Professional Documents
Culture Documents
James DeMille’s
Written by
Robert W. Lebling
"AT THE WORLD’S END"
FADE IN:
As the figure turns slowly and walks away from the cliff
edge, a panorama of the Antarctic landscape appears and
opening credits roll.
FEATHERSTONE
I say, Melick, you're the most
energetic fellow I ever saw!
You're the only one aboard who's
busy. What the devil are you
doing?
MELICK
(businesslike)
Paper boats, m’lord…
FEATHERSTONE
Paper boats?? Whatever for?
MELICK
I'm going to hold a regatta.
Anything to kill time.
FEATHERSTONE
(raising himself up)
A regatta! What a splendid idea!
I say, Oxenden, did you hear
that?
OXENDEN
(lazily)
What do you mean by a regatta?
MELICK
I mean a race with these paper
boats. We can bet on them, you
know.
(MORE)
(CONT'D)
FEATHERSTONE
OXENDEN
But there isn't any wind!
MELICK
(solemnly, as he folds a boat)
Well, you know, that's the fun
of it. If there was a wind, we'd
be moving ourselves, and we
couldn't have a regatta. As it
is, the water is just right. You
pick your boat, and bet that
she'll reach a given point.
OXENDEN
What point?
MELICK
Anything in the water will do --
a bubble, a patch of seaweed --
or we can pitch out a piece of
wood.
OXENDEN
(pointing west)
There's a black speck out there.
FEATHERSTONE
So there is. That'll do. I
wonder what it is....
MELICK
Oh, a bit of timber. Probably
the spar of some ship.
CONGREVE
It doesn't look like a spar.
It's only a round spot, like the
float of some net.
MELICK
Oh, it's a spar. It's one end of
it, the rest is under water.
MELICK leans over the starboard gunwale and sets the paper
boats gently in the water. The ocean is perfectly still and
there is no perceptible wind. But the boats begin moving, due
to draughts of air caused by the rise and fall of the yacht.
The green boat drifts astern, the yellow one stays under the
yacht. But the red and white boats, in tandem, drift out
slowly toward the dark spot.
FEATHERSTONE
Two to one on the red!
MELICK
Done!
Soon the four gentlemen are rowing out towards the finish
line.
When they reach the area of the dark spot, they find the two
paper boats stuck together, saturated with water and floating
limp on the surface. They begin arguing over their bets.
FEATHERSTONE is studying the dark object.
FEATHERSTONE
What an odd-looking thing! It
doesn't look like a spar. Pull
it up, lads, let's see what it
is.
MELICK
It's not a spar.
From the bow, MELICK lunges for the object and after a few
miscues manages to lift it into the rowboat. It is a slime-
and barnacle-covered metal cylinder about 18 inches long and
eight inches wide, soldered tight and evidently containing
something.
CONGREVE
It looks like a can of preserved
meat. Perhaps something good --
like Yorkshire game pie. They
pot all sorts of things now.
OXENDEN
If it's game, it'll be rather
high by this time. Man alive!
Look at those weeds and shells.
It must have been floating for
ages.
MELICK
Meat cans are never so large as
that.
CONGREVE
Oh, I don't know about that.
They make up pretty large
pemmicans for those arctic
expeditions...
MELICK
(scraping barnacles from the can with a pen
knife)
They never pack up pemmican in
copper cylinders.
OXENDEN
Copper! Is it copper?
A coppery glint shows where the knife cleared away shells and
slime.
FEATHERSTONE
Let's get it back to the yacht
and open it.
FEATHERSTONE
(examining the pages)
It's a letter -- the same letter
written on all three sheets, in
English … French and German.
FEATHERSTONE
"To the finder --
"Sir, I am an
Englishman, and have been
carried by a series of
incredible events to a land from
which escape is impossible as
the grave. I have written this
and committed it to the sea, in
the hope that the ocean currents
may bear it within the reach of
civilized man.
"I entreat you to
let this message be made known
to my father, Henry More,
Keswick, Cumberland, England, so
that he may learn of the fate of
his son. The manuscript
accompanying this contains an
account of my adventures, which
I should like to have forwarded
to him.
"Do this for the
sake of that mercy which you may
one day wish to have shown to
yourself.
ADAM MORE"
FEATHERSTONE
This is simply amazing!
