NightScape

Habitat

FADE IN:

INT. CONTROL ROOM – DAY

We open with a large vivid image of a moonscape: barren weathered mountains, waterless river beds, forbidding crevasses and canyons, rocky, gray, and dismal. We might be fooled for a moment but quickly realize that this is not the real thing, instead a huge mural. We hear a persistent electronic BEEP. As we PAN DOWN from the image of the bleak terrain, we see a model of a lunar habitat, domed, with arched corridors that lead to other buildings. The model is on a metal table. Along with the mural, it gives us the impression we're in a complex on the moon.

Lingering on the model of the habitat, we hear a further sound. It's out of place, surprising, A GUITAR BEING TUNED, and abruptly the guitar begins STRUMMING. A WOMAN'S LILTING VOICE begins singing a folk song about oceans and forests and how the earth and the sky belong to you and me.

We PAN AWAY from the habitat and discover that we're in a control room with electronic consoles and glowing lights on monitors. The BEEP we first heard is like a metronome that supplies the beat for the guitar and the woman's song.

We TRACK PAST the consoles and STOP on the SINGER. A woman, late twenties, wearing jeans and a Lakers sweatshirt, her hair in a ponytail. She's lithe and lovely, leaning back on a metal chair with her bare feet on a counter next to a console. Her name is JAMIE NEAL. She reminds us of a cheerleader grown up to be a graduate student in a college dorm.

Her eyes are closed. In a world of her own, she continues strumming, singing, her voice muted, tinged with melancholy. "Yes, the earth and the sky belong to us all."

Midway through a poignant line about a fertile majestic land, she hesitates, her strum becoming irregular. Her voice drops. Relentless, the electronic BEEP persists.

Jamie sighs, lowers the guitar, opens her eyes, and scans the control room.

Perhaps she expected the song to transport her magically to the glorious landscapes she sang about. If so, the spell didn't work. Despondent, she sets the guitar next to a monitor, rises sadly from the chair, and approaches the mural of the moon. The barren mountains and canyons look even more forbidding. She studies the model of the habitat, then squints toward the electronic equipment around her, tense, as if she's in prison.

With a sigh, she raises her head, musters her thoughts, and starts talking. But as we've seen, there's no one else in the room. The initial effect is puzzling, disorienting.

JAMIE

I don't know if I'm supposed to say this… I mean, for all I know, this isn't what you want to hear…if you're listening.

The electronic BEEP continues. She cocks her head, frowning.

JAMIE

I wish you'd turn that…

(she gestures in frustration)

noise off. You can't imagine how…

(she gestures again)

annoying it is.

(she exhales)

If you're listening.

She pivots from the model and approaches a computer.

JAMIE

But of course you're listening. You hear every breath I take. My heartbeat. The alpha waves in my brain. The sounds I make when I need to relieve my…

(she hugs her chest, embarrassed)

Do I snore?

(her eyes become bitter)

I had a fiancee once. Good old what's-his-name. He wanted a corporate wife. Translation: he wanted me to be obedient. To conform. Wear the right clothes. Say the right things. Advance his career. He said I was too independent. I always suspected he broke the engagement

(chuckles)

because I snored. Even asleep, I had to conform. I couldn't ever let my guard down.

(stares at the ceiling)

So do I? Snore?

All we hear is the BEEP.

JAMIE

Come on!

(she glares)

You can tell me!

(she looks all around her)

You know me better than he ever did. You and I, we're closer than Yin and Yang!…ice cream and peanuts!… Laurel and Hardy!…closer than my mother and father ever were! So tell me! Do I snore?

The BEEP continues.

But the room seems terribly silent.

She hugs her arms again.

JAMIE

Just talk to me.

BEEP.

JAMIE

Look, I know we agreed. But…

Unclasping her arms, she lowers a hand to her guitar and STRUMS it.

JAMIE

(teasing)

Just once? Just one word? Just "hello"? Just to let me know you're out there?

She smiles her best smile. No answer. The BEEP persists.

She sags against a console.

JAMIE

Okay, so we made a bargain. No contact. No…

(a frustrated gesture)

communication…

(a fatalistic shrug)

which reminds me of whatever his name was. I hope the ceramic doll he married divorces him because…

(a grin)

the secret I never told him was that he snored.

