BATMAN Screenplay by Sam Hamm Based on the Character Created by Bob Kane PROPERTY OF: REVISED FIRST DRAFT WARNER BROS. INC. March 6, 1987 4000 Warner Boulevard (c) 1986 Burbank, California 91522 WARNER BROS. INC. All Rights Reserved FADE IN: EXT. CITYSCAPE - NIGHT The place is Gotham City. The time, 1987 -- once removed. The City of Tomorrow: stark angles, creeping shadows, dense, crowded, airless, a random tangle of steel and concrete, self-generating, almost subterranean in its aspect... as if hell had erupted through the sidewalks and kept on growing. A dangling fat moon shines overhead, ready to burst. EXT CATHEDRAL - NIGHT Amid the chrome and glass sits a dark and ornate Gothic anomaly: old City Cathedral, once grand, now abandoned -- long since boarded up and scheduled for demolition. On the rooftop far above us, STONE GARGOYLES gaze down from their shadowy, windswept perches, keeping monstrous watch over the distant streets below, sightless guardians of the Gotham night. One of them is moving. EXT. GOTHAM SQUARE - NIGHT The pulsing heart of downtown Gotham, a neon nightmare of big-city corruption, almost surreal in its oppressiveness. Hookers wave to drug dealers. Street hustlers slap high-fives with three-card monte dealers. They all seem to know each other... with one glaring exception: A TOURIST FAMILY, Mom, Dad, and little Jimmy, staring straight ahead as they march in perfect lockstep down the main drag. They're just come out of a hit show one block over; the respectable theatre crowd has thinned out, and now -- Playbills in hand - - they find themselves adrift in the predatory traffic of Gotham's meanest street. MOM For God's sake, Harold, can we please Just get a taxi?? DAD I'm trying to get a -- (shouting) TAXI!! Three cabs streak past and disappear. MOM grimaces in frustration as LITTLE JOHNNY consults a subway map. JOHNNY We're going the wrong way. Nearby, STREET TYPES are beginning to snicker. DAD surveys them nervously, gestures toward the subway map. DAD Put that away. We'll look like tourists. TWO COPS lean on their patrol car outside an all-night souvlaki stand, sipping coffee and chatting with a HOOKER. The HOOKER smiles at JOHNNY. JOHNNY smiles back. MOM yanks him off down the street and glowers at DAD. DAD (cont.) We'll never get a cab here. Let's cut over to Seventh. JOHNNY Seventh is that way. DAD I know where we are! EXT. SIDE STREET - THAT MOMENT - NIGHT A deserted access street lined with the husks of stripped-down cars. MOM, DAD, and JOHNNY take a deep breath and march into the darkness. VOICE Hey, mister. Gimmie a dollar? The VOICE belongs to a DERELICT -- nineteen or twenty, acne-scarred -- who sits between two garbage cans, one palm outstretched. His ratty t- shirt reads: "I LOVE GOTHAM CITY." MOM, DAD, and JOHNNY pause for the merest of seconds, then move on - - pretending not to hear. DERELICT Mister. How about it. One dollar? (standing up) One dollar, man. Are you deaf? Are you deaf? - - Do you speak English?? By now the TOURISTS are halfway across the street. Mercifully, the DERELICT doesn't seem to be following. They pick up their pace. They don't see the SHADOWY FIGURE in the alleyway. They don't see the GUN until a gloved hand brings it down, butt-first, across the back of DAD's neck. DAD crumples. MOM grabs JOHNNY and backs up against a brick wall, too terrified to scream. The DERELICT races across the street to join his confederate, the STREET PUNK, who's already searching for DAD's wallet. MOM's mouth opens in panic. They can see she's about to snap - - so the STREET PUNK, still in a crouch, trains his gun on JOHNNY. STREET PUNK Do the kid a favor, lady. Don't scream. The poor woman is utterly horrified. TEARS stream down her face. But she keeps her wits about her, stifles the urge to shriek, and hustles JOHNNY off down the street. The two PUNKS watch them break into a run - - then chuckle, slap hands, race off in the opposite direction. EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT Six Stories up. The PUNKS -- NICK and EDDIE -- hunker down on the tar- and-gravel roof, sizing up their take. NICK (emptying wallet) All right. The Gold Card. (tossing the credit card in EDDIE's face) Don't leave home without it. A chill wind whips across the roof as NICK extracts the cash and begins to count it. There's a distant, metallic CLANG. EDDIE hears it and tenses up. EDDIE Let's beat it, man. I don't like it up here. NICK What are you, scared of heights? EDDIE I dunno, man. After what happened to Johnny Gobs - - NICK Look, Johnny Gobs got ripped and walked off a roof, all right? No big loss. EDDIE That ain't what I heard. That ain't what I heard at all. (beat) I heard the bat got him. NICK Gimme a break, will you? Shut up. EDDIE Five stories, straight down. There was no blood in the body. NICK No shit. It was all over the pavement. NICK has no patience with EDDIE's campfire tales -- but here on the roof, in the pale moonlight, he can't ignore the slight tingle at the base of his spine... EDDIE There was no blood, man. (beat) My brother says... all the bad things you done... they come back and haunt you... NICK God! How old are you? There ain't no bat. EDDIE My brother's a priest, man. NICK No wonder you're such a chickenshit. Now shut up. (conclusively) There ain't no bat. As they speak our attention shifts to a point at the opposite corner of the roof, some fifteen yards away... ... where, at the end of a line, a STRANGE BLACK SILHOUETTE is dropping slowly, implacably, into frame... EDDIE You shouldn'ta turned the gun on that kid, man. You shouldn'ta -- NICK Do you want this money or don't you? Now shut up! Shut up -- BOTH PUNKS FREEZE at the sudden, inexplicable sound of BOOTS CRUNCHING ON GRAVEL. They turn slowly. Their JAWS DROP. Standing at the edge of the roof, bathed in moonlight, is a BLACK APPARITION. IT DOES NOT MOVE. EDDIE stands rooted to the spot, a choked gurgle in his throat, as if he's Just seen his own death. The BLACK FIGURE advances and spreads its arms, slowly, majestic-ally. GREAT SHADOWY BATWINGS flap in the wind. NICK drops, gropes for the gun, brings it up. And still the BLACK FIGURE draws closer, deliberate, menacing. On its chest: THE EMBLEM OF A BAT, in an oval yellow field, glowing like a target in the darkness... NICK FIRES TWICE. TWO CLEAN HITS. The strange black figure is knocked bodily to the roof. Trembling, sweating buckets, NICK gets to his feet. He whacks a motionless EDDIE on the arm - - NICK (cont.) -- I'm gettin' outta here. And bends to retrieve his loot. EDDIE lets out a strange, pre-verbal squeal... And NICK sees THE HUMAN BAT, BACK ON ITS FEET, NIGHTMARISH, UNDEAD, MOVING SLOWLY AND INEVITABLY CLOSER. Panic. Sheer, raw, unrelenting panic. Stolen money flutters out of NICK's hands. He scuttles around the periphery of the roof, his feet skidding on the gravel as he searches for a way down. The BLACK SPECTRE is blocking his path to the fire escape. Trapped like a rat, NICK FIRES WILDLY. EDDIE is frozen in place, his eyes glazed over, his face drained of blood. The BAT treads calmly past. A LEG snakes out. A BLACK BOOT catches EDDIE high on the chest -- - - LIFTS HIM CLEANLY OFF HIS FEET - - - - AND SENDS HIM FLYING THROUGH THE AIR. EDDIE slams into a brick chimney and slumps to the roof unconscious, a broken, weightless puppet. THIS ACTION IS SO SMOOTH, SO AUTOMATIC, THAT THE BAT DOES NOT EVEN BREAK HIS STRIDE. NICK, terrified, CHARGES past the black wraith, scrambling toward the fire escape... A GLOVED HAND slices through the air, and NICK pitches forward. his legs ensnared in a tangle of WIRES. Screaming now, he drags himself across the gravel roof, the looming figure of the BAT at his heels... until there's no place left to go. NICK cowers against the ledge, his pants torn, his hands and knees bloody. He has dissolved into total mindless hysteria. Almost by reflex, NICK keeps shooting. He'd do better if he could manage to open his eyes. By now the hammer is falling on an empty chamber, but NICK continues, obsessively, to pull the trigger. He weeps; he moans; he wails... THE BAT grabs a fistful of NICK's shirt, and with supernatural ease HOISTS HIM into the air. NICK (cant.) Don't kill me... don't kill me... When NICK finally opens his eyes, he realizes THE BAT is standing on the ledge of the roof - - HOLDING HIM OUT, at arm's length, over six stories of nothingness. The grim black apparition SPEAKS in a rasping whisper: BATMAN I won't kill you. I want you to do me a favor. NICK looks down. Far, far below, CARS wink silently past. He looks up. And sees, in the mirrored lenses where BATMAN's eyes should be, the twin reflections of his own stricken face. BATMAN (cant.) Tell your friends. Tell all your friends. NICK HOWLS. Almost as an