MELICK opens his pen knife, and cuts the cords of the
remaining package. He holds up the manuscript and unfolds it
-- a great collection of papyrus sheets, covered with writing.
FEATHERSTONE
Read it, Melick. You've got the
most energy. When you're tired,
the rest of us will take turns.
MELICK
(shaking his head)
It'll take a month to read this!
FEATHERSTONE
All the better. This calm will
probably last that long, and we
have nothing else to do.
MELICK/MORE
My name is Adam More. I was mate
of the ship Trevelyan, under
Captain Bennett, a vessel
chartered by the British
Government to convey convicts to
Australia....
MORE
(pointing east)
I think they're beyond that bend.
AGNEW
My God! Thousands of them.
They're sitting ducks.
MORE laughs and takes the first shot. AGNEW takes aim and
fires. The seals panic and rush headlong for the safety of
the sea.
The men approach their kills.
MORE
(sensing a storm)
We'd better get back to the ship.
MORE and AGNEW each seizes a dead seal by the tail flippers
and begins dragging it across the ice, back toward the
longboat.
When they reach the boat, they haul the seals in, retrieve
the grapple, and push out to sea.
As they row back toward the ship, the wind picks up, and the
sea grows steadily rougher. Snow is swirling around them.
They row in silence.
AGNEW
They're signaling us!
Hours pass. The gun reports become fainter and rarer. AGNEW
drops his oar and begins bailing out the longboat, now about
a third full of water. After a while, MORE takes over
bailing, and AGNEW rows. In this way they pass the night.
Morning comes at last. The wind has eased, but the snow is so
thick they can only see a short distance. The Trevelyan is
nowhere to be seen. The signal gun has long since ceased.
They row all day, resting when exhausted. The cold is too
intense to allow rest for long. They have no thought of food.
They row to keep from perishing, sometimes dropping off to
sleep at the oars but always awakening with a start, and
rowing on, benumbed, without hope.
Another morning comes. The snow has stopped. They look around
eagerly for signs of their ship, but they see nothing but
empty ocean -- except to the east, where a dark peak rises.
They turn their prow toward the peak and row.
MORE
We're back where we started,
Agnew. The wind has driven us
backwards.
AGNEW
Damn! (He reflects for a moment
in silence.) Let's land on the
ice. We can make a fire and cook
some of that meat.
When they reach the coast, they beach the longboat, and make
a fire, breaking up an empty box from the longboat for
firewood. They cut strips of meat from a seal and lay it on
the flames.
The meat is barely singed, but they are starving, and eat
ravenously. For water, they chew ice and snow.
MORE
(looking grimly at AGNEW)
I think we're done for, friend.
AGNEW
(snorting)
You don't mean that, More.
MORE
I do. Chances are, we won't find
the ship. Any ship....
AGNEW
Look, mate, I don't know about
you, but I'm not ready to pack
it in. I've got a long life
ahead of me. I've got a wife and
kids back in Bournemouth. I'm
going to find the ship. You're
not married, are you?
MORE
No.
AGNEW
Got a sweetheart back home?
MORE
(a pause)
Not really… She's not cut out to
be a sailor's woman.
AGNEW
Ever think of settling down?
Taking a land job?
MORE
No… I'm not ready for that.
AGNEW
(smiling)
There you go! See? You've still
got some spirit in you!
Adventures yet to be lived! So
stop thinking the worst. Someone
will find us...
MORE
(shaking his head)
You’re an incorrigible optimist,
Agnew…
They pack up the remains of the cooked meat and set to sea
again.
MORE
We can't fight this current.
We'll have to let it carry us
where it will.
AGNEW
I think it's taking us north.
MORE
I'm sure we're going south.
AGNEW
There's no use rowing any more.
If it runs south, we can't
resist it. It's too strong. But
there’s a bright side. I believe
it runs north.
MORE
(narrating)
And so we passed several days,
living off our cache of seal
meat and drinking water from the
ice and snow. It got no colder.
Agnew took this for a sign we
were moving north. But he was
wrong. It got no warmer either.
EXT. SOUTHERN INDIAN OCEAN - THE LONGBOAT - NIGHT
MORE
It's the Trevelyan! Our ship is
on fire!
AGNEW
(squinting)
No, it can't be. It's too big.
It's probably a forest burning.
That means we're near land!
MORE
(despairingly)
I know where we are now.
