Apocalypse Now

 

 

 

Screenplay by                             Francis Ford Coppola

 

Produced by                               Francis Ford Coppola

 

Directed by                                Francis Ford Coppola

                                                 Michael Herr

                                                 John Milius

 

 

 

Cast List:

 

Marlon Brando                        Colonel Kurtz

Robert Duvall                           Lieutenant Colonel Kilgore

Martin Sheen                           Captain Willard

Frederic Forrest                                  Chef

Albert Hall                               Chief

Sam Bottoms                            Lance

Laurence Fishburne                Clean

Dennis Hopper                        Photojournalist

Harrison Ford                          Colonel

 

 

 

PRIMEVAL SWAMP – EARLY DAWN

 

It is very early in the dawn – blue light filters through the jungle and across a foul swamp. A mist clings to the trees. This could be the jungle of a million years ago.

 

Our VIEW MOVES CLOSER, through the mist, TILTING DOWN to the tepid water. A small bubble rises to the surface; then another. Suddenly, but quietly, a form begins to emerge; a helmet. Water and mud pour off revealing a set of beady eyes just above the mud. Printed on a helmet, in a psychedelic  hand, are the words: "Gook Killer." The head emerges revealing that the tough-looking soldier beneath has  exceptionally long hair and beard; he has no shirt on, only bandoliers of ammunition – his body is painted in an odd camouflage pattern. He looks to the right; he looks to the left; he looks INTO CAMERA, and slowly sinks back into the swamp, disappearing completely.

 

Our VIEW HOLDS, We begin to HEAR natural, though unrecognizable JUNGLE SOUNDS, far off in the distance. We PAN TO REVEAL a clump of logs half submerged in the swamp; and part of what seems to be a Falstaff beer can in the mud. A hand reaches out, and the beer can disappears. As we TILT UP, we NOTICE that the log is hollow  and houses the rear of a M-60 machine gun, hand painted in a paisley design.

 

Now the VIEW MOVES AWAY, ACROSS the ancient growth, PAST the glimmer of what seems to be another soldier hiding in ambush, wearing an exotic hat made from birds and bushes. ACROSS to a dark trail where the legs of those in black pajamas move silently across our ever TIGHTENING VIEW. Their feet, boots and sandals leave no impression; make no sound. A slight flicker of light reveals a pair of eyes in the foliage across the path, waiting and watching.

 

The VIEW PUSHES ALONG WITH the Vietnamese, MOVING FASTER AND FASTER WITH them, until suddenly, directly in front about ten feet away, an enormous AMERICAN clad in rags and bushes and holding a 12 gauge automatic shotgun casually at his side, steps in front of them. He smiles laconically, and BLASTS OUT FIVE SHOTS that rip THROUGH US. By the second shot, the whole jungle blazes out  with AUTOMATIC FIRE.

 

Out VIEW TURNS as the men around us are thrown and torn, screaming and scattering into the jungle. More AMERICANS appear; unexplainably, out of the growth. It is now that we fully SEE the bizarre manner in which they are dressed. Some wear helmets, others wear strange hats made from feathers and parts of animals. Some of them have long savage-looking hair; other crew-cut or completely shaved; they wear bandoliers, flak jackets, shorts and little else. They wear Montagnard sandals or no shoes at all, and their bodies and faces are painted in bizarre camouflage patterns. They appear one with the jungle and mist, FIRING INTO US as they move.

 

The soldier we saw earlier emerges from the swamp, dripping mud, his MACHINE GUN BLASTING FIRE.

 

We begin to move quickly with one Vietnamese, breathlessly running for his life; we MOVE INTO the jungle with him, only to be impaled on a large spear of a smiling AMERICAN painted and wearing feathers like an Indian. OUR VIEW FALLS WITH him to the ground, STARING UPWARDS, as FLAME and EXPLODING MUD scatter above us. Men scream and die around us. The screams amid the GUNFIRE and EXPLOSIONS are piercing and terrible, as though the jungle itself is frightened.

 

An AMERICAN wearing a jungle hat with a large Peace Sign on it, wearing war paint, bends TOWARD US, reaching down TOWARD US with a large knife, preparing to scalp the dead.

