SAMPLE PAGES
OPENING SEQUENCE:
FADE IN:
EXT. MANOBO BLIT VILLAGE, MINDANAO - DAWN
The tiny settlement huddles in a dusty clearing, circled
by slash-and-burn fields of corn, tobacco and camote.
Around the perimeter, a few Manobo GUARDS sit armed with
automatic weapons.
Small shelters on stilts and covered with thatch appear
skeletal in the near darkness. In the distance, dark trees
rise naked and unbranching, covering the mountains in a
dense rain forest.
TITLE OVER:
"Year Unknown"
"Mindanao, The Philippines"
INT. DAFAL'S SHELTER
Early light pierces the woven walls. Traces patterns in
the smoke from a fire in a box of earth near the center.
DAFAL, a toothless, wizened man in his 50's, rolls off his
sleeping mat. Shambles over to stoke the embers.
Curiously, in this primitive setting, he wears bright red
jockey shorts. Straps a scratched Rolex on his wrist.
Laces up a pair of battered Nikes.
Then he slaps a natty little grey fedora on his head.
Makes him look a bit like a rainforest Sammy Davis, Jr.
He sharpens a long-bladed bolo knife against a flint
stone. Uncovers a basket and hauls out a dead monkey.
Strips back the monkey's skull. Plucks out the brain.
A SIZZLE as flesh meets flame.
EXT. MANOBO BLIT VILLAGE - DAY
The sun breaks over the mountains. Dissects the village
into long, angular shadows.
VILLAGERS climb down notched logs from their shelters and
move along swaying, CREAKING walkways made of lashed
saplings.
The men dress in jeans and t-shirts. The women in skirts
and colorful blouses. A few remnants of their tribal
heritage linger: beads and bracelets, leaf skirts and an
occasional loincloth. Nobody goes barefoot: all wear
athletic shoes or sandals.
Morning rush hour in Manobo Blit! Dogs BARK. A baby CRIES.
The day has begun.
EXT. DAFAL'S SHELTER
Dafal climbs down. He's dressed in faded levis and a grey
military sweatshirt. He carries a woven bag, some bolo
knives, bows and poison arrows.
He strikes out for the jungle.
EXT. RAIN FOREST
On razorback ridges high above Dafal, the tribal
communications network RINGS with the lusty voices of
brass gongs --
-- passing the word from village to village.
GONG!
SUBTITLE
Dafal is the one who walks the
forest like the wind!
GONG! GONG!
SUBTITLE
He is going to the land where the
eye sees too far!
GONG! GONG! GONG!
SUBTITLE
He will disturb the spirits that
dwell there!
ANOTHER AREA
Dafal is swallowed in the lush, wet tangle of pristine
climax rain forest: hanging vines, bamboo, palms and tree
ferns.
And always towering above -- the dense, suffocating canopy
of mahogany, coconut and oak.
CLIFF SIDE
Dafal advances up a ridge. Stops at the bottom of a rocky
cliff.
He cuts saplings with his bolo. Sharpens bamboo spears.
Sets a balatik trap:
lashes a spear to a sapling; bows it back; adds a trip
cord made of vine.
He touches the vine. The spear SLASHES along the jungle
floor like a deadly low-flying missile.
He resets the trap. Covers it with leaves. Continues on
his way.
DEEP JUNGLE
At midday, the sun penetrates the canopy in long,
fingerlike shafts like laser lights at a rock concert.
Dafal glides along the forest floor, lithe and catlike. He
knows this place like the back of his hand.
He stops cold. Kneels. Stares at something on the ground.
Scattered among the impressions from his Nikes are human
footprints!
He springs up. Trails the prints into the forest.
ANOTHER AREA
Dafal squints into shadows. Strains to capture any unusual
sound in the HUMMING chorus of insects and birds.
A branch CRACKLES. A coffee-colored, muscular limb FLASHES
through a green haze.
Dafal creeps closer.
Two YOUNG MEN in their late teens and a BOY, perhaps
eight, dig with sticks in a hillside. They are naked.