BEEP. She stares at the floor.

JAMIE

Just one "hello"?

She turns and frowns toward…

A section of wall that's recessed. There's a glowing box above it. And a door.

JAMIE

See, I'm…

(trembles)

a little…

(clutches her arms)

after all this time…

(shuts her eyes)

scared.

She frowns harder toward the door.

JAMIE

Does that mean I failed? Lord, I hope so. Please stop this. Please say "hello" and… Please unseal the hatch. Please let me out.

BEEP.

JAMIE

"The forests are my land. The rivers are…" No. They're not anybody's. Except…Whatever's in…Please don't make me do it again. Don't make me go in there. I know I agreed. I signed your damned contract. Nine months in here in exchange for…

(flinches)

But all the money you promised doesn't matter now. Keep it! Just say "hello." Then tell me I don't have to go in there again! I'm not…

(trembling)

alone. Can't you talk to me? Can't we discuss what's happening to me? Don't you understand? I don't care about the money anymore. I want out!

She spins toward the mural of the moon. Glaring, she grabs the model of the habitat and throws it across the room. Its glass and metal SHATTER.

JAMIE

Home! I want to go home! I want to see people! Breathe fresh air again! Eat chocolate cake! Walk barefoot in grass! Smile at the stars! I want to be…

Her shoulders sag. In despair, she rubs her forehead.

JAMIE

Free.

She gazes up, hoping.

No response.

BEEP.

JAMIE

(her voice drops)

Free.

She stoops to pick up sections of the model she destroyed.

JAMIE

I never understood what that meant before.

Suddenly animated, she crushes the remnants of the model and hurls them away. They CRASH against the consoles.

JAMIE

(angry)

But you won't release me from our contract, will you? This is what you wanted, isn't it? To watch me fall apart!

(paces)

You think you're so clever? No way! What you don't realize is you made a mistake! You didn't tell me it would be here with me!

(gestures in fury toward the door)

Full disclosure. Ever heard of it? You didn't tell me everything. You held back crucial information! And one thing I learned from my fiancee, whatever his name was, is a contract demands good faith.

(another furious gesture toward the door)

And that thing in there is definitely not good faith. What kind of monsters are you? Let me out of here!

Jamie storms toward a bare wall, the only one in the room, and pounds on it in desperation.

JAMIE

Null and void! You hear me! The contract's… I want to be free!

Abruptly a SIREN WAILS. Jamie flinches and covers her ears. THE SIREN KEEPS SHRIEKING.

JAMIE

No! Please! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!

THE SIREN PERSISTS. Beneath it, the BEEP continues.

Jamie sinks to her knees, still clutching her ears.

JAMIE

I'm sorry! Don't! Please, stop the…!

(cringing from the SIREN'S WAIL)

I'll do it! Yes! Whatever you want! Whatever I promised! If only…! Stop the…! Forget what I said!

(tears trickle)

I'll keep my word! I'll obey the contract! Whatever you want…!

(she shudders, in pain)

I'll do it!

THE SIREN BEGINS TO DIMINISH, ITS WAIL LESS TORTURING.

Jamie eases her hands from her ears, testing the threat.

As THE WAIL BECOMES FAINTER, she shudders again and slowly relaxes.

JAMIE

Thank you. I will. I'll do it.

(presses her hands together, as if in prayer)

Thank you. Thank you.

Wiping tears from her eyes, she struggles to stand. Unsteady, she again surveys the control room.

The siren has finally stopped, but the BEEP continues.

JAMIE

(as if hypnotized, to the rhythm of the beep)

"The oceans and the forests, the earth and the sky belong to…"

(faltering)

God help me.

THE SIREN BLARES, A SHRILL ATTENTION-GETTER.

She stiffens and glares toward the ceiling.

JAMIE

I told you I promised!

With a frightened glance toward the door, she shuffles toward a section of the control room that we haven't seen.

There, she reaches a treadmill, breathes deeply, and straps what looks like a blood-pressure cuff to each arm. Wires lead out of the cuff to a monitor.

Nervous, she glances toward the door.

