Films How I remember them. Titanic.

Here’s the script for the film Titanic, written how I remember it.


INT: SEA, with some boat shit going on. The hull of Titanic is shown, with a submersible drifting over it, with two blokes in it. One of them is Bill Paxton, out of ALIENS, and the other is a beard man. There are no other people.

Intercom: Twenty one metres, you should see it.

Hudson from ALIENS: Cheers. I can see. Yeah, there it is, nice one. right, we’re rolling. (Gets out camera.) Seeing her coming out of the dark like a ghost ship, still gets me every time. The erm….floor, sea bed, thing…where she landed a thousand years ago, after her long fall, from the world above.

Beard: *Snicker* You are so full of shit, boss.

Hudson: Shut up, beard. Anyway, we’re here doing stuff. We’ve got to find a thing…take the controls, beard.

Beard: Right, remote control time…check this out, boss.

Hudson: That’s a Gameboy Advance.

Beard: Oh. Right…

Hudson: Prick. Go on, down a level…should be there…

(remote device scans the decking, goes through some old shit and lights up some glasses and a mask, then goes into a room.)

Hudson: Careful…careful….do you drive like that?

Beard: Here’s the room.

Hudson: There’s Hockley’s room, that’s where the son of a bitch slept.

Beard: Oops, looks like someone left the water running.

Hudson: Hilarious. Wait, that bed, get over to it.

Beard: You smelling something boss?

Hudson: Yeah, i’ve been locked in a pressurised container with you for four hours, it fucking stinks in here. Let me see what’s under that…

Beard: Right. Give me my hands man…

Hudson: Go on, flip it over, flip it over..

(Wood goes over, to reveal a safe. Hudson grins.

Beard: Oh baby baby, are you seeing this boss?

Hudson: It’s pay day boys.

(Zooming in on boat on surface. Some cunts haul the safe on board.)

Hudson: Twelve years of hanging out with the beard and you cunts, now finally something good happens. Crack her open.

(Safe opens. Water and mud falls out. Hudson looks inside, there is nothing apart from some shit old book, and more mud. He realises there is nothing more inside. He looks well cunted off.)

Bloke: No diamond.

Hudson: FUCK’S SAKE.

Beard: You know, boss, the same thing happened to Heraldo and his carreer never recovered.

Hudson: In what world did you think that was the right fucking thing to say? Turn the camera off.

INT: Boat interior.

Hudson: I’m in the wrong movie. Where are the facehuggers? Where’s my gun?

Bloke: Oi, Hudson, partners would like to know how it’s going.

Hudson: (Takes phone) Oi, Barry hi, yeah, Hudson out of ALIENS. What? Nothing. Hey, it wasn’t in the safe, but hey, there’s still billions of places it could be. The officer’s safe on C-DECK, briefcase or something…millions…just got to trust my judgment on this one. No. I didn’t die in ALIENS, I was captured…probably cocoon….look i’ll call you back..

(Attention focuses on poor quality drawing of Kate Winslet with her tits out.

Hudson: What the fuck is that? Is that….Kate Winslet? What’s a picture of her with her norks out doing in a fucking 80 year old safe? That’s not possible, is it?

Bloke: Doesn’t look like her. Not at all.

Hudson: Yeah, well, for the purposes of this deliberate joke i’m going with that. She’s wearing the fucking necklace.

Bloke: Yep.

Hudson: Right…er…we should call Kate Winslet. I mean an old lady who this isn’t.


About neilstilwell

Abseiling into trouble, a sewer rat staring at the stars. Disgusting. You can assist my search for the one ring by buying a Kindle version of this diary from here. It has some other stuff in it, and a dreadful cover.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s