panelled mirror. A pair of MAN's hands have a grip on her flabby cheeks, pulling them out several inches on either side of her face. When I say several inches that's just what I mean. Not only are her jowls being stretched like silly putty but they are also being wrapped around to the back of her neck to demonstrate how tight and smooth her face can be made by DOCTOR who is prattling on over this freak show. DOCTOR Now, when you come in tomorrow, Mrs. Lowry, we'll make a little tuck here... and there... CUT TO: WIDE SHOT OF DOCTOR'S SURGERY It looks a bit like a cross between an operating theatre and a boudoir. The cold steel, glass and plastic surfaces are badly disguised with pastel coloured chintz and satin. At the dressing table sits the old woman, SAM'S MOTHER. Behind her stands the Doctor. He is much like his surgery. He has tailored his surgical garments like a gigolo's dressing gown. It seems that he has done a bit of tuck- taking on himself. There is a certain plastic smoothness to his skin, but all in all he has been fairly successful. Sam is pacing around, raving. SAM (angrily) I just wish you would stop interfering, mother! I don't want promotion. I'm happy where I am. MOTHER No you're not. Jack Lint is a lesson to you he never had your brains but he's got the ambition. You haven't got the ambition but luckily you've got me. And Mr. Helpmann. Mr. Helpmann was very close DOCTOR Now, Mrs. Lowry, don't get upset (so Sam) Please wait in reception, Mr. Lowry, you're giving her wrinkles. MOTHER You see! Sam groans. DOCTOR Now Mrs. Lowry, try to relax. You must trust me. I'll make you twenty years younger... SAM Huh! DOCTOR (giving Sam a dirty look) ... twenty-five if we just drain the excess fluid from the pouches... MOTHER Dr. Jaffe, you're a genius. Would you like to be Surgeon General? Four Star. I know everybody. DOCTOR Well they won't know you when I've finished with you. The Doctor reaches into his smock pocket for a coloured marker. He starts colouring up her face with strokes of different coloured markers. DOCTOR First we must eliminate the excess derma... so!... Then the flaccid tissues under the eyes... And now the forehead... Zip! I lift the wrinkles and worry lines right up into the wi into the hairline, comme ca... Sam looks disgusted. DOCTOR And now the template... There... there... there... Now a bit of sticky... There we go! (triumphantly) Already she is twice as beautiful as she was before voila! The Doctor moves his body aside, revealing Mrs. Lowry's face, covered with coloured lines and wrapped in cellophane held in shape by cellotape. Sam stares at her. SAM My God, it works. INT. POSH RESTAURANT (ENTRANCE) - DAY The conversation between Sam and his Mother takes place while they are going through the sort of security checks familiar at airports. They are, however, just outside the velvet rope of the posh restaurant. MOTHER (in full flow) Mr. Helpmann was very close to your poor father. He was very close to me. Still is. He'll take you under his wing at Information Retrieval. You'll like it when you get there. SAM You're not listening, mother. A warning buzzer goes off as Mother's handbag goes thru security check. It turns out to have been activated by a gaily wrapped package. A SECURITY GUARD relieves her of it and unwraps the package which contains the same kind of executive toy which we have seen twice before. MOTHER It's a present for my son. She takes the toy back and hands it to Sam. MOTHER I hope you like it. It's very exclusive. SAM What is it? MOTHER It's something for executives. At this point the MAITRE'D arrives on the scene. MAITRE'D Madam Lowry, how exquisite to see you again. Merry Christmas. He pulls aside he velvet rope with a grand flourish. He looks disdainfully at Sam's unfashionable clerk's suite MOTHER Hello, Spiro. Merry Christmas. SPIRO (blocking Sam's way) I'm sorry but... MOTHER You remember Samuel, my son. SPIRO (suddenly unctious) Oh, but of course... MOTHER We're meeting Mrs. Terrain. SAM Are we? SPIRO Ah yes, the lady is waiting. Spiro leads the way. Sam and his Mother follow, across the restaurant which is much like the Palm Court at the Plaza New York. Trellises, marble columns, antique mirroring, potted palms combine to impress us with their sophistication and taste. A string quartet can just be made out against the far wall. Except for the unfortunate intrusion of metal tubing and ducting brutally thrusting across areas of the ceiling, occasionally penetrating right through the middle of a particularly valuable- looking mirror, the general effect is one of confident wealth and breeding. Sam, Mother and Maitre'd make their way across the room. The waltzing strains of the string quartet accompanying them. CUT TO: GROUP OF TABLES WITH DINERS At one of them sits a wealthy-looking OLDER WOMAN with a rather plain-looking DAUGHTER in her 20s. The Older Woman is easily distinguished from the other clientele by a large bandage that covers a goodish part of her head. The two of them (the Mother and Daughter, not the Mother and bandage) are perusing the menus. Sam notes the Daughter, unpleased. SAM Mother, I thought we were going to be able to talk... Oh God, she's got what's he name with her. Sam and his Mother arrive at the table. MRS. TERRAIN Ida! Sam! MOTHER Alma, how are you? You're looking wonderful! Hello, Shirley. SHIRLEY (shy to Sam) Salt? MRS. TERRAIN (to Shirley) Not yet. (to Sam and Mother) Happy Christmas, Sam. She hands Sam a gaily wrapped package which obviously contains the same executive toy. MOTHER Sorry we're late. Shall we order? Get it out of the way. What are you going to have Alma? She starts to hunt through the huge menu the Maitre'd has just handed her with full colour photos of the splendid dishes available. MRS. TERRAIN I can't make up my mind whether to have a number one or a number two. What do you recommend, Spiro? SPIRO (conspiratorially) Between you and me, Madam, today the number two. MRS. TERRAIN Thank you, Spiro. Shirley, what are you going to have? SHIRLEY (panics quietly) SPIRO (conspiratorially) Between you and me, Mademoiselle, today the number one. Madam Lowry? MOTHER Oh, to hell with the diet, a number eight, please. SPIRO A most perceptive choice, Madam, if I may say so. (to Sam) Monsieur? SAM (brusquely) A steak, please. Rare. (to his mother) Mother, I need to... SPIRO (piqued) Monsieur. Quel numero. SAM (handing back menu) I don't know which numero. SPIRO (writing on pad) Numero, trois. Everyone is a bit embarrassed here. Mother gives Sam a withering look. Spiro stalks away. MOTHER (trying to restart things) Alma, you wicked thing... (indicating bandages) you've started your treatment. MRS. TERRAIN You noticed. (enthusiastically) I must tell you all about it. SAM (to his mother) Mother, will you listen to At this moment the food arrives. Spiro elaborately lifts off the silver covers and with a flourish distributes the plates of food. Each order looks identical a big splodge of brown lumpy stuff. The only differences between the lumps are the Identifying photographs on sticks stuck in each. The beautiful colour photos match the photos which were on the menus. SPIRO (showing off that he remembers who's ordered what) Numero huit, braised veal in wine sauce. (he sets it in front of Sam's Mother) MRS. TERRAIN It's too exciting. I've left Dr Jaffe and gone to Dr. Chapman. SPIRO Numero deux, duck a l'orange. (he sets it in front of Mrs. Terrain) MOTHER The acid man? MRS. TERRAIN Really, Ida, just because his techniques are revolutionary... I don't go around calling Dr. Jaffe the knife man. SPIRO Numero une, crevettes à la mayonaaise. (he sets it in front of Shirley) MOTHER I'm sorry Alma, I didn't mean to sound so... MRS. TERRAIN That's all right Ida... it's just that he's such an artist. To him, cutting is so crude... so primitive. SPIRO Numero trois, steak. (he sets this in front of Sam) Monsieur, Mesdames, Bon appetit. ALL BUT SAM Merci. MRS. TERRAIN Acid on the other hand, can be used for such wonderfully subtle shading, such delicate nuances just like a Rembrant etching... and it's so much quicker. Why, if it weren't for a teensy-weensy complication the doctor said it could have happened to anyone I would have had these bandages off yesterday. SHIRLEY (to Sam, after attracting her mother's attention and receiving a nod) Salt? They are just about to dip into their respective splodges when there is a terrific explosion a huge hole is blasted out of the wall to the kitchen. Chaos erupts around the carnage as WAITERS try putting out the flames with extinguishers. PEOPLE, bloody and dying, are moaning. The DINERS not actually affected by the blast look up for a moment and then, with a few raised eyebrows, go back to their meals. IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE EXPLOSION MOTHER What were we saying? SAM (picking bomb debris