afterthought, THE BATMAN heaves him roughly back onto the tar and gravel surface of the roof. And then -- casually, without a moment's hesitation -- STEPS OFF THE LEDGE, INTO MIDAIR. Trembling, NICK crawls to the ledge and looks over... finding ABSOLUTELY NO TRACE of the Batman. NICK is still screaming as we PAN UP to the bilious yellow globe of Gotham's moon. MAIN CREDITS ROLL: BATMAN CUT TO: INT. GOTHAM CITY DEMOCRATS' CLUB - NIGHT A CAMPAIGN POSTER fills one wall: "A NEW GOTHAM. HARVEY DENT FOR DISTRICT ATTORNEY." We TILT DOWN to find the man himself, determined, dynamic HARVEY DENT, addressing a crowd from behind his podium. DENT It is no longer enough to go after the small-time punks and petty criminals who infest the streets of Gotham City. Crime and corruption must be attacked at the root ANOTHER ANGLE - THE AUDIENCE Civic-minded politicos decked out in fund-raiser finery. They applaud DENT's tough talk wildly. They've Just shelled out $500 a plate for a chicken dinner, and by God they're going to enjoy this. Tuxedoed WAITERS move among the tables, deftly refilling water glasses. As they do, we SEE an EMPTY PLACE SETTING -- the only one in the hall. Some well-meaning moneybags has laid out half a grand and then neglected to show up. The engraved placecard reads: BRUCE WAYNE. ANGLE ON DENT DENT If elected, my first act as district attorney will be to return an indictment against Boss Carl Grissom! CUT TO: INT. APARTMENT - NIGHT A woman's apartment, decorated in pastel pinks and mauves. Original paintings and sculptures everywhere. The place reeks of money. In the foreground: a MAN'S HAND, long, elegant, manicured. Manipulating a DECK OF CARDS, doing a one-handed shuffle with extraordinary finesse. In the background: a TV set tuned to the 11 o'clock news, with highlights of HARVEY DENT's campaign speech. DENT (V.0.) (on the TV screen) Together we can make Gotham City a safe place for decent people to live and work and play. THE HAND Sets the deck on an end table, raps it twice, turns up four jacks off the top. This most unusual deck sports a .22 calibre BULLET HOLE straight through the middle. JACK NAPIER Decent people shouldn't live here. They'd be much happier someplace else. JACK NAPIER, 32, is right-hand man and chief enforcer to Boss Carl Grissom. His features are delicate, almost feminine, and he takes a vain, gangsterish pride in his appearance. He has no more conscience than a turnip. He trains a cold eye on DENT's televised image as ALICIA HUNT -- 26, beautiful, Carl Grissom's kept woman --glides over in her negligee and snuggles up. ALICIA Anything new? JACK The usual gas. If this clown could lay a hand on Grissom... I would've had to kill him by now. ALICIA finds JACK's necktie draped over a nearby chair. She begins knotting it playfully about his neck. ALICIA If Grissom knew about us... he might kill you. JACK seems uninterested in her affections. His eye darts back and forth between the TV and his own reflection in a nearby vanity. JACK Don't flatter yourself, angel. He's a tired old man. He can't run this city without me. (pause) And besides, he doesn't know. JACK consults his watch, reaches for his topcoat, and stands in front of the vanity. He runs a hand through sculpted hair, checks out his Albert Nipon ensemble. ALICIA You look Just fine, Jack. He smiles at himself before turning to the door. JACK I didn't ask. CUT TO: EXT. ALLEYWAY - NIGHT The scene of the earlier mugging, off Gotham Square. Only now, the deserted alleyway is a beehive of activity: police cars, an ambulance, a forensics van. EDDIE THE PUNK goes past on a stretcher, catatonic. Watching him are a porcine cop, LT. ECKHARDT, and a POLICE MEDIC. MEDIC That one there won't say a word. The other one's raving his head off. ECKHARDT Variety, huh? The spice of life. At the mouth of the alley, we find ALEXANDER KNOX -- thirty, hyperactive, a crime reporter for the Gotham Globe. At the moment, he's chatting with a uniformed PATROLMAN. PATROLMAN They found him hugging a drainpipe. He was scared to come off the roof. KNOX Great, but tell me: is this another you-know-what? 'Cause if so, it's the third one this week. PATROLMAN (testily) I dunno. What's "what"? KNOX Good answer. I'm gonna put you in for a commendation. KNOX spots ECKHARDT and the MEDIC, waves, and saunters down the alley. ECKHARDT curses under his breath. ECKHARDT Oh Christ, it's Knox. KNOX Hiya, gents. This anything I should know about? ECKHARDT Nothing out of the routine. At this exact moment two uniformed PATROLMEN drag a brain-fried NICK past the mouth of the alley. NICK A bat, I tell you, a giant bat! He wanted me to do him a favor...! KNOX tilts one eyebrow. ECKHARDT and the MEDIC trade disgusted looks. KNOX No offense, boys, but these guys are seeing something up there. ECKHARDT No comment. Print what you like. KNOX Come on. One question. Is there a six-foot bat in Gotham City? KNOX's tone is jokey, but only half-jokey. ECKHARDT snorts in disgust and turns away. KNOX shouts after him: KNOX (cont.) If so, is he on the police payroll? If so, what's he pulling down after taxes? EXT. STREET - THAT MOMENT - NIGHT LT. ECKHARDT emerges onto the side street. He's headed for his car when he spies a STRETCH LIMO idling across the street. Leaning on the hood, waving hi, is the dandyish JACK NAPIER -- flanked by two impressive GOONS. ECKHARDT throws a nervous glance back in KNOX's direction. He turns left, gestures to JACK to meet him farther up the block. By the time he reaches the corner JACK has swaggered up alongside him. JACK hands ECKHARDT a fat brown envelope. He stuffs it quickly in his coat. JACK I missed you, Lieutenant. ECKHARDT Sorry. We had another bat sighting. JACK Don't let your job interfere with your business. -- Someone's been talking to Harvey Dent. ECKHARDT fumes. There's no love lost between these two. ECKHARDT I'm on top of it. If there's a problem -- JACK Eckhardt... our problems are your problems. JACK reaches out and grabs ECKHARDT by the lapels of his topcoat -- an Italian job, obviously expensive. He rubs the material between his fingers. JACK (cont.) Very nice, Lieutenant. Considering how little your services cost. ECKHARDT (knocking his hands away) I answer to Grissom, punk. Not to you. JACK Why, Eckhardt. You should be thinking about the future. ECKHARDT laughs in his face. ECKHARDT Got it all figured, huh? Grissom just sits back and hands you the reins. -- Maybe he don't know what we know. JACK What are you talking about? ECKHARDT (pursing his lips) About how pretty you are, pretty boy. Maybe he'd like to know -- JACK lashes out and BACKHANDS ECKHARDT across the face. The fat cop, stunned, turns bright red and CHARGES JACK. JACK claps a hand on ECKHARDT's face and shoves him back full-force. The cop sprawls on his ass in the doorway of an all-night Cuban-Chinese restaurant, where JACK -- out of control now -- KICKS HIM TWICE. ECKHARDT's hand goes instinctively to his gun. JACK Here. Use mine! JACK pulls an automatic from his pocket and flings it at ECKHARDT to pick it up - - just as the two enormous GOONS from the limo appear behind him for reinforcement. By now PATRONS are staring out of the restaurant windows. ECKHARDT wipes blood from his mouth as JACK reaches down for the gun. ECKHARDT You're a psycho, friend. You're an A-one crazy boy and Grissom knows it. DISSOLVE TO: INT. GOTHAM GLOBE - CITY ROOM - DAY Gotham City's leading tabloid daily. COPY BOYS rush to and fro; REPORTERS pound out articles on computer terminals. ALEXANDER KNOX saunters in, a sheaf of pages in his hand, and pauses at a CARTOONIST'S drafting table. KNOX What have you got for me, Bob? BOB holds up a cartoon: a HUMAN BAT, with an awful, fanged rodent's face, wearing a business suit. The caption at the top reads: "HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?" KNOX nods in approval. KNOX (cont.) Nice, but... maybe a little more gore on the fangs, huh? He pats BOB on the shoulder, moves on. A BESPECTACLED COLLEAGUE spots him and calls out: COLLEAGUE Hey, Knox, you got a visitor. KNOX I'm real busy, Clark. Be a pal and dust him, okay? COLLEAGUE This one you might want to dust yourself. Curiosity piqued, KNOX moves toward his desk... and stops in his tracks. Propped up on the desk are a PAIR OF LEGS. The legs -- exceptionally nice ones -- are attached to a WOMAN leaning back in KNOX's swivel chair, taking a nap, her face obscured by a big outrageous hat. KNOX ... Vicki Vale. The hat tips back. VICKI VALE, her face framed by a shock of bright red hair, flashes a dazzling smile. She pulls KNOX over for a quick smooch and laughs. VICKI How'd you know it was me? KNOX Honey - - I would know any randomly selected square inch of Vicki Vale. (grinning) If I had a good enough hint. He