shauna macdonald might be the british sigourney weaver

At least insofar as monster movies go. The Descent, which I think is a phenomenal film, didn't really need a sequel, but neither did Alien. I adore Aliens - I'd probably rank it in my 25 favorite movies of all time - and so maybe The Descent Part II will live up to its spiritual predecessor's achievement. There's a trailer out that gives me hope.

Frankly, I didn't even know Marshall was done making it, let alone that it'd be coming out in December (in the UK).

new project

I realize I've been remiss in my postings for the month, but there's a halfway decent reason. After having once again tried, and once again failed, to get my long-stalled film project off the ground, I've decided to focus my energies in a different direction for a time. I've always wanted to write and draw a comic strip, and although I can't draw, I can certainly make up for a lacking form with content.

Attempting to combine my hatred of all things evil with my love for comedy and the ridiculous, I've fashioned the beginnings of what might be, well, something. A strip about drone workers at the most evil corporation ever (also the name of the strip, "Incorporated Hate" - Hate, Inc. is a rather shitty clothing company, it appears, and I'd rather not be associated with their product). Like "executive vice president of raping and pillaging" evil.

Come and pay the new project a visit if you like. I don't know if I'll be able to do it daily at first (or ever), but hopefully quality will (eventually - I'm quite aware that it's finding its legs) trump quantity.

moon

2001, with Sam Rockwell in the Dave Bowman role, and Kevin Spacey playing HAL. That's the vague idea I had of Moon going into it, and I was sold based solely on that terribly wrong impression. Despite the facts that Spacey delivers all of his lines in his best HAL impersonation, the film ends with lights flashing across Rockwell's helmet, and he finds himself at the mercy of the technology of which he's supposed to be the master, Duncan Jones' (David Bowie's son, interestingly enough) smaller, more personal (and, frankly, infinitely more comprehensible) film sets itself far apart from 2001 that comparisons go out the window pretty quickly. Though, there were certainly parts that reminded me of Stephen Soderbergh's adaptation of Solaris, but again, not for long.

A lot of movies these days – far too many – lay everything out early on. By this, I mean that if a movie's structured A-B-C, C is revealed very quickly and the only question left to the audience is, “How is the movie going to get there?” Usually, that's not particularly interesting. That's not to say that such a story can't be told in an compelling way, it's just that I'm very rarely sitting on the edge of my seat wondering what in the hell is going to happen next, but Moon kept my head tilted through much of its runtime. Once I got into the film's groove, I could start to see what the big developments were going to be, but that didn't happen for a while.

Moon is, to be frank, quiet. It makes a good deal of sense, given that Rockwell's Sam Bell is the lone human (though you could argue that point pretty successfully) aboard a moon base that captures Helium-3 to send back to Earth to power fusion generators that've, more or less, solved the fossil fuel problem. There's a fantastic sequence where he's driving his moon rover out to one of the mobile harvesting stations, this massive machine that looks like a cross between a combine and a Jawa sandcrawler. It's kicking up all manner of moon rock as it trudges across the satellite's surface and, as Rockwell drives ever closer, he's caught in its wake, a shower of debris, a rain of rock. It's beautiful and understated, without a musical swell or camera flourish to call attention to it, a great moment of imagery that reminded me of the fireworks scene in Brokeback Mountain, another gorgeous cinematic moment made all the better because it didn't feel the need to announce itself. And, just like that part of Brokeback, something terrible was lurking underneath the surface. The rover crashes into the harvester, knocking him unconscious as rock pours over the small windows.

As a bleeding-heart, liberal, egghead communist, I have to admit that it was tough for me to suspect a company built on the socially progressive base of alternative energy to be, well, evil, but I should've, and right from the start. Between Cyberdine, and Weyland-Yutani, and OCP, there's a long history of corporate wrong-doing in science fiction. But... fusion power! From the moon! What's more awesome than that? How could they be evil? Well, the answer was staring me right in the face from the first moment Rockwell stepped onscreen, and believe me, it's a good one.