 

OUR VIEW MOVES AWAY, along with the running sandals of a Vietnamese soldier, MOVING FASTER AND FASTER, only to be stopped by still another of the savage-looking AMERICANS with primitive ornamentation, wearing only a loin-cloth and green beret. He opens his flame-thrower directly ON US and the NVA soldier and we are incinerated in flame, bright psychedelic orange-red flame. Outrageous, loud, electric ROCK MUSIC OVERWHELMS the SOUNDTRACK :

 

 

MAIN TITLE:

 

"APOCALYPSE NOW"

 

 

TITLE SEQUENCE

 

The CREDIT TITLES proceed as the FLANE CONSUME US, growing more intense, brighter, more vivid, purifying; transforming into an intense white heat that we can barely look at, like the sun itself.

 

Then it EXPLODES, breaking apart, and shattering once again. It begins to cool, as the TITLES CONTINUE. It is as though WE ARE MOVING through the white center of cooling flame, forming a spinning web, and becoming more distant. The TITLES CONTINUE.

 

We are MOVING TOWARD planetary nebulae; MOVING through the stars; MOVING closer to the Earth. We can BARELY HEAR the MUSIC  now.

 

We MOVE CLOSER to the earth; beautiful, covered in clouds, as though SEEN from a satellite. The TITLES CONTINUE.

 

We are MOVING CLOSER to the earth; through the soft clouds, close enough that we can MAKE OUT the Western Hemisphere; CLOSER to North America; CLOSER, to America, then California; Los Angeles, STILL CLOSER to the odd, finger-like shapes of :

 

 

EXT. MARINA DEL REY

 

The VIEW finally SETTLES ON a partically luxury cabin cruiser harbored at a particular dock late in the day.

 

It is large, pleasure boat: The people are relaxing in bathing suits and towels and robes. They are drinking cocktails, and snapping pictures. The boat belongs to the head of a large American Corporation, and this is his party. This man, CHARLIE, is sitting, his shirt off to catch some of the late sun. Others have their faces smeared with white suntan oil that reminds us of war paint. Charlie is going on and on :

 

CHARLIE

... It's crazy – sugar is up to 200 dollars a ton – sugar!

 

LAWYER

What about oil?

 

CHARLIE

Food, oil – look, let me show you something. This is the economy of the United States in two years –

 

He takes a newspaper, draws a circle.

 

CHARLIE

(continuing)

This is West Germany.

(he draws another, bigger circle)

This is Japan.

(another , bigger)

This is Italy.

(a dot)

This is Iran.

(a very big circle)

And this is Saudi Arabia... In two years?

(a gigantic circle)

Do you understand?

 

ACCOUNTANT

What's to prevent it?

 

CHARLIE

Maybe nothing. But I'll tell you, I didn't build a two-billion-dollar company in the last twenty years by doing nothing. We can protect our interests.

(pause, for a drink)

We are still the most powerful nation in the world. Militarily.

 

He leans to his associates, in a half-whisper.

 

CHARLIE

(continuing)

You know bodyguard; he was a captain in Viet Nam. You talk to him, except he won't talk. This kind of man can kill you with his pinky. A nice quiet fella, though.

 

The VIEW BEGINS TO PULL AWAY from this group.

 

CHARLIE

(continuing)

Carries a attaché case at all times. You know what's in it?

(another sip)

An Ingram Machine pistol.

 

Gradually, Charlie's voice softens as we MOVE AWAY, and a NEW VOICE, the voice of someone thinking, COMES IN OVER it :

 

CHARLIE WILLARD (V.O.)

I don't take chances, and Bullshit. You can kill neither should this country. With the ridge of your if we're strong, we should hand to the throat; you protect our interests, and can crush a skull with we should have the respect your knee... but you of the world, even if it can't kill anybody with takes another war, your pinky.

 

The VIEW MOVE ALONG the guests of this small party: Pictures being taken, some people are swimming. It is the good life. Now WILLARD'S VOICE TRACK DOMINATES.

 

WILLARD (V.O.)