out of his brown lump) This isn't rare! MOTHER By the way, I saw a wonderful idea for Christmas presents at the chemists. Gift tokens. Medical gift tokens. MRS. TERRAIN Oh, that sounds marvellous. MOTHER Yes, they're good at any doctor's and at many of the major hospitals and they're accepted for gynecological complications including Caesarian section. Sam, in the act of taking in another forkful of his unappetising meal, drops his form in disgust SAM Look please I'm sorry but honestly, mother, this is MOTHER. I quite agree! It's impossible! Mother raises her arm to gain the attention of the Maitre'd who is frantically trying to deal with the emergency. The activity in the background has increased throughout the conversation. The fire-brigade has arrived with sirens blaring. Ministry TROOPS have charged in and are arresting WAITERS. Stretchers have been bought in for the injured and these are being rushed past our little group's table. The Maitre'd comes to the table, his DJ now blood-spattered. MAITRE'D I am sorry, Madam... I don't know what to say... this very rarely happens to us I'll do what I can straight away He hurries away. MRS. TERRAIN Really, Sam when are you going to do something about these terrorists? SAM What? Now? It's my lunch hour. MOTHER Actually, Alma, that's one of the little things I was dying to tell you... Sam's been promoted to Information Retrieval. SAM (angry and surprised) Mother! MRS. TERRAIN Oh that's wonderful! Congratulations Sam... SHIRLEY You can show those fucking murderous bastards a thing or two. MRS. TERRAIN (shocked and embarrassed) Shirley! SAM Stop this! (leaping to his feet) I'm not being promoted. I'm not going to Information Retrieval! (he scrumples promotion notification which he has been holding and throws it on the floor) If I want you to stick your oar in, mother, I'll tell you where to stick it! Everybody is shocked. He recovers his composure slightly. Embarrassed, he bends, and picks up the ball of paper which he starts smoothing back into Its flat state. SHIRLEY (back to her uncertain form) Pepper...? SAM Look I've got to get back As Sam goes, Maitre'd reappears with a group of WAITERS those remaining unarrested whom he has organised to gut up a folding screen around the table. This cuts of the sight if not the noise of the victims of the explosion. MOTHER Sam... you haven't had dessert. SAM I'm sorry. I don' t want dessert. I don't want promotion. I don't want anything. MOTHER Don't be childish, Samuel. Of course you want something. You must have hopes, wishes, dreams. Their voices have been rising towards a shout in order to rise above the volume of the growing chaos around them. SAM (shouts loud) NO, NOTHING. NOT EVEN DREAMS! EXT. BRILLIANT SKY - DAY Sam as his dream-self rises INTO SHOT, his wings straining as he tows the floating cage imprisoning the girl. They are rising up and away from the monolithic stone skyscrapers that stretch away below them. SAM I'm taking you to a safe place. A place where they will never be able to get at us... ever. An eyeball is scanning the sky. PULLING BACK we see it is but one of thousands, tightly packed side by side forming a landscape that extends as far as we can see. As Sam and the girl in her cage come into view it becomes apparent just how big these eyeballs are they are gigantic about 10 feet in diameter. All of them follow Sam as he comes to rest on a platform high atop a column that rises from the centre of this bizarre place. SAM There's no way they can approach us without being seen. You're safe here. He anchors the hawser holding the cage and takes off his wings. Just as he starts climbing up to the cage a terrific cracking noise is heard. Sam freezes. A dead straight crack is bisecting the sky from somewhere beyond the horizon running right up the sky and over the camera. Sam follows it as it continues over the Girl and down to the opposite horizon. Another crackling noise is heard. Another crack appears. Then another. And another. All these cracks are emanating from a vanishing point over the horizon. Soon the sky is covered with these cracks from horizon to foreground. Then cracks begin appearing at right angles to them. Very quickly the sky is covered with a mammoth grid. Once it is complete, another noise is heard. Something like massive blocks of stone sliding against one another. One of the squares formed by the grid pattern begins to slide upwards as if being pulled out from the back side of the sky. A square hole is left in its place. We can see the sides of the hole as it extends upwards into blackness. As soon as this first block of sky is withdrawn, another begins to slide up and away. Sam is frozen in position as this terrifying spectacle goes on above him. The eyeballs are madly looking this way and that. The grinding noises are deafening as block after block of sky is removed. With each successive loss the light decreases. The Girl is crying out for Sam to save her. Frantically Sam tries to haul the cage down to the platform but it's too late. Where the sky was is now pitch black. Only one block of sky remains. Slowly that final bit of sky is pulled up and out of shot. Total blackness. A maniacal laughter can be heard. A beam of light is switched on. Sam has a searchlight in his hand and is searching the darkness. The laughter continues. Suddenly the beam catches something black and moving. it's the same black, flapping cloth that appeared at the end of the previous dream. The horrible flapping thing comes thundering down on Sam. He is engulfed in the black awfulness. INT. SAM'S BEDROOM - NIGHT Sam is in bed, grappling with the bedclothes. He is dripping with sweat and screaming. The room is oppressively hot. He gets up and looks at the thermostat. It reads 99. He fumbles with it, but to no avail. It's stuck. CUT TO: SAM Coming into the sitting room. He rushes over to the window and tries to open it. But it wasn't designed to be opened. Screws hold it firmly shut. Sam heads to the kitchen He finds a knife which he uses to unscrew the window. He swings the window open and takes a deep breath. GAG! COUGH! HACK! A terrible greeny-brown smog pours in through the window. Desperately Sam shuts the window and madly tightens up the screws. Swinging a newspaper, he tries clearing a path through the clouded atmosphere. He makes it to the front door and staggers out into the hall gasping for air. CUT TO telephone being lifted from its cradle. Pull back as Sam with opened telephone directory in front of him dials. He is seated in his kitchen. In front of his open refrigerator. The phone rings at the other end. SAM (into phone) Hello Central Services I'm at 579B Block l9, Northwestern Section D that's exit 1 on Green Pastures Highway at the Orange Blossom Flyover and I've got trouble with the air- conditioning PHONE VOICE Thank you or calling Central Services. am sorry, due to temporary staff shortage, Central Services cannot take service calls centrally between 2300 and 0900 hours have a nice day this has not been a recording, incident- SAM This is an emergency! PHONE VOICE Thank you for calling Central Services. I am sorry, due SAM Yes, but. I've got to have a heating engineer PHONE VOICE Thank you for calling Cen.. Sam slams the phone down. CUT TO: SAM Sitting in front of the refrigerator. The door is open and he has wedged a chair into the gap in a desperate bid to keep cool. He is nodding off. As his head slumps against one of the shelves, a jar of pickled onions falls to the floor. The onions scattering everywhere. EXT. DARKNESS - NIGHT The milky white spheres tumble everywhere. But they are not onions, they are the giant eyeballs burtling through space. Sam is clinging desperately to one. He grabs the pupil for a better handhold and it opens like a hatch cover. Sam manages to pull himself inside. Once out of the intergalactic maelstrom, Sam turns to survey the cramped and dark space inside the eyeball. It seems to be bisected by a dividing wall, from which a thin sliver of light is escaping. Pushing on the wall in the area of the slit, Sam is able to move a section. More light shaftes into the tiny space from around the edges of what appears to be a small hatch. Sam scrunches down and really puts his shoulder to the hatch. with a metallic rasp it gives way and Sam crashes through. CUT TO: OTHER SIDE OF OPENING As Sam topples through. He catches himself in the nick of time as the camera zooms back revealing his close call with disaster. He is high on a vast wall of what looks like filing cabinets. The hatch he came through was the front of one of the millions of files-drawers composing this wall. As he scrambles back into the opening we can see that the wall drops away for hundreds of feet, disappear into a steaming mist. Other walls of files enclose this vast space. From where Sam is it looks like the view from the 