Speaking of Sam Rockwell, I don't really know if there are many actors that I genuinely like and enjoy as much as him. I like that he makes these choices of roles that keep him a step or two removed from mainstream acceptance and recognition; I hate it when a band (Isis), or a concept (“universal” health coverage), or a game (Dead Space) gets stolen from me and co-opted by people who don't understand or fully appreciate it as much as I do, and, at least for a little while longer, it doesn't look like Guy Fleegman is going to be taken from me and perverted into something that makes him less than he is. When I saw the G-Force trailer, I remarked that somebody needs to be put in charge of Will Arnett's career (beyond an agent... somebody who has the best interests of his talent in mind, not just his bank account). Rockwell doesn't need that person, at least not yet. He's able to run pretty much the full gamut in Moon, slipping in and out of fully-justifiable paranoia, and he doesn't disappoint. The video messages he sends back and forth with his wife and daughter back on Earth (Bell signed a three-year contract that's about up when the movie opens) are his only substantive contact with the outside world, and he clearly knows it, wrenching every little bit of human connection out of their video-phone tag that he can. In this way, I suppose the film could also be compared to Castaway, except that Moon remains compelling for its entire runtime, and not just a few minutes here and there.

Spacey, of course, is fantastic, even if he's never actually on camera. He's so good at running cool that his voice is the absolute and perfect counterpoint to Rockwell's constantly-bubbling emotions. You want to suspect GERTY from the get-go, but the AI is so convincing when it tells Sam that it's just here to help him.

For an (apparently) $4 million movie, the production value is fantastic. The CG sequences stay within the tone of the movie, always understated, never showy. The base is logical, efficient with its use of space, and GERTY, rather than a series of camera eyes installed throughout, is a physical mechanism that travels on rails set in the ceiling. A small display switches between variations on happy, sad, worried, uncomfortable, and even expressionless faces, so as to cue Sam in on the tone his computerized companion wishes to take with him.

I've tried to avoid spoiling what happens in the film precisely because I enjoy it so very much. I don't want to ruin it for anyone reading that might want to go and see it. That's something you should do, go and see it. As quickly as possible.

harry potter and the half-blood prince

Until now, the only Harry Potter movie I've really been able to stand was The Prisoner of Azkaban, for a variety of reasons. It was an actual movie, not simply a crummy slapping of the book onscreen, that finally made Hogwarts as much of a character as the children I'd not been sold on until Alfonso Cuaron took them under his wing and showed them how to be actors. It probed the darkness that, in the books, was only starting to rear its head, and it pissed off a fanbase that I didn't particularly care for, so that was a serious mark in its favor. My heart was heavy when I found out Cuaron wasn't to direct The Goblet of Fire (but, let's be fair: Children of Men is a hell of a movie), and so I reconciled myself to the fact that there would never be a Harry Potter movie I enjoyed. Goblet of Fire was so badly paced that I'd probably rate it a worse experience than either of the Chris Columbus movies, and Order of the Phoenix only got interesting when the wizard gunfight broke out towards the end. Anybody who actually expected the Harry Potter movies to be any good was hoping for far too much, anyway.

It's still tough to believe that Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince has gotten the glowing reviews its received. Tough, not because it's an excellent movie (because it's very good, but I'm getting ahead of myself), but because it's a Harry Potter movie. It may well force me to reevaluate my impressions of the series as a whole (I doubt strongly they'll change much, but the simple fact that it may well do this is a high mark in its favor). It's still not Prisoner of Azkaban, but David Yates has clearly learned enough from his previous gig, and his predecessors, that it's entirely possible he could surpass that high water mark by the time the second Deathly Hallows movie comes out.

Yates has figured out how to play with the space that the Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft provides him; he probes the shadows of the old castle to uncover those lying within the characters that have always been the movies' greatest assets. The literal differences between the high and low spaces in the castle, as Ron and Lavender run up the steps to begin their ill-advised relationship, while Harry comforts Hermione in the basement, have been so underused in most of the rest of the series as to be depressing. Bellatrix's destruction of the Great Hall at the end of the film, followed by her torching of Hagrid's cabin, are not mere desecrations of spaces, but deaths of characters, important as any other after six films.