The attaché case has been empty for three years, but it makes him safe to think there's a machine pistol in it. I don't like automatic weapons. They jam. I saw a friend of mine get ripped open because he flicked his M-16 to automatic, and it jammed. How much money did the contractors make on the M-16?

 

Our VIEW IS MOVING through the people on the boat; some reading, flirting, drinking.

 

WILLARD (V.O.)

(continuing)

He likes to hear stories about Nam. I tell him I can't; they're not cleared. The truth is he wouldn't understand.

 

We can now SEE a MAN with his BACK TO US, looking the opposite way. An attaché case resting near to him. We MOVE CLOSER.

 

WILLARD (V.O.)

(continuing)

There's no way I can tell them... what really happened over there. I wouldn't've believed it if someone'd told me.

 

We are now RESTING on his back. Occasionally, he sips from a beer, but we cannot see his face.

 

WILLARD (V.O.)

(continuing)

There was only one part that mattered – for me, anyway. I don't even know if I remember all of it. I can't remember how it ended, exactly – because when it ended I was insane.

 

DISSOLVE TO:

 

 

EXT. A STREET IN SAIGON – DAY

 

A Saigon boom street in late 1968. There are bars and shops for servicemen; the rickshaws, the motorbikes. Our VIEW MOVES TOWARD one particular officer; B.L. WILLARD, in uniform, a Captain of the Airborne, followed by four or five Vietnamese kids trying to shine his shoes and sell him things.

 

WILLARD (V.O.)

But I know how it started for me – I was on R. and R. in Saigon; my first time south of the DMZ in three months. I wasn't sure, but I thought this guy was following me.

 

Willard looks back.

 

 

HIS VIEW

 

An American CIVILIAN.

 

 

MEDIUM VIEW

 

Willard ducks into a bar.

 

 

INT. THE SAIGON BAR – DAY

 

Not much in this place – a bar, linoleum flooring, a few tables and chairs, and a juke box. The lounge is fairly crowded. Willard takes off his cap and walks quietly past the soldiers at the bar. Some of them, catching sight of his ribbons, stop talking as he moves by.

 

An INFANTRY CAPTAIN enters the bar, buys a couple of drinks and approaches Willard's table.

 

CAPTAIN

How about a drink?

 

WILLARD

Sure, thanks.

 

He sits down at the table with the drinks.

 

CAPTAIN

Winning the war by yourself.

 

WILLARD

(he calls for the waiter)

Part.

 

CAPTAIN

Which part is that?

 

WILLARD

My part.

(to the waiter)

Beer, with ice and water.

  

CAPTAIN

That's good gin.

 

WILLARD

I'm sure it is, but I had hepatitis.

 

CAPTAIN

Delta?

 

WILLARD

No.

 

CAPTAIN

North?

 

WILLARD

Yeah. Way north.

 

CAPTAIN

What unit were you with?

 

WILLARD

None.

 

CAPTAIN

Rangers, eh?

 

WILLARD

Sort of.

 

The JUKE BOX starts BLARING. Annoyed , Willard looks over his shoulder.

 

CAPTAIN

Were you Longe Range Recon –

 

WILLARD

No – I worked too far north for LRRP.

 

He reaches into his shirt pocket for a cigarette, and the Captain leans over the table to light it for him. Willard notices the CIVILIAN on the street has glanced in the bar, then enters and sits down at a table by the doorway.

 

CAPTAIN

That's quite an array of ribbons...

 

WILLARD

Let's talk about you.

 

CAPTAIN

I was an FO for the 25th.

 

WILLARD

Tracks?

 

CAPTAIN

Yeah.

 

WILLARD

Fat. That's real fat.

 

CAPTAIN

Sometimes.

 

WILLARD

At least you always have enough water. How many gallons does each one of those damn things carry?

 

CAPTAIN

Thirty – sometimes fifty.

 

WILLARD

You know, I can remember once, getting back below the DMZ – and the first Americans we ran into were a track squadron. I just couldn't believe how much water they had. We'd been chewing bamboo shoots for almost a week, and before that, for two weeks, we'd been drinking anything – rain water, river shit, stuff right out of the paddies. And there were these guys standing by their trucks spilling water all over. I could've killed them.