JAMIE

If you'd just been honest…If you'd only prepared me…

THE SIREN WARNS HER. JAMIE cowers.

JAMIE

I know! I know! I hear you! But why won't you talk to me?

With a frantic gaze, she studies the ceiling.

No answer.

Distraught, she steps on the treadmill and pushes a button. The treadmill begins to move beneath her. She starts to walk.

CLOSE UP on the monitor to which her cuffs and wires are attached. Like an EKG, it shows FLASHING RED NUMBERS-blood pressure, pulse, and other numbers that we don't understand.

Jamie walks in place, the treadmill moving beneath her.

A WHISTLE BLOWS.

Jamie presses another number on the treadmill.

The treadmill moves faster.

The monitor's numbers increase.

Jamie paces increasingly faster and begins to recite.

JAMIE

My name is Jamie Neal. I'm an assistant professor of deep-space psychology.

THE WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN.

Flinching, Jamie presses another number on the controls. The treadmill moves faster. She hastens her pace.

THE FLASHING RED NUMBERS go higher.

Despite the effort of her increased pace, Jamie continues reciting.

JAMIE

Specialty – adaptation to confinement. Reactions to a limited environment. Potential aberrant behavior caused by the stress of…

When THE WHISTLE SHRILLS AGAIN, Jamie presses another number on the treadmill's console. She's forced to pace even faster.

JAMIE

Claustrophobia.

Sweat beads on her brow.

JAMIE

Five rooms. Two here in this central unit…

(a nervous glance toward the door)

three others, an entrance bay, a solar power station, and sleeping quarters, linked to this central unit by corridors.

(swallows, wipes sweat from her brow)

But I can't reach my sleeping quarters…

(an even more nervous glance toward the door)

unless I pass through there.

ANOTHER SHRILL WHISTLE. Jamie hurriedly presses another button. As the treadmill increases speed, she's almost forced to run.

JAMIE

And we all know what's in there.

She shudders.

JAMIE

You bet. For sure. We all know what I have to face in there.

(out of breath)

After you've made me fulfill my bargain.

The FLASHING RED NUMBERS on the monitor go higher.

Jamie's running now.

JAMIE

After you've put me through my paces for today.

(wipes sweat from her brow)

Or is this yesterday? I don't know anymore. Isn't that what you want to find out? How much stress can someone take?

On the monitor, THE RED NUMBERS FLASH as if out of control.

Instead of the whistle, THE SIREN ONCE AGAIN BLARES.

Breathing rapidly, Jamie presses another number on the treadmill's console. Her pace decreases. Nervous but relieved, she presses more numbers, reducing her speed until the treadmill stops and she steps off.

At once, after raising her Lakers sweatshirt to wipe her face, she stares toward the ceiling, then the door, in apprehension.

JAMIE

My name is Jamie Neal. I'm twenty eight. I've been here…I think…for sixty-four days. I think. Why didn't you give me windows? I want to see…

(paws at a wall)

the stars. The sun sets even here. Not on the schedule I'm used to. But I could get used to that schedule. And I'd love to see it. After sixty-four days.

She squints toward the ceiling.

JAMIE

Or nights. How can I know? If only I could see… I bet the sunset…no smog here…the colors must be…

(her voice drops)

I remember…crimson…like a flower…a rose…in blossom…

(melancholy)

beautiful.

In a sudden rage, she kicks the remnants of the habitat's model she earlier crushed.

JAMIE

Never mind windows! Why didn't you give me…?

She spins toward the numerous consoles.

JAMIE

Computers! Temperature gauges! Pressure readouts! Oxygen monitors! Humidity! Gravity! Even dust! I can measure everything! Except the single most precious thing in my life!

She slumps against a table.

JAMIE

Time. Maybe it's only sixty-three days. Or maybe sixty-nine. Or maybe I've been here only a couple of weeks. But it feels like…

(despairing)

Eternity.

BEEP.

JAMIE

Why didn't you at least allow me to wear a watch?

She gestures frantically toward the consoles.