Speaking of deaths (the series' worst-kept secret, after all), the time that Michael Gambon was given to shine was not wasted. The negative blowback that came from his arrival as Richard Harris' replacement to the part of Albus Dumbledore probably went a long way towards tainting the fanbase's perception of Prisoner of Azkaban, but I was never able to understand it. Harris was grandfatherly, for sure, but conveyed none of the power that Dumbledore had from the series' get-go, that would become so very essential as both the books and the films went along, reaching its high water mark here. Gambon has power in his presence; he always does. Sure, he's grandfatherly in that Obi-Wan Kenobi way that Dumbledore needs to be, and anyone with that bead would look bookish, like a professor, but Gambon conveys the strength that the Hogwarts headmaster calls upon when he has to go to war. He's at his highest and his lowest in this film, and those opposing moments come within seconds of each other when he's with Harry in the cave. As he's drinking the poisoned water, begging Harry to stop and, eventually, to kill him (isn't the ironing delicious?), he's fallen as far as he can go, but then, as Harry's pulled under water by the Inferi, he sets the world on fire and saves his young student's life. His silent communication with Snape, just before he's killed and falls off the tower, is a beautiful rendering of an essential moment in the book (for once, I'm happy with the series' overall fanatical fidelity to its source material).

Really, though, the Harry Potter film series' lasting contribution to the world will have everything to do with its acting. Not simply because it reminds an impatient society the virtues of patience (a big part of the reason this film is as good as it is, I'm convinced, is because we've had the chance to watch the principal actors really and truly grow into their roles. Rupert Grint, in particular, has fashioned himself in a fine comedic actor – not that anyone with a good eye couldn't see it coming, but it's awfully nice when potential is realized. Tom Felton has found the bit inside Draco Malfoy that's good, and has figured out how to mine it to great effect. Daniel Radcliffe has really learned how to be a subtle actor, particularly with his eyes, and Emma Watson, well, there's never really been any complaint I could make about her acting. She was perfect from the get-go, and she's just unfolded layer after layer of Hermione Granger as the years have gone by. I do hope she doesn't end her acting career with Deathly Hallows II. It would be a great loss), but because it's introduced a generation of young film-goers to a who's who of great British actors. Kenneth Branaugh, Ralph Finnes, Gary Oldman, Maggie Smith, Alan Rickman (who's finally given more of a part to work with this time around), Emma Thompson, Brendan Gleeson, Julie Christie, John Cleese, Timothy Spall, David Tennant, Robbie Coltrane, David Thewlis, George Harris, Warwick Davis, Imelda Staunton, Helena Bonham Carter... The supporting cast members have been, without variation, extraordinary, and have hopefully inspired some curious members of the audience to check out some of their work that didn't have hundreds of millions of dollars behind it. Jim Broadbent, as Professor Horace Slughorn, upholds that tradition finely, and surpasses the bulk of those that have come before him. He's haunted by Voldemort from the instant he appears onscreen up until the moment he admits to Harry that, well, much of the student-formerly-known-as-Tom-Riddle's mad rise to power is directly attributable to something he once foolishly mentioned without thinking. To an audience that may only be best familiar with him from Moulin Rogue (another fantastic performance of his), he may well be startling in Half-Blood Prince, and that's a great thing.