50th storey of the Time Life building in NYC. These millions of files are being tended by MEN arising themselves up and down, as well as sideways, on modern skyscraper window-cleaners' platforms. The attendants are seen putting PEOPLE in different period costumes into drawers. Sam's attention is distracted by a sound overhead. Looking up he sees a window washer platform being lowered in his direction. Leaning over the side is a JOLLY GENT, who happens to look like Mr. Helpmann (as seen on TV). GENT Ah ha... there you are, Sam. SAM What? How do you know my name? GENT We know everything here. This is the Storeroom of Knowledge. SAM (climbing onto the platform) Then perhaps you can help me. I've lost someone who... GENT (interrupting) We know that too. You've come to the right place. The platform carries them along the files. GENT Oh, yes. We've got everything here. Every bit of knowledge, wisdom, learning... every experience, every thought neatly filed away. SAM (incredulous) What? You mean you've got... GENT Well not exactly. But, if you help us we'll help you. The Forces Of Darkness have won the day... but, tomorrow is another one SAM What do I have to do. GENT You must save the day. The platform has stopped. The Gent pulls out a drawer. He reaches inside. The Gent pulls out a wonderful sword and helmet. GENT This is the Sword Of Truth... and this the Helmet Of Justice. As Sam begins to strap on the weapon the Gent brings out a cape. GENT And this completes the outfit. He puts the cape around Sam's shoulders and helps him step into the drawer. A moment's hesitation and then Sam outs the helmet on and lies down in the drawer. It fits just like a coffin.. As he lies back the Gent pushes the drawer in. GENT It won't be pleasant but, trust me. As the drawer is pushed in Sam suffers a sudden bout of claustrophobia. Looking up at the diminishing opening he is surprised to see not the face of the Jolly Gent but a terrifying SAMURAI WARRIOR'S MASKED HELMET. Sam struggles to prevent the drawer being closed. INT. SAM'S FLAT - NIGHT Sam is grabbing the walls of the fridge. Water from the defrosted freezer compartment drips on his head. He wakes up. Before he can really take in where he is the phone rings. He staggers over to it. SAM Hello... hello... PHONE VOICE Hello. Mr. Lowry? SAM Who's that? (pause) A sound at the kitchen door turns Sam's head and ours just in time to half see a quick blurred movement, but then a rapid voice in his ear-piece brings his head back. PHONE VOICE Put the phone down and your hands up. SAM (into the phone) What? Who is this? Sam realises that the voice is also in the room behind him. He turns round and sees TUTTLE. Tuttle is middle-aged, a short tough figure dressed in dark clothes suggesting a cross between a cat burglar and a night-raid commando. In one hand he holds a gun pointed at Sam. The other hand is holding a telephone receiver which Tuttle is in the act of placing in the large capacious bag at his feet. Sam puts down his phone, and his hands up. TUTTLE Nice and easy now. Keep your hands where I can see them. SAM What is this? (indignantly) Who the hell are you? Tuttle, keeping the gun on Sam, goes to different doors, leaning backwards into bedroom, bathroom and closet. Tuttle suddenly relaxes and pockets his gun. TUTTLE Harry Tuttle. Heating engineer. At your service. SAM Tuttle! Are you from Central Services? TUTTLE Ha!! SAM But... I called Central Services. TUTTLE They're a bit overworked these days. Luckily I intercepted your call. SAM What? By now, both are pouring with sweat. Tuttle heads across the room and swiftly begins to undo a wall panel. SAM Wait a minute, what was that business with the gun? Tuttle hands Sam the panel and plunges his arm into the space behind it. TUTTLE A little precaution, sir. I've had traps set for me before now. There are people in Central Services who'd love to get their hands on Harry Tuttle. SAM Are you saying this is illegal? By now Tuttle has managed to pull out some sections of flexible ducting from the welter of mechanical offal behind the removed panel. It is all very complicated and greasy and it looks as though there is a lot more where that came from. Tuttle is amazingly neat and deft as he works. A real pro. As he works he hums a wee tune... yes... "BRAZIL"!! TUTTLE Well, yes... and no. Officially, only Central Service operatives are supposed to touch this stuff... Could you hold these. (he hands Sam a bunch of wires that he has detached) ... but, with all the new rules and regulations... unncgh, c'mon, c'mon... they can't get decent staff any more... so... they tend to turn a blind eye... as long as I'm careful. (he hands Sam a torch) ... Mind you, if ever they could prove I'd been working on their equipment... well, that's a different matter... up a bit with the torch, sir. SAM Sorry. wouldn't it be easier just to work for Central Services? TUTTLE Couldn't stand the pa.. Ah, we're getting warm SAM The pace? TUTTLE The paperwork, couldn't stand the paperwork. (indicating the torch) Over to the left please, if you don't mind sir. Hold it there. Yes, there's more bits of paper in Central Services than bits of pipe read this, fill in that, hand in the other listen, this old system of yours could be on fire and I couldn't even turn on the kitchen tap without filling in a 27B/6... Bloody paperwork. SAM (mildly) Well I suppose one has to expect a certain amount TUTTLE Why? I came into this game for adventure go anywhere, travel light, get in, get out, wherever there's trouble, a man alone. Now they've got the whole country sectioned of and you can't move without a form. I'm the last of a breed. Ah ha! Found it! (he holds up a small charred gadget) There's your problem. SAM Can you fix it? TUTTLE No. But I can bypass it with one of these. He pulls another gadget from his bag. SAM Fine. The door bell. Tuttle grabs for his gun. TUTTLE Are you expecting anyone? SAM No. Wait here. He goes out closing the immediate door and goes to the front door which he opens. He is confronted by two officious little men in boiler suits who are standing outside his door. Their names are SPOOR and DOWSER. Dowser is Spoor's echo. SAM Yes? SPOOR Central Services. DOWSER ... ervices. SAM Uh what? I... SPOOR You telephone, sir. DOWSER ... elephoned sir. SPOOR Trouble with your air-conditioning. DOWSER ... ditioning. SAM (gulps) No, not at all. I mean, it's all right. It's fixed. SPOOR Fixed? DOWSER Fixed? They don't like that. SAM I mean it fixed itself. SPOOR Fixed itself. DOWSER ... ixed itself. SPOOR Machines don't fix themselves. DOWSER ... fix themselves. SPOOR He's tampered with it, Dowser. DOWSER ... ampered. with it, Spoor. SAM Look, I'm sorry about your wasted journey. Sam tries to close the door but Spoor prevents this. SPOOR (to Dowser) I think we'd better have a look. DOWSER ... have a look. SAM No you can't. He is pushed aside. Spoor followed by Dowser, heads for the door behind which is Mr. Tuttle. Sam is paralysed. Spoor approaches the door as if it is dangerous. He turns the handle quietly and gives the door a little nudge. The door begins to swing slowly open. Sam suddenly finds inspiration. SAM Just a minute! Spoor and Dowser turn round as the door continues to swing open. When the door is open, behind their backs Tuttle is seen holding his pistol in a two-handed grip, his knees slightly bent. Tuttle freezes like that, pointing his pistol through the open door. SAM Have you got a 27B/6? Dowser looks very angry. Veins stand out on his forehead and he goes into what looks like some sort of fit. Spoor knocks him to the ground. SPOOR (to Sam) Now look what you've done to him. SAM Have you got one or haven't you? SPOOR Not... as such... Dowser moans and begins to get back on his feet. SPOOR But we can get one. (worried about Dowser) It's all right, Terry, it's all right, everything's all right. SAM (ushering them to the door) I'm sorry, but I'm a bit of a stickler for paper work. Where would we be if we didn't follow the correct procedures? SPOOR We'll be back. DOWSER ... Be back. SAM (closing the door on them) Thank you. Sam turns back to Tuttle who is coming forward pocketing his gun. TUTTLE Thanks, Lowry, you're a good man in a tight corner. Tuttle returns to work, fitting in the new by-pass gadget and tightening the nuts, and happily humming "BRAZIL". SAM Listen... um... I don't want to get involved in any of this. But I work at the Ministry of Information, and I happen to know that Information Retrieval have been looking for an Archibald Tuttle, Heating Engineer. You wouldn't by any chance be.. TUTTLE (pleased) My friends call me Harry. Information Retrieval, eh? Interesting! SAM What do they want you or? TUTTLE Time to go. Tuttle finishes the job and throws his tools into the bag. SAM Thank you very much. How much will it...? TUTTLE On the house. You did me a