Rush Hour

 

 

 

Screenplay by                     Ross LaManna

 

Produced by                       Arthur M. Sarkissian

 

Directed by                        Brett Ratner

 

 

 

Cast List:

 

Jackie Chan

Chris Tucker

 

 

 

FADE IN:

 

 

EXT. LOS ANGELES – DAY

 

The whole dysfunctional megalopolis, beige and blurry in the summer smog. If this is the American Dream, do me a favor and wake me up.

 

 

EXT. LAX – DAY

 

The traffic loop outside the terminals is gridlocked – mostly with stretch limousines.

 

 

INT. LAX – (INCLUDE NEWS REPORT MONTAGE) – DAY

 

Inside, the airport is done up with festive posters, streamers and banners: Welcome – Pacific Partners Summit

 

A planeload of cheerful CHINESE DELEGATES come into the crowded terminal. Some sport red T-shirts with a picture of Mao wearing Mickey Mouse ears.

 

They get onto the people mover, passing by a TV REPORTER:

 

REPORTER

(to TV CAMERA)

Eager to mend its tarnished image, Los Angeles has really put out the welcome mat for tomorrow's summit. The city promises quite a party as leaders from Japan, China, South Korea, Australia, the U.S. and others begin talks for the largest free-trade treaty in history.

 

The SCENE changes to TAPE of DELEGATES from other countries arriving.

 

Then, we see massive SECURITY PREPARATIONS all around the city.

 

REPORTER (V.O.)

(continuing)

The one sour note is North Korea, the only Pacific Rim country not participating. There are rumors of secret meetings with North Korean representatives, but U.S. officials insist the North must first hold democratic elections, and halt its nuclear weapons program – as they claimed to have done back in 1995.

 

We CUT TO a heated debate in the UN SECURITY COUNCIL.

 

Then ARTILLERY FIRE over the Korean DMZ.

 

The SCENE returns to LAX.

 

REPORTER (V.O.)

(continuing)

Tensions remain high since last year's skirmishes between North Korea and the U.S. So any chance of the communist North joining the Pacific Partners seems highly unlikely.

 

DISSOLVE TO:

 

 

EXT. FREMONT PLACE – DAY

 

An exclusive, walled-off section of Hancock Park. There's only one route in and out, past a manned guardhouse on Wilshire.

 

 

EXT. NORTH KOREAN CONSULATE – DAY

 

A Colonial-style mansion, surrounded by an imposing, wrought-iron fence. There is a bronze plaque, in English and Korean, next to the entranceway:

 

"Consulate of the

Democratic People's Republic of Korea"

 

The driveway gate opens and a long, black Mercedes with tinted windows and diplomatic license plates glides out.

 

 

INT. NORTH KOREAN CONSULATE – SURVEILLANCE ROOM – DAY

 

An alert North Korean CORPORAL watches the perimeter MONITORS. He pushes a switch to close the gate behind the Mercedes.

 

 

EXT. UTILITY POLE – OLYMPIC BLVD – DAY

 

From atop a pole outside the south wall, a man with binoculars overlooks the private streets of Fremont Place.

 

 

HIS POV – THROUGH BINOCULARS

 

As the Mercedes cruises through the quiet neighborhood.

 

 

BACK TO SCENE

 

The man, PAUL JAVAL, is thirtyish, nervous; with short, sandy hair. He takes the binoculars away from his face and we see his eyes – they're a strange, unnaturally light gray.

 

Javal takes an ORANGE PILL from an unlabeled prescription bottle and pops it into his mouth. He climbs down the pole to a van with a phone company logo on it.

 

 

EXT. WILSHIRE BLVD – DAY

 

The Mercedes comes out of the Fremont Place gate, and turns into the heavy morning traffic.

 

 

INT. MERCEDES – (MOVING SHOT) – DAY

 

It is extremely quiet, due to inch-thick glass on the windows and 4,000 pounds of armor plating on the car's chassis.

 

The DRIVER is a North Korean Army Major. On the seat beside him is an AMD-74, a 5.45x39mm-caliber machine gun.

 

A HAND from the back seat darts between the front seats and turns on the RADIO to a ROCK station. The Driver turns it off.

 

 

NEW ANGLE

 

The hand belongs to 10-year-old SAM KE HAN. Sam sits back and sighs to his sister, JOY (15). Between them sits a middle-aged Scandinavian GOVERNESS.

 

SAM

I can't stand it – half an hour to get to the stupid school every morning... with no music...

(Korean; subtitled)

Just our damn Nanny...

