EXTERIOR/TOULON SHIPYARD/DUSK (in color)
The afternoon sun sparkles off of the beautiful Mediterranean seaport of Toulon. A lanky soldier, in the springtime of his life, with closely cropped dark brown hair, stands next to his square-shouldered superior, side by side with him. The more innocent and fresher of the two is called SOLDIER BOY. Whether his peers began calling him this to be cruel or as a term of endearment is no longer pondered by his fellow soldiers, his commander, or even himself.
SOLDIER BOY (voice over image): Eighteen years on and today is the last day I will be sharing a post with my friend and commanding officer, Roussou. To celebrate his retirement, Roussou thinks we should find les putains after our watch, but he is just being nice. The girls always find Roussou first.
ROUSSOU, a glorious soldier with guts to match, gives Soldier Boy a strong pat on the back as they stand on an empty pier beside the Iéna, the giant warship that they are charged with watching over. The metal hull glints against the ocean, reflecting its deep blue sparkle.
ROUSSOU: She is magnificent, isn’t she?
The two stand in awe in the most serene moment imaginable for navy men.
ROUSSOU: I have a small gift for you on this special day.
SOLDIER BOY: A gift for me? But it is your day, Roussou!?
ROUSSOU: I know how you appreciate little trinkets like these. Something to remember me when I am gone.
Roussou holds up a small, round device, the inside of which contains pictures on a wheel that lines the sides. Each image appears slightly different from the next. Roussou spins the wheel inside and the images come to life, creating a continuous motion.
SOLDIER BOY (excitedly taking it): It’s a zoetrope!
ROUSSOU: If you say so.
SOLDIER BOY: It means “wheel of life.” This was the precursor of the praxinoscope, which is the machine that first turned pictures into light!
ROUSSOU: It amazes me sometimes, how little you say, and yet when you do, how much it sounds like you know.
SOLDIER BOY: My aunt took me to see a show called Le Théâtre Optique at the Musée Grévin in Paris when I was very young. It was the most wonderful thing you could ever imagine. A moving picture conjured by light. It was as if all the lights of Paris had been harnessed and sent through this little hole, turning light into life. On display were these little machines that inspired its inventor’s creation. I haven’t seen one of these since then.
ROUSSOU: I won it off a trader from the Far East. He seemed quite upset to have to give it up, but I had to have it for you. These little pictures are the one thing that always seem to get you excited.
SOLDIER BOY: Thank you, Roussou. It is a wonderful gift. Did you know that Edison—
His words are interrupted by a harsh white light that blasts onto Soldier Boy, pushing his face and hair strangely backward, as if by an explosion.
CUT TO:
INTERIOR/INTERROGATION ROOM/NIGHT (in black and white)
Sitting on one side of a metal table is NAVY MINISTER GASTON THOMSON. On the other side is a very dazed, banged-up, and distracted Soldier Boy.
GASTON: Shall we begin again?
SOLDIER BOY: Fine. Yes.
GASTON: You were about to explain the events of . . .
SOLDIER BOY: I can’t quite remember. What is there to explain?
Soldier Boy touches his head, feeling a tightly wound bandage for the first time. Blood has seeped through it.
SOLDIER BOY: Why am I wearing this ridiculous hat? It seems to be leaking.
Gaston sighs disparagingly as he turns to recounting the facts that Soldier Boy should already know.
FADE INTO:
EXTERIOR/TOULON SHIPYARD/NIGHT (in color)
(As Gaston recounts the details we witness the entire sequence unfold.)
All is quiet on the harbor. Roussou and Soldier Boy stumble down the dockside, each holding the other upright, clearly returning from a night of celebration. All around them, lights flicker and bob up and down on the dark waters from dozens of boats docked around the bay. It is so very serene. They laugh as they continue their feeble attempts at holding each other up and walk forward at the same time.
GASTON (voice over image): On March 12, the Iéna was dry-docked at Toulon’s Missiessy Basin for hull maintenance. A series of explosions began in Iéna’s port-number-five one-hundred-millimeter magazine, which began at one thirty-five a.m. and continued until a quarter past two.
Suddenly, a small explosion can be heard from inside the Iéna. Then another. Then ten, or a hundred more, maybe even thousands, all in rapid succession like the popping of monstrous angry champagne corks. And then, much like the finale of an epic fireworks display . . .
BOOM! The sky lights up, and a massive force sends out a shock wave so strong that it knocks the two soldiers to the ground and illuminates the harbor in an apocalyptic daylight glow.
The Iéna begins to shred herself apart, her bow tilting forward toward Soldier Boy in salute.
Roussou jumps to his feet and shouts out to Soldier Boy, who has gone momentarily deaf from the sound of the blast. All he can make out is Roussou pointing to another ship down the dock, and then pointing to giant floodgates that hold the Iéna at bay, protecting it from what are now lifesaving waters.
GASTON (voice over image): It was then that De Vaisseau Roussou ordered you to deliver a message to the commanding officer of the Patrie, water-docked some fifty yards away. The idea was to fire a shell into the dry-dock gate, releasing the water to battle the flames but, due to either your incompetence or bad aim, it failed to properly land on its mark.