AGNEW
Where?
MORE
That ... is the Antarctic
continent.
AGNEW
(skeptically)
Ha! More likely it's some
volcanic island in the South
Sea. There's a tremendous
volcano in the Sandwich Islands,
and these are something like it.
MORE
I believe these are the very
volcanoes that Sir James Ross
discovered last year...
AGNEW
Nonsense! We're thousands of
miles from that point.
MORE
Don't count on it. (He nods
toward the volcanoes.) At any
rate, the current is taking us
toward them.
AGNEW
Look! -- do you see? People!
AGNEW
(staring at the figures)
Shall we land?
MORE
Don't be hasty. They could be
dangerous.
AGNEW makes no reply. They watch the figures come down to the
water's edge. They resemble living mummies -- small, dark,
thin, shriveled, with long matted hair and hideous faces.
They carry long spears, and gesticulate toward the longboat.
MORE
And the natives?
AGNEW
I don't think they're dangerous.
Look how small they are!
I'm sure they're harmless.
MORE
I suppose we have no choice.
The ragged band on the beach silently await the longboat. The
closer the boat comes, the more repulsive the people look.
Their bony frames are emaciated, their toes and fingers like
bird claws, their eyes dull and weak, sunken in cavernous
hollows. They make no hostile moves. They hold their spears
loosely in their hands.
MORE
(taking his gun)
I don't like the looks of them.
I'll fire off a round.
AGNEW
Why? For God's sake, man, don't
hurt any of them!
MORE fires in the air. The report echoes off the mountains.
Looking to shore, they see that the people have seated
themselves calmly on the beach, with their hands in their
laps, showing no fear or surprise.
They beach the longboat, and secure it with the grappling
iron. The people get to their feet and crowd around AGNEW and
MORE. Some bow low, others prostrate themselves. They are not
hostile. MORE remains repulsed by them, but AGNEW bows,
smiles, and shakes hands with half a dozen in succession. The
custom is strange to them, but they comply. They offer their
lances to AGNEW and MORE, but the sailors decline them.
The people gesture for AGNEW and MORE to follow them, and
they all begin walking inland.
AGNEW
(cheerfully)
My dear More, they're not a bad
lot. They mean well. They can't
help how they look! You're too
suspicious. Let's make friends
with them, and get them to help
us.
MORE
(doubtfully)
I don’t know about this....
AGNEW
More, old fellow, these good
people give me to understand
there's another place better
than this. They want me to go
with them. Will you come?
MORE
(apprehensive)
Don't go! Please! We're close to
the boat here, and if anything
happens, we can get to it easily.
AGNEW
(laughing)
Why, you're not still
suspicious, are you, after that
dinner? Why would they have
feasted us like that if they'd
wanted to harm us? Nonsense!
Come with us!
AGNEW
Well, if I thought there was any
reason to worry, I'd stay with
you. But I'm sure these people
mean us nothing but kindness,
and I'm going to see this place.
MORE
You'll be back?
AGNEW
Of course. We'll both stay the
night here.
With that, AGNEW sets off, leaving the cave with most of the
tribesmen. MORE remains behind with the women, children and
about a dozen men. These men busy themselves working on bird
skins, the women with feathers. They take no notice of MORE,
who quietly reloads one of the chambers of his rifle. He
notices that AGNEW has left his rifle behind.
Soon MORE looks out at the mouth of the cave, where the fire
still blazes brightly.
Four men arrive at the fire, carrying what looks like a sick
or wounded companion. They set the tribesman down; the
stiffness of the body indicates a corpse. The old woman who
brought the roast fowl to MORE arrives beside the body,
holding a sharp knife high.
MORE
(whispering to himself)
My God.... my God....
MORE looks off at the horizon. The twin volcanoes blaze, and
the northern sky is red with a lurid light. Higher up, the
aurora australis, a glorious curtain across the sky,
illuminates the night with unusual brightness.
MORE
(shouting)
Agnew! Where are you?? Agnew!
AGNEW
(in pain and terror)
More! Run! Get back to the boat!
Save yourself!
MORE
(looking around frantically)
Where are you?
AGNEW
You can't save me! I'm lost! Run
for your life!