points at the oversized CAMERA BAG on his desk. It bears the monogram "V.V." VICKI catches on, makes a face at him. KNOX (cont.) So what brings you to this dump? Why aren't you off photographing some exotic foreign potentate? VICKI Burned out. I need a vacation. KNOX Too much glamor, huh. What's in the bag - - Monte Carlo? Apes in Kenya? She reaches into the camera bag and pulls out a stack of glossy 8 x 10's: COMBAT PHOTOS from some unspecified war-torn corner of the world. KNOX leafs through them, impressed. KNOX God, Vick, a girl could get hurt doing this. VICKI A girl could get killed - - so they tell me. What's new and hot in Gotham City? KNOX Oh, it's too good. We got a six-foot bat that swoops out of the night and preys on evildoers. VICKI (laughing) Evildoers, huh? Big or small? KNOX Small so far. I think he's leaving the big fish for Harvey Dent. VICKI Our next D.A. -- I hear Bruce Wayne is throwing a fundraiser. Did you get your invitation yet? KNOX (heavily ironic) Oh, absolutely. Bruce and I are very close. VICKI smirks -- and KNOX freezes. It's just occurred to him that she may have a purpose in all this. KNOX (cant.) Wa-a-it, Vicki. You're not saying - - She reaches back into her camera bag and hands aver an INVITATION. Knox is all but panting with excitement. KNOX (cont.) -- Aw, Vicki. Vicki! (apprehensively) Got a date? She flutters her great big eyelashes, shakes her head no. KNOX grabs her face and plants a kiss on her forehead, nearly knocking her out of her chair. KNOX (cont.) Vicki, baby, I love you, I've always loved you. Will you marry me? VICKI (straightening her clothes) No. KNOX Well, I'm starving. Will you at least buy me a hamburger? She laughs. Bursting with glee, he offers her his arm. CUT TO: INT. PENTHOUSE - DAY A HUGE PLATE GLASS WINDOW opens on the best view in Gotham. This spectacular penthouse suite is just one of the power perks available to CARL GRISSOM, criminal kingpin, fat, fifty, and utterly without charm. GRISSOM, behind a big broad desk, addresses his LIEUTENANTS - - a fearsome assemblage of bloodless white-collar types and a few outright goons, sprawled in chairs throughout this makeshift 'board room.' The big boss waves a copy of the Gotham Globe -- with HARVEY DENT's face on the cover. GRISSOM If this son of a bitch gets elected, we're looking at some serious damage. ACCOUNTANT The problem's in our front companies. If he's tied us in with Ace Chemical... that's the ball game. JACK NAPIER slouches in an easy chair off to GRISSOM's right, doing his trademark one-handed shuffle. JACK We can always pop him -- Or pop someone close to him. LIEUTENANT Let's feed him to the bat. This suggestion draws CHUCKLES from several members of the crowd. GRISSOM is unamused. ACCOUNTANT We'll need to clean out our files before the subpoena comes down. LIEUTENANT How do we go? Strike a match? ACCOUNTANT Arson gives you a nice write-off. On the other hand, we do have a history of unexplained fires. JACK Okay, a break-in. Trash the office, make off with the books ... "Industrial espionage." GRISSOM Very good idea, Jack. In fact -- (pause) -- I'd like you to handle this operation personally. JACK'S HAND FREEZES over his lucky deck. JACK ... Me? At this exact moment, METAL DOORS slide back -- and ALICIA HUNT steps out of GRISSOM's private penthouse elevator. She's carrying a handful of SHOPPING BAGS. GRISSOM Hello, sweetheart. I wonder if you'd mind waiting in the other room. ALICIA's gaze meets JACK's as she vanishes through a side door. The eye contact is not lost on GRISSOM. JACK Why do you need me to handle a simple break-in? GRISSOM (emphatically) Because I want someone I can trust. JACK bridles. Nervously, he turns the fourth card off the top of the deck. It's not a jack. It's a JOKER -- a Joker with a neat, round, .22 calibre HOLE through its face. GRISSOM (cont.) We'll have to move soon. -- That's all for now. GRISSOM's CRONIES get up to go. JACK, troubled, lingers behind a moment. GRISSOM (cont.) You don't mind, do you, Jack? It's a big job. I can't trust it to somebody who'll screw up. JACK I understand. GRISSOM Oh, Jack. -- Don't forget your lucky deck. JACK pockets the deck and leaves. GRISSOM sits behind the big desk and GRINS WOLFISHLY. GRISSOM (cont.) My friend, your luck is just about to change. ALICIA appears in the doorway nearby, modeling her new purchases for him. He smiles coolly at her as he reaches for the telephone. GRISSOM (cont.) Get me Lieutenant Eckhardt. CUT TO: EXT. WAYNE MANOR - ESTABLISHING - NIGHT A vast, rambling mansion on sixty wooded acres a half- hour's drive from Gotham: old money, and how. Out front, a team of red-jacketed VALETS are parking expensive cars. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT A DEALER'S HAND pushes cards out of a shoe. It's casino night at Wayne Manor; the ballroom has been outfitted with roulette wheels, blackjack tables, etc., and the various members of Gotham's power elite are happily - - and legally -- throwing money into Harvey Dent's campaign kitty. DENT himself is surrounded by a gang of political cronies, telling jokes, calling in favors. VICKI's off in another group, looking luscious, drawing compliments from big shots and envious, furtive glances from their wives. And, in a corner of the room, all alone in his cheap suit, stands ALEXANDER KNOX - - staring inquisitively up at the ceiling. A butler, ALFRED, appears alongside KNOX with a trayful of champagne glasses. He, too, looks up at the ceiling. KNOX How high up would you say that is? ALFRED I'd say about thirty feet, sir. KNOX You know, if you cut your bathroom in half, you'd have my apartment. ALFRED Which bathroom is that, sir? KNOX The small one. KNOX takes a drink and ALFRED moves on. A moment later, VICKI detaches herself from her little circle of admirers and hooks up with KNOX. KNOX Man, I feel like Robin Leach. You actually know all these people? VICKI Some. I am a rich bitch, remember? (pause) I'm quoting. KNOX winces at the reminder. She smiles and takes his arm. KNOX Yeah, I guess we move in different circles - - Though I did meet a one- eyed pimp last week. ANGLE ON JAMES W. GORDON Gotham's Police Commissioner, a distinguished-looking gent in his late fifties. He's at a craps table, blowing into his fist. ONLOOKERS root him on as he lets the dice fly. Snake eyes. Crapped out. GORDON passes the dice as KNOX and VICKI wander up alongside him. KNOX Commissioner Gordon! What do you hear from our pointy-eared friend? KNOX puts his hands up behind his head and wiggles his fingers -- like little bat ears. GORDON groans. GORDON Knox, for the ninth time, and you can quote me -- there is no bat. KNOX Aww, Commissioner. There's gotta be one honest cop in Gotham City. HARVEY DENT ambles up, claps a friendly hand on GORDON's shoulder. DENT How's your luck, Jim? KNOX Mr. Dent. What's your stand on winged vigilantes? DENT exchanges a meaningful look with GORDON. DENT Mr. Knox, I think we have enough real problems in this city without worrying about ghosts and goblins and Halloween characters. CUT TO: EXT. ACE CHEMICAL CO - ESTABLISHING - NIGHT A NEON SIGN reads: "ACE CHEMICAL. TOMORROW'S FUTURE TODAY." From the SIGN we pan over to a METAL SLUICE GATE - - dumping TONS of CHURNING TOXIC SLUDGE into Gotham's East River. INT. VAN - THAT MOMENT - NIGHT TIGHT ON the rear-view mirror. JACK NAPIER is meticulously applying BLACK CAMOUFLAGE PAINT to his face. He could be getting ready for a date. The van sits outside a chain-link fence which surrounds the factory complex. JACK'S POV - THROUGH WINDSHIELD The SECURITY GUARD in a glass booth at the entrance to the parking lot. ONE OF JACK'S BOYS creeps up behind the booth and takes the GUARD out. JACK turns the key in the ignition, shifts into first. CUT TO: INT. WAYNE MANOR - NIGHT KNOX and VICKI are taking an unauthorized tour of BRUCE's house, wandering through rooms decorated in wildly divergent motifs, eyeing an astounding collection of artworks and antiques from every corner of the world. KNOX Where does one man get all this junk? VICKI All aver the world. They say he's spent half of his life overseas. KNOX Holy shit... KNOX goes goggle-eyed as they enter the LIBRARY. INT. BRUCE WAYNE'S LIBRARY - NIGHT KNOX ... We found the arsenal. One wall is lined with leather-bound volumes. On the other walls hang EXOTIC WEAPONS. Halberds. Maces. Blowguns. Bolas. Thugee ropes and samurai swords... every arcane implement of death the human mind has ever devised. KNOX lets out a low whistle. KNOX (cont.) Okay, 1'm intrigued. What else do you know? VICKI Rich. Reclusive. Bankrolls half a dozen charities. KNOX Likes to kill? KNOX (smiling) Women find him magnetic. KNOX I bet they like him for his big charity balls. VICKI That, and the