The moments where the movie most clearly diverges from the book – the ones that feel most directly inspired by the tone of Prisoner of Azkaban – were certainly among the most compelling for me. Harry's final moment among the Muggles, where he flirts with a cute waitress who knows far more about the art of seduction than he, does a more than passable job of replacing the conversation between Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge and the “current British Prime Minister” that opens the book, grounding us in our own non-magical reality once again, and the Death Eaters' attack on the Weasley family's home at the Burrow, bringing home the danger of Voldemort's rise to power in a very Children of Men-esque way (from the completely-not-in-series-character shaky cam, to the instantaneous thievery of the power the characters felt only a moment earlier, to the senselessness of tragedy, to the lack of emotionally manipulative, bombastic music throughout). Not simply because I didn't have these moments committed to memory, but because they were the moments where the movie became its own entity, when it fashioned sequences well-suited to its form of storytelling, so different from a novel.

Since this was the last time we're going to see Quidditch (presumably) on the silver screen, I'm very glad they chose to send it off on a high note; Ron Weasley triumphant over all the naysayers (followed by the series' descent into Varsity Blues-like debauchery; I suppose teenagers really are the same, no matter if they're American, British, wizard, or Muggle) was a fine moment to end what was one of the best-shot Quidditch matches in the series' history. The speed at which the game unfolds, well, it still boggles my mind, and the constant lurking danger underneath an adventure, a game, was a great inadvertent metaphor for Harry's life both in school and out of it.

Actually, for a movie as dark as this one was (probably best comparable to Two Towers or Empire, seeing as how our heroes have been brought as low as they're going to be), there were a lot of laugh moments. It balanced the brightness and the shadows quite well.

As much as I'd like to unequivocally recommend this film to anyone that likes a good experience in the theater, I wonder how much of my enjoyment was fueled by the fact that I've invested so much time into these characters, this story, between the books and the films. I've slogged through over two hours of uninteresting movie for every hour of compelling filmmaking at this point; I've seen the stars grow from the time they were very small until now. It's an odd, nearly familial feeling I have at this point, so when the film is triumphant, that feeling is likely magnified for me a good deal. That's not to say Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince's filmmaking bona fides are in question; they're not. I just don't know if anyone who hasn't invested the time that a person like me has will feel quite as strongly about it. It's a fine film, for sure, but it may not be as fine to a viewer that's not seen the five preceeding ones.

Public Enemies

I've heard plenty of people that I've introduced to Collateral, Manhunter, Last of the Mohicans, and even Heat complain that Michael Mann's films are far too cerebreal, that they lack the sort of emotional oomph that the best films use to transport you to another time and place. Up until Miami Vice, I disagreed, but the Colin Farrell-Jamie Foxx-Gong Li vehicle got me worrying that Mann had completely forgotten how to engage his audience on a level more visceral than, “Jesus, digital cinematography has gotten good.” He'd need something impressive to bounce back from his feature film retooling of the show that put him on that map, and fortunately, Public Enemies precisely that sort of movie. And, for the first time, I doubt anyone can argue that it does not punch you in the stomach, squeeze your heart, and cause you to step back for a moment or two to appreciate the craftsmanship, the artistry of the film.

At its best, a Michael Mann film is beyond meticulously constructed. Nothing is left to chance, not even the backstory of the principal characters (he'd assembled a full dossier, complete with pictures, for Tom Cruise's Vincent in Collateral before his lead actor ever showed up for rehearsals). Public Enemies reeks of the 1930s, from the weave of the suits, to the cadence of the conversations, to the music (oh, the music – Benny Goodman and Billie Holiday are all over the place, but the real treats are Diana Krall's version of “Bye, Bye Blackbird” and two songs from Otis Taylor, “Ten Million Slaves” and “Nasty Letter,” all of which bring an energy and attitude to the film that are indispensible). Nothing is out of place, not ever.

Mann wastes no time in introducing us to John Dillinger at the height of his powers, staging an elaborate breakout of his gang from the jail that holds them (while none of the break-out, or break-in, scenes approach the centerpiece heist of Heat, the clockwork precision with which they unfold, at least at first, illustrates Mann's skill at helming the crime film just as well as they do Dillinger's skill at helming, well, crime). Dillinger has allies all over the place, from the men at his side during the bank heists, to the people that hide him between jobs, to his fellow criminals in the Syndicate that launder his stolen cash and send bigger and better jobs his way. His list of allies slowly dwindles as the film winds on, until he's practically alone and finally brought down when one of the few people still close to him is forced to betray him by the FBI.