(solemnly)

I swear to God I would have, too, if...

 

CAPTAIN

I didn't know we had units up there in North Vietnam.

 

WILLARD

We do.

 

CAPTAIN

How long were you up there?

 

WILLARD

A long time.

 

CAPTAIN

A year? Waiter another beer.

 

WILLARD

I go up on missions. Listen Captain, buy me all the beer you want, but you better tell that asshole over there you're not going to find out anymore about me.

 

Willard glances over his shoulder and indicates the Civilian. The Civilian is given a sign by the Captain. He rises and comes over to the bar.

 

WILLARD

(continuing)

What do you want?

 

CIVILIAN

(indicating the Army jeep)

If you're B.L. Willard, 4th Recon Group, we'd like you to come with us.

 

WILLARD

Whose orders?

 

CAPTAIN

Headquarters 11 Corps – 405th A.S.A Battalion – S-2 – Com-Sec – Intelligence – Nha Trang.

 

WILLARD

Who are you?

 

CIVILIAN

The agency.

 

Willard looks at the Civilian a moment, and then walks right out toward the jeep without saying another word. The Civilian follows.

 

 

EXT. HELICOPTER – DUSK

 

A darkly painted "HUEY" ROARS over low paddies and jungle before emerging onto an open plain. It crosses a barbed wire and sand-bagged perimeter and lands in a heavily fortified, concealed compound.

 

WILLARD (V.O.)

They took me to some place outside Nha Trang... Intelligence Headquarters for all operations in South East Asia. I'd worked for Intelligence before –

 

Armed men jump from the Huey – among them Willard. A large camouflaged cover is moved, revealing an underground corridor – they enter.

 

 

FULL SHOT – UNDERGROUND PLOTTING ROOM

 

A door swings wide – Willard steps through and comes to attention, blocking the view of the room. A strange reddish light pervades. The room is covered with plastic maps and filled with smoke.

 

The whole place has been hewn out of the ground itself and there is a sense of the cut-back jungle growth slowly reclaiming it.

 

WILLARD

Captain B.L. Willard, G-4 Headquarters, reporting as ordered, sir.

 

COLONEL (O.S.)

Okay, Willard, sit down.

 

Willard sits in a chair that is set in a center of a bare concrete floor. Across from him, around steel desks and tables sit several men. The nearest one, a COLONEL puts his cigar out on the bottom of his shoe – behind him sits a MAJOR and a seedy-looking CIVILIAN.

 

COLONEL

Have you ever seen this officer before, Captain Willard?

 

He points to the Major.

 

WILLARD

No, sir.

 

COLONEL

This gentleman or myself?

 

WILLARD

No, sir.

 

COLONEL

I believe on your last job you executed a tax collector in Kontum, is that right?

 

WILLARD

I am not presently disposed to discuss that, sir.

 

MAJOR

Very good.

 

He turns to the Colonel and nods his approval. The Colonel gets up and goes to a large plastic map.

 

COLONEL

You know much about Special Forces; Green Berets, Captain?

 

WILLARD

I've worked with them on occasions and I saw the movie , sir.

 

The officer smiles at this.

 

COLONEL

Then you can appreciate Command's concern over their – shall we say 'erratic' methods of operation.

(pause)

I have never favored elite units, Captain, including your paratroopers or whatever. Just because a man jumps out of an airplane or wears a silly hat doesn't give him any privileges in my book – not in this man's army.

 

MAJOR

We didn't need 'em in Korea – no sir, give me an Ohio farm boy and an M-1 Garand, none of this fancy crap – no sir.

 

CIVILIAN

(stopping him)

Major.

 

COLONEL

We have Special Forces A detachments all along the Cambodian border. Two here and another one here – twelve or fourteen Americans – pretty much on their own; they train and motivate Montagnard natives; pick their own operations. If they need something, they call  for it, and get it within reason. What we're concerned with is here.