sweet smell of two hundred million bucks. KNOX Well, you know me. The more they've got, the less they're worth. (scanning the room) This guy must be the most worthless man in America. Just then, A VOICE FROM BEHIND intrudes. BRUCE (O.S.) You disappoint me. Why not the world? KNOX turns. We get our first good look at the smiling face of BRUCE WAYNE: 32, tall, athletic, aristocratic... and intensely handsome. KNOX I assume in my usual charming manner I've just insulted the host. (extending a hand) Alexander Knox. BRUCE Bruce Wayne. -- I've read your work. I quite like it. KNOX Great. Give me a grant. BRUCE I might consider it if you introduce me to Miss Vale. KNOX blinks at VICKI. BRUCE already seems to know who she is. KNOX shrugs and forges bravely ahead: KNOX "This is Miss Vale." -- That felt redundant. BRUCE (to VICKI) You're just back from Corto Maltese. I saw your combat photos. Quite a departure for you. VICKI That's intriguing. They haven't been published yet. BRUCE smiles and ignores the implied question. BRUCE ... You have an extraordinary eye. He's laying on the charm now. KNOX, his territorial instincts aroused, pipes up: KNOX Some people think she has two. VICKI shoots KNOX a sidelong glance: VICKI Don't mind my friend. He's a little nervous tonight. KNOX, chastened, calls off the dogs and sizes up his competition. BRUCE is charming, all right, but there's something formal, maybe even calculating about it -- he could be reading his compliments off cue cards. It's almost as though he's an actor doing a brilliant imitation of charm. This is a man who thinks three moves ahead. KNOX doesn't like him. But VICKI -- who's used to seeing male charm turned on and off, at will -- doesn't seem to mind a bit: VICKI (cont.) This is an amazing house. I'd love to shoot it sometime. BRUCE I don't... seek publicity -- Will you be staying in Gotham for a while? VICKI As far as I know. BRUCE Good. With any luck we'll run into each other. ALFRED, the butler, appears in the doorway behind them. He clears his throat. ALFRED Excuse me, sir. Commissioner Gordon was compelled to leave - -very unexpectedly. He asked me to convey his regrets. BRUCE Thank you, Alfred. (to VICKI) I hope you'll excuse me. It was a great pleasure meeting you. (to KNOX) And you. Without bothering to shake hands BRUCE does a sharp 180 and strides hurriedly out of the room. KNOX I know the rich are different, but that guy is real different. VICKI, staring off after BRUCE, doesn't seem to hear him. KNOX (cont.) Hello? Vicki? VICKI Oh. Sorry. I was thinking. KNOX What were you thinking? VICKI Yum, yum. KNOX Well, he must like the way he looks. He's got a mirror in every room. And indeed, the two of them are standing before an enormous WALL MIRROR, eight feet wide, running from floor to ceiling. VICKI I get it. Bruce Vain. She pokes KNOX. He groans at the pun. And suddenly we CUT TO: REVERSE ANGLE - THROUGH THE MIRROR Looking DOWN ON KNOX and VICKI -- THROUGH ONE-WAY GLASS -- As they continue to chat. Behind the mirror... recording everything that happens in the room... is a small, silent, state-of-the-art SURVEILLANCE CAMERA. CLOSEUP - VIDEO MONITOR showing KNOX and VICKI in the library. CAMERA PULLS BACK to reveal that the screen we're watching is only one in a whole vast bank of video monitors. From this control center, we can see everything that's happening in the house. Now we ZERO IN an a single screen: GUESTS moving back-ward, with exaggerated speed, as a videotape REWINDS. At the panel, BRUCE WAYNE hits a button. And now we see COMMISSIONER GORDON talking to a uniformed POLICEMAN. PATROLMAN ... anonymous tip. Tonight. The Ace Chemical Company. GORDON (obviously agitated) Good Lord, if we could put our hands on Jack Napier... Why wasn't I told about this? Who's in charge of the - - PATROLMAN Lieutenant Eckhardt, sir. GORDON Eckhardt. Oh my God And suddenly COMMISSIONER GORDON is grabbing for his coat. The monitor goes black. BRUCE reaches up, loosens his tie. CUT TO: EXT. ACE CHEMICAL CO. - PARKING LOT - NIGHT UNMARKED POLICE CARS are pulling into the lot, head-lights off. ECKHARDT circulates among his ARMED SWAT TEAM, handing out Xeroxed copies of a MUG SHEET: JACK NAPIER, front and profile. ECKHARDT Shoot to kill. INT. ACE CHEMICAL - FILE ROOM - NIGHT SPARKS FLY. A SAFECRACKER, in welder's mask, trains a blowtorch on the office safe. Behind him, JACK'S HOODS are at work on the filing cabinets. The SAFECRACKER kills his blowtorch and opens the metal door of the safe, giving JACK a good look at its contents: SAFECRACKER ... Empty. HOOD #1 Just like the file cabinets. HOOD #2 I don't get it. If this place is cleaned out already, why do we need five men? JACK shakes his head. His boys are antsy, ready to mutiny. By now it's depressingly obvious: they've been set up. Then, as if they needed any proof - - a SIREN blares outside. EXT. ACE CHEMICAL - NIGHT ECKHARDT'S SWAT TEAM goes wide-eyed as a CONVOY OF POLICE BLACK-AND-WHITES roars into the Ace parking lot. UNIFORMED COPS pile out of their squad cars, relieving the SWAT TEAM. ECKHARDT goes livid as COMMISSIONER GORDON approaches. ECKHARDT What are you trying to do, blow the collar? GORDON (to SWAT TEAM) You men are dismissed. We'll take over from here. (to UNIFORMED COPS) Any man who opens fire on Jack Napier... will answer to me. ECKHARDT tries to slink off. GORDON grabs him roughly. GORDON (cont.) You. Stick around. INT. ACE CHEMICAL - THAT MOMENT JACK and his HOODS ducking out of the office. It's two stories above the refinery floor, accessible by a network of steel ladders and CATWALKS running between the walls. Down below, a CORRUGATED METAL DOOR begins to rise. COP Freeze! One hood goes into a crouch and OPENS FIRE. Half of his colleagues dive back into the office, looking for a rear exit. The others take off across the CATWALKS. ANGLE ON GORDON standing in the doorway as his MEN rush into the building and take their places behind heavy machinery. SHOTS RING OUT as the HOODS scatter. ECKHARDT (snidely) Nice work, Commissioner. GORDON I'm in charge here. Not Carl Grissom. INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT TWO HOODS run down a tiled corridor in the office section of the complex. They're almost at the end of the hall when a CAPED BLACK SHADOW steps into their path. It stands there, motionless. EXTENDS ITS ARMS -- like giant WINGS - - revealing the yellow-and-black insignia on its massive chest. BATMAN. One millisecond later, the shocked HOODS are racing back in the opposite direction. THE BATMAN flings a handful of STEEL BALL-BEARINGS across the tiled floor. HOOD 1 tumbles to the floor and lands hard, losing his breath. HOOD 2 rolls and pulls a GUN. BATMAN hurls a BOOMERANG -- its edges scalloped, like a bat's wing. HOOD 2 finds his gun hand PINNED TO THE WALL by the twin prongs of the BATARANG. BATMAN strides briskly toward them, businesslike, taking his time. He grabs a handful of HOOD l's hair, lifts his head off the floor, KNEES HIM IN THE FACE. He turns to the petrified HOOD 2. A DRUG-TIPPED BLADE springs from the end of his glove. He strolls past HOOD 2, reaching out casually to give him a QUICK NICK on the chin. HOOD 2 slumps against the wall, unconscious. ANGLE ON JACK down on the floor, racing along a wall, THROWING SWITCHES -- anything to create a diversion. GIGANTIC MACHINES roar to life. CENTRIFUGES SPIN. HUGE POLYMER EXTRUDERS spit out thick strands of plastic gunk. OVERHEAD CHEMICAL TANKS rotate into place above giant basins. JACK SEES a squad of COPS on his tail, moving from machine to machine keeping low. He SHOOTS AND RUNS. ANGLE ON CATWALKS HOODS 3 and 4 scuttle across the elevated walkways, keeping down, avoiding police fire. One of them starts up a vertical ladder leading to the next catwalk up. BATMAN plunges past on the end of a rope. A BLACK-GLOVED HAND snatches at HOOD 3's collar as he climbs and YANKS HIM CLEANLY OFF THE LADDER. They drop to the lower catwalk. HOOD 4 gapes. He LEVELS HIS GUN at BATMAN, who stands his ground, holding onto the rails of the catwalk for support. A bullet hits him squarely in the chest. He does not fall. HOOD 4 turns and scrambles. BATMAN goes to his belt for a miniature SPEAR GUN. He FIRES at HOOD 4... planting a BARBED HOOK in the HOOD'S JACKET, SPINNING HIM AROUND. ANGLE ON COPS staring up in disbelief at the action on the catwalk. COP LOOK! GORDON My God ... it's him. ANGLE ON CATWALK HOOD 3 on his feet now, charges BATMAN from behind. BATMAN -- not even turning to face him - - DROPS HOOD with an ELBOW. Now he has a HOOD on either side. He takes a STEEL CYLINDER from his belt, whips it through the air. It telescopes out into a FOUR-FOOT STAFF. Like a drum majorette from hell, he WHIRLS THE STAFF as the HOODS CONVERGE on