As usual, the casting is superb, even visionary. Christian Bale's Melvin Purvis is beyond dogged in his pursuit of “Public Enemy Number One,” and slaps J. Edgar Hoover (played by Billy Crudup in the actor's latest “really?” part) in the face with reality over and over again. Purvis is something of a contradiction here, a loner turned into the new face of the company, a man who never finds companionship or friendship as he races after the criminals terrorizing his country. Johnny Depp brings his rockstar charisma and total physical performance command to Dillinger, effortlessly modernizing yet another archetypical character in American film (first, the buccaneer in Pirates of the Carribean, and here the gangster). He grins and cracks wise with the press before he's thrown into prison, even putting his arm around the district attourney. His relationship with Marion Cotillard's Billie Frechette (she is more than Depp's equal as a performer – they're always fighting for the upper hand onscreen) is the emotional core of the film, and what really places it in the upper echelon of Mann's catalog. Never before has he so effectively rendered love (screwed-up though this particular love may have been) onscreen – the closing sequence of the film in particular (they were so close to escaping to South America).

Much of the film feels like a synthesis of great gangster films that have come before – Bonnie & Clyde and The Untouchables spring most readily to mind – but Dante Spinotti's digital cinematography adds a series of new wrinkles to the equation. Public Enemies virtually crackles with the sort of tension and excitement that can only come from immediacy, which is what digital provides in spades. Light doesn't need to be so overtly manipulated with a digital film, light can simply be, allowing shadows to fall, and fall off, in greater magnitude than ever before. The bright lights and colors of Havana and Miami were not the right locations to deploy the most recent generation of digital cameras; for all they do well, colors rarely pop in a digital film. The drab Chicago of the 1930s, well, that's a different story. Arthur Penn's version of the story of Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow redefined crime films for the second half of the 20th century; I think Public Enemies could well do that for the 21st century.

short fiction (II)

One supports the other. The clones grow in their pond, keeping the crew alive until the mission's completion, and the tubules transfer the sum total of their memories, ensuring each successive generation benefits from the life experiences of those that came before. Unable to improve the speed of their travel, but desiring a crew that would function for the length of the journey, humanity, as before, found a way to get what it wanted. Unsurprisingly, they failed to consider the cost. Not simply what a seemingly endless journey might do to a group, but to a mind.

The human brain is not built to go on forever; when the body dies, the mind goes quickly. If the spirit endures, translates itself someplace different, then could moving the mind from one body to another trap the soul? Does a soul ache for freedom, does it despise bondage? Philosophers and people of faith may ask these questions, but do men of science?

star trekkin' (part IV)

As promised/forewarned, the text that follows is the opening (pre-title sequence) of the way I'd like to see Star Trek 2 (not II, which was already made) unfold. If anybody that reads this likes it, and knows J.J. Abrams, let him know that I have an entire story to pitch to him, and that I'm over 25% of the way done with my first draft. Or you can just enjoy it, or mock me for writing glorified fan fiction. Whatever.

Now, to the script for Star Trek 2...



FADE IN:



INT - KLINGON BATTLECRUISER - NIGHT

A corridor inside of a Klingon battlecruiser (IKS GR'OTH -
under the command of Captain Koloth). The tunnel is
comfortless, severe, without any decoration besides the tri
pointed emblem of the Klingon Empire. A fine mist hangs over
the deck; it plays with the harsh red lights that shine
overhead. An ALERT KLAXON BLARES.

Rapid CLANG-CLANGS sound from offscreen. Turning the corner
into this corridor are CAPTAIN JAMES T. KIRK, SPOCK and
DOCTOR LEONARD "BONES" MCCOY. PHASERS in hand and sweaty.
Spock carries a large PACK across his back; GREEN BLOOD drips
from a large cut on his jaw. McCoy pulls a TOOL from the
POUCH on his BELT.

