(Pictures to be added shortly.....)



CLOSE ON J. BRUCE ISMAY, Managing Director of White Star Line.

ISMAY: ...and our master shipbuilder, Mr. Andrews here, designed her from the keel plates up.
He indicates a handsome 39 year old Irish gentlemen to his right, THOMAS ANDREWS, of Harland and Wolff Shipbuilders.

WIDER, showing the group assembled for lunch the next day. Ismay seated with Cal, Rose, Ruth, Molly Brown and Thomas Andrews in the Palm Court, a beautiful sunny spot enclosed by high arched windows.

ANDREWS: (disliking the attention) Well, I may have knocked her together, but the idea was Mr. Ismay's. He envisioned a steamer so grand in scale, and so luxurious in its appointments, that its supremacy would never be challenged. And here she is...

(he slaps the table) ...willed into solid reality.

MOLLY: Why're ships always bein' called "she"? Is it because men think half the women around have big sterns and should be weighed in tonnage?

(they all laugh) Just another example of the men settin' the rules their way.

The waiter arrives to take orders. Rose lights a cigarette.
RUTH: You know I don't like that, Rose
CAL: She knows.
Cal takes the cigarette from her and stubs it out.
CAL: (to the waiter) We'll both have the lamb. Rare, with a little mint sauce.

(to Rose, after the waiter moves away) You like lamb, don't you sweetpea?

Molly is watching the dynamic between Rose, Cal and Ruth.
MOLLY: So, you gonna cut her meat for her too there, Cal?

(turning to Ismay) Hey, who came up with the name Titanic? You, Bruce?

ISMAY: Yes, actually. I wanted to convey sheer size. And size means stability, luxury... and safety--
ROSE: Do you know of Dr. Freud? His ideas about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you, Mr. Ismay.
Andrews chokes on his breadstick, suppressing laughter.
RUTH: My God, Rose, what's gotten into--
ROSE: Excuse me.
She stalks away.
RUTH: (mortified) I do apologize.
MOLLY: She's a pistol, Cal. You sure you can handle her?
CAL: (tense but feigning unconcern) Well, I may have to start minding what she reads from now on.


Jack sits on a bench in the sun. Titanic's wake spreads out behind him to the horizon. He has his knees pulled up, supporting a leather bound sketching pad, his only valuable possession. With conte crayon he draws rapidly, using sure strokes. An emigrant from Manchester named CARTMELL has his 3 year old daughter CORA standing on the lower rung of the rail. She is leaned back against his beer barrel of a stomach, watching the seagulls.

THE SKETCH captures them perfectly, with a great sense of the humanity of the moment. Jack is good. Really good. Fabrizio looks over Jack's shoulder. He nods appreciatively.

TOMMY RYAN, a scowling young Irish emigrant, watches as a crewmember comes by, walking three small dogs around the deck. One of them, a BLACK FRENCH BULLDOG, is among the ugliest creatures on the planet.

TOMMY: That's typical. First class dogs come down here to take a shit.
Jack looks up from his sketch.
JACK: That's so we know where we rank in the scheme of things
TOMMY: Like we could forget.
Jack glances across the well deck. At the aft railing of B deck promenade stands ROSE, in a long yellow dress and white gloves.

CLOSE ON JACK, unable to take his eyes off of her. They are across from each other, about 60 feet apart, with the well deck like a valley between them. She on her promontory, he on his much lower one. She stares down at the water.

He watches her unpin her elaborate hat and take it off. She looks at the frilly absurd thing, then tosses it over the rail. It sails far down to the water and is carried away, astern. A spot of yellow in the vast ocean. He is riveted by her. She looks like a figure in a romantic novel, sad and isolated.

Fabrizio taps Tommy and they both look at Jack gazing at Rose. Fabrizio and Tommy grin at each other.

Rose turns suddenly and looks right at Jack. He is caught staring, but he doesn't look away. She does, but then looks back. Their eyes meet across the space of the well deck, across the gulf between worlds.

