LOST
Pilot – Part 1
Script by: JJ Abrams and Damon Lindelof
I – ISLAND
Laying there like a corpse in the tall grass Jack Shepard awakes with a start. Light. Blinding. His eyes shoot open and the sensation is dilating, causing his pupil to shrink from a large black ring to a much smaller one. In them is reflected the sky; blue, just as blinding. A sharp pain stabs all throughout his body; his back, his knees, his shoulders. His head aches with an intense inner soreness, pounding away like a migraine. But it's unlike any migraine he's felt before. The world slowly starts to fade in but it's an alien one, full of disorientating sights and sounds. As his senses come back he notices the smell of smoke and exhaust smog. It's a contrast to the world above which looks pristine in it's clarity. The radiant blue sky outlined only by the tall stock of bamboo trees that erect from the ground and surround him like prison bars. Am I alive? If it wasn't for the pain consuming every limb in his body he would be more inclined to consider the question. However, the blood rushes up into his head and he feels the pressure surging like it's about to burst. Yeah, I'm alive.
Suddenly, a sound... Crack!
It comes from the left and startles Jack, causing him to quickly snap his neck sideways. His cheek rests against the matted down grass, wet with dew. If he had any grasp on the world surrounding him the noise might have induced a small measure of fear. But instead he just narrows his eyes and looks into the depth of the jungle curiously.
Another sound... Bark!
His senses are fully restored and yet his ears weren't deluding him. It's the universal sound of a canine and even before Jack can comprehend the strangeness of the distinction a pale yellow Labrador Retriever stomps out from the cavern of trees, his ears perked and his tail wagging. There's something almost childlike in the way Jack absorbs the scene. His eyes widen with bewilderment and he loudly exhales a breath of awe. The dog stares at him and whimpers before quickly dashing across his face, almost trampling his cheek, and into the jungle on the adverse side.
Bark! Bar! Ba... The sounds grow fainter as the canine disappears into the far distance and everything is silent again.
What hap... where am...? No time to think. Jack stops himself mid-thought and cranes his neck. He takes in the jungle engulfing him and notices how clean it all looks, untouched and saturated with an almost unreal green. He sits upward and for the first time feels the sharp pain also being emitted from his torso. God that hurts! His fingers grip the sturdy trunk of a bamboo tree and as he levels himself onto his knees his nails burrow deeper into the thick wood. He holds his breath and closes his eyes and with a single courageous tug pulls himself to his feet. God! His gasps and moans echo into the trees, bouncing off and reverberating back like whispers surrounding him. The blue suit he's wearing is torn and lightly singed at the cuffs. As Jack leans into the support of the bamboo he feels something pressing into his chest. He pats his upper pocket and feels a bulge. What the... He removes the small object and turns it in his hands. It's a sample bottle of vodka, like you'd find on an airplane. That's right, there was a plane! His last concrete memory resurfaces. He remembers screaming and shaking; violent and chaotic. A plane crash!
Jack looks around in every direction but they all seem the same, just an endless labyrinth of trees. He shoves the bottle back into his jacket pocket and instinctively takes off in a straight path. He knows that somewhere there's a plane, somewhere close. Each step ignites his aching body and as he stammers past the repetitious scenic backdrop the only sound is that of heavy panting and wheezing. However, he's moving too fast to care and the adrenaline acts like a morphine. The light from the sun whips past, quickly shining brightly in spurts before hiding behind a cluster of vegetation. Without any other logical sense of navigation Jack follows the brightness. Out of the corner of his eye is a small glance of white. Without stopping he narrows his gaze directly to it. It's a shoe. White. Hanging from a tree by the lace. Strange. But at least I'm headed in the right direction. He moves on with a new-found energy and neglect to the pain, now with a purpose.
The trees are getting less dense and the path on the ground is seemingly starting to widen. Suddenly, more light. Even more blinding than before. The sun is no longer masked by the forestry and blazes down from the sky. It's without clouds and against the entire canvas of blue the only splash of color is the yellow sphere that threatens to overtake it. In the mid-section of the horizon is more blue, but darker. It's cuts the view perfectly in two. Water. The South Pacific. As far as the eye can see is the brilliant color of the ocean, just as clear and crystalline as the sky. It ends at the shore and calm waves clash up the beach, wiping across the clean sand and taking some with them. It's a peaceful scene, tranquil and static.
"Help!" From a distance. "Help me!"
Jack is so entranced by the clash of color that the sound had faded out. It comes back very familiar. Screams and shouting; violent and chaotic. He looks right. Nothing. He twists his neck left and sees a bend in the beach that cloaks the distance with more trees. He takes off in the direction and cuts right through the small inland. When he reappears on the beach there's a new backdrop in front of him to behold. Oh my God! The sounds that he had just muted a minute ago were now deafening and from all around. Well, I found the plane.
Scattered across the picturesque beach is shards of metal, loose debris, and distorted mechanical parts, still ignited with fire. Jack's eyes trace the damage right up to the source and then all he can do is gawk, mouth agape and eyes wide. Before him is the entire front body of the Boeing 777, wings still attached but flapping at the sides like a set on a bird. Oceanic 815. People are scattered about like ants, some dead and some who look just about dead. A young man seems dazed by the whole scene, stumbling around in a stupor next to one of the jet engines, still operational and spinning violently. A man shouts something in Korean while another shouts for his son in English. There is a blonde woman planted firmly in place a short distance away who isn't screaming for anyone, just pouring her heart out in terror through an almost animistic cry.
"Help!" It's the same voice as before. "Somebody help me!"
Jack snaps back to the reality of the situation and notices a heavy set man pinned under one of the plane's landing wheels. Just count to five. One, two, three... Damn it, no time for that. Just pretend you're in the emergency room. He composes himself and with a leap of faith jumps down from the inland and dashes towards the hellish disaster.
The opening sequence is one of my all time favorite moments from "Lost". There's something alien about it, it's completely unlike any scene I've ever seen before in film or TV. I hope my re-write captured that feel. I'm going to try and re-write the entire first part of the pilot episode segment by segment, using the individual tone of each. I'm also going to try and add some character thought from Jack without giving away too much about his character. It wasn't until "White Rabbit" really where all the traits we associate with him came into fruition.