Twenty one knots, sir!
SMITH
She's got a bone in her teeth now, eh, Mr. Murdoch.
Smith accepts a cup of tea from FIFTH OFFICER LOWE. He contentedly watches
the white V of water hurled outward from the bows like an expression of his
own personal power. They are invulnerable, towering over the sea.
58 AT THE BOW Jack and Fabrizio lean far over, looking down.
In the glassy bow-wave two dolphins appear, under the water, running fast
just in front of the steel blade of the prow. They do it for the sheer joy
and exultation of motion. Jack watches the dolphins and grins. They breach,
jumping clear of the water and then dive back, crisscrossing in front of the
bow, dancing ahead of the juggernaut.
FABRIZIO looks forward across the Atlantic, staring into the sunsparkles.
FABRIZIO
I can see the Statue of Liberty already.
(grinning at Jack)
Very small... of course.
THE CAMERA ARCS around them, until they are framed against the sea.
NOW WE PULL BACK, across the forecastle deck. Rising, as we continue back,
and the ships rolls endlessly forward underneath. Over the bridge wing,
along the boat deck until her funnels come INTO FRAME besides us and march
past like the pillars of heaven, one by one. We pull back and up, until we
are looking down the funnels, and the people strolling on the decks and
standing at the rail become antlike.
And still we pull back until the great lady is seen whole in a gorgeous
aerial portrait, black and severe in her majesty.
ISMAY (V.O.)
She is the largest moving object ever made by the hand of man in all
history...
CUT TO:
59 INT. PALM COURT RESTAURANT - DAY
CLOSE ON J. BRUCE ISMAY, Managing Director of White Star Line.
ISMAY
...and our master shipbuilder, Mr. Andrews here, designed her from the keel
plates up.
He indicates a handsome 39 year old Irish gentlemen to his right, THOMAS
ANDREWS, of Harland and Wolf Shipbuilders.
WIDER, showing the group assembled for lunch the next day. Ismay seated with
Cal, Rose, Ruth, Molly Brown and Thomas Andrews in the Palm Court, a
beautiful sunny spot enclosed by high arched windows.
ANDREWS
(disliking the attention)
Well, I may have knocked her together, but the idea was Mr. Ismay's. He
envisioned a steamer so grand in scale, and so luxurious in its
appointments, that its supremacy would never be challenged. And here she
is...
(he slaps the table)
...willed into solid reality.
MOLLY
Why're ships always bein' called "she"? Is it because men think half the
women around have big sterns and should be weighed in tonnage?
(they all laugh)
Just another example of the men settin' the rules their way.
The waiter arrives to take orders. Rose lights a cigarette.
RUTH
You know I don't like that, Rose.
CAL
She knows.
Cal takes the cigarette from her and stubs it out.
CAL
(to the waiter)
We'll both have the lamb. Rare, with a little mint sauce.
(to Rose, after the waiter moves away)
You like lamb, don't you sweetpea?
Molly is watching the dynamic between Rose, Cal and Ruth.
MOLLY
So, you gonna cut her meat for her too there, Cal?
(turning to Ismay)
Hey, who came up with the name Titanic? You, Bruce?
ISMAY
Yes, actually. I wanted to convey sheer size. And size means stability,
luxury... and safety--
ROSE
Do you know of Dr. Freud? His ideas about the male preoccupation with size
might be of particular interest to you, Mr. Ismay.
Andrews chokes on his breadstick, suppressing laughter.
RUTH
My God, Rose, what's gotten into--
ROSE
Excuse me.
She stalks away.
RUTH
(mortified)
I do apologize.
MOLLY
She's a pistol, Cal. You sure you can handle her?
CAL
(tense but feigning unconcern)
Well, I may have to start minding what she reads from now on.
CUT TO:
60 EXT. POOP DECK / AFTER DECKS - DAY
Jack sits on a bench in the sun. Titanic's wake spreads out behind him to
the horizon. He has his knees pulled up, supporting a leather bound
sketching pad, his only valuable possession. With conte crayon he draws
rapidly, using sure strokes. An emigrant from Manchester named CARTMELL has
his 3 year old daughter CORA standing on the lower rung of the rail. She is
leaned back against his beer barrel of a stomach, watching the seagulls.
THE SKETCH captures them perfectly, with a great sense of the humanity of
the moment. Jack is good. Really good. Fabrizio looks over Jack's shoulder.
He nods appreciatively.
TOMMY RYAN, a scowling young Irish emigrant, watches as a crewmember comes
by, walking three small dogs around the deck. One of them, a BLACK FRENCH
BULLDOG, is among the ugliest creatures on the planet.
TOMMY
That's typical. First class dogs come down here to take a shit.
Jack looks up from his sketch.
JACK
That's so we know where we rank in the scheme of things.
TOMMY
Like we could forget.
Jack glances across the well deck. At the aft railing of B deck promenade
stands ROSE, in a long yellow dress and white gloves.
CLOSE ON JACK, unable to take his eyes off of her. They are across from each
other, about 60 feet apart, with the well deck like a valley between them.
She on her promontory, he on his much lower one. She stares down at the
water.
He watches her unpin her elaborate hat and take it off. She looks at the
frilly absurd thing, then tosses it over the rail. It sails far down to the
water and is carried away, astern. A spot of yellow in the vast ocean. He is
riveted by her. She looks like a figure in a romantic novel, sad and
isolated.
Fabrizio taps Tommy and they both look at Jack gazin at Rose. Fabrizio and
Tommy grin at each other.