him. HOOD 3 takes a debilitating JAB UNDER THE JAW. BATMAN SPINS on his heels and SLAMS THE STAFF into HOOD 4 -- knocking him OFF THE CATWALK. The hook in his jacket jerks him up short... leaving him to DANGLE thirty feet above the factory floor! INT. ACE LOADING BAY - THAT MOMENT JACK spots a possible out. He hits a button on the wall; STEEL DOORS RISE to reveal ACE CARGO TRUCKS in the parking lot outside. Beyond the trucks... AN ARMY OF COPS waiting for JACK to make his move. No go. He turns. Behind him, other cops -- the inside team -- are rushing at him in full riot gear. JACK ducks behind a forklift and darts into the next room. INT. CHEMICAL SUPPLY ROOM - A MOMENT LATER JACK sprints through the room, firing FOUR SHOTS at the metal CHEMICAL TANKS on the wall. TOXIC CHEMICALS gush out onto the floor in streams. The streams run together... begin to SMOKE and SIZZLE. Behind him, COPS return fire. One pot-shot hits a FIFTH CHEMICAL TANK. An EXPLOSION knocks JACK off his feet. INT. FACTORY FLOOR - A MOMENT LATER COPS LOOK ON IN PUZZLEMENT as a RIVER OF CHEMICALS courses out into the main refinery. A second later, they go UP IN FLAMES. A WALL OF FIRE bisects the factory floor. JACK RACES ALONG behind the spreading wall of flame. The cops can't see him now. He ducks behind a huge machine, hits a switch -- and SLUICE GATES OPEN. CHEMICAL SLUDGE begins to churn. A big HOLE IN THE WALL appears as a gate opens on the East River. It's the waste dump! Up on the catwalk, BATMAN has a perfect view of JACK. If JACK can just sprint through the flames without getting snot, he'll reach the river. BATMAN hooks a rope to his Batarang, FLINGS IT at a catwalk across the floor. JACK bolts. BURSTS THROUGH the wall of fire. And just as he does -- BATMAN leaps off the catwalk and swings down toward him! His foot catches a THIRTY-FOOT ROLL of plastic, six feet in diameter, standing upright on the floor. The plastic roll DROPS into JACK's path, BLOCKING HIS EXIT. An instant later, BATMAN lands on top of JACK. But then: VOICE HOLD IT! In all the ruckus, HOOD 5 has managed to circle back behind the heavy machinery. Now he's got a GUN pointed DIRECTLY AT COMMISSIONER GORDON'S HEAD. HOOD #5 Let him go or I'll do the geezer. BATMAN releases JACK and stands back. JACK chuckles to himself: what loyalty. Then, with plenty of time, he strolls across the floor to a Jacob's ladder mounted on the back wall... and BEGINS TO CLIMB toward the catwalks. All action stops. HOOD 5 stands there sweating, his gun hand shaking as he waits for JACK to climb safely out of shooting range. ECKHARDT'S pig-like eyes glisten. His hand drops to his side. He's half-tempted to pull a gun and get the Commissioner plugged. ANGLE ON JACK at a crouch, groping his way along the rail of the catwalk. He reaches a paneled glass window propped open by a supporting rod. It's a forty-foot drop to the swirling black currents of the East River... and freedom. He's about to climb out when his eye falls on a .38 AUTOMATIC -- which lies, abandoned, on the gridwork floor of the catwalk mere yards away. ANGLE ON FACTORY FLOOR The HOOD, one arm around GORDON. With his gun at the Commissioner's temple, he backs slowly toward the door. A VOICE breaks the tension: JACK ECKHARDT!! ALL EYES TURN to the catwalk overhead, where JACK stands poised with the .38 in his fist. A SINGLE SHOT drops ECKHARDT cleanly. The moment's distraction is all BATMAN needs. He hurls a NINJA WHEEL -- a small, ratcheted, razor-sharp disc -- at the FOREARM of HOOD 5. A sudden SHRIEK, and GORDON IS FREE. The THUG lurches forward. His GUN DROPS to the floor, DISCHARGING ACCIDENTALLY. AN UNGODLY HOWL OF PAIN echoes out from the catwalk above. JACK REELS and STAGGERS, his hands CLUTCHING AT HIS CHEEKS. BLOOD GUSHES from between his fingers. JACK NAPIER HAS BEEN SHOT THROUGH THE FACE. Doing an agonized pirouette, he pulls the trigger convulsively. A YOUNG COP, totally unnerved, draws his gun and SHOOTS BACK. GORDON NO!! But the bullet has caught JACK in the arm. He spins, totters to the edge of the catwalk... and TOPPLES OVER. The COPS look on helplessly as JACK plunges TWO STORIES DOWN into a CATCH BASIN full of BUBBLING TOXIC WASTE, SCREAMING ALL THE WAY. GORDON (cont.) Goddammit, we had him. We -- And suddenly, with JACK out of the picture, all attention focuses on THE BATMAN. COPS reach for their guns, circle warily around him. Cornered now, he backs off slowly, HANDS ON HIS BELT. GORDON (cont.) Hold it right there, Mister. THE BATMAN raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. Then - - as the COPS advance - - he flicks TWO TINY CAPSULES onto the factory floor. A BLINDING FLASH OF LIGHT. COLORS BURST in a wild pyrotechnic display. COPS stumble backwards, momentarily dazzled, as a THICK WALL OF BLACK SMOKE conceals BATMAN from view. A TINY GRAPPLING HOOK rockets out of the dense curling cloud and CATCHES on a catwalk overhead. COP LOOK! The COPS are firing wildly into the smoke. But it's too late. At the end of a cord, THE BLACK MAJESTIC FIGURE OF THE BATMAN whips upward, rising out of the smoke like an avenging angel - - and DISAPPEARING into the shadowy heights, safely out of range. GORDON HOLD YOUR FIRE! COP ... Who is this guy? GORDON I don't know, but he's one hell of a showman. CUT TO: EXT. ACE CHEMICAL CO - THAT MOMENT - NIGHT A BLACK SHADOW scurries across the roof. From the illuminated sign with its neon ace, WE PAN DOWN past the chemical sluice to a SECOND ACE... a card from JACK'S lucky deck, pierced by a neat, round bullethole, bobbing on the oily surface of the foul, polluted river. Gradually, OTHER CARDS from the deck swirl past: a nine. A deuce. A queen. And finally, a JOKER -- SHOT CLEANLY THROUGH THE FACE. A BONE-WHITE HAND BREAKS THE SURFACE as we SHOCK CUT TO: INT. GOTHAM GLOBE - CITY ROOM - DAY A BANNER HEADLINE on the late edition of the Globe: "BAT MAN FOILS ROBBERY. WHO IS MASKED VIGILANTE?" Behind the newspaper, feet propped up on his desk, is a jubilant KNOX. He's on the horn to COMMISSIONER GORDON. KNOX Commissioner. Do us both a favor. Don't tell me some lie you'll have to retract later. CLICK. KNOX grins, lowers the paper, finds himself looking up at the smiling face of VICKI VALE. KNOX (cont.) Vick! Looks like our friend the bat is getting ambitious - - Why the dopey grin? VICKI Guess who's got a date with Bruce Wayne? KNOX Bruce Wayne? Date? He called you up and asked you for a date? Shit. (shouting) HEY, MIRANDA! C'MERE! (to VICKI) Now pay close attention to this. Miranda -- tell my friend here what you told me about Bruce Wayne. A SUPERANNUATED SOUTHERN BELLE toddles over. MIRANDA REITZ, 60, is the society editor of the Globe. MIRANDA You mean Mister One-Nighter? KNOX Yeah. "Mister One-Nighter" -- Because that's the average length of his relationships with women. MIRANDA The current record is almost two weeks. That cover girl -- What's her name? You must know her, Vicki - - KNOX Tell her about the peanuts. VICKI Peanuts? KNOX Yeah. Peanuts. Which is how he goes through women. MIRANDA Like Planter's Peanuts. VICKI is about to break out into helpless giggles. VICKI Plain or roasted? (standing up) Alex, I'm very flattered that you've gone out and done all this research. KNOX Why? (blushing suddenly) Aw, come on, Vicki, I'm a reporter. I'm curious. I do this for a living. (indicating telephone) There's a phone. You can call him up and cancel. VICKI shakes her head and laughs. KNOX fumes. She takes his face in her hands, plants a kiss on his forehead. VICKI You're awfully sweet to be concerned, but it's really not necessary. I'll call you, okay? She exits. KNOX stands there looking perplexed. KNOX ... What was that? MIRANDA That was one of the most gracious fuck-yous it's ever been my pleasure to watch. What a nice girl. KNOX, totally flustered, sighs and sinks into his chair. KNOX Miranda, I'm busy. Go be productive. CUT TO: EXT. COASTLINE - DAY Close to the shore, we see a throng of SAILBOATS. Farther out, a FORTY-FOOT CABIN CRUISER, aptly christened "DIE FLEDERMAUS," slices through the waves. EXT DECK - YACHT - DAY BRUCE and VICKI are on the deck, soaking up sun, gazing off at the sailboats. VICKI Do you sail? BRUCE Too much work. I'm not really the physical type -- Thank you, Alfred. ALFRED has just appeared from below deck with a tray of drinks for BRUCE and VICKI. As BRUCE reaches for his glass, VICKI eyes his forearm: a thin layer of skin over braided telephone cables. VICKI You do a very convincing imitation. (sipping her drink) Mm, this is tasty. What's yours? He smiles, slides the drink over toward her, gestures for her to try a sip. VICKI (cont.) ... Ginger ale? BRUCE Two drinks and I start swinging from the rooftops. (beat) Look, I bore myself silly. Let's talk about you. How