favor. Check the corridor. Sam goes to the front door, opens it and looks out. SAM All clear. Tuttle slips out and heads off down the balcony corridor. SAM Hey that's a dead end. But Tuttle merely undoes a pre-arranged rope and swings Tarzan-like off the end of the balcony and across a multi- story void to a neighboring block. Sam is amazed not to say stunned. INT. RECORDS POOL - DAY Sam is at his desk among all the desks. Documents are being delivered right, left and centre through the vacuum tubes. All the CLERKS are busy. The screens are devoted to their proper use. All this activity is explained by the fact the Mr. Kurtzman's door is wide open. At the next desk is another Clerk much like Sam, his Neighbour. NEIGHBOUR I think Kurtzman getting is suspicious. SAM What have we got on today? NEIGHBOUR Casablanca. Kurtzman appears in his doorway. KURTZMAN (calls out) Mr. Lowry! Would you step in here a moment please. We go with Kurtzman as he closes the office door behind him, we are now in... INT. KURTZMAN'S OFFICE - DAY Kurtzman is pacing anxiously. Sam walks into the office. During the brief opening and closing of the door we just manage to hear the piano player in "Casablanca" singing, "... a kiss is just a kiss..." Kurtzman is too worried to notice. He is holding a piece of paper gingerly as if it were contagious. He waves it frantically as Sam enters. KURTZMAN (hysterically) Thank God you're here! We're in terrible trouble! Look at this! Look at this! He thrusts the piece of paper at Sam. SAM (taking the paper) A cheque. KURTZMAN The refund for Tuttle! SAM (startled) Tuttle? KURTZMAN I mean, Buttle! It's been confusion from the word go! He's been wrongly charged for Electromemorytherapy and someone somewhere is trying to make us carry the can! SAM I've never seen a Ministry cheque before. KURTZMAN We've got to get rid of it! There's been a balls-up somewhere, and when the music stops they'll jump on whoever's holding the cheque! SAM Send it to somebody else. Send it to Buttle. It's his cheque. KURTZMAN I've tried that! Population Census have got him down as dormanted, the Central Collective Storehouse computer has got him down as deleted, and the Information Retrieval have got him down as inoperative... Security has him down as excised., Admin have him down as completed SAM Hang on. Sam sits down at the console and punches keys. He does this very efficiently, muttering to himself and generally demonstrating an expertise which obviously leaves Kurtzman way out of his depth, until SAM He is dead. KURTZMAN Dead! Oh no! That's terrible! We'll never get rid of the damned thing! What are we going to do? SAM Try next of kin. KURTZMAN (a revelation) Next of kin! Sam punches more keys. SAM There we go. Mrs. Veronica Buttle. What's the number on the cheque? KURTZMAN (reading it) 27156789/074328/K. Sam has been efficiently punching this in. SAM Into memory. Now... Central Banking... Buttle, Veronica... Deposit Sam rips off a print out, rapidly stuffs it and the cheque into a cannister and then into a vacuum tube. A job well done. KURTZMAN (fervently) Please don't come back! Please don't come back! Unfortunately Kurtzman's prayers are not answered and the vacuum tube returns almost immediately. Sam opens it up. From the computer screen comes a voice "Play it again, Sam" Sam and Kurtzman look at the screen. We get a quick glimpse of Humphrey Bogart before the screen reverts to numbers. SAM Problem. She doesn't have a bank account. KURTZMAN (hysterically) Well, that's it! I may as well go and hang myself! This sort of thing couldn't have happened before the stupid seventh tier reorganization! That was Simmons doing! And he and Jeffries always sit together at lunch! The bastards! (he thumps his hand hard on the desk top) Ow! (he picks up the offending cheque) Perhaps we can lose it... behind the filing cabinet... or destroy it... burn it... eat it... Under this tirade Sam has begun to hum "BRAZIL" not entirely sure what inspired him. SAM You'd never get away with it. Besides, you can't do that to somebody's refund. It's Christmas. There is one more option. KURTZMAN (depressed, not really believing it) What? SAM Drive out to Mrs. Buttle, give her the cheque, tell her to sign her name on the back, cash it at the corner sweet shop. Kurtzman is dumbfounded by the audacity of this. KURTZMAN That's brilliant! Sam takes over. In no time at all he has battered away at the keyboard, slammed a cannister into a vacuum tube and received almost immediately a cannister containing a sheaf of different coloured papers. SAM I'll do it for you. Authorise the cheque. What's the address? Kurtzman scribbles it down for him. KURTZMAN Here. What do I do next? SAM Call the motor pool and authorise personal transport. KURTZMAN Of course, of course. Leave it to me. How do I authorize a cheque? SAM (separating the and blue sheets) Here we are. Pink and blue receipts. All you've got to do is sign these and the back of the cheque. Kurtzman takes out his pen and tries to sign the papers but his hand is giving him trouble. KURTZMAN (exhausted after all the emotion) Oh God! I think I've broken a bone. What a pathetic thing I am. SAM (taking the pen from him) Here. Sam signs the cheque and receipts. A big CLOSEUP shows that he is scribbling Kurtzman's signature. Sam pockets the papers and the pen. SAM That's it. KURTZMAN You are good to me Sam. SAM (leaving) Don't mention it. See you later. EXT. MOTORWAY TUNNEL - DAY CUT TO Sam at the wheel of the little car, beetling along in a seemingly endless, tube-like tunnel, menaced fore and aft by huge buses, lorries and other carriers which literally lift the little three-wheeler from the road surface and shake it by the scruff of its tiny neck. CUT TO Sam in interior of the Messerschmidt. He is singing along to an obscure arrangement of "BRAZIL". RADIO (plays music for a moment which then fades out) ... We interrupt this programme to bring you news of a terrorist bombing at the... (Sam switches off) EXT. MOTORWAY TUNNEL - DAY CUT TO EXTERIOR VIEW OF MESSERSCHMIDT still merrily progressing in arterial tunnel. CUT TO very tiny exit sign: "Exit 49" CUT TO: SAM Peering at sign. CUT TO: MESSERSCHMIDT Taking the exit just as a huge lorry roars by. EXT. BUTTLE FLATS - DAY Beautiful utopian block of high-rise flats gleam in the sunlight. Pulling back we reveal it to be an architect's model in a protective perspex case standing in the centre of a decorative fountain that has long ceased to work graffiti and junk are now the only decorations. In the background is the grim reality of the massive housing tower. Sam's Messerschmidt is just puling up in the shadow of the building which is grey, decrepid, vandalised. Huge conduits, pipes, and tubing frame the scene. Sam gets out of the car under the cool and none-too-friendly gaze of a few LOCALS. Self-consciously, Sam looks around him, then at the paper in his hand. A little group of KIDS sit pitching pennies against a wall. Sam goes over to them. SAM (super polite) Excuse me. Can you tell me... But before he can finish, the smallest, tiny KID looks up. KID Eff off. Sam, uncomfortably, effs off. He is watched, at some distance, imapassively by the little Girl Butttle. As Sam enters the buildings one of the kids gets out a can of something and approaches the car. Another is fiddling, with a box of matches. INT. BUTTLE FLATS - DAY CUT TO Sam hesitantly walking into the semi-derelict lobby of the big block of flats. Graffiti, vandalism are in evidence everywhere. He walks up to the lift. Pushes the button. Nothing happens. He pushes again. This time the lift door shudders and sparks. Sam tries to pull the doors apart. They jam open with a three-inch gap between them still shuddering and grinding. In the sparking light, Sam can make out an interior crammed with garbage, junk, old furniture, dead cats. Yechhhh. Resignedly, he turns towards the stairs. INT. CORRIDOR - DAY CUT TO Sam coming breathlessly out of the stairwell. On the wall next to it is the number 37. Walking down the corridor he looks at the number and starts to knock, but then notices that the door is cracked open. Sam tries to knock on the door, but it keeps edging open and he settles for knocking on the door frame a bit feebly. SAM Mrs. Buttle (silence) Uh, Mrs. Buttle? (silence) Sam stands not knowing what to do. Sam pushes the door a bit more open gingerly and puts about 65 per cent of his body into the hall of the flat. CUT TO SAM'S POV of darkish hall. Mrs. Buttle... INT. BUTTLE SITTING ROOM - DAY CUT TO Sam entering extremely tacky sitting-room shrouded in half-darkness. This is the same flat from which the FATHER was taken at the beginning of the film: the hole is still in the ceiling. Sam becomes aware of a woman sitting absolutely still at a small table by the only (still broken) window in the room. SAM Are you Mrs. Buttle? The