 

 

EXT. CRENSHAW BLVD – DAY

 

Javal's van, also with tinted windows, turns onto Crenshaw. It follows the Mercedes, several cars behind it.

 

 

INT. JAVAL'S VAN – (MOVING SHOT) – DAY

 

Javal, wired, drums on the steering wheel while driving. He glances at some expertly constructed, radio-control REMOTE UNITS sitting on the seat next to him.

 

 

EXT. SANTA MONICA FREEWAY – DAY

 

Traffic is moving at about 35 MPH. The Mercedes merges onto the freeway, heading west. Javal's van follows.

 

The thumping of a RAP SONG rattles the other drivers' fillings as a LOWRIDER with its stereo turned up to "11" cruises by.

 

 

INT. MERCEDES – (MOVING SHOT) – DAY

 

Even 500 watts of bass cannot penetrate the armored silence. The Driver scans the road, wary but sensing no danger. He puts on his blinker to take the 405 South exit.

 

 

EXT. SANTA MONICA FREEWAY – DAY

 

The van follows, now directly behind the Mercedes, in a procession of vehicles going up the long, curved overpass arcing 100 feet above the 10, toward the 405.

 

 

INT. JAVAL'S VAN – (MOVING SHOT) – DAY

 

As they approach the crest of the overpass, Javal flips a switch on his radio-control unit...

 

 

CLOSE – ROAD SURFACE OF OVERPASS

 

Six small SEMICIRCLES, exact replicas of the stay-alert bumps on the white lines of the overpass, EXPLODE. They spew hundreds of sharp, triangular nails across the roadway. Immediately, scores of tires on passing cars BLOW OUT...

 

 

WIDER

 

Causing, 50 yards ahead of the Mercedes and van, the most hellacious, gut-wrenching, piss-your-pants, chain-reaction PILE-UP you can imagine.

 

Dozens of drivers LOSE CONTROL of their vehicles... sideswipe their neighbors... grind against the guard rails. Some fishtail into 180's, smashing headlong into the traffic still coming onto the overpass.

 

Brakes squeal, people scream, metal crumples, airbags deploy, glass shatters.

 

And then it gets really nasty...

 

A Honda gets jammed under a truck hauling cinder blocks. The truck JACKKNIFES, tipping over like a drunken giant.

 

It SMASHES through the concrete wall and guard rail...

 

Along with several cars and their SCREAMING OCCUPANTS, swept over the edge by the truck like discarded soda cans.

 

They plummet through space, CRASHING onto the freeway below.

 

 

INT. MERCEDES – (MOVING SHOT) – DAY

 

Sam, Joy, and the Governess brace themselves as the Driver slams on the brakes. He barely avoids hitting anything.

 

DRIVER

(Korean)

Stay in the car.

 

 

EXT. FREEWAY OVERPASS – DAY

 

A nightmare scene of smoke, twisted wrecks, dazed victims. The Mercedes and van sit motionless in the backed-up traffic.

 

 

INT. / EXT. JAVAL'S VAN & ROADWAY – DAY

 

Javal slides open a TRAP DOOR on the floor of the van. He slips a wheeled, mechanic's repair platform through it.

 

 

ANGLE WITH JAVAL

 

As, unnoticed amid the chaos, he lies on the platform and rolls under the Mercedes.

 

The undercarriage of the Mercedes is armored with steel. Javal stops at a patch of perforations – an air exchange vent. He attaches a slim DEVICE over the vent, flips a switch on it, then rolls back toward the van.

 

 

INT. MERCEDES – DAY

 

Oblivious to Javal's actions below them, everyone watches as police and news helicopters circle above. Then, some CHP motorcycles straddle the lanes and zoom by.

 

 

INT. JAVAL'S VAN – DAY

 

Sweating, Javal sits back in the driver's seat and checks another radio unit. Working.

 

 

EXT. FREEWAY OVERPASS – DAY

 

The CHP has cleared a path through the devastation, and traffic trickles through. As the Mercedes and the van pass by, Javal looks proudly at the misery he's wrought. He follows the Mercedes onto the 405 south.

 

 

INT. JAVAL'S VAN – (MOVING SHOT) – DAY

 

Javal drives behind the Mercedes, with one hand on the radio unit. The Mercedes signals to take the Venice exit.

 

Javal fingers the radio unit, itching to use it...

 

But he PASSES by the Mercedes as it gets off the freeway.

 

 

INSERT ANGLE – UNDER THE MERCEDES

 

Javal's device is armed, and waiting...