JAMIE

Or let me have a clock? Nothing fancy! No digital astro-time calculator. No computerized star-date monitor, with comparative readouts for here and home and the Gemini galaxy and… Just a plain old-fashioned clock,

makes a twisting motion with one hand, pretending to hold an object in the other

The kind you wind up at night, and it ticks, and the hands go around, and if you want to wake up at a certain hour, you set the alarm. And when it rings, you know it's tomorrow. And if you make a mark

(pretends she has a pencil)

on a page every time the alarm goes off…and if you count the marks, you're sure how many days you've been here. You don't feel as if you're…

(slumps against the wall)

going crazy. Is that the point of the test? How would I react -not if but when I broke down? Because of…

She stares in horror toward the door.

JAMIE

Time.

The SIREN WAILS.

JAMIE

No.

A SECOND WAIL.

JAMIE

Please! Don't make me go in there again!

A THIRD WAIL.

Tears stream down Jamie's face.

A FOURTH WAIL.

Jamie walks toward the door, as if hypnotized.

JAMIE

Fulfill my contract. Obey my orders.

JAMIE's POINT OF VIEW-approaching the door.

JAMIE

Go through my paces.

She pauses. OFF STAGE, we HEAR THE HISS OF THE DOOR SLIDING OPEN. We ZOOM TOWARD A CLOSE-UP OF Jamie's FACE: contorted, apprehensive, horrified.

JAMIE

Time. Yes, again. Time.

The door has slid open. Beyond it, we see a CORRIDOR. But as if this is Alice in Wonderland, the corridor narrows and becomes lower.

THE BEEP PERSISTS.

JAMIE

Time.

She feels her pulse.

JAMIE

The beat of my heart. The only time I know.

She takes a Walkman-sized object from a counter, straps it around her wrist, stares at a suction cup at the end of the object, and reaches beneath her Lakers sweatshirt, apparently attaching the suction cup to her chest.

At once the BEEP BECOMES A LITTLE FASTER, as if the object on her wrist monitors the speed of her heart.

JAMIE

The constant motion of time. Except that it's meaningless without something to compare it to…Without something to appreciate… Without a sunrise. I could imagine a sunrise if…Why didn't you give me a watch?

THE SIREN WAILS.

Jamie flinches, clutches her fists in fury, and glares at the ceiling.

JAMIE

All right, I'm going!

The BEEP that measures her heartrate INCREASES.

She shifts through the doorway.

The roof is low enough that she's forced to stoop now. The walls narrow until they touch her shoulders.

THE BEEP GAINS A LITTLE MORE SPEED.

JAMIE

(walking stooped, glaring up)

What I want to know is, when my heart beats faster, does that mean I'm getting older?

(swallows, staring at the crawlspace)

Would sixty-nine days that feel like sixty-three days…or however long I've been here… actually be the equivalent of a hundred and twenty days? Six months? The nine months you're paying me to stay here? Because time drags…

The lowering ceiling compels her to kneel. The narrowing walls squeeze her shoulders.

There's a crawlspace directly ahead.

Jamie shudders.

THE BEEP INCREASES.

JAMIE

But my heart feels like it's on rocket fuel. Speed. Does the speed of my heart affect time? Have I been here…

The ceiling is now so low that she's forced to drop to her hands and knees.

JAMIE

Forever?

She places a hand toward the crawlspace, about to insert her head. Trembles. Hesitates.

AND THE SIREN WAILS.

JAMIE

Give me a break! I told you I'm going! I just need a minute to…!

Abruptly the door HISSES shut behind her.

She whirls.

THE BEEP INCREASES SPEED.

And something SIZZLES, the HUM AND CRACKLE of electrical current.

She flinches, in agony, raising one hand, then another, trying to push herself off the floor. But the ceiling's so low she can't raise her back. She jerks one knee, then the other off the floor, desperate to minimize contact with the CRACKLING electrical current.

JAMIE

No! Please, stop! I'm going! 1 promise!

She scurries into the crawlspace.

At once, the CRACKLING current stops.

Her face is contorted with pain as she sprawls on her stomach. The crawlspace is so small it reminds us of an air-conditioning duct. She breathes heavily, exhausted by the electrical current, slumping in relief.

JAMIE

No more! This can't go on forever!

A sigh of despair.

JAMIE

Or maybe this is hell.

She crawls awkwardly, wincing, bumping her head on the ceiling, scraping her shoulders against the tight walls.