woman nods very slightly without looking at him. SAM My name is Lowry Sam Lowry. I'm from the Ministry of Information. (no response) I've come to give you a cheque. Sam takes the cheque out of his pocket and puts it on the table to tempt Mrs. Buttle into a flicker of interest but she fails to notice it or him for that matter. Sam pushes the cheque a little way towards Mrs. Buttle but she does not respond. SAM (indicting cheque) It's a refund... I'm afraid there was a mistake. MRS. BUTTLE Mistake? SAM (encouraged) Yes. Not my department... I'm only records. It seems that Mr. Buttle was overcharged by Information Retrieval. I don't think they usually make mistakes... but, er... I suppose we're all human. Sam looks around and sees the hole in the ceiling. SAM Oh... what happened to the...? He gets nothing back. Actually, my bringing this here is rather unorthodox... Usually any payments are made through the central computer... but, er... there were certain difficulties, and rather than cause delay, we thought you might appreciate this now... it being Christmas. MRS. BUTTLE My husband's dead, isn't he? SAM Er... I assure you Mrs. Buttle, the Ministry is always very scrupulous about following up and eradicating error. If you have any complaints which you'd like to make, I'd be more than happy to send you the appropriate forms. MRS. BUTTLE What have you done with his body? SAM Um... Mrs. Buttle starts to cry. SAM Look, I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid I don't know anything about it... I'm really just delivering the cheque. Er... If you wouldn't mind signing these receipts (producing blue and pink receipts) I'll go and leave you in peace. Sam picks up the cheque and gives it to Mrs. Buttle together with the receipts. Mrs. Buttle tears them up and throws them in his face. SAM Uh... MRS. BUTTLE He hadn't done anything... He was good... What have you done with his body? Sam looks around for an escape and sees a Young Buttle standing in the doorway. The Boy is looking at him with a blank tearful face. Suddenly the Boy launches himself at Sam with terrible ferocity. Sam is knocked against the wall. A mirror falls off the wall and smashes on the floor. The Boy is all over Sam kicking and pulling his hair. Mrs. Buttle's reaction, however, is to try and pull the Boy away from Sam. By the time she succeeds, Sam is on his hands and knees, in pain. The Boy is crying and shouting, and Mrs. Buttle is loudly trying to quieten the Boy. From SAM'S POV, a piece of broken mirror lying on the floor reflects the hole in the ceiling... with Jill's head and shoulders framed in the hole. The moment is unreal for Sam in his dazed condition. The vision seems unreal too. Jill is staring at Sam out of the piece of mirror and. she's very much the Girl from his dream now. JILL Are you alright? SAM (mumbles) It's you... it's you... JILL Mrs. Buttle, are you alright? Sam grabs at the image, i.e. at the mirror, shifting the angle so that the vision disappears. He looks for the vision on the floor but can't find it. Then he begins to realise the reality of what he has seen. He stands up, dazed and battered. Mrs. Buttle has been looking up at the ceiling. Sam looks up at the ceiling but there is now only the empty space of the hole. SAM Wait! Stop! Come back!! Mrs. Buttle is shouting. Sam rushes out of the flat. INT. BUTTLE'S CORRIDOR - DAY Sam looks both ways and heads for the stairs. INT. BUTTLE'S STAIRCASE - DAY Sam runs up the stairs to the floor above and finds himself in EXT. SIMILAR CORRIDOR - DAY He runs along the corridor but has omitted to count the doors downstairs and now doesn't know which door to knock at. He hesitates. He rings the bell on what he hopes is the right door. The bell doesn't work. He bangs on the door. The door opens a crack. A malevolent eye looks at him. SAM Girl... fair hair... The door shuts firmly. Sam rushes to the next door. INT. JILL'S FLAT - DAY Sam bursts into Jill's flat. He sees the hole in the floor. The place looks derelict. He hears an explosion and looks out of a window to see his car in flames. Jill is apparently retreating from it across the forecourt. She is carrying a suitcase and bundles. INT. STAIRCASE - DAY Sam rushes down the stairs. EXT. BLOCK OF FLATS - DAY Sam charges out into the open air. Jill has disappeared. The Messerchmidt, however, is in flames. Sam doesn't know which way to turn. Spotting an old mattress lying by the building he grabs it and throws it over the car in an attempt to smother the flames. The group of CHILDREN watch him silently. Suddenly with a great roar, Jill's lorry comes round the corner at speed. Sam sees that Jill is at the wheel. Sam runs after the lorry. SAM (shouting) Wait! It was nothing to do with me! The lorry roars away. Sam dashes back to his smoldering three-wheeler. He flings himself into it and starts it up. He also roars away, except that he doesn't move... all three wheels have been removed. He turns round in despair and sees the group of children regarding him expressionlessly. They include the little Girl Buttle. Defeated, he slumps down against his charred vehicle. A shadow passes across his face. Looking up he sees Girl Buttle standing over him. SAM Go away. GIRL BUTTLE Her name is Jill. SAM What?... Jill? Jill who? Jill who? GIRL BUTTLE Layton. SAM Jill Layton... (getting up) You're a very good little girl. What are you doing here? GIRL BUTTLE I'm waiting for my daddy. SAM (uncomprehending) He will be pleased when he comes home. Girl Buttle doesn't answer and Sam starts to walk away. After a few yards, the thought strikes him: he turns back to look at the little Girl Buttle who stands alone patiently in the vandalised wilderness. INT. RECORD CLERKS POOL - DAY It is the end of the work day. The Clerks are busily getting their coats and leaving the office. As the last one goes Mr. Kurtzman comes out of his private office with his hat and coat on. He turns out the office light. He sees Sam isolated in the empty room, still working at his computer console. Totally absorbed in what he is doing. KURTZMAN Oh... Sam. I've had the transport pool onto me... You don't know anything about a personnel transporter gone missing do you? Sam doesn't seem to hear him. On the computer screen is a front and side view picture of Jill. Her name and code number is at the top of the screen. Sam is punching up personal dossier information like "age", "height", "weight", "colour of hair", "colour of eyes", "distinguishing marks" etc. SAM (preoccupied) A "personnel" transporter? They've got it wrong. I had a personal transporter. I'll do the paperwork tomorrow Sam punches up a few more categories for Jill's dossier. KURTZMAN Is it all right about Mrs. Buttle's cheque? SAM I delivered it. KURTZMAN Can I forget it? SAM Yes. Sam punches a few more buttons on the computer. KURTZMAN What a relief! (on reflection) I shall probably have nightmares. At this point the word "Classified" superimposes itself over most of the screen and "IRQ/3" starts agitating at the bottom SAM Damn! Blast! KURTZMAN What's the matter? SAM You don't happen to know how I can get around an IRQ/3 do you? KURTZMAN All information on 3rd Level Suspects is classified. SAM I know that. KURTZMAN All enquiries to Information Retrieval. Which is hopeless, of course. They never tell you anything. But come the time they want something from us... Throughout this verbal wallpaper Sam has been punching keys cancelling the CLASSIFIED overprint. He then punches in the code for a hard-copy print-out. Jill's two-view computer portrait rolls out as Sam ponders his options. SAM (cutting off Kurtzman) I've go to accept that promotion to get behind this, haven't I? KURTZMAN Yes. (realising what he's suggesting) NO! You can't! You've only just turned it down! (thinking Sam is joking) SAM I never signed the form. KURTZMAN I did it for you. SAM What! Shit! KURTZMAN It's what you wanted isn't it? SAM Yes... No... I don't, know. Kurtzman picks up Jill's print-out and glances at it. He grimaces and drops it back on the desk with a shudder. KURTZMAN Come on, before they turn the lights out. Sam nods. He turns off the machine. He stands up and follows Kurtzman towards the door. The door is some distance away, and before they get there all the lights go out. Kurtzman bumps into a desk and curses. INT. TRANSPORT CAGE - EVENING Packed tightly between other passengers Sam is busy drawing long flowing hair with a pencil on the computer print-out of Jill turning her into the Dream Girl. The transport cage rattles through its elevated tube towards a tower block. INT. SAM'S CORRIDOR - EVENING The transport cage arrives at the platform forming the end of Sam's corridor. Passengers disembark and head for various doors along the corridor. Sam almost fails to get off in time so concentrated on Jill's picture is he. Looking as if he's