 

FADE TO:

 

 

EXT. SIERRA BONITA AVENUE – CARSON'S HOUSE – NIGHT

 

A pretty street in the Miracle Mile, lined with neat, single-family homes. Timed SPRINKLER systems water some of the yards.

 

Every house on the block except the one we're in front of has a "For Sale" sign on the lawn. From the weathered looks of the signs, they've been there for quite a while.

 

 

INT. CARSON'S HOUSE – BEDROOM – NIGHT

 

It's a hot night. The ceiling fan above the bed spins slowly.

 

PETE CARSON tosses restlessly in bed, the sheets half-covering him. Next to him his wife, MIRANDA KNOLL, snores contentedly.

 

Carson is in his late thirties, outdoorsy, with a tight, muscular build. Emotionally he's tightly-wound as well.

 

Miranda is 35, raven-haired, sensible, pretty. She believes above all else that one should never raise one's voice.

 

Carson groans... he's DREAMING...

 

CUT TO:

 

 

EXT. BEVERLY DRIVE – (CARSON'S DREAM) – DAY

 

Quick, SILENT IMAGES: A street cordoned off with police tape. Cops, SWAT teams, FBI surround BEVERLY THRIFT, a bank.

 

Carson, younger, hair shorter, sits in an FBI COMMAND TRUCK across from the bank. Covering the mouthpiece of the phone in his hand, he's arguing with the OTHER AGENTS in the truck.

 

Suddenly, a huge, fiery EXPLOSION blows out the front of the bank building. Horrified, Carson runs toward it...

 

CUT TO:

 

 

INT. CARSON'S HOUSE – BEDROOM AND HALLWAY – NIGHT

 

Carson is snapped awake by a CAR ALARM going off outside.

 

CARSON

Son of a bitch!

 

He bolts out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of striped bikini briefs. Miranda rolls over, sleepy, unconcerned...

 

MIRANDA

Pete... please... we have to be up early tomorrow. Call the police.

 

CARSON

Yeah, right.

 

He races down the hall – right past the house alarm keypad, its LCD reading "ARMED."

 

He grabs an aluminum baseball bat from the umbrella stand. Forgetting to disarm the house alarm, he yanks the front door open. The house alarm begins SHRIEKING.

 

CARSON

(continuing)

Shit!

 

 

MIRANDA

 

Pulls the pillows over her head and sighs.

 

MIRANDA

Not again...

 

 

EXT. CARSON'S HOUSE – NIGHT

 

Carson comes around to the driveway, which is illuminated by the streetlight –

 

Where two 20-ish ASSHOLES are sitting in his 1965 Mustang convertible, their presence courtesy of a huge cut they've made in the otherwise-perfect ragtop.

 

Car-theft tools in a leather case between them, they're prying the ignition switch out of the dashboard.

 

Asshole #1 spots Carson. He gets out of the car, wielding a crowbar. His partner keeps working.

 

 

NEW ANGLE

 

Asshole #1 lunges viciously, swiping at Carson with the crowbar, taking a piece out of his side. Carson starts BLEEDING profusely, but he's too pissed to notice.

 

Carson uses his bat to take the offensive. They go at each other like combatants in a swordfight, the CLANKING of metal echoing through the neighborhood along with the screaming house and car ALARMS, and frantic neighborhood DOGS.

 

Surprised at Carson's fury and strength, Asshole #1 backs onto the lawn, oblivious to the running SPRINKLERS.

 

As he backs away, his shoe catches on one of the sprinkler heads. It breaks off, and a huge GEYSER of water sprays out.

 

Carson holds his bat in both hands and jams the front of it into Asshole #1's breadbasket. He doubles over.

 

Carson grabs Asshole #1's arm, and pulls it quickly against his raised knee. There is a SNAP and a loud howl as the arm breaks, and Carson tosses him aside.

 

Seeing this, Asshole #2 gives up on the car. He takes off toward the street. Carson runs to head him off, but he's a lot faster in his Air Jordans than Carson is in his bare feet.

 

 

WIDER

 

Carson grabs the metal lid from a garbage can at the curb and FLINGS it like a huge Frisbee. It sails across the street –

 

And NAILS Asshole #2's head. He kisses the pavement, stunned.

 

Carson runs up and grabs him, but he pulls out a long, sharp screwdriver and jabs at Carson with it.

 

Then, blue flashing lights appear from around the corner: A WESTEC Chevy Blazer. Two uniformed GUARDS get out, and fumble with their sidearms.