MCCOY
Dammit, Spock, hold still and let
me patch you up!

SPOCK
Doctor, it is not logical for us to
delay while -

MCCOY
Look, you've already lost enough
blood for one day.

Both Spock and McCoy look at the Vulcan's side. ANGLE ON a
large, ugly BLOODSTAIN underneath his left arm. BACK TO SCENE

MCCOY (CONT'D)
Either we stop for a moment, or Jim
and I'll have to take turns
carrying you back to the shuttle.

Spock turns his head to face Kirk, who interrupts his vigil
looking down the hall to NOD casually. Spock turns back to
McCoy.

SPOCK
Very well, Doctor, but I do not
have to remind you that time -

BURSTS of bright, crimson KLINGON DISRUPTOR FIRE interrupt
their conversation - CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! - leaving smoking
holes in the wall.

KIRK
Is anyone hit?

SPOCK
The package is undamaged.

MCCOY
So are we.
(beat)
Barely.
(beat)
Cover me, Jim!

KIRK
Won't be able to give you more than
a few seconds.

Kirk advances down the hallway, hugging the wall, phaser at
the ready. From over his shoulder, we can see five KLINGON
SOLDIERS, dressed in heavy, ornate, leather battle armor
almost as impressive as the BONE RIDGES on their foreheads.
The one in the lead - first officer KORAX, the biggest and
nastiest of them all - holds a huge, shining BAT'LETH, the
two-handed, bladed weapon of choice for the elite Klingon
warrior. His men carry vicious-looking DISRUPTOR RIFLES.
Their steps CLANG much more ominously than those of Kirk and
his men.

The Klingons don't yet see Kirk. He FLIPS his phaser over to
STUN and FIRES a burst in their direction. Most of his shots
miss, but one finds its target. It BOUNCES off Korax's armor,
burning a small hole in the ceiling.

The Klingons follow the phaser blast up, and then its trail
back down. Their eyes focus on Kirk simultaneously.

KIRK
Son of a bitch!

MCCOY
What is it, Jim?

The Klingons take off at a dead run.

KIRK
Run!

Kirk zips off and comes upon Spock and McCoy just as the
doctor finishes closing the wound on Spock's face.

KIRK
How far to the shuttle, Spock?

SPOCK
Two hundred meters.

MCCOY
Exactly?

SPOCK
Yes.

KIRK
Can you lead?

SPOCK
Yes.

With Spock in the front, McCoy in the middle, and Kirk
bringing up the rear, the Starfleeters rush down the corridor
just ahead of the Klingons. They exchange disruptor and
phaser FIRE.

They wind up in

INT - KLINGON BATTLECRUISER SHUTTLE BAY - SAME

And go from a hyper-claustrophobic space to a cavernous one.
Three KLINGON SHUTTLES - each one resembling an ill-tempered,
armored animal - are closest to the men. Further down, we can
make out the classic STARFLEET SHUTTLE, nearly at the edge of
the shuttlebay. A gigantic door blocks them from the
nothingness around the ship.

Kirk and Spock look up; ANGLE ON the CONTROL TOWER built into
the far wall of the shuttle bay. It can only be reached by a
small open-air TURBOLIFT. BACK TO SCENE.

Kirk slaps a CONTROL PANEL, which causes a BLAST DOOR to SLAM
down in the Klingons' faces.

SPOCK
Captain, Doctor, if you will make
your way to the shuttle, I will
open the bay doors.

MCCOY
Like hell you will. Just twisting
the wrong way'll pop those
emergency seals open.
(beat)
I'll go.

SPOCK
Doctor, you were not trained on the
Klingon -

MCCOY
I can push buttons, dammit!
Besides, if you're the hotshot
pilot you're supposed to be, you
can come pick me up before you go.

Spock and McCoy look back at Kirk, a moment of almost
childish respite over the BOOMING the Klingons make on the
other side of the door.

KIRK
I think we should listen to our
doctor, Spock.