trying to make up his mind about something he heads for his own front door. INT. SAM'S FLAT - EVENING Sam enters. The place is in a state of turmoil. Servicing panels are off the walls. Conduit, ducting, pipes, unknown mechanical horrors spew from the wall as if the place was disemboweled. Spoor stands in the middle of it all trying to direct two other WORKMEN who are poring over wiring plans which seem to make little sense to them. Dowser is not visible but there is a great deal of clunking and banging going on somewhere behind the wall. SAM What the ? How did you ? SPOOR Emergency procedures. DOWSER (O.S.) (muffled) ... ergency procedures. SAM (angrily) I haven't got an emergency. Get out of here. For reply Spoor whips a small tape-recorder out of his bag and plays back Sam's original phone call to Central Services, claiming "an emergency". Spoor shuts off his machine, puts back into his bag and comes out with what looks like a quite thin phone hook with carbon paper between each page. Spoor indicates the bottom of page 1. SPOOR Sign here please. SAM What is it? SPOOR (surprised) It's a 27B/6, what did you think it was? Sam takes out Kurtzman's old-fashioned fountain pen from his pocket, signs where indicated. Spoor registers that Sam's signature has hardly penetrated through he first carbon let alone the other 43. SPOOR (sourly) Haven't you got a ballpoint? Sam resignedly starts signing all the other pages one by one. Spoor realises that Dowser's echo has gone missing. SPOOR Now where's he got to? (shouts) Dowser! Dowser bursts through a panel in the wall. This is the panel which Tuttle had removed and replaced. A few of the flat's intestines have come out with Dowser. Dowser has made a find Tuttle's spare part. SPOOR What have you got there? DOWSER (highly excited) Got there! Dowser points to Tuttle's spare part which is hanging out of the wall attached to rubber tube. Spoor examines this closely. Sam watches alarmed. The two men go into a mumbling huddle. SPOOR Mumble... mumble... mumble... Tuttle DOWSER Mumble... Tuttle... SPOOR Tuttle!... mumble! (to Sam) You've had that scab Tuttle here, haven't you? DOWSER ... aren't you? SAM What? SPOOR Who fixed your ducts? DOWSER ... your ducts? SAM I fixed it myself. SPOOR Oh yeh? Where'd you get this from eh... (he holds up Tuttle's spare part) ... out yer nostril? DOWSER ... Yer nostril? SPOOR Central Services don't take kindly to sabotage! DOWSER ... sabotage! Spoor and Dowser and the other workmen gather up their tools put them in the bag, grab everything else that belongs to them and are leaving. Spoor grabs the form-book out of Sam's hands, rips out the last page, thrusts that page at Sam, shoves the book into his bag. The workmen begin leaving the flat. SAM Hang on! Wait a minute! You can't just go and leave it like this! SPOOR (mock innocent) Why not? All you've got to do is blow yer nose and fix it, haven't you? DOWSER ... ven't you? SPOOR (leaving) You're putting your talents to very odd use Mr. Lowry yes, odd use to pit wits against Central Services DOWSER ... sod you, stupid twit. They go, slamming the door behind hem, leaving Sam in the ruins of his flat. Sam stands in the maimed sitting-room. Wall panels are off. Tubes, ducting wires etc. spill out into the room like greasy intestines. Sam more or less collapses onto a couch. He stares at the ceiling. The room is gently hiccoughing and belching around him. He stares at the print- out of Jill's face. Slowly it dissolves into the Dream Girl. EXT. CONDUIT FOREST - NIGHT Dream Girl's face fills screen. The camera pulls back to reveal that she is separated from us by a tangled forest of conduit/ducting-like vines. Sam is struggling through the vines, which grab at him, entwine and entangle him. Finally bursting free he reaches out for the Girl hovering before him, But as he embraces her she dissolves in smoke and he plummet into a void beneath his feet. EXT. CLOUDS - NIGHT CUT TO Sam plummeting down through dense clouds, his cape twisting around him. Somehow he manages to wrestle it clear of his body. Gripping the corners he whips the cape up and over his head. The wind catches it and fills it out until it acts as a parachute slowing Sam's descent. Suddenly the clouds thin out and Sam can see below him. EXT. STRANGE LANDSCAPE ANTI - DAY Sam is heading down towards a barren landscape. Strange mounds dot the barrenness they ooze smoke and the occasional flame. Near one of the mounds are two long lines of shrouded FIGURES being forced into two giant cages, suspended beneath two great misshapen balloons. The black- robed Forces of Darkness (FOD) surround the PRISONERS, relentlessly herding them towards the cages. The entire scene is strangely coloured by unearthly light. The sky is blood red and where the sun should be is a black disc. Sam descends on his cape-parachute. CUT TO PRISONERS in their grey shrouds, shuffling towards the jaws of the brutal cages. They are defeated, destroyed, without hope. The FOD prod and whip them forward. One of the FOD raises his spear to force a stumbling PRISONER to his feet but stops with the spear raised above his head. He has seen something. Other FODS turn to see what it is. CUT TO Sam landing on the beach a short distance away. The prisoners stop and look up. We see their faces clearly for the first time. One of them is Mrs. Buttle. Others are people Sam saw in the flats, and the kids. Sam recognises them. He is slightly taken aback. A look of determination crosses his face. He draws the sword. Everyone is frozen in place. Sam starts forward. But he is stopped by a violent tremor as the earth begins to tremble and shake. Everyone looks terrified. With a mighty roar a crack opens up in the ground between Sam and the others. Brilliant rays of light shaft upwards from the opening. And then, with a maniacal shriek, the large black flapping thing shoots out of the crevasse and streaks high into the sky. Sam hesitates and turns to look down into the light. There, under several meters of the earth's crust are fluffy white clouds darting about in a beautiful blue sky. Sam is delighted but as he looks up he is frozen in his tracks by an enormous FIGURE that straddles the crevasse. This terrifying Creature stands over 12 feet high. He is encased in a frightening concoction of ancient Japanese armour which seems on closer examination to he made of computer parts. His face is hidden behind a horrific steel mask. It is the Giant Samurai Warrior that was pushing the drawer closed in the Storeroom of Knowledge. In his hand is an evil-looking spear. Sam is unsure which way to turn. The grey Prisoners are being loaded into the cages with more speed. He turns to face the Giant Warrior. As Sam steps forward the Giant stands ominously still. Then very slowly he raises his spear in an almost religious gesture. POOF! He vanishes. As he does the light from the day is cut off. Looking down, Sam sees that he crevasse has vanished as well. Maniacal laughter from the flapping black thing makes Sam look up to see the ballooned cage packed with grey Prisoners rise up from the ground and begin to float away escorted by the Black flapping Thing. Sam rushes after it grabbing one of the trailing ropes. But as he is hoisted into the air it is severed by the FODS. He tumbles to the ground. Looking around he sees that, for some reason, the second ballooned cage is still tethered nearby. Sam rushes over to it and begins chopping the tethers away. The cage bobbles ungainlily as Sam cuts the last restraining rope. Grabbing hold he is pulled upwards, but before he can reach the cage something clutches his leg halting his progress. As he struggles his other leg is caught. He is being pulled back by two giant hands. Looking down he can see that from the top of one of the smoking mounds a head an d two giant arms protrude. The face looks like Mr. Kurtzman. Sam desperately clings on to the rope as he struggles with the restraining hands. MR. KURTZMAN OF THE MOUND Don't go! It's a trap! She's not what she seems. Sam kicks and strains but the hands hold firm. INT. SAM'S FLAT - NIGHT Sam wakes up. His feet are entangled in some wiring and ducting. He is still in his devastated sitting room. As he untangles himself the door bell rings. It takes a moment for Sam to recognise it as the door bell. Annoyed and still disturbed by the dream he gets up and goes to the door. He opens it. In bursts a GIRL dressed in a silly bell-boy costume with lots of glitter, net stockings and big-bowed tap dancing shoes. She launches into a terrible song and dance routine. GIRL (singing) Mrs. Ida Lowry requests the pleasure of your companyyyy at her apartment tonight, from eight thirtyyyy midnight to celebrate the completion of her recent cosmetic surgeryyyy The guest of honour will be Mr. Conrad Helpmann, Dep. Under Minister of State for Public