the hell did you wind up in Corto Maltese? VICKI That's a tough one. Have you ever seen combat? BRUCE No. VICKI Neither had I. Odd desire for a woman, I guess. BRUCE Odd desire for anyone. VICKI Well. A couple of years ago when their president was requesting aid I went down there for Newsweek. The beaches were nice. And at nights -- they had a band -- I danced on the hotel patio. (shrugging) Of course I never saw what was really happening there. When the war broke out I had to go back. And I promised myself that this time... I wouldn't look away. BRUCE What did you see? VICKI ... Terror. The conversation is getting rather intense -- at both ends. VICKI seems to have hit some weird chord within BRUCE. BRUCE There's terror everywhere. If you train yourself to look for it. VICKI (too quickly) Well, Bruce, some types are a little more obvious than others. BRUCE cocks one eyebrow as if he's ready to debate the point. VICKI thinks -- mistakenly -- that she's offended him. She decides to lighten up. VICKI (cont.) I'm sorry. I know it all seems a million miles away, out here on the water, with all this -- BRUCE Insulation? VICKI waffles. He seems somehow to be challenging her. VICKI Bruce, really, when I say these things I don't mean to criticize you. BRUCE (smiling) In other words, what right do I have to talk about terror. VICKI As much as I do. It's not that. I don't want to be depressing, that's all. BRUCE I see. If I know how you really feel, I won't like you as much. VICKI laughs. BRUCE is a notorious womanizer, but if this is a come- on, it's like no come-on she's ever seen. VICKI I'm sorry, Bruce, I Just can't seem to get a handle on this conversation. BRUCE (taking her hand) Vicki, if I say anything cryptic, or... ambiguous, I think you should put the most flattering possible interpretation on it. Because even if it doesn't sound that way... that's how I'll mean it. The guy's a chess player, but on the other hand he's also rather touchingly, almost childishly, sincere. Before she knows it, VICKI finds herself melting. CUT TO: INT. GOTHAM CITY OPERA HOUSE - NIGHT Rigoletto. THE DUKE onstage, launching into his big crowd-pleaser, "La Donna e Mobile." WE PAN THE AUDIENCE, finding several mobile young DONNAS in the crowd - - drop-dead beauties in slinky gowns. Although most eyes are fixed, reasonably enough, on the stage, DONNA #1 is staring with undisguised envy at a PRIVATE BOX above the orchestra seats. Her mouth twists in disgust. She scans the crowd, finds her counterpart (DONNA #2) same rows back, on the arm of a bald bigwig. DONNA #2 is wearing a similar sour expression, staring up at the same box. DONNA #3 is even less discreet than her comrades. She has her opera glasses trained on the couple in the box. HER POV - THROUGH OPERA GLASSES - THE BOX BRUCE and VICKI. He whispers in her ear. She smiles and whispers back. A beat. He whispers again. But her lips part slightly. opera glasses SNAP SHUT. This time she doesn't laugh. SCREEN GOES BLACK as the ANGLE ON CROWD - DONNA #3 staring icily at the DUKE as he finishes up to a round of TUMULTUOUS APPLAUSE. CUT TO: INT. WAYNE MANOR - NIGHT BRUCE and VICKI enter. He takes her coat, drops it on a chair by the door. VICKI is giddy, all champagned up. VICKI But it's not fair. I'm half drunk and you're not even -- BRUCE I'll take you home if you'd like. VICKI God. You would. (sidling up to him) Come on, Bruce. I just want to get two drinks in you. As an experiment. BRUCE Maybe we should just kiss. VICKI ... We could try that. WIDER ANGLE BRUCE embracing VICKI in the vast, darkened entry hall, frame by long semicircular STAIRWAYS on opposite walls. A SUDDEN FLASH OF LIGHTNING transports us to: EXT. OFFICE BUILDING - ESTABLISHING - NIGHT Broken windows, graffiti on the walls: a decrepit waterfront rathole. INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE - NIGHT TIGHT ON a face swathed in bandages. The patient sits erect in a wooden chair, surrounded by the grimy paraphernalia of an unlicensed gangland doctor. The DOCTOR, a nervous little ferret with the bedside manner of a back-alley abortionist, steps up with the scissors. DOCTOR Well, Mr. Napier, let's see how we did. He begins to snip. As the bandages come off, we get: JACK NAPIER'S POV The last strands of gauze peel away. The DOCTOR stands there, looking at his handiwork. His mouth falls open. His eyes bug out. He GAGS. JACK (O.S.) Mirror. The DOCTOR just stands there staring AT CAMERA, stock-still, apparently transfixed by the sight of JACK's face. JACK (O.S.) (cont.) Mirror. ANGLE ON DOCTOR He clears his throat, reaches apprehensively for a hand mirror, and passes it out of frame to JACK. Two beats. Then, the sound of GLASS SHATTERING as the mirror drops to the floor. JACK begins to laugh. THE DOCTOR gets a little edgy. DOCTOR You understand the facial muscles were completely severed - - JACK keeps on laughing. The DOCTOR turns uneasily away, gestures apologetically at his seedy equipment. DOCTOR (cont.) -- you can see what I have to work with here - - MORE LAUGHTER. The trembling DOCTOR covers his face with one hand, whining now, not daring to look at JACK. DOCTOR (cont.) -- I'm sure that with proper recon -- recon - - reconstructive surgery - - A DOOR SLAMS. JACK is gone. The grateful DOCTOR breathes a sigh of relief and steadies himself on an operating table. EXT. OFFICE BUILDING - OVERHEAD ANGLE - NIGHT From a point high above we see JACK emerging into the alley, pulling on a hat, wrapping a muffler about his head. We can't see his face. But we can't forget his awful, reverberating LAUGH. CUT TO: INT. BRUCE WAYNE'S BEDROOM - NIGHT VICKI nestled under the covers. Beside her, BRUCE: hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. It's almost as though BRUCE is not used to sleeping at night. He doesn't know what to do with himself. He looks at VICKI. She's terribly lovely. But despite all that, we can't shake the feeling that BRUCE... would really rather be somewhere else. CUT TO: EXT. STREET - NIGHT LOUD MUSIC. KIDS in punk regalia stand outside a rock club as JACK stalks past. The wind knocks his hat off. KID Nice hair, dude! JACK ignores them as he bends to retrieve his hat. Then he gazes up at the steel-and-glass facade of a SKYSCRAPER -- and strides deliberately across the street. INT. GRISSOM'S PENTHOUSE - NIGHT The doors to the private elevator hiss open and JACK wanders in. He plops in the big plush swivel chair behind GRISSOM's desk and stares out at the spectacular Gotham skyline. GRISSOM (0.S.) That you, sugar bumps? GRISSOM waddles in unsuspectingly from the adjoining room. He's fresh out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his impressive girth. He's using a smaller towel to dry his hair, and so it's a moment before he sees the bundled-up figure at his desk. GRISSOM (cont.) Who the hell are you? JACK It's me. "Sugar Bumps." GRISSOM Jack? (advancing cautiously) Thank God. I can't believe it's you. I heard you'd been -- JACK (standing up) Is that what you "heard"? JACK gestures him over to the empty chair. GRISSOM doesn't move until he sees the GUN pointed at his belly. JACK (cont.) YOU SET ME UP! (beat) Over a girl. You must be insane! GRISSOM surreptitiously reaches for a desk drawer. JACK (cont.) Keep your hands on the desk. GRISSOM It's not the girl, Jack. Sooner or later you would've tried to take me. You may get me now, but your life won't be worth a dime. JACK I've died once already. It wasn't so bad -- In fact I recommend it. GRISSOM is beginning to panic now. It's obvious that JACK is utterly, hopelessly deranged. GRISSOM Jack, listen -- we'll cut a deal -- JACK JACK? JACK? DO I LOOK LIKE A JACK? And now, for the first time, he flings away the hat. RIPS THE MUFFLER from his face. And -- as GRISSOM gasps in shock -- STANDS REVEALED in his full horrendous glory. His flesh is bleached bone-white. His hair is a luminous seaweed- green. And his cheeks are torn and puckered from the bullet wound, TWISTING HIS MOUTH INTO A HIDEOUS, PERPETUAL HARLEQUIN'S GRIN. JACK (cont.) I'm not a Jack anymore. (pause; cackling) You made me a Joker! THE CACKLE BUILDS INTO FURIOUS, HYSTERICAL LAUGHTER. GRISSOM, revulsed, terrified, pushes himself away from the desk, back toward the window which overlooks the city. GRISSOM Jack - - please - - WIPE THAT LUNATIC GRIN OFF YOUR FACE. JACK HA! That's the best part. I CAN'T!! JACK pulls the trigger. And fires. And fires again until the CLIP IS EMPTY. EXT. GRISSOM'S BUILDING - NIGHT We TILT UP the chrome-and-glass facade of the skyscraper, arriving finally at the TOP FLOOR: a PLATE GLASS WINDOW spiderwebbed with cracks where Jack's bullets hit. INT. GRISSOM'S PENTHOUSE - THAT MOMENT - NIGHT Darkness. JACK -- or, as we'll know him from this moment