JAMIE

Maybe you never meant to keep your word. Maybe you're just playing with me? Are you enjoying this, putting me through my paces, watching the way I react. Am I just some kind of…? Just a cruel sadistic game to you?

With effort, Jamie reaches the end of the crawlspace and squirms toward another compartment. Her brow is moist. Her elbows and knees are dirty. The shoulders of her sweatshirt are frayed and grimy.

She musters strength and struggles to stand…wavers…leans against a wall.

Wiping sweat from her forehead, she stares ahead. What she sees makes her close her eyes in despair. She reopens them, squinting. Her voice cracks.

JAMIE

Why did you…? No! You broke the bargain again! You changed the rules! You…!

THE BEEP INCREASES.

With a sob, she struggles not to sink to the floor.

JAMIE

It's not the same! Why do you keep changing the…?

Now we see the room Jamie has entered. It's completely bare. More important, the floor tilts upward – severely.

JAMIE

Not the same. Not the same.

A SIREN WAILS.

JAMIE

I hear it, you…!

She staggers forward, reaches the incline, attempts to climb it while standing, but falls to her stomach and claws her way toward the top.

JAMIE

My name is Jamie Neal.

(claws upward)

I think.

(claws upward)

I'm twenty-eight.

(claws upward)

I think.

(claws upward)

Going on a hundred.

(claws upward)

I'm an assistant professor of…

Jamie hesitates, nods in fierce resolve, and continues crawling higher.

JAMIE

Deep-space…

Jamie hesitates again, shakes her head in confusion.

JAMIE

Psychology? I think. My specialty is…

She reaches the crest and slumps across it, head on one side, legs on the other.

JAMIE

Adaptation to confinement? How long, dear God? How long?

THE SIREN BLARES.

Jamie raises her weary head. Her determined eyes glare toward the ceiling.

JAMIE

I need to rest!

Again we hear the SIZZLE AND CRACKLE of electrical current.

Jamie screams. THE BEEP INCREASES. She strains to raise her body off the painful torturing peak of the slope. In a frenzy, she topples over the rim.

On the opposite side, she tumbles, groaning, down a slope. She lands hard on a level surface.

She struggles for breath, kneels, and manages to stand.

JAMIE

My name is Jamie Neal. I'm twenty-eight. I'm an assistant professor of…I'm a human being. And no matter how much you break your word, no matter how much you torture me…! I'll fight back! I swear it! I'll fight back!

THE SIREN WAILS.

JAMIE

flinches. THE BEEP INCREASES. But she stays in place.

Abruptly the current CRACKLES AND SIZZLES, and as if thrust by a cattle prod, she lurches forward. THE BEEP becomes EVEN MORE RAPID.

JAMIE

You broke your word! I'll break mine!

MORE CRACKLING AND SIZZLING.

Her face contorted with agony, Jamie stumbles across an open space and reaches a metal ladder. Prodded by the SIZZLING electrical current, she scurries upward.

JAMIE

Jamie Neal. Jamie Neal. Jamie Neal.

She disappears through a circle in the ceiling above the ladder.

The SIZZLING stops as Jamie topples from the ladder and lands hard in another area. Groaning, she slowly raises her head.

Squints.

Shakes her head to clear her vision.

JAMIE

(seeking refuge in her song)

"The oceans and the forests, the earth and the sky belong to you and me."

The room is filled with mirrors, like a "fun house" in an amusement park.

JAMIE

You changed it again!

With enormous effort, she stands. THE BEEP INCREASES.

JAMIE

It's all a lie! You never meant to…!

She struggles forward, glaring toward the mirrors.

Each reveals a different image. She's fat. She's thin. She's tall. She's short. She's twisted. Concave. Convex.

JAMIE

Now I'm the one who's a monster! You've turned me into…!

(recoils from the mirrors)

You! I'll get even! I swear I'll get even!

OFF STAGE, WE HEAR A HISS. Jamie spins in terror, THE BEEP EVEN FASTER. A door slides open. A shadow fills the entrance. Jamie cringes.

The shadow becomes a…what to call it?…not human…misshapen, with ganglia, and boils, and several eyes.