Jack sees a man (Cal) come up behind her and take her arm. She jerks her arm away. They argue in pantomime. She storms away, and he goes after her, disappearing along the A-deck promenade. Jack stares after her.

TOMMY: Forget it, boyo. You'd as like have angels fly out o' yer arse as get next to the likes o' her.


SLOWLY PUSHING IN ON ROSE as she sits, flanked by people in heated conversation. Cal and Ruth are laughing together, while on the other side LADY DUFF-GORDON is holding forth animatedly. We don't hear what they are saying. Rose is staring at her plate, barely listening to the inconsequential babble around her.

OLD ROSE (V.0.): I saw my whole life as if I'd already lived it... an endless parade of parties and cotillions, yachts and polo matches... always the same narrow people, the same mindless chatter. I felt like I was standing at a great precipice, with no one to pull me back, no one who cared... or even noticed.
ANGLE BENEATH TABLE showing Rose's hand, holding a tiny fork from her crab salad. She pokes the crab-fork into the skin of her arm, harder and harder until it draws blood.



Rose walks along the corridor. A steward coming the other way greets her, and she nods with a slight smile. She is perfectly composed.



She enters the room. Stands in the middle, staring at her reflection in the large vanity mirror. Just stands there, then--

With a primal, anguished cry she claws at her throat, ripping off her pearlnecklace, which explodes across the room. In a frenzy she tears at herself, her clothes, her hair... then attacks the room. She flings everything off the dresser and it flies clattering against the wall. She hurls a handmirror against the vanity, cracking it.



Rose runs along the B deck promenade. She is dishevelled, her hair flying. She is crying, her cheeks streaked with tears. But also angry, furious! Shaking with emotions she doesn't understand... hatred, self-hatred, desperation. A strolling couple watch her pass. Shocked at the emotional display in public.



Jack is kicked back on one of the benches gazing at the stars blazing gloriously overhead. Thinking artist thoughts and smoking a cigarette.

Hearing something, he turns as Rose runs up the stairs from the well deck. They are the only two on the stern deck, except for QUARTERMASTER ROWE, twenty feet above them on the docking bridge catwalk. She doesn't see Jack in the shadows, and runs right past him.

TRACKING WITH ROSE as she runs across the deserted fantail. Her breath hitches in an occasional sob, which she suppresses. Rose slams against the base of the stern flagpole and clings there, panting. She stares out at the black water.

Then starts to climb over the railing. She has to hitch her long dress way up, and climbing is clumsy. Moving methodically she turns her body and gets her heels on the white-painted gunwale, her back to the railing, facing out toward blackness. 60 feet below her, the massive propellers are churning the atlantin into white foam, and a ghostly wake trails off toward the horizon.

IN A LOW ANGLE, we see Rose standing like a figurehead in reverse. Below her are the huge letters of the name "TITANIC".

She leans out, her arms straightening... looking down hypnotized, into the vortex below her. Her dress and hair are lifted by the wind of the ship'smovement. The only sound, above the rush of water below, is the flutter and snap of the big Union Jack right above her.