Information, R.S.V.P. by singing telegram. Sam and the Girl stand looking at each other uneasily for a moment. SAM Er... Thanks... GIRL It's reply paid. SAM Oh... (he sings uncertainly) Thank you very much, mother, but actually GIRL You don't have to sing it. SAM Oh, right... The Girl begins to dance again but this time in a rather strange strangled fashion. SAM (he looks at his watch) Aren't you a bit late? the party started half an hour ago. GIRL Yes, I know. It's the backlog, everybody complains. Was it all right otherwise? SAM Yes, it was... very nice... thank you. GIRL Do you mind if I use your bathroom? INT. MOTHER' S CORRIDOR - NIGHT Sam rings the doorbell to his mother's flat. He is wearing. an unstylish tuxedo and bow tie obviously his only dress outfit. The door is opened by a LIVERIED FLUNKY who's about to speak when an attractive 40-year old woman's face appears over his shoulder and addresses Sam over the threshold. WOMAN Sam, I'm so glad you came. Do come in. INT. MOTHER'S FLAT - NIGHT Sam steps inside, where the flunky proceeds to search him. The place is full of sleek people smartly but less formally dresses than Sam. It is an elegant baroque room lavishly appointed but still violated by the ubiquitous Central Service ducts that thrust through antique tapestries and gilt mirrors with little regard for aesthetics or the interior decorator's feelings. SAM (bewildered) Mother? Is that you? MOTHER (taking his arm looking slightly askance at his clothes) Of course. Isn't it wonderful? The bandages came of this afternoon. Come and join the fun. Everybody's here. SAM Is Mr. Helpmann here? MOTHER Yes he is he wants to talk to you. SAM I want to talk to him. Sam pushes away the Flunky who is by now passing a metal detector over him. MOTHER It seems you're the first person ever to turn down a promotion. He thinks you should see a doctor. SAM Actually, I've decided... DR. JAFFE hoves into view. MOTHER Oh, Louis! You know Sam. Dr. Jaffe is no longer suave. He has been transformed by drink and success. Mostly by drink. DR. JAFFE (as high as a kite) Can you believe it?! Just me and my little knife! Snip snip slice slice Can you believe it? SAM (repelled) Congratulations... DR. JAFFE And this is just the beginning!! SAM Really? DR. JAFFE Chirst yes, you've seen her with her clothes off. Faces are a doddle compared to tits and arse. (explains) No hairline. MOTHER (primly) Really, Louis. A handsome young piece of BEEFCAKE delivers a drink to Mother. BEEFCAKE I've been looking everywhere for you, Ida. The beefcake takes Mother away. DR. JAFFE Ah, dear boy... And what do you think of your mother now? VOICE (off camera) It will never last. Sam and Dr. Jaffe turn to see who is speaking. It is DR. CHAPMAN a tall, pipe-smoking, professional-looking gent. DR. JAFFE (a trifle haughtily) Excuse me, Dr Chapman, did you say something? DR. CHAPMAN That technique... I've tried it. A nice effect. But highly unstable. In six months she'll look like Grandma Moses. Sam wishing to escape from this bitchery turns away but suddenly freezes the reflection in the large wall mirror next to him is not that of the party guests but of the grey Prisoners in his dream they are massed in the room looking pleadingly towards him. DR. JAFFE (unsuave again) Now see here, Chapman. At least mine don't look like they've been mugged. Through the grey Prisoners pushes Mrs. Terrain. MRS. TERRAIN (calls) Sam! Sam turns around to see her pushing through the party guests. Mrs. Terrain is limping and is even more heavily swathed in bandages than the last time. Dr. Chapman hastily moves away as Mrs. Terrain comes up. She claims Sam, taking his arm. SAM (looking at her worriedly) Whatever happened to you? MRS. TERRAIN There was a slight complication. Dr. Chapman says it often happens with a delicate skin like mine. Nothing to worry about. He's promised me I'll have these bandages off in a... SAM (trying to disengage) Actually, there's someone I want to meet... MRS. TERRAIN (roguishly) I know, I know...! She drags Sam through the party and we arrive at her daughter, SHIRLEY, who is, of course, a wallflower. MRS. TERRAIN Here we are! I'm going to leave you two lovebirds in peace. SAM I... uh... But he is alone with Shirley, standing at the entrance to his Mother's embarrassingly rampant boudoir style bedroom. In amongst the diaphanous curtains enclosing the bed Mother is playing hide and seek with a YOUNG STUD. SAM Can I get you a drink, Shirley? Shirley looks at him terrified. SAM Look... Shirley... your mother... and my mother... they seem to have got the idea... I mean, I'm terribly flattered, of course, but, um, the thing is, I don't want you to be under any false... SHIRLEY (struggling into speech shyly) It's... it's... all right... I don't like you either... This isn't what Sam expected. He smiles weakly at her. VOICE (off camera) Sam! Sam turns round, to see Jack Lint a few paces away. SAM Hello, Jack! JACK You remember Alison? He indicates his cute blonde perfect junior executive's WIFE SAM Hello, Alison. You look different. ALISON Well, I'm two years older. JACK And she's been to Dr. Jaffe! Alison locks displeased. JACK (winking at Sam) She doesn't like me telling anyone but she's pleased as anything really. SAM Er, I knew you looked different. JACK Remember how they used to stick out? SAM What? Oh, yes vividly. I used to wonder if they were real. ALISON What, my ears? SAM Your ears? JACK Dr. Jaffe has pinned her ears back. SAM (covering up hopelessly) Quite, absolutely I always thought they were false. JACK (looking past Sam) Mr. Helpmann! Sam spins round and sees a very pleasant-looking distinguished OLD MAN moving in their direction. He is in a wheelchair. HELPMANN Hello, Jack. JACK You remember my wife... Alis HELPMANN Of course. Barbara isn't it? How are you? ALISON Um... JACK (instantly. Conveying to Alison that she mustn't object) Barbara's very well, thank you, sir. How are you? HELPMANN Fine, thank you. Hello, Sam. Ida said you might be here. Have you got a minute? (to Jack) Would you excuse us? Jack is taken aback, envious and eager to please. JACK Of course... of course... Come on Alison Barbara Jack propels his wife away. HELPMANN I need your help, Sam. INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT It's the sort of bathroom you would expect of Mother, an adjunct to her boudoir. The pink or purple lavatory is in the process of flushing, while Sam holds Mr. Helpmann vertical, grasping him under the armpits, while Mr. Helpmann is zipping his fly. HELPMANN Thanks very much Sam. SAM That's all right Mr. Helpmann. Glad to help. He is lowering Helpmann into the wheelchair. HELPMANN If I can help you... SAM (broaching the subject) Well, I... In maneuvering Helpmann Sam clumsily knocks over one of the pretty pots which fussily decorate Mother's bathroom shelf. A thin layer of powder is spread over the wash-stand. SAM Sorry... HELPMANN Your father and I were very close. Of course Jeremiah was senior to me but we were close friends... especially after the bombing... (he indicates his legs) ... and I... (chuckles) ... keep his name alive at the office every day. With his finger Helpmann is tracing letters in the powdered surface. HELPMANN It's as though he's there speaking to me "'ere I am, J.H.!" The ghost in the machine. We see that Helpmann has traced the letters "EREIAMJH" in the powder. HELPMANN I know he would have wanted me to help you... And I promised your mother I'd take you onto the team at information Retrieval. But I gather that... SAM Mr. Helpmann. I've changed my mind. I'd like to accept the transfer am I too late? HELPMANN Too late? That's for me to say. SAM Well... well, I... Helpmann puts out his hand. Sam takes it. HELPMANN Welcome to Information Retrieval! Helpmann blows away the spilled powder and "EREIAMJH" with it. INT. INFORMATION RETRIEVAL LOBBY - DAY CUT TO WIDE SHOT of massive imposing lobby much like the Records lobby but this one is very austere. No crowds. No statues. No decoration. Not even the ever-present security checks. Impressive. And a bit unnerving. Framed in the doorway is a lone TINY FIGURE. CUT TO CLOSEUP. It's Sam. He hesitates and then enters. CUT TO: VIDEO SCREEN The video camera follows Sam across the lobby til he stops in tight profile at Reception Desk. We tilt up revealing Sam standing facing us just beyond the monitor which is on the desk. SAM (diffidently to the porter) My name is Sam Lowry. I have to report to Mr. Warren. PORTER (looking down his nose at Sam's unsleek clerk's suit and then handing him an I.D. badge) Thirtieth floor, sir. You're expected. SAM Er, don't you want to search me? PORTER No, sir. SAM (taken aback. Reaching into his pocket) My I.D. cards. PORTER No need, sir SAM (nonplussed) But I could be anybody. PORTER No you couldn't, sir. This is Information Retrieval. (indicating to the right) the