As the fire burns out of control, human bodies fall from the ship in flames, attempting to land in the nearby water. Some succeed, while others do not. Soldier Boy stumbles forward toward the nearby ship, shouting up to its captain, trying to hear his own words over the ringing in his ears.
GASTON (voice over image): Roussou managed to release the gates by hand and then ran into the fire to rescue his men.
As the water gushes through the floodgates, Roussou runs past a dazed Soldier Boy into the fiery hole in one side of the Iéna.
Another gigantic explosion and the sky turns to day. Soldier Boy looks up, mesmerized, into the white that blankets the sky.
SOLDIER BOY: Ah, Paris!
The water builds into a furious, towering flood that washes over the side of the Iéna, snuffing out its flames. It then recedes backward, into a wall of water that bursts onto Soldier Boy while carrying the charred debris of the Iéna, bodies, and, finally, the memory of the moment. Once the water recedes again we return to . . .
INTERIOR/INTERROGATION ROOM/SAME
(in black and white)
Gaston slams his fist against the table in order to regain Soldier Boy’s attention, which has turned to a small hole in the distant wall. Light from the adjoining room is traveling through it.
GASTON: In total one hundred and seventeen soldiers, including two civilians, died.
SOLDIER BOY: Roussou is gone?
GASTON: Mostly, yes.
SOLDIER BOY: Mostly?
GASTON: Yes.
SOLDIER BOY: And the others?
GASTON: Personally, I’d be more concerned with what is to become of you. What should we do with you, Soldier Boy?
SOLDIER BOY: Me? I didn’t do anything.
GASTON: Non, bien sûr que non. Someone’s going to take the fire for this. You would prefer it to be me?
Frustrated, Soldier Boy presses his fingertips against his temples in an attempt to replay the preceding events in his mind.
CUT TO:
EXTERIOR/TOULON SHIPYARD/DUSK (in color)
Soldier Boy stands together with Roussou again, watching the vivid sunset as the water sparkles on all sides.
GASTON (voice over image): You’ve heard of nitrocellulose-based Powder B in training, of course. Guncotton? Almost eighty percent of the Iéna’s magazines contained it.
A BLAST! Everything around Soldier Boy disappears. He and Roussou are standing on the deck of the ship, but there is no ship. It has been entirely replaced by whiteness.
SOLDIER BOY: Where did the ship go?
ROUSSOU: Blown to bits!
Soldier Boy turns to Roussou, whose head has vanished, only to be blotted out and replaced with a white HOLE. In the hole are moving scratches, like the end of an old film reel running through the projector’s light.
SOLDIER BOY: Where did your head go?
ROUSSOU: Lord! Blown through the roof!
The hole making up Roussou’s head begins to expand, engulfing Soldier Boy and everything else around him.
CUT TO:
INTERIOR/INTERROGATION ROOM/DAY (in black and white)
Soldier Boy sits, slumped in another cold, nondescript concrete room, or possibly the same one as before. A softer, almost sympathetic official taps his foot, bringing Soldier Boy out of his daze. The official’s uniform is slightly disheveled and a patch of food stains his collar.
LIEUTENANT LOUISE: Don’t look so glum. The rest of the survivors are being dispersed as well. It’s not just you. Actually, consider yourself special.
SOLDIER BOY: Special?
LIEUTENANT LOUISE: Sure, special . . . You were almost killed! A terrible blast, kaboom! A deathly light came for you and it meant to destroy you. It meant to feed off of you so that it might burn brighter, but you escaped it!
SOLDIER BOY: I escaped the light?
LIEUTENANT LOUISE: You have been given a freedom the others can’t enjoy. Their reassignments are permanent stations. You can go where you please. Look at it as if you are on a special mission.
SOLDIER BOY: A special mission to . . . ?
Lieutenant Louise gives Soldier Boy an uncomfortable look as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, devising a decent way to cut the conversation short.
LIEUTENANT LOUISE: Look, Soldier Boy, go to Paris. See a show. Find a nice girl and have her, or don’t have her. Maybe she won’t be pretty enough for you? Ce n’est pas grave.
SOLDIER BOY: Who will I be reporting to?
LIEUTENANT LOUISE: All in good time.
Soldier Boy places his heavy head down onto the table. A driving force pounds against the back of his eyelids, making him feel nauseated. He grinds his teeth, forcing himself to sort through his thoughts. He looks up pleadingly to Lieutenant Louise.
SOLDIER BOY: You’re just a blur. I am having trouble remembering why I am even sitting here in front of you. If I wanted to, it feels like I could make you disappear completely.
The lieutenant closes his dossier and looks up at Soldier Boy with empathy.
LIEUTENANT LOUISE: Perhaps, my friend, that would be best.
The lieutenant begins to rapidly twitch and blur out of focus. Darkness blows out from his center and transforms into a hollow tunnel. Out of the tunnel, a train pushes through, steam lubricating it, and comes to a stop at a dark station. Above, the sky is a starless black.