Except for the sticks, they appear to be unarmed. They
uncover a large root and HACK at it excitedly.
The Boy turns. Gazes through the brush. His mouth opens in
a huge round "oh". He has spotted Dafal.
The Boy SQUEALS. The strangers leap to their feet. Stand
frozen, unblinking. Like frightened animals caught in
headlights.
DAFAL /SUBTITLE
(Manobo)
I am Dafal. I am good.
The strangers stare with blank faces across time and
space. Dafal tries every language he knows: Ubu, Tagalog,
T'boli --
DAFAL /SUBTITLE
(various)
Dafal. I will not hurt you. From
the village. Over the mountain.
Even English:
DAFAL
Friend. Okay. Okay.
He moves in. Cautiously. Offers a long, gleaming bolo
knife. They pass it among themselves. CHATTER in
amazement. Dafal listens carefully to this strange
language.
The Boy reaches for a leaf pouch on the ground. Takes out
a rattan haft, cradling a mottled shard of stone about the
size of a hen's egg.
DAFAL /SUBTITLE
(Manobo)
Who are you?
BOY /SUBTITLE
(Tasaday)
We are Tasaday.
The Boy hands the stone to Dafal.
INT. BUREAU OFFICE, MANILA - DAY (mid 80's)
A chic, stylized logo on the wall identifies the offices
of Television News Network (TNN). Crammed with desks,
CLATTERING teletype machines, cameras, video equipment.
Stacks of newspapers and magazines.
A glassed-in editing room JABBERS with 'chipmunk' voices
as an EDITOR cuts tape.
TITLE OVER: "Several Years Later"
"Manila"
LESLIE SHAW is on the phone. She's mid-30's, spirited and
athletic. Speaks in a smoky cognac voice that the
microphone loves. She's dressed in green fatigues. Puffs
on a cigarette.
LESLIE
(on phone)
Holding.
She glances at monitors in the editing bay. Displays of
camera-shakey coverage of student anti-government protests
in Manila.
LESLIE
(to Editor)
I need that piece on the satellite
in an hour.
The Editor nods.
LESLIE
(into phone)
I'm still holding! I have been
holding. I will hold. Till hell
freezes over!
JOCK McFARLAND pops his head in. He's English, 50's,
balding. Abrasive and cheerful.
He notices her 'costume'.
JOCK
The outfit's very Third World,
love.
LESLIE
Screw you, Jock.
(into phone, Tagalog)
Credentials. Press credentials.
JOCK
We'll be late for the riots!
Leslie slams down the phone.
LESLIE
I hate the Third World. I want my
AT & T!
INT. CAB - MOVING - DAY
Jock and Leslie ride in back.
LESLIE
(re: her outfit)
What do you think?
JOCK
You look charming in green.
LESLIE
The color of envy. I made the
newscast last night.
JOCK
Not bad. For a 'virgin.'
LESLIE
I prefer "rookie."
The cab swerves around a group of PROTESTORS in the middle
of the street.
JOCK
This may not be such a good idea,
Les. You've no press pass.
LESLIE
You son-of-a-bitch. You promised me
action!
In the distance, shots RING off the buildings. Leslie and
Jock duck down behind the front seat.
JOCK
Welcome to the Philippines!
EXT. STREET, METRO MANILA - DAY
The familiar brightly-colored jeepneys ROAR up and down
the crowded streets belching black fumes.
A band of STUDENTS marches in a circle. They carry signs
and banners protesting the Marcos regime. Army TROOPS and
POLICE stand at the ready.
The cab pulls up as RODDY and HYUN set up camera and sound
gear on the curb. Roddy's a bearded Australian in his
20's. Hyun's Korean, late 30's.
Leslie joins them. Takes notes. Jock sneaks a few shots
with his camcorder. A police COMMANDER peers at them
through binoculars. Shouts across the street:
COMMANDER
No pictures!
Hyun and Roddy stop shooting. Raise their hands in the air
to indicate compliance.