JACK: Don't do it.
She whips her head around at the sound of his voice. It takes a second for her eyes to focus.
ROSE: Stay back! Don't come any closer!
Jack sees the tear tracks on her cheeks in the faint glow from the stern running lights.
JACK: Take my hand. I'll pull you back in.
ROSE: No! Stay where you are. I mean it. I'll let go.
JACK: No you won't.
ROSE: What do you mean no I won't? Don't presume to tell me what I will and will not do. You don't know me.
JACK: You would have done it already. Now come on, take my hand.
Rose is confused now. She can't see him very well through the tears, so she wipes them with one hand, almost losing her balance.
ROSE: You're distracting me. Go away.
JACK: I can't. I'm involved now. If you let go I have to jump in after you.
ROSE: Don't be absurd. You'll be killed.
He takes off his jacket.
JACK: I'm a good swimmer.
He starts unlacing his left shoe.
ROSE: The fall alone would kill you.
JACK: It would hurt. I'm not saying it wouldn't. To be honest I'm a lot more concerned about the water being so cold.
She looks down. The reality factor of what she is doing is sinking in.
ROSE: How cold?
JACK: (taking off his left shoe) Freezing. Maybe a couple degrees over.
He starts unlacing his right shoe.
JACK: Ever been to Wisconsin?
ROSE: (perplexed) No.
JACK: Well they have some of the coldest winters around, and I grew up there, near Chippewa Falls. Once when I was a kid me and my father were ice-fishing out on Lake Wissota... ice-fishing's where you chop a hole in the--
ROSE: I know what ice fishing is!
JACK: Sorry. Just... you look like kind of an indoor girl. Anyway, I went through some thin ice and I'm tellin' ya, water that cold... like that right down there... it hits you like a thousand knives all over your body. You can't breath, you can't think... least not about anything but the pain.

(takes off his other shoe) Which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in after you. But like I said, I don't see a choice. I guess I'm kinda hoping you'll come back over the rail and get me off the hook here.

ROSE: You're crazy.
JACK: That's what everybody says. But with all due respect, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship.
He slides one step closer, like moving up on a spooked horse.
JACK: Come on. You don't want to do this. Give me your hand.
Rose stares at this madman for a long time. She looks at his eyes and they somehow suddenly seem to fill her universe.
ROSE: Alright.
She unfastens one hand from the rail and reaches it around toward him. He reaches out to take it, firmly.
JACK: I'm Jack Dawson.
ROSE: (voice quavering) Pleased to meet you, Mr. Dawson.
Rose starts to turn. Now that she has decided to live, the height is terrifying. She is overcome by vertigo as she shifts her footing, turning to face the ship. As she starts to climb, her dress gets in the way, and one foot slips off the edge of the deck.

She plunges, letting out a piercing SHRIEK. Jack, gripping her hand, is jerked toward the rail. Rose barely grabs a lower rail with her free hand.

QUARTERMASTER ROWE, up on the docking bridge hears the scream and heads for the ladder.

JACK: I've got you. I won't let go.
Jack holds her hand with all his strength, bracing himself on the railing with his other hand. Rose tries to get some kind of foothold on the smooth hull. Jack tries to lift her bodily over the railing. She can't get any footing in her dress and evening shoes, and she slips back. Rose SCREAMS again.

Jack, awkwardly clutching Rose by whatever he can get a grip on as she flails, gets her over the railing. They fall together onto the deck in a tangled heap, spinning in such a way that Jack winds up slightly on top of her.

Rowe slides down the ladder from the docking bridge like it's a fire drill and sprints across the fantail.

ROWE: Here, what's all this?!
Rowe runs up and pulls Jack off of Rose, revealing her dishevelled and sobbing on the deck. Her dress is torn, and the hem is pushing up above her knees, showing one ripped stocking. He looks at Jack, the shaggy steerage man with his jacket off, and the first class lady clearly in distress, and starts drawing conclusions. Two seamen chug across the deck to join them.
ROWE: (to Jack) Here you, stand back! Don't move an inch!

(to the seamen) Fetch the Master at Arms.



A few minutes later. Jack is being detained by the burly MASTER AT ARMS, the closest thing to a cop on board. He is handcuffing Jack. Cal is right in front of Jack, and furious. He has obviously just rushed out here with Lovejoy and another man, and none of them have coats over their black tie evening dress. The other man is COLONEL ARCHIBALD GRACIE, a mustachioed blowhard who still has his brandy snifter. He offers it to Rose, who is hunched over crying on a bench nearby, but she waves it away. Cal is more concerned with Jack. He grabs him by the lapels.

