Snakes on a Plane II:
Snakes on the Water*
(working title)
©2006 By Gavrilo Princep
Third Draft
May 27, 2006
FADE IN:
INT. FBI HEADQUARTERS - DAY
FBI director’s office. FBI DIRECTOR
WATERS and DEPUTY-DIRECTOR TOMLINSON
are huddled around a single red
telephone receiver, listening
intently. An FBI PAGE, visibly flustered,
bursts into the room.
PAGE
(agitated)
Director Waters! We —
WATERS holds up his hand, silencing
the PAGE. He turns his attention
back to the phone. There is quiet
as the men continue listening.
DEPUTY-DIRECTOR TOMLINSON
(listening)
Oh, no way. No way she just
said that.
FBI DIRECTOR WATERS
(stifling giggles)
Shhhh! Hee hee … Shhhhh!
DEPUTY-DIRECTOR TOMLINSON
(pulls back, on edge momentarily)
Why “Shh?” You said they
can’t hear us ...
FBI DIRECTOR WATERS
Well, of course not. But come on
… that’s half the fun.
DEPUTY-DIRECTOR TOMLINSON
(listening again)
Wow. What a filthy mouth. This is
worse than the stuff she was
saying to him last week.
WATERS giggles again.
PAGE
Um, Director Waters? Sorry to
interrupt, sir … but we have a
situation.
WATERS pierces him with an icy
look, then rolls his eyes.
FBI DIRECTOR WATERS
(reluctantly)
Always when it’s getting good.
(hangs up)
What? What is it?
PAGE
We — We’ve received a threat, sir.
FBI DIRECTOR WATERS
A threat? From whom? Is it the
Swedes?
(balls hands into tight
hatred-fists)
Come an’ get it, Swedes.
PAGE
We don’t know, sir. We received
a call that there’s a speedtriggered
trap on the luxury
cruise liner Jodido, en route to
Tegucigalpa. If the boat’s speed
drops below 55 knots … well …
(trails off)
FBI DIRECTOR WATERS
What? Speak up, son! This is no
time to cower behind yer mammy’s
warm, nurturing teat!
PAGE
(swallows hard)
A below-deck box will spring
open, releasing hundreds of
razor-fanged, venomous,
genetically enhanced snakes.
(pauses)
With machine guns fused to their
skulls.
FBI DIRECTOR WATERS
(horrified, but awed)
Fiendish. Ingenious.
PAGE
(clears throat, lowers voice)
This Summer, Snake Happens …
Again.
DEPUTY-DIRECTOR TOMLINSON
(after a pause)
Uh, Sir? Without exaggeration,
that’s the most retarded bullshit
I ever heard.
FBI DIRECTOR WATERS
(correcting him)
Terrorist retarded bullshit,
Deputy-Director Tomlinson.
Wait — did you say the Jodido?
I’ve got a man on that boat!
Page …
(narrows eyes, drops voice
into lower, gravelly register)
get me Flynn.
PAGE
Yes, sir.
PAGE leaves.
DEPUTY-DIRECTOR TOMLINSON
Flynn? Isn’t he retired?
FBI DIRECTOR WATERS
Yes, that’s right, Tomlinson.
But none ’a’ those mollycoddled
Coast Guard boys could find his
own pink, puckered asshole if
you taped it to his forehead
and had his mammy Google Maps
it for him. And Flynn just
might be the best man we’ve got.
DEPUTY-DIRECTOR TOMLINSON
But sir, what about the
literally thousands of capable
active-duty —
FBI DIRECTOR WATERS
Google Maps, Tomlinson. Google
Maps. GET ME FLYNN.
EXT. SHIP - DAY
Cut to extreme close-up of
NELVILLE FLYNN. His eyes, silent
and steady, fill the screen.
Slowly, we pull back to reveal
that he is on the deck of a large
cruise ship, talking on a cellular
phone. He wears a chef’s
apron and hat, both immaculate,
and is not pleased by the
conversation.
NELVILLE
(quietly)
Motherf—
A foghorn blows loudly, cutting
him off.
WATERS
(over phone)
Nelville, did you hear what I
said? There’s a crate of live,
poisonous, machine-gun-headed
snakes on that boat — and
they’ll be set free the moment
you slow down!
NELVILLE
Yeah, I heard you, Cap. That’s
why I said “motherf-
A seagull cries loudly overhead,
cutting him off.
But stuff like this is why I
got out of the game years ago,
why I renounced violence,
converted to Mahayana Buddhism,
went to cooking school, and
became a cruise-liner chef.
Because I never wanted to see
another motherf-
The foghorn and seagull sound in
unison, cutting him off.
WATERS
Yes, Nelville. We know. We
know how you feel about
snakes. And about the planes
that they are sometimes on.
But you’re going to have to do
something, or else you’re going
to have the same sort of
situation — only more extreme,
and on an entirely new mode of
transportation.
NELVILLE
Sorry to disappoint, Cap, but
I’m a Buddhist now — I don’t
care if I die. I no longer
fear death; I embrace it.
WATERS
Look, you crazy, stubborn
sonofabitch! Listen to me! You
were my best agent when you
were with the Bureau, and I
know you think you found Jesus
or something, but that boat
you’re on is a ticking timesnake-
speed-bomb! God knows, I
love you like a son, Nelville
— you crazy, stubborn
sonofabitch — but how’s your
Hindu Buddhist Jesus going to
help you if you won’t lift a
finger to help yourself?
NELVILLE
Told you, Cap. I’m not afraid
to die.
FBI DIRECTOR WATERS
Not you, Nelville. Your
daughter. I hate to be the one
to tell you this, but you have
a daughter you don’t know
about. And she’s on that Godforsaken
boat with you. And
you’re a crazy, stubborn
sonofabitch.
NELVILLE
OH, MOTHERF—
Suddenly, a snake whips into
frame, catching NELVILLE’s phone
in its fangs and swallowing it
whole. (And cutting him off.)
NELVILLE turns, and we cut wide
to reveal legions of gun-headed
snakes, which, having slithered
out from below deck and through
the main cabin, are advancing on
him.
All right, snakes. I disdain
violence, but the honored
disciple Venerable Sariputta
says it is the wise man who
understands the noble truth of
suffering. And y’all about to
get real, real wise.
A tiny bullet whizzes by his
cheek.
Namasté, motherfuckers.
END FIRST SCENE
*(All of this, of course, is complete and utter bullshit.
There is, as yet, no planned SoaP sequel.
Please don’t sue us, New Line Cinema.)