on, THE JOKER -- sits in GRISSOM's swivel chair and surveys the moon-drenched city. JOKER What a view. Our little city. It always brings a smile to my face. He reaches for a glass of liquor and glances down at GRISSOM - - who lies dead on the floor, the towel still wrapped around him. THE JOKER laughs softly to himself. JOKER (cont.) Guess it's my little city now. Wonder what it'll look like when I get done with it. (pause) I bet it'll be something real fine. Real fine and pretty DISSOLVE TO: INT. BRUCE WAYNE'S BEDROOM. - MORNING The sun is just up, and VICKI finds herself alone in bed. A SOFT BARITONE VOICE drifts out of the adjacent bathroom: BRUCE in the shower, singing "Honeysuckle Rose." She breaks into a smile and climbs out of bed. Somehow she's wound up wearing BRUCE's ribbed formal shirt. INT. BATHROOM - A MOMENT LATER - MORNING BRUCE in his opulent deco shower stall, still SINGING to himself. VICKI sneaks up and opens the door. He instantly STOPS SINGING -- as if he's been hit by a brick. VICKI I didn't mean to scare you. I just had to come in here if and see if that was really you singing. She smiles, teasing him. He doesn't respond. He acts as if she's caught him doing something shameful -- exposed him. VICKI (cont.) (singing) "Don't buy sugar -- you just have to touch my cup." Come on. "You're my sugar -- No response from BRUCE. VICKI (cont.) Bruce, you are such a case. Bruce seems somehow unable to sing along. But he quickly recovers his composure -- and forces a crooked, almost childish smile. BRUCE I don't sing very well. VICKI Then there's one thing in the world you don't do very well. And I know what it is -- Now you'll have to kill me. He kisses her good morning, steps out and reaches for a towel. His body is one big mass of WELTS AND BRUISES. VICKI (cont.) Poor thing. You should stay off that horse. CUT TO: INT. GLOBE - CITY ROOM - DAY KNOX, in a surly mood, examines the morning edition of the Globe. He turns to the gossip page -- and there, under Miranda Reitz's byline, is a picture of VICKI. It seems she and BRUCE are the talk of the town. KNOX (disgusted) ... Peanut. A COPY BOY approaches his desk with a MANILA FOLDER: COPY BOY Here's that morgue file you wanted. KNOX leans back in his chair. The file is labeled "BRUCE WAYNE: 1982- 1987." KNOX opens it and begins to leaf through old clippings from back issues of the Globe. "WAYNE FOUNDATION TO FUND LOW-COST HOUSING." "MILLIONAIRE HEADS CHARITY DRIVE FOR GOTHAM HANDICAPPED." "ORPHANED CHILDREN SAY 'THANK YOU' TO BRUCE WAYNE." KNOX's face sags in dismay. Every article seems to be telling us just how swell a rich philanthropist can be. KNOX Come on. Gimme some dirt! Then he notices something odd. In the whole fat file of clippings, there are no pictures of Bruce Wayne -- with two partial exceptions. One is a group shot, Bruce in the middle, waving at the camera and blocking our view of his face. The other is an ancient picture of a collegiate Bruce, stern-faced, hair down to his collar. The caption reads "BRUCE WAYNE IN 1973" - - years out of date even when it ran in the paper. KNOX (cont.) Why don't you want your picture taken? CUT TO: INT. APARTMENT LOBBY - NIGHT A DOORMAN DOZES in the plush lobby of ALICIA HUNT's apartment building on the East Side of Gotham. Through the glass doors we see ALICIA outside in the chill wind, peering inside, hesitant to enter. She unlocks the door quietly, tiptoeing past the doorman, trying not to wake him. She's almost made it when he SITS BOLT UPRIGHT, startling her. DOORMAN Miss Hunt! (smiling) No need to sneak in. The rent's all taken care of. ALICIA The rent? Paid? INT. ALICIA'S APARTMENT - NIGHT ALICIA, mystified, lets herself in and turns to lock the door. She's startled once more by a VOICE FROM BEHIND. VOICE (O.S.) Honey -- I'm home! She pivots. Her eyes widen. She SHRIEKS. Sitting cross-legged in an easy chair, a twisted grin on his loathsome face, is THE JOKER. He's in a smoking jacket and slippers, reading the paper, a dry martini at his side. This grim parody of domesticity sends poor ALICIA into a dead faint. INT. PENTHOUSE SUITE - DAY It looks for all the world like a corporate board room. At a long table sit Gotham's most distinguished criminals: GANGLORDS and RACKETS BOSSES from every corner of the city. They stare uneasily at the head of the table. JOKER (O.S.) So that's how it is, gents. Until Grissom decides it's safe to come up for air... I'm running the show. Now we see what they see: THE JOKER, dressed rather flamboyantly in a big slouch hat. His FACE is layered with flesh-toned makeup, and his HAIR's been rinsed black. Unfortunately, he can't conceal his ghoulish SMILE. GANG BOSS Why don't we hear this from Grissom? RACKETEER I got something I'd like to know. How come you're wearing that stupid grin? JOKER 'Cause I got an army, chum. And I got Grissom's army. And this city is mine. CARMINE ROTELLI, an especially oily mobster, speaks up: ROTELLI I don't like taking orders from Grissom. And I especially don't like taking orders from Grissom's goon. JOKER I've considered that possibility. ROTELLI And what happens if we say no? JOKER (chuckling) Nobody wants a war, Carmine. If we can't do business, we shake hands and part friends. ROTELLI That's it? JOKER That's it. THE JOKER extends a hand. ROTELLI reaches out to shake it. He doesn't see the JOY BUZZER concealed in the JOKER's palm. 40,000 VOLTS course through ROTELLI's body. He drops back into his seat a blackened husk, SMOKE pouring out from his sleeves and shirt collar. The CRIMELORDS recoil in horror. Before they can make a move, a squad of ARMED THUGS bursts into the room. JOKER (cont.) Looks like Carmine got a little hot under the collar. CRIMELORD You're insane! The JOKER is a wee bit agitated. He removes the hat and mops sweat from his brow, exposing a patch of CHALK WHITE FLESH -- to the great bewilderment of the ONLOOKERS. JOKER That's what they said about Lee Iacocca. Now GET OUT OF HERE. -- And THINK IT OVER!! The sickened CRIMINALS file out cautiously. That leaves THE JOKER alone in the room with the charred corpse of ROTELLI. THE JOKER sinks into a chair and -- as is his wont - - ADDRESSES THE STIFF: JOKER (cont.) Heck, they're not such bad guys. I say we give 'em a couple of days to come around. (thoughtful pause) We-e-ll... maybe one day. (then, casually) Aaah, screw it. Let's grease 'em. CUT TO: INT. SMALL BACK ROOM - NIGHT A poker game. A CRIMELORD from the JOKER's board meeting picks up his hand and fans out the cards. FIVE JOKERS. He looks up, puzzled. The last thing he sees is a HIRED KILLER bursting in through the door, GUN IN HAND. EXT. GOTHAM PARK - DAY A COSTUMED CLOWN with a wheeled cart, filling balloons from a helium tank, passing them out to the kids. CRIMELORD #2 strolls past. The CLOWN offers him a balloon, which he politely refuses. THE CLOWN reaches into his cart for a RED METAL TANK. But, as we quickly find out, it's not a helium tank --it's a FLAME-THROWER. EXT HALLIDAY PLAZA - DAY A sunny, landscaped quad surrounded by corporate skyscrapers: trees, grass, marble fountains, flags of many nations. Amid the pedestrians we catch BRUCE and VICKI, all smiles, passing through on the way to lunch. VICKI To tell you the truth, I'd just about given up waiting. BRUCE I said I'd call you the minute I got free. And I did -- And here we are. VICKI (teasing him) Mm-hmm. Lunch. Not even dinner. He stops in his tracks, takes her by the shoulders. BRUCE Vicki. Do you want the truth? (long pause) I wish I had more time to give you. Every day I don't see you, I miss you. (beat) Now. Are you going to waste this lovely afternoon being mad at me? All this, of course, is delivered with devastating sincerity. VICKI finds herself totally disarmed. VICKI Okay, I'm a sucker. You sound so much like someone I used to... (stopping suddenly) Bruce? I know this is silly, but -- you're not married, are you? He stops and laughs. She smiles crookedly, takes his arm. ANOTHER ANGLE - ACROSS PLAZA - THAT MOMENT PHILLY RICORSO - - another CRIMELORD from the boardroom -- enters the plaza flanked by a cadre of PAID BODYGUARDS. ON BRUCE AND VICKI A PAINTED STREET MIME walks alongside them, feeling his way along an imaginary wall. VICKI groans. VICKI All street mimes should be executed. BRUCE ... Looks like a convention. And indeed, there are HALF A DOZEN STREET MIMES converging on the center of the plaza. RICORSO and co. approach the mirrored-glass entrance of a skyscraper. In the lobby, a MIME -- who's been annoying the passersby -- THROWS A BOLT, LOCKING THE DOORS from inside. A BODYGUARD bangs on the glass. Nearby, ANOTHER MIME reaches into a trash bin - - and pulls out a MACHINE GUN. SUDDEN SCREAMS OF TERROR from the onlookers. VICKI turns to