 

 

CLOSE VIEW – ON THE MAP

 

COLONEL

The A detachment at Nu Mung Ba. It was originally a larger base, built up along the river in an old Cambodian fortress. The area has been relatively quiet for the past two years – but –

 

 

MEDIUM VIEW

 

COLONEL

... Captain, we know something's going on up there – Major –

 

The Major looks at some papers in front of him.

 

MAJOR

Communications naturally dwindled with the lack of V.C. activity, this is routine, expected... but six months ago communication virtually stopped.

 

COLONEL

About the same time – large numbers of Montagnards of the M'Nong descent began leaving the area – this in itself is not unusual since these people have fought with the Rhade Tribe that lived in the area for centuries. But what is unusual is that we began to find Rhade refugees too – in the same sampans as the M'Nongs. These people aren't afraid of V.C. They've put up with war for twenty years – but something is driving them out.

 

MAJOR

We communicate with the base infrequently. What they call for are air strikes, immediate – always at night. And we don't know what or who the air strikes are called on.

 

WILLARD

Who?

 

MAJOR

You see, no one has really gone into this area and come back alive.

 

WILLARD

Why me?

 

MAJOR

Walter Kurtz, Lieutenant Colonel, Special Forces. We understand you knew him.

 

He puts Kurtz' dossier in Willard's hand.

 

WILLARD

Yeah.

 

COLONEL

He's commanding the detachment at Nu Mung Ba.

 

The Colonel gets up and walks over to a tape recorder, flicks it on. The recording is first STATIC – the AIR CONTROLLER then asks for more information on target coordinates – it all sounds very routine, military. Then a frantic VOICE comes on, talking slurred, like someone dumb, except very fast.

 

VOICE

(on tape)

Up 2 – 0 – give it to me quick – Mark flare – affirmative damn – Immediate receive – hearing automatic weapons fire man...

 

GUNFIRE is HEARD and a lower, slower VOICE in background.

 

SECOND VOICE

Blue Delta five This Big Rhine – three Need that ordinance immediately Goddamn give it to me immediate Christ – Big Rhino – Blue God – Delta damn – goddamn.

 

A heavy BURST of AUTOMATIC WEAPONS FIRE – INSANE LAUGHTER – STATIC, and faintly, very faintly we HEAR HARD ROCK MUSIC – more STATIC – suddenly a low, clear VOICE peaceful and serene, almost tasting the words.

 

THIRD VOICE

This is Big Rhino six – Blue Delta.

 

MAJOR

That's Colonel Kurtz.

 

KURTZ (V.O.)

I want that napalm dropped in the trees – spread it among the branches. We'll give you a flare – an orange one – bright orange.

(static)

We'd also like some white phosporous, Blue Delta. White phosporous, give it to me.

 

STATIC interrupts – the Major turns the machine off.

 

WILLARD

I only met Kurtz once.

 

CIVILIAN

Would he remember you?

 

WILLARD

Maybe.

 

COLONEL

What was your impression of him?

 

Willard shrugs.

 

CIVILIAN

You didn't like him.

 

WILLARD

Anyone got a cigarette.

 

The Major offers him one; they wait as he lights up, thinks.

 

WILLARD

(continuing)

I thought he was a lame.

 

COLONEL

A lame?

 

WILLARD

This is years ago, before he joined Special Forces, I guess. We had an argument.

 

COLONEL

About what?

 

WILLARD

I don't know. He was a lame, that's all.

 

COLONEL

But why?

 

WILLARD

He couldn't get through a sentence without all these big words; about why we kill.

 

COLONEL

Well, he's killing now.

 

WILLARD

Maybe.

 

CIVILIAN

What does that mean?

 

WILLARD

Maybe it's not Kurtz. I don't believe he's capable of that. I just don't believe it.

 

COLONEL

It's got to be Kurtz.

 

CIVILIAN

The point is that Kurtz or somebody attacked a South Vietnamese Ranger Platoon three days ago. Last week a Recon helicopter was lost in the area – another took heavy damage – direct fire from their base camp.

 

WILLARD

Our Recon flight?

 

CIVILIAN

Ours.

 

WILLARD

Touchy.

 

CIVILIAN

You can see, of course, the implications, if any of this – even rumors leaked out.

 

WILLARD

You want me to clean it up