SPOCK
Very well.

KIRK
Bones, I'll cover you when they get
through.

MCCOY
How do you know they'll do that?

Kirk gives McCoy a, "Seriously?" look that the doctor
grudgingly accepts. OVERHEAD: Spock and McCoy rush off,
leaving Kirk by himself amidst the Klingon shuttles. BACK TO
SCENE.

Kirk runs and presses his back to one of the Klingon
shuttles. He peeks just above it to watch the blast door,
which HEATS and turns a burning red as the Klingons use their
disruptors to cut through it.

As Spock runs to the shuttle, we ANGLE ON the control tower
once again, where a KLINGON OFFICER has suddenly appeared! He
hits a few switches on his CONTROL CONSOLE. ANGLE ON the
AUTOMATIC DISRUPTOR TURRET positioned above the control
tower. BACK TO SCENE.

Before Spock can reach the shuttle, the turret FIRES,
BLASTING the Federation shuttle to pieces right before his
eyes. Spock has no time to process this; the turret starts to
fire on him immediately after. He ducks behind another
shuttle and immediately starts to fiddle with the CONTROL PAD
on its outer hull.

At the same time the shuttle EXPLODES, so do the blast doors
sealing off the shuttle bay. Korax and his men stride in
before any of the smoke has begun to clear.

McCoy throws himself into the turbolift cradle and punches a
button on the CONTROL PAD without even looking.
The cradle starts upwards. ANGLE ON the pad; all of the text
and symbols are in Klingon. BACK TO SCENE.

A few BOLTS of disruptor fire fly over McCoy's head before he
ducks down against the cradle's base.

MCCOY
They're shooting, Jim!

He hears his answer as Kirk pops out from behind cover and
NAILS a Klingon in the head with a stun bolt. As he drops to
the deck, the Klingons' return fire scorches the hull of the
shuttle that sits between them and Kirk.

Spock, meanwhile, has opened the door on his Klingon shuttle.

INT - KLINGON SHUTTLE - SAME

There are even harsher angles inside the little craft than
there were on the outside. There is no padding anywhere, and
with the exception of more nationalistic SYMBOLS, no
decoration.

Spock sits down in a hard, metal chair in the cockpit. He
looks down at its controls; varying shades and symbols of red
shine back up at him. His movements as he activates the
shuttle are more tentative than we've ever seen; does he
actually not trust his command of the Klingon language?

Phaser and disruptor fire FLASH in the window.

INT - KLINGON BATTLECRUISER SHUTTLE BAY - SAME

The cradle's taken McCoy up to the top of the control tower.
He FIRES his phaser at the Klingon officer a moment before
the cradle comes to a halt.

McCoy's luck seems to be just as bad as Kirk's; his BLAST
bounces off the Klingon's armor. Barely feet away, the
Klingon takes a swing at McCoy and knocks the phaser from his
hand, dropping it to the deck below. Another punch sends
McCoy sprawling against the back of the cradle.

Kirk lays out another Klingon with a stun BLAST, but Korax's
men are too close to Kirk now for him to aim carefully. The
barrel of his phaser FLIPS; he's set on the red KILL mode,
now.

The Klingon hits McCoy so hard that his uniform tunic TEARS.
McCoy falls to the bottom of the cage, inadvertently ducking
under a punch. The Klingon overextends himself, and McCoy
seizes his opportunity.
He SNAPS the Klingon's head back with a two-handed strikes as
he stands, a blow he follows up with a quick series of
punches right below the Klingon's brow ridge. This stuns the
Klingon long enough for McCoy to extract a SPRAY HYPO from
his pouch and press it against the Klingon's neck. With a
WOOSH, the powerful sedative contained in it puts the Klingon
out instantly.

McCoy walks, triumphantly, to the control console; his
shoulders slump when he realizes that it's all in Klingon. He
pulls out his COMMUNICATOR, and flips it open.

INT - KLINGON SHUTTLE - SAME

Spock's COMMUNICATOR CHIRPS. He opens it.