CAL: What made you think you could put your hands on my fiancee?! Look at me, you filth! What did you think you were doing?!
ROSE: Cal, stop! It was an accident.
CAL: An accident?!
ROSE: It was... stupid really. I was leaning over and I slipped.

(Rose looks at Jack, getting eye contact)

I was leaning way over, to see the... ah... propellers. And I slipped and I would have gone overboard... and Mr. Dawson here saved me and he almost went over himself.

CAL: You wanted to see the propellers?
GRACIE: (shaking his head) Women and machinery do not mix.
MASTER AT ARMS: (to Jack) Was that the way of it?
JACK: Uh huh. That was pretty much it.
He looks at Rose a moment longer. Now they have a secret together.
GRACIE: Well! The boy's a hero then. Good for you son, well done!

(to Cal) So it's all's well and back to our brandy, eh?

Jack is uncuffed. Cal gets Rose to her feet and moving.
CAL: (rubbing her arms) Let's get you in. You're freezing.
Cal is leaving without a second thought for Jack.
GRACIE: (low) Ah... perhaps a little something for the boy?
CAL: Oh, right. Mr. Lovejoy. A twenty should do it.
ROSE: Is that the going rate for saving the woman you love?
CAL: Rose is displeased. Mmm... what to do?
Cal turns back to Jack. He appraises him condescendingly... a steerage ruffian, unwashed and ill-mannered.
CAL: I know.

(to Jack) Perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow, to regale our group with your heroic tale?

JACK: (looking straight at Rose) Sure. Count me in.
CAL: Good. Settled then.
Cal turns to go, putting a protective arm around Rose. he leans close to Gracie as they walk away.
CAL: This should be amusing.
JACK: (as Lovejoy passes) Can I bum a cigarette?
Lovejoy smoothly draws a silver cigarette case from his jacket and snaps it open. Jack takes a cigarette, then another, popping it behind his ear for later. Lovejoy lights Jack's cigarette.
LOVEJOY: You'll want to tie those. (Jack looks at his shoes)

Interesting that the young lady slipped so mighty all of a sudden and you still had time to take of your jacket and shoes. Mmmm?

Lovejoy's expression is bland, but the eyes are cold. He turns away to join his group.



As she undresses for bed Rose sees Cal standing in her doorway, reflected in the cracked mirror of her vanity. He comes toward her.

CAL: (unexpectedly tender) I know you've been melancholy, and I don't pretend to know why.
From behind his back he hands her a large black velvet jewel case. She takes it, numbly.
CAL: I intended to save this till the engagement gals next week. But I thought tonight, perhaps a reminder of my feeling for you...
Rose slowly opens the box. Inside is the necklace... "HEART OF THE OCEAN" in all its glory. It is huge... a malevolent blue stone glittering with an infinity of scalpel-like inner reflections.
ROSE: My God... Cal. Is it a--
CAL: Diamond. Yes it is. 56 carats.
He takes the necklace and during the following places it around her throat. He turns her to the mirror, staring behind her.
CAL: It was once worn by Louis the Sixteenth. They call it Le Coeur de la Mer, the--
ROSE: The Heart of the Ocean. Cal, it's... it's overwhelming.
He gazes at the image of the two of them in the mirror.
CAL: It's for royalty. And we are royalty.
His fingers caress her neck and throat. He seems himself to be disarmed by Rose's elegance and beauty. His emotion is, for the first time, unguarded.
CAL: There's nothing I couldn't give you. There's nothing I'd deny you if you would deny me. Open your heart to me, Rose.
CAMERA begins to TRACK IN ON ROSE. Closer and closer, during the following:
OLD ROSE (V.O.) Of course his gift was only to reflect light back onto himself, to illuminate the greatness that was Caledon Hockley. It was a cold stone... a heart of ice.
Finally, when Rose's eyes FILL FRAME, we MORPH SLOWLY to her eyes as the are now... transforming through 84 years of life...