 

WESTEC GUARD

Everybody... chill! Bikini boy! On the ground!

 

Asshole #2 is still trying to gouge Carson with the screwdriver. Carson glares at the dopey Guards.

 

CARSON

Asshole was trying to boost my car!

 

 

ANGLE ACROSS STREET

 

Carson's fiftyish, black, next-door NEIGHBOR, wearing pajamas and a robe, comes out of his house. Carson sees him.

 

CARSON

Mike – call 911!

 

NEIGHBOR

Been trying...

(has a cordless phone)

It's busy.

(to Guards; re Carson)

He's the good guy, you schumcks.

 

The Guards seem to get it. Without warning, one takes out a TASER and ZAPS Asshole #2. Carson lets go just in time.

 

 

CLOSER

 

Holding his bleeding side, Carson walks back to his house. He notices the "Neighborhood Watch" sign has graffiti spray-painted on it. He touches it – the paint is still wet. His Neighbor shrugs – whatta ya gonna do?

 

The PAPER GUY drives by... and tosses Carson's newspaper right under the gushing SPRINKLER.

 

CARSON

I hate this fuckin' town.

 

 

EXT. NORTH KOREAN CONSULATE – ESTABLISHING – DAY

 

 

INT. NORTH KOREAN CONSULATE – UPSTAIRS BATHROOM – DAY

 

Joy is standing on the toilet, blowing cigarette smoke into the exhaust fan. Someone KNOCKS on the door. She flicks the cigarette into the toilet, puts a ZIPPO LIGHTER in her pocket.

 

 

INT. NORTH KOREAN CONSULATE – HALLWAY – DAY

 

Joy opens the bathroom door. Sam is standing there, grinning.

 

JOY

There are six bathrooms in this house, Sam.

 

SAM

(fanning the air)

But only one with a smoking section.

 

She quickly closes the door behind her. Sam laughs.

 

 

INT. NORTH KOREAN CONSULATE – DINING ROOM – DAY

 

Sam and Joy sit at the table. AMBASSADOR HAN and MRS. HAN are having breakfast: radish soup, kimchi and grilled fish.

 

Ambassador Han reads through the morning's faxed communiqués. He's 43, rarely smiles, and hates living in the U.S. He's dressed in an impeccably-tailored, Valentino two-piece suit.

 

Mrs. Han is slender, soft-spoken, but as iron-willed as her husband. She, however, is quick to smile. She's wearing a summery dress with a white sweater over her shoulders.

 

Ambassador Han pulls the front of Sam's shirt to reveal the "Nirvana" logo on his T-shirt.

 

AMBASSADOR HAN

(Korean)

Go change.

 

Ambassador Han's X-ray stare turns to Joy.

 

AMBASSADOR HAN

(continuing)

You smell like a fireplace.

 

A BUTLER appears with a phone. He WHISPERS to Mrs. Han.

 

MRS. HAN

It's the Governess...

(into phone)

Hello, Hilda...

 

 

CUTAWAY – CLOSE ON GOVERNESS

 

As she speaks into a cellular phone. She's extremely nervous. We cannot see her surroundings.

 

GOVERNESS

(thru phone)

Mrs. Han... I am very sick today...

 

 

INT. NORTH KOREAN CONSULATE – DINING ROOM – DAY

 

MRS. HAN

(into phone)

We will see you next week...

(hangs up; smiles to kids)

It appears I'll be taking you to school.

 

 

INT. JAVAL'S VAN – DAY

 

In the back of his van, Javal pats the Governess' hand.

 

JAVAL

Very good. You may go now...

 

He speaks with a slight accent, French, perhaps. He pops an orange pill, then unlatches the rear doors of the van. With a quick glance back at him, she goes to open the doors.

 

Javal grabs a plastic tarp and throws it over the Governess' upper body. He puts his arm across her neck, flicks open a gravity knife and PLUNGES it through the tarp, into her chest.

 

He drops her on the floor of the van and fastidiously wipes a small smudge of blood from his hand with a handkerchief.

 

 

INT. CARSON'S HOUSE – BATHROOM AND BEDROOM – DAY

 

Carson steps out of the shower. He looks exhausted. Toweling off, he goes into the bedroom, where Miranda is riding an exercise bike, listening to music on headphones and reading the sprinkler-soaked newspaper, all while watching the TV.

 

 

ANGLE ON TV

 

A perky blonde traffic reporter, BOBBI MARCHFELDER, talks to us from a local NEWS COPTER.