Rose turns suddenly and looks right at Jack. He is caught staring, but he
doesn't look away. She does, but then looks back. Their eyes meet across the
space of the well deck, across the gulf between worlds.
Jack sees a man (Cal) come up behind her and take her arm. She jerks her arm
away. They argue in pantomime. She storms away, and he goes after her,
disappearing along the A-deck promenade. Jack stares after her.
TOMMY
Forget it, boy. You'd as like have angels fly out o' yer arse as get next
to the likes o' her.
CUT TO:
61 INT. FIRST CLASS DINING SALOON - NIGHT
SLOWLY PUSHING IN ON ROSE as she sits, flanked by people in heated
conversation. Cal and Ruth are laughing together, while on the other side
LADY DUFF-GORDON is holding forth animatedly. We don't hear what they are
saying. Rose is staring at her plate, barely listening to the
inconsequential babble around her.
OLD ROSE (V.O.)
I saw my whole life as if I'd already lived it... an endless parade of
parties and cotillions, yachts and polo matches... always the same narrow
people, the same mindless chatter. I felt like I was standing at a great
precipice, with no one to pull me back, no one who cared... or even noticed.
ANGLE BENEATH TABLE showing Rose's hand, holding a tiny fork from her crab
salad. She pokes the crab-fork into the skin of her arm, harder and harder
until it draws blood.
CUT TO:
62 INT. CORRIDOR / B DECK - NIGHT
Rose walks along the corridor. A steward coming the other way greets her,
and she nods with a slight smile. She is perfectly composed.
CUT TO:
63 INT. ROSE'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
She enters the room. Stands in the middle, staring at her reflection in the
large vanity mirror. Just stands there, then--
With a primal, anguished cry she claws at her throat, ripping off her pearl
necklace, which explodes across the room. In a frenzy she tears at herself,
her clothes, her hair... then attacks the room. She flings everything off
the dresser and it flies clattering against the wall. She hurls a handmirror
against the vanity, cracking it.
CUT TO:
64 EXT. A DECK PROMENADE, AFT - NIGHT
Rose runs along the B deck promenade. She is dishevelled, her hair flying.
She is crying, her cheeks streaked with tears. But also angry, furious!
Shaking with emotions she doesn't understand... hatred, self-hatred,
desperation. A strolling couple watch her pass. Shocked at the emotional
display in public.
CUT TO:
65 EXT. POOP DECK - NIGHT
Jack is kicked back on one of the benches gazing at the stars blazing
gloriously overhead. Thinking artist thoughts and smoking a cigarette.
Hearing something, he turns as Rose runs up the stairs from the well deck.
They are the only two on the stern deck, except for QUARTERMASTER ROWE,
twenty feet above them on the docking bridge catwalk. She doesn't see Jack
in the shadows, and runs right past him.
TRACKING WITH ROSE as she runs across the deserted fantail. Her breath
hitches in an occasional sob, which she suppresses. Rose slams against the
base of the stern flagpole and clings there, panting. She stares out at the
black water.
Then starts to climb over the railing. She has to hitch her long dress way
up, and climbing is clumsy. Moving methodically she turns her body and gets
her heels on the white-painted gunwale, her back to the railing, facing out
toward blackness. 60 feet below her, the massive propellers are churning the
Atlantic into white foam, and a ghostly wake trails off toward the horizon.
IN A LOW ANGLE, we see Rose standing like a figurehead in reverse. Below her
are the huge letters of the name "TITANIC".
She leans out, her arms straightening... looking down hypnotized, into the
vortex below her. Her dress and hair are lifted by the wind of the ship's
movement. The only sound, above the rush of water below, is the flutter and
snap of the big Union Jack right above her.
JACK
Don't do it.
She whips her head around at the sound of his voice. It takes a second for
her eyes to focus.
ROSE
Stay back! Don't come any closer!
Jack sees the tear tracks on her cheeks in the faint glow from the stern
running lights.
JACK
Take my hand. I'll pull you back in.
ROSE
No! Stay where you are. I mean it. I'll let go.
JACK
No you won't.
ROSE
What do you mean no I won't? Don't presume to tell me what I will and will
not do. You don't know me.
JACK
You would have done it already. Now come on, take my hand.
Rose is confused now. She can't see him very well through the tears, so she
wipes them with one hand, almost losing her balance.
ROSE
You're distracting me. Go away.
JACK
I can't. I'm involved now. If you let go I have to jump in after you.
ROSE
Don't be absurd. You'll be killed.
He takes off his jacket.
JACK
I'm a good swimmer.
He starts unlacing his left shoe.
ROSE
The fall alone would kill you.
JACK
It would hurt. I'm not saying it wouldn't. To be honest I'm a lot more
concerned about the water being so cold.
She looks down. The reality factor of what she is doing is sinking in.
ROSE
How cold?
JACK
(taking off his left shoe)
Freezing. Maybe a couple degrees over.
He starts unlacing his right shoe.
JACK
Ever been to Wisconsin?
ROSE
(perplexed)
No.
JACK
Well they have some of the coldest winters around, and I grew up there, near
Chippewa Falls. Once when I was a kid me and my father were ice-fishing out
on Lake Wissota... ice-fishing's where you chop a hole in the--
ROSE
I know what ice fishing is!
JACK
Sorry. Just... you look like kind of an indoor girl. Anyway, I went through
some thin ice and I'm tellin' ya, water that cold... like that right down
there... it hits you like a thousand knives all over your body. You can't
breath, you can't think... least not about anything but the pain.
(takes off his other shoe)
Which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in after you. But like I
said, I don't see a choice. I guess I'm kinda hoping you'll come back over