MONSTER

(voice distorted, an electronic simulation)

You've done very well. Today you've been especially adaptive…and especially amusing. You've earned your reward.

The monster raises a flat box.

MONSTER

Your nourishment. Just the way you prefer it. With double cheese and black olives.

JAMIE

I'm allergic to black olives.

The monster's grotesque arm sags.

MONSTER

I'm sorry. I'm new at this facility. I was told that your species craves those foods.

JAMIE

straightens, braces her shoulders, inhales, and glowers. THE BEEP BECOMES VERY RAPID.

JAMIE

And I told you I'd fight back. You broke your bargain. Now I'll break mine.

MONSTER

There's nothing you can do. This is the way things are. You have one more task to perform before you can eat.

Suddenly horizontal RAYS OF LIGHT fill the space between them. The rays are like transparent, multicolored poles in a grotesque climbing gym. They CRACKLE AND HISS with electrical current.

JAMIE

looks more angry.

JAMIE

I'm Jamie Neal!

MONSTER

We know.

Jamie crawls under one of the rays. A portion of it touches her back and shocks her.

Groaning, she stands. She squeezes between two other rays but comes too close and again gets shocked.

JAMIE

I'm a human being!

MONSTER

We know that, also.

JAMIE

Wrong! You don't have the faintest idea! Watch me prove it!

She braces herself and walks straight into the remaining rays, electricity jolting her. As the CRACKLE becomes unbearable, she takes slow, agonized, determined steps, plodding toward her captor. Blisters appear on her face. Emerging from the rays, she staggers toward the monster, grabs the box, hurls it angrily away, wavers, then falls to the floor.

CLOSE UP on her burned, bleeding hand as it twitches, then becomes motionless.

THE FRANTIC BEEP STOPS.

The monster stares down in bewilderment.

A section of the ceiling slides away, revealing another monster.

MONSTER 2

(distorted voice)

How unfortunate. She was particularly entertaining.

MONSTER 1

After all this time…I still don't understand their emotions… but…

(lowers his head)

I suspect that I'm feeling…what do they call it?

MONSTER 2

Grief.

MONSTER 1

Yes. An unusual emotion. The experiment failed.

MONSTER 2

Not totally. We learned something.

MONSTER 1

What?

MONSTER 2

When we scanned her mind, we learned that her species kept rodent-like creatures…hamsters?…in similar cages. What they called "habitats." Apparently her kind were hypocrites. They enjoyed having…but didn't like…in fact, they loathed…being pets.

FADE OUT.

Few writers have been as prolific as Stirling Silliphant, whose literate yet action-filled scripts for the classic TV series Route 66 (1960-64) made me want to be a writer. Over the decades, we became friends. Indeed, thanks to his urging, NBC produced a miniseries of my novel, The Brotherhood of the Rose, A pleasant, stocky man with sandy hair, a boyish smile, and a wonderful tenor voice, he was 70 when I last saw him. During our final dinner together, he confided in me that he was being offered fewer and fewer writing assignments. "In a youth-oriented industry, I'm perceived as too old," he told me. It didn't matter that he had received an Academy Award for 1967's In the Heat of the Night, or that his script for 1968's Charly had given Cliff Robertson the opportunity to deliver an Oscar-winning performance, or that Stirling had written some of the most financially successful movies of the 1970s (The Poseidon Adventure and The Towering Inferno), fill the industry cared about was the young, new flavor of the month. In fact, most of the executives with whom Stirling had meetings were so young (in their mid-twenties) that they had never seen In the Heat of the Night, Charly, or The Towering Inferno, As for Route 66, the series had been on TV so long ago that it was re-run as a nostalgia series on Nick at Nite. Hardly the "with it" factor that executives worship. The intelligence of the industry had so declined that Stirling's agent advised him not to take a complete list of his credits to a studio interview because a: the executive wouldn't believe that anyone could write that much and b: the executive would feel intimidated.

Stirling eventually decided to chuck it all and move to Thailand, where he believed that in a past incarnation he had been an Oriental. He had what he called "a Beverly Hills garage sale," relocated to Bangkok, and became a Buddhist. We exchanged letters and tried to make plans for me to visit him, but something always interfered. In 1996, at the age of 78, he died from prostate cancer.