INT - KLINGON BATTLECRUISER SHUTTLE BAY - SAME

MCCOY
How do you work this damned thing?

SPOCK (O.S.)
You have realized that a control
console in a Klingon ship is
labeled in Klingon?
(beat)
Doctor McCoy -

Kirk SHOOTS the last two Klingon soldiers through their
armor, dropping them. He turns around to see Korax leap at
him from the shadows, bat'leth swinging. Kirk's barely able
to duck the attack in time.

SPOCK (CONT'D O.S.)
- you really must understand -

MCCOY (O.S.)
I learned their anatomy, Spock!

Korax's attack SLICES a civious line in the hull of the
shuttle behind Kirk. Korax swings his bat'leth around in a
backhand swing, but Kirk manages to interrupt it and SMASH
the Klingon in the face with the BARREL of his phaser. Korax
steps away, a nasty BURN smoking.

INT - KLINGON SHUTTLE - SAME

SPOCK
...then the third toggle on the top
row.

MCCOY (O.S.)
And that'll open the bay doors?

SPOCK
No, that activates the disruptor
turret controls.

MCCOY (O.S.)
Spock -

SPOCK
You must use it to save the
Captain, Doctor.

INT - KLINGON BATTLECRUISER SHUTTLE BAY - SAME

McCoy looks in Kirk's direction; Korax's BATTLECRY is audible
even across the shuttle bay. A small CONTROL STICK emerges
from the console. McCoy grabs it and swings the turret in the
direction of Kirk and Korax.

The ROAR of the disruptor turret splits the air again, and
tears through the space between the human and the Klingon.
Korax's eyes WIDEN in realization, then he runs. McCoy
stitches the deck with BLAST after BLAST, but Korax manages
to escape.

Kirk looks up at McCoy and exhales. McCoy points toward
Spock, who simply nods.

MCCOY
Now, how the hell do we get out of
here?

CUT TO:



EXT - KLINGON BATTLECRUISER - SAME

The classic design, with the bridge, the neck, and the large
secondary hull all on a line. ANGLE ON the SHUTTLE BAY DOORS
at the rear of the ship; they've slid open, and a KLINGON
SHUTTLE has slipped through them.

CUT TO:



INT - KLINGON SHUTTLE - SAME

Kirk sits at the pilot's controls; Spock on a bench as McCoy
tends more thoroughly to their wounds. A light on the control
panel FLASHES ominously in time with an ALERT SIREN.

MCCOY
I think they're coming about, Jim.

KIRK
Not quickly enough.

Kirk sets his COMMUNICATOR down next to the flashing light

CUT TO:



EXT - KLINGON SHUTTLE - SAME

The Gr'oth has nearly finished its turn; the TORPEDO LAUNCHER
underneath its bridge heats up. The shuttle looks so very
small.

As if willed into being, the U.S.S. ENTERPRISE, flagship of
the Federation fleet and Kirk's command, drops out of WARP
expertly between the Gr'oth and the shuttle. The Klingon
battlecruiser looks almost stunned for a moment, then opens
FIRE on the Enterprise.

CUT TO:



INT - ENTERPRISE BRIDGE - SAME

SULU and CHEKOV in front of the empty CAPTAIN'S CHAIR, UHURA
at her station.

UHURA
I'm opening a channel.
(beat)
Captain?

CUT TO:

INT - KLINGON SHUTTLE - SAME

KIRK
It's us, Uhura.

SULU (O.S.)
Do you have the package, Captain?

ANGLE ON the pack Spock carried; it sits in the chair next to
Kirk.

KIRK
Yes, we do.

CUT TO:



EXT - ENTERPRISE - SAME

The captured Klingon shuttle enters the Enterprise's SHUTTLE
BAY as PHASERS and PHOTON TORPEDOES EXPLODE around them. The
instant the shuttle bay doors close, the Enterprise goes to
WARP, leaving the Klingons behind.

ROLL CREDITS