LESLIE
Keep rolling!
RODDY
Like hell!
LESLIE
Roddy, this is not some damn
stand-up in front of the Palace.
This is real stuff!
HYUN
Very dangerous.
LESLIE
Either roll it or I'm on the phone
to New York for a new crew.
She punches the record button on the Betacam. A few
Troopers move closer.
Hyun and Roddy wave their press passes like flags of
surrender. Leslie covers her chest with her arms where her
press pass should be.
Jock keeps shooting furiously. He looks up to see a
bayonet cross perilously close to his face. Speaks to the
YOUNG TROOPER at the end of the rifle:
JOCK
Hi, nice to see you. My, you are
a handsome young fascista, aren't
you?
The Commander's eyes dart about -- coming to rest on the
rotating cassette inside the Betacam. In seconds, the
group is ringed by edgy soldiers, guns pointed.
LESLIE /SUBTITLE
(Tagalog)
Hey, it's okay. No more pictures.
We're turning it off.
Showing off for his Commander, the Young Trooper grimly
rips the Betacam from Roddy's shoulder. Smashes it on the
ground.
LESLIE
Come on! You can't do that!
American press. American Press!
The Young Trooper pries the tape from the machine with his
bayonet. Hands it to the Commander.
COMMANDER
Press? Press?
He pulls her folded arms roughly to her sides. A black
vintage Mercedes glides into the background.
COMMANDER
Where is your press pass, Miss
American Press?
(to the others,
Tagalog)
No credentials.
The RATTLE of safety bolts being released echoes across
the steaming pavement.
A long, very tense beat. Jock sneaks a solemn glance at
Leslie:
JOCK
Deep doo-doo, love.
The door of the Mercedes pops open. MANUEL MIRANDA, JR.
steps out.
He's followed by INO BARTANA, armed with a Swiss HK
submachine gun.
Manuel's a charming, handsome Filipino in his 40's with
refined Castilian features. 'Ino' Innocente Bartana is a
massive man in his 20's. Not charming, handsome or
refined.
MANUEL /SUBTITLE
(Tagalog)
These press are like flies on shit.
Very annoying.
COMMANDER
Very annoying, sir.
MANUEL /SUBTITLE
(Tagalog)
But, like flies, very necessary.
To the natural order of things.
The Commander nods, knowingly. Manuel returns to the car,
followed by Ino. They get in and speed away.
LESLIE
"Flies on shit?" Who was that
masked man?
JOCK
Manuel Miranda, Junior.
EXT. MALACANANG PALACE, MANILA - DUSK
Special FORCES outfitted with automatic weapons secure the
entrance. In the distance, Philippine Army REGULARS stand
at full alert with fixed bayonets in front of a group of
protesting STUDENTS.
JOCK (OVER)
Marcos' point man on tribal
minorities. Educated at Harvard.
INT. MALACANANG PALACE, BALLROOM
The glittering elite of Manila SOCIETY are assembled at
elaborately decorated tables. FERDINAND and IMELDA MARCOS
and other government OFFICIALS sit at the dais.
The room is ringed with armed GUARDS. Manuel addresses the
crowd from a flower-covered podium.
Jock and Leslie huddle at a table in back with other
members of the PRESS.
In contrast with her earlier 'scruffy' camouflage look,
Leslie's now clothed in a charming traditional Filipino
embroidered (Maria Clara) dress.
JOCK
His family's one of the oldest in
the Philippines. Very well
situated. Mines, newspapers, TV
stations, timber mills.
LESLIE
Why would he take a post as a
cabinet minister?
Jock's very cagey about this. He just grins.
JOCK
Good question.
MANUEL
(at podium)
We hear a great deal today about
conservation. Endangered species.
Saving the rain forest. But what
about human beings? Surely native
cultures must be considered at
least as important as other natural
resources. We cannot, must not,
forget that our national
minorities, the so-called pagan
tribes of the Philippines, are our
blood brothers.
APPLAUSE.
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