lift's arrived, sir. INT. 30TH FLOOR CORRIDOR - DAY Sam steps out of the lift.The lift doors close. Sam looks up and down the corridor hearing nothing. Silence. Then he, and we, begin to hear a sound. It is a curious whirring murmuring tummeling sound, and it seems to be growing closer. Suddenly a scrum of PEOPLE swings into view around a corner at the far end of the rather long corridor. At the centre of the scrum is a TALL MAN with a magisterial expression and an air of eternal bustle. This is MR. WARREN. He is surrounded by the EXPEDITERS who are competing for his attention with bits of paper and bits of sentences. Mr. Warren is snapping out decisions. Satisfied Expediters drop out of the scrum at intervals, disappearing one at a time through one of the many doors which line both sides of the corridor.The scrum doesn't get any smaller because new Expediters dart out of other doors and join the milling MOB. The whole circus is coming by Sam at the rate of knots. The sound it makes breaks down into something like this. EXPEDITER #1 (waving pager) Mr. Warren, this order... EXPEDITER #2 (waving same) Mr. Warren... EXPEDITER #3 (ditto) About this invoice... Victim's list... WARREN (dealing on all sides) Yes... No... send that back... wrong department... of course... of course not... yes... no... maybe. CUT TO Sam watching this caravanserai with awe as it starts pass him. EXPEDITER #4 ... about these requisitions... EXPEDITER #5 Mr. Warren... EX/27 has 15 suspects still outstanding. EXPEDITER #6 ... a decision, Mr. Warren... WARREN ... cancel that... okay... put half as terrorists, the rest as victims... yes... yes... no... definitely no... Sam doesn't have the nerve to jump into this. The scrum sweeps by and fades away along the corridor, and finally disappearing around the corner at the other end. Sam follows. Silence has descended again. INT. CORRIDOR - DAY Sam gets to the corner of the corridor and finds a similar corridor at right angles. He hesitates and continues. Then he starts to hear the sound again. It is coming up from behind. Mr. Warren has circumnavigated the building. The same sort of business is being enacted at the same pace. As the scrum reaches Sam he gathers his nerve and jumps right in beside Warren, and keeps going. SAM (in a hurry) I'm Lowry, Mr. Warren... Sam Lowry. WARREN (putting arm around Sam) Ah. Lowry... yes. (still dealing with Expediters) ... no, cancel that... glad to have you aboard... yes... no... don't be ridiculous Jenkins... Yes, yes, yes... you'll like it up here... send that back... we've got a crack team of... are they kidding?... decision makers... No, in triplicate... I'm expecting big things... two copies to Finance... of you... send that to Security... uh, uh, uh. (poring over forms) Uh, don't let Progress see this... between you and me, Lowry, this... no, no... department... tell Records to get stuffed... is about to be upgraded and... Warren suddenly pivots around, swinging Sam 240 degrees in the direction they came from plus a bit. WARREN Ah, here we are! (they are standing facing a door one of the hundreds of identical doors lining these corridors) What do you think? The door says: "OFFICER DZ/015" Sam has no idea what he ought to say. WARREN (solemnly) Your very own number... on your very own door... and behind that door (he turns the knob and opens the door) ... your very own office. Congratulations, DZ/015, welcome to the team. Warren whirls off in a flurry of paperwork and Expediters leaving Sam standing dumfounded at the entrance to his office. CUT TO: SAM'S POV OF THE OFFICE It is about four feet wide. A small blacked-out window high on the far wall is bisected by what looks like a recently constructed side wall. The room is bare except for a chair and a desk which is also bisected by the new wall. Pneumatic tubes hang from the ceiling. Sam slowly enters the room. INT. SAM'S OFFICE - DAY Sam looks lost... disoriented. He doesn't know where to begin because there's nothing to begin with. He squeezes in behind his desk and for want of anything else to do starts arranging his "in" and "out" baskets. There in his "in" basket is one of the ubiquitous executive toys gaily wrapped with a card from Helpmann Merry Xmas & Welcome. Sam can't quite believe. He returns to lining up his pencils, placing a couple of bocks (phone books) against the wall on the left extreme of his desk. Sam turns his attention away from the books when suddenly they both fall over with a "plop". Puzzled, he stands the books up again, turns his eyes away and "plop". Same result. Intrigued, a bit exasperated, Sam carefully, and before his very eyes, the desk begins to disappear into the wall, and "plop", the books topple over. Puzzled, Sam grabs hold of the desk and begins to try to pull it back through the wall. The desk moves back an inch or so, but then stops, somehow held stubbornly. Sam grits his teeth, reallllly pulls, grimacing a bit, but the desk won't budge. Intrigued, Sam gets up, goes around his desk and heads for the door. INT. CORRIDOR - DAY CUT TO Sam coming out of his office, turning right and walking to the next door, the nameplate of which reads: "OFFICER DV/048." As is his custom, Sam opens the door without knocking. INT. LIME'S OFFICE - DAY CUT TO SAM'S POV. Here is an office much like his. It's the other half of his room bisected by the partition wall. The other half of his desk is occupied by a slimy looking, round-headed little JUNIOR EXECUTIVE wholly occupied with trying to drag a bit more of the desk into his office. He is unaware of Sam. SAM Hello. Lime startled, lets go of his desk and vents his irritation on Sam whom he mistakes for someone else. LIME No, you can't have any more chairs! There's only one left in here now, and I need that to sit on! (realizing his mistake) Oh... er, sorry. Who are you? SAM Sam Lowry. LIME (becoming unctuous) Ah, yes, you're the new boy from next door, ha ha! (he advances toward Sam with hand out to shake; shaking hands) My name's Lime. Harvey Lime. Welcome to Expediting. SAM Ah. (he pauses looking around) Would you mind if I borrowed your computer console? LIME What? SAM I'll bring it back in ten minutes. LIME You want to take my console into your office? SAM Yes. LIME (after a moment's consideration) I'll tell you what... You tell me what and I'll do it for. I'm a bit of a whizz on this thing. (indicates computer console) Sam hesitates, but sees that there's no other way. SAM (taking print-out on Jill from his pocket) Alright. There's someone I want to check out. A woman called Gillian Layton. LIME (leering) A woman eh? I see. SAM (trying to ignore this) I know her age and distinguishing marks. But I need an address or a place of work or something LIME (continuing to leer) This is your dream girl, is it? SAM (taken aback) What? (recovering) Look, let me use the console for a few minutes. LIME (trying to be jocular) You must be joking (entirely unconvincing) When there's a woman involved there's no stopping me. Now, let me have that sheet. He takes Jill's print-out sheet from Sam and begins to punch the keys laboriously with one finger. Nothing happens. LIME Sod it, it's broken! SAM You haven't switched it on. LIME Oh yes. Look you're putting me off, standing there! Go back to your office and I'll give you a knock when I've finished. Sam hesitates, but goes. LIME Go on. I'm not going to elope with her. Sam exits. INT. SAM'S OFFICE - DAY Sam is sitting in his office listening to the protracted one finger exercise which is going on next door. He stares dumbly at the shining, absolutely useless, executive toy. EXT. ICY SEA ANTI - DAY The CAMERA skims along over an icy sea. This is SAM'S POV as he wings his way over the water with his new gleaming wings. In the distance rises a strange massive ship. As he gets closer we can see that the snip is listing heavily to one side. In fact it is barely afloat. Closer still, it becomes apparent that the ship is made of stone. Dark, evil, grey blocks of granite form not only the hull, but the super-structures and smokestacks. It looks like a massive medieval fortress gone to sea. The screen is engulfed in stone. The CAMERA heads up the side of the ship. Higher and higher we climb past course after course of mammoth stones. Reaching the first deck, we continue upwards. There appears to be no entrance. Sam is looking frustrated and angry. But then he spots an opening. A few stones have come loose one of them juts out forming a ledge. As the cage passes, Sam jumps and managed to gain a foothold on the outcropping. Squeezing thru the gap in the rocks, he makes his way thru a dark passage. Emerging from the opening he finds himself teetering over an enormous abyss formed by the outer hull and the inner stone core of the ship. Great stone ribs curve downwards thru the darkness broken only by narrow shafts of brilliant light 