MORE knows AGNEW is close, but he still cannot see him in the
darkness. A group of men are following MORE. They are
unarmed, but appear set to leap at him and restrain him. He
turns and waves them back with his rifle. They ignore his
gesture, and move closer. MORE runs on; he is faster, and the
men cannot catch him.
At sea, ships and boats ply the blue-green waters. Some are
fishing boats, some freighters under sail, others look like
ancient square-rigged Mediterranean galleys propelled by a
hundred oars.
MORE
(climbing into the rowboat)
Thank you! Thank you! You don't
know how glad I am to see you!
The CHIEF then stands, removes his elegant cloak and hands it
to MORE. At first inclined to refuse, MORE accepts, wishing
not to give offense. The CHIEF drapes it around MORE’s
shoulders. The other sailors look enviously at the CHIEF.
The galley docks alongside a major stone quay. The CHIEF and
MORE disembark and walk some distance along a road with stone
walls on either side. Behind the walls giant ferns spread
broad fanlike leaves. After about a hundred yards, they
arrive at a crossroads.
FEATHERSTONE
(voice over)
I don't know what to make of it.
Really! It's the oddest damned
thing I've ever heard.
FEATHERSTONE
People living at the South Pole?
A warm climate?? What a bizarre
document!
MELICK
(smiling)
Well, it isn't that difficult to
figure.
CONGREVE
What do you mean?
MELICK
Why, anyone can see that it's a
hoax -- a transparent hoax. You
don't actually take it
seriously, do you?
CONGREVE
(tapping the manuscript)
Do you know what kind of
material this account is written
on?
MELICK
No, I don't.
CONGREVE
Well, I do. It's papyrus. Actual
papyrus! Nowadays you see it
only in museums! The ancient
Egyptians made paper like this.
The art has been lost for
centuries...
OXENDEN
Remarkable!
MELICK
I still think it's fiction. More
and his south polar world remind
me of Sindbad the Sailor.
CONGREVE
I'm inclined to take More's
statements as fact.
FEATHERSTONE
Well, doctor, if that's the
case, then I suggest you take up
the reading of the manuscript.
Let's see what else Mr. More has
to say....
CONGREVE
With pleasure....
(he begins to read)
The cavern into which the chief
led me was very spacious, but
had no light except that which
entered through the portal....
The CHIEF leads MORE deep into the cavern. People pass them
in the semi-darkness.
MORE
(continuing the narration)
Many people moved about, like
pedestrians on the streets of
our own cities. Soon we reached
a major road, lit dimly with a
few twinkling lamps. The feeble
light served these people well.
The sunlight outside had seemed
almost painful to them, but here
in the gloom, they were at
home...
She is not like the others MORE has seen here: she is taller,
lighter skinned, and her eyes have no trouble with the bright
glow of the lamps. She wears a long tunic, floor-length,
secured at the waist with a golden belt. A golden headband
encircles her dark hair.
WOMAN
Salonla umarahabin, yo sadi.
MORE
(with a slight bow)
I’m sorry, my lady, I don’t
understand a bloody word you’re
saying.
WOMAN
(pointing at herself)
Almah! Almah!
MORE
Pleased to meet you, Almah.
(pointing at himself)
Adam More.
ALMAH
(smiling)
Atamor!
MORE
Close enough…
Her smile fades to sadness. She repeats his name over and
over again, with what seems like mournful foreboding.
ALMAH
Atamor … Atamor … Atamor …
MORE
(trying to bring back her smile)
Look, my dear Almah, the only
way I’m going survive here is to
learn the language. It sounds a
bit like Arabic. I know some of
that language, thanks to my
travels. I’d like you to teach
me a few words.
(pointing at the couch)
What is this?
ALMAH
(touching the couch and smiling)
Misad!
MORE
Misad…
(pointing to an endtable)
And that?
ALMAH
Tula!
ALMAH
(with a sincere smile)
Salonla!
MORE
(with a slight bow)
Salonla, Almah…
Soon the CHIEF enters, shading his eyes from the painful
light of the lamps.
CHIEF
(bowing low)
Salonla!
MORE
Salonla!
CHIEF
Kohen.
MORE
Kohen? You are Kohen?
(touching his own chest)
Adam More!
ALMAH soon arrives. MORE rushes toward her and takes her
hands. She smiles, free from the melancholy that had gripped
her the previous evening. They sit at the long table and
begin their breakfast.
(TO BE CONTINUED)