 

 

BOBBI

(on TV)

... Good morning, Summit Day! It's gonna be the Super Bowl, the 4th of July, the Olympics and Woodstock all rolled into one! All over town there'll be parades, concerts, rallies, festivals... So get out there everyone, but plan your drive-time accordingly! This is Bobbi Marchfelder, your Eye in the Sky...

 

We CUT TO the White House lawn, where the PRESIDENT is about to board a helicopter.

 

MORNING ANCHOR (V.O.)

(on TV)

The President is on his way...

 

PRESIDENT

(on TV)

... It's an honor hosting my fellow leaders in Los Angeles, the capitol city of the Pacific Rim...

 

We CUT BACK to the studio and the MORNING ANCHOR.

 

MORNING ANCHOR

(on TV)

We'll see the menu for Mayor Simpson's Brentwood barbecue, right after this...

 

We CUT TO a MUSICAL MONTAGE of preparations for the events around town.

 

 

BACK TO SCENE

 

As the MUSIC swells, Carson turns the TV off.

 

MIRANDA

I was watching that.

 

CARSON

If I hear one more Beach Boys song, I'll shoot myself.

 

Miranda points at the headphones – she can't hear him.

 

CARSON

(continuing; while smiling)

I said, if we were having sex once in a while, you wouldn't need to ride that fucking bike every morning.

 

MIRANDA

(hasn't heard a thing)

Be right with you...

 

As Carson dresses, we get a LOOK at their bedroom – Miranda's nightstand has two neat stacks of periodicals on it, with Los Angeles magazine and Psychology Today on the top of them.

 

Carson's nightstand is overflowing with books and magazines about other cities and states: Wonderland Washington; Magnificent Oregon; Welcome to North Carolina."

 

 

INT. / EXT. CARSON'S HOUSE – PATIO & KITCHEN – DAY

 

Miranda, dressed in a conservative skirt, jacket, black shoes, is out on the patio. Her breakfast – a bowl of fruit and wheat germ – sits on the patio table while she waters some sickly-looking ROSE BUSHES in a planter.

 

Carson, dressed in shirt and tie, looking beat, fries a steak and three eggs in butter. He comes outside with his breakfast and a magazine article: "American Expatriates in New Zealand."

 

MIRANDA

(looks him over)

Have you gotten any sleep lately?

 

CARSON

(ignores the question)

Shop's gonna tow the car in – goddamn ignition's trashed.

 

MIRANDA

Take mine. I'll ride in with Diane.

 

Carson watches as she carefully picks the dead leaves off the rose bushes.

 

CARSON

You ask me, those suckers are a lost cause.

 

She continues, then glances at the article Carson is reading.

 

MIRANDA

It's not for you.

 

CARSON

You mean it's not for you.

 

MIRANDA

I don't chase car thieves in my underwear. C'mon, you'd die of boredom if we ever sold this house and moved.

 

CARSON

I'd die of shock, from finding anyone dumb enough to buy the place. Even for what it's worth now.

 

MIRANDA

Lots of people bought at the top of the market...

 

CARSON

That sure cheers me right up.

 

MIRANDA

I don't know why we even talk about it. The city's not the problem. So we move. It wouldn't matter. What's that saying: "Wherever you go, there you are."

 

Carson just looks at her. Reaching for the salt, he winces from the cut in his side.

 

MIRANDA

(continuing)

I hope you're current on your tetanus booster. Was it worth it?

 

CARSON

One cut... two assholes in the hospital... Yep.

 

Carson glances at his watch and gets up.

 

CARSON

(continuing)

Well, another day of baby-sitting my favorite bunch of people...

 

He grabs a Bianchi shoulder holster with a Sig-Sauer P-229, 9mm pistol, straps it on, then pulls on a blue windbreaker. Emblazoned on the back are large yellow letters: FBI.

 

MIRANDA

Ask for a transfer.

 

CARSON

They're not gonna transfer me. You know damn well why I was bumped down to guard duty...

(as he's leaving)

My outstanding people skills.

 

Miranda tries to return to tending her roses. But instead, she sadly watches him go.

 

 

EXT. CARSON'S HOUSE – DAY

 

A look of sorrow crosses Carson's face as he watches some YOUNG KIDS laugh and shove, getting onto a school bus.

 

He then glances at his wounded Mustang, parked in the street. He spots something on the windshield: A pink parking ticket.

 

The parking sign above the graffiti-stained Neighborhood Watch sign reads: "Street Cleaning – Friday 8-10 am".

 

CARSON

I hate this fuckin' town.