BRUCE. Before she can speak, he's HOISTED HER BODILY and THROWN HER behind a marble fountain. SERIES OF SHOTS BRUCE'S EYES darting birdlike around the plaza -- INTERCUT with the following SLOW-MOTION POV SHOTS: -- TWO MIMES with machine guns. One of them lining PHILLY and co. up against the glass doors, the other holding the CROWD at bay; -- A WOMAN in the crowd fainting. A THIRD MIME gleefully imitating her swoon, to no one's amusement; -- PHILLY and his goons, COWERING, hands in the air, as OTHER MIMES cruelly mimic their terrified poses... ... and suddenly BRUCE is RUNNING FRANTICALLY, looking for a secluded spot, an alleyway, anything. No go. He's out in the open, with onlookers everywhere. In his civvies, he's just another citizen... TOTALLY IMPOTENT. He darts around a corner, backs against a wall. WOMEN, CHILDREN, GROWN MEN race past. No privacy. He's practically quaking now, in the throes of some terrible anxiety. He looks up at the sky overhead, terrified. A BRILLIANT SUN bears down on him as MACHINE GUNS CHATTER. ANGLE ON PHILLY AND BODYGUARDS BODIES JERKING as GLASS rains down in shards. ANGLE ON BRUCE His back arched, his mouth agape, his face drained of blood as the sounds of carnage echo through the plaza. It's almost as if the bullets are striking him. A moment later, it's all over. VICKI emerges from the crowd and finds BRUCE slumped against the wall, nearly catatonic. She moves to touch him. As if by reflex he reaches out and CRABS HER BY THE ARMS -- with a grip so strong it could crush bone. She GASPS, looks up -- and sees, in his traumatized EYES, a look so raw and desperate that it virtually defies comprehension. VICKI BRUCE!! He blinks rapidly. He relaxes his grip. Before VICKI's eyes, he's changing... becoming the BRUCE she knows. BRUCE Oh my God... are you all right? He reaches for her. Involuntarily, she steps back. He sees her reaction and his face goes slack -- frightened, pleading. This time she lets him embrace her... but her face is full of bewilderment and doubt. INSERT - TELEVISION SCREEN ANCHORWOMAN (V.O.) -- live from Halliday Plaza, where a gangland-style execution claimed the life of racketeer Philly Ricorso. Ricorso's death is the third in a rash of underworld killings... The ANCHORWOMAN turns to COMMISSIONER GORDON. ANCHORWOMAN (cont.) You've heard the rumors, Commissioner. Are these murders the work of the mysterious 'Batman'? A PIERCING CACKLE fills the air. CAMERA PULLS BACK from the TV, placing us in the JOKER's board room. Behind the big desk he SWIVELS INTO VIEW, phone in hand. JOKER All reet! I think it's about time we called another meeting, huh? CUT TO: INT. WAYNE MANOR - DAY ALFRED on the phone, a feather duster in his hand. ALFRED I'm sorry, Miss Vale. I've given him your messages. That's all I can do. ANGLE WIDENS. BRUCE is sitting mere feet away, obviously distraught, locked in some sort of internal struggle. INT. VICKI'S APARTMENT - THAT MOMENT - DAY VICKI Please tell him... I'm not trying to make his life difficult. I'd just -- I'd like to know what's going on. A KNOCK at the door as VICKI hangs up. She goes to open it, finds KNOX -- wearing a big, cheshire-cat smile. KNOX Hiya, peanut. I got something I'd like you to see. INT. LIBRARY - DAY A MICROFILM MACHINE. As VICKI looks on curiously, KNOX - - all eagerness now - - threads up a roll of film and begins cranking through back-issue newspaper:. KNOX Okay, here we go. Check it out He steps back. VICKI stares down at the display screen. A FRONT-PAGE BANNER HEADLINE reads: THOMAS WAYNE MURDERED Prominent Doctor, Wife Slain in Robbery Unidentified Gunman Leaves Child Unharmed. Beneath it, a PHOTO: cops kneeling over corpses. Medics with stretchers. And off to one side, a YOUNG BOY -- BRUCE WAYNE - - his arms wrapped around the waist of a BEAT COP. The BOY stares straight at the camera. His face is a mask 0F UNFORGETTABLE AGONY. KNOX Nice snap, huh? Pulitzer Prize, 1963. VICKI His face. Allie, look at his face. TIGHT ON THE BOY'S contorted face, staring out in shock and disbelief, his features recognizable across all the years -- permanently, indelibly traumatized. The same face VICKI saw in Halliday Plaza. KNOX Yep. He watched the whole thing happen - - Recognize the beat cop? Jim Gordon VICKI Oh, Bruce... KNOX Something like this -- what do you suppose this could drive a guy to? INT COFFEE SHOP - DAY KNOX is in a booth with VICKI, showing her the contents of his rapidly- expanding file on Bruce Wayne. VICKI You are on drugs. KNOX Yeah? According to this, he's in Geneva from '76 to '79. Well, I called Geneva. Nobody there's even heard of the guy - - Probably off in Tibet with some kung fu master. VICKI (eyeing the file) Are they paying you for all this? KNOX Everybody needs a hobby. You explain it, Vicki. (beat) He walks out on his own party. Half an hour later, who turns up? Batman. (smiling) Sees an execution, freaks out in an alleyway. No place to change. VICKI Allie, I know exactly why you're doing this. KNOX ... Oh? Why is that, Vicki? He's all but daring her to insult him. VICKI holds her silence for a moment, then changes the subject. VICKI He's best friends with Jim Gordon and Harvey Dent. They would know. KNOX ... Okay, then, I have a confession to make. I'm the Batman. VICKI Snorts, rolls her eyes impatiently. KNOX (cont.) Don't believe me? Why not? VICKI Alexander... I know you. KNOX Right. And they know him. And that's why it would never occur to them for a minute that their old buddy Bruce puts on a cape at night and goes out looking for -- VICKI I've had it with you. I'm leaving. KNOX (grabbing her arm) Bruce Wayne is out of his mind. (relaxing his grip) Next time you call him up and he can't go out Friday night - - think it over. INT. ACE CHEMICAL CO - DAY LOW ANGLE on the JOKER. He stands on a catwalk high above the refinery floor, overseeing production like a demented middle manager. INT. STOREROOM - DAY A dank, windowless room in the bowels of Ace Chemical, which the JOKER has converted into a makeshift lair. SAP-LIKE GOO drips in puddles from exposed pipes overhead. CAMERA DRIFTS across the JOKER's cluttered desk. Shipping manifests. Ledgers. PSYCHOTIC DOODLES scrawled in crayon. More significantly: an old CONTRACT dating back to the mid-seventies. It's half-obscured by other papers, but the initials 'CIA' are plainly visible. Then: a BOUND REPORT with the title 'DDID NERVE GAS: RESULTS OF PRELIMINARY EXPERIMENTATION.' Across its title page, a diagonal rubber stamp: 'DISCONTINUED January 1977.' And finally: a sheaf of PHOTOS. Laboratory apes, chimps and orangutans, all DEAD. Their LIPS are drawn back, exposing HIDEOUS CHEMICAL-INDUCED GRIMACES. ON ONE WALL: POSTER-SIZED BLOWUPS of the grinning apes. ON THE OPPOSITE WALL: a large-scale photographic reproduction of the Gotham skyline, its bottom half HIDDEN FROM VIEW by the JOKER's desk. The PHONE RINGS. The JOKER -- who has been sitting on the floor by the cityscape - - POPS INTO FRAME and picks it up. JOKER How's that first shipment coming? VOICE ON PHONE Right on schedule. Oh, we got that address for you -- 79 East End, #12-D. JOKER Great. How'd you find it? VOICE ON PHONE Called her agent. The JOKER nods in satisfaction and resumes his place on the floor. Like a happy kindergartner, with paste pot and scissors, he's CLIPPING PHOTOS from a magazine -- horrible scenes of death, destruction, panic, mutilation. One by one, he's PASTING these shots on the blowup of Gotham City -- all along sidewalk level -- creating a massive photomontage of ANARCHY IN THE STREETS. We've seen these photos before. VICKI VALE took them... in Corto Maltese. INT. PHOTOGRAPHER'S STUDIO - DAY In foreground, ROWS OF MAKEUP in startling profusion: mascara, blusher, eyeliner, lipstick. HALF A DOZEN BEAUTIFUL MODELS giggle into their makeup mirrors. In the background VICKI wanders past with a stylish friend, CLAIRE, who owns and operates the studio. CLAIRE It's been so long, Vicki. We're honored. (cattily) I hear you've got your hooks in Bruce Wayne. VICKI I see you've never met Bruce Wayne. CLAIRE Oh. Really. Well -- Come on, dear, Tony's dying to see you. In a corner of the studio, TONY, a gaunt, tubercular Brit, is shooting a swimsuit layout with two SUPERMODELS. They all ad lib greetings to VICKI as TONY darts around hyperkinetically, snapping the girls in various poses. TONY Yes, ladies, smiles, show me those smiles, fabulous, tropical smiles, think Tahiti, I want to see teeth, yes, those glorious teeth -- As VICKI looks on, the SUPERMODELS freeze in place simultaneously, a strange, STRICKEN LOOK on their faces. TONY (cont.) My God no, don't stop now, those smiles, I need those smiles -- Suddenly the girls are LAUGHING - - but the laughter is unnatural, involuntary. VICKI, sensin