"Greek Land" Screenplay written by Peter Layton


FADE UP

EXT. ROCKY BLUFF - NIGHT

Under a full moon, two shadowy figures crouch on a steep hill, peering through
infra-red binoculars at a darkened boat rowing to the shore below.
A prologue fades up and down..."Relocation Island, Pacific Ocean. Ten Years
after the War of the Gods."

The two watching men, DAVID FRYE and GLENN HOPKINS, both in padded
black night ops clothes, whisper tensely in clipped British accents.

GLENN
David, can you get this?

Aiming and squinting through a night vision video camera, David shakes his head.

DAVID
Too far away.

Down on the beach, a large man wades through the surf to the boat. Both men
men gasp as he easily hoists a huge wooden crate up, carries it to the beach.

GLENN
God's breath! He's not full human.

Ripping off the top of the crate, the large man hauls up a long metal tube. A red
laser light snaps on, sweeps up and down the beach as he target-sights a long-
barreled shoulder mounted weapon. There's a faint, growling hum.

DAVID
Stinger missile. I've got to get this
on video.

Tucking his camera in a duffel bag, David clicks open his walkie-talkie.

DAVID
Glenn, you see anything, click twice.
My bloody luck, Odin himself will be
down there, wanking in the bushes.

Taking a deep breath, David crawls off down the bluff, disappearing in the night.
One hand on his walkie-talkie, Glenn trains his infra-red field glasses on the beach below.

EXT. FURTHER DOWN THE BLUFF - NIGHT

Cautiously stealing down the hill, David stops behind a rock, trains his video
camera on the Norseman on the beach. The greenish image in his viewfinder
blurs in and out of focus, unable to lock into a sharp picture.

DAVID
Jupiter's beard...come on, come on.

A sudden sound whips David's head around, but it's pitch black and dead
quiet except the waves pounding on the beach below. Exhaling nervously, he
continues down the hill.

EXT. FURTHER UP THE BLUFF - NIGHT

Higher up, Glenn peers through his binoculars, trying to locate David down the
black hill. He doesn't see an overhead shadow swooping past the moon, diving to
earth.

EXT. DOWN THE HILL - NIGHT
Slipping down the steep hill, David stops, peeks over a rock. The men on
the beach are all staring open-mouthed up in the night sky. At that instant,
something huge from above slams him into the ground. Jerking, twisting, straining,
he's pinned, unable to cry out. He begins sinking into the solid rock.

EXT. UP THE ROCKY BLUFF - NIGHT

Through the night vision binoculars, Glenn suddenly sees a monstrous black shape
down the hill, thrashing wildly.

GLENN
Oh my God!

Over and over, he double clicks the walkie-talkie control switch.

EXT. DOWN THE CLIFF - NIGHT

The walkie-talkie clicks off and on repeatedly, David can't answer...he's slowly
drowning in rock as if it was quicksand. Melting into the earth, an outline of
his agonized face forms on a boulder, screaming up forever to the moon.

EXT. UNIVERSITY GROUNDS - MORNING
A morning sun rises on the ivory towers and halls of academia.

INT. FACULITY LOUNGE - MORNING
MARTIN HARDY, 30, a bookish looking man wearing a bike helmet, enters a
staff faculty lounge, arms full with books and material. Intent on CNN news,
several STAFF MEMBERS ignore him.

CNN REPORTER
--third to go missing in six months, U.N.
peacekeepers are struggling to keep the
peace with, and between, the gods and
their followers on Relocation Island.

A red-faced, gruff PROFESSOR grunts sourly at Martin.

PROFESSOR
Your heroes at it again, huh, Martin?
Murdering more U.N. peacekeepers?

Nodding blankly, Martin drops his teaching material on a table...copious notes with
photos of Greek, Roman, and Norse gods. On the TV screen, a bearded man
wearing a toga and olive branch headdress speaks importantly.

BEARDED MAN
Today marks ten years of economic
sanctions and military isolation. We
urge the United Nations to accept and
ratify our Treaty proposal. Let Gods and
humans live as one people in a nuclear
free world.

Stomping out, the professor slams the door behind him, leaving the staff members
to begin loudly and hotly debating.

VARIOUS STAFF
Do it! Sign the treaty! What about China,
Iraq, Israel? They won't sign it! They'll
have to! It's a trick to disarm us!

IRIS, a red-haired woman points to Martin, quietly sorting his papers.

IRIS
Martin, what do you think? If we
dismantled all our nuclear weapons
would the gods share their secrets with
us? It sure sounds good to me.

A scornful SHORT MAN sneers mockingly at Iris.

SHORT MAN
So does Santa Claus. We can't trust--

IRIS
Hey! Stubby! Am I talking to you?
Martin teaches the God's history, he'd
know...well, we can trust them?

The room falls silent as they wait for an uncomfortable Martin to reply.

MARTIN
I can't say. The Gods have never
approached humans as equals before.
Uh, I gotta go now...

Hurriedly scooping up his material, Martin makes for the door.

INT. CLASSROOM - DAY
On stage in a large sloping auditorium, Martin watches as STUDENTS file
down into his class. While most are dressed in jeans and T-shirt, a few wear
Norseman furs, and sit defiantly together, well away from the handful clad in
white toga sheets. Martin murmurs over to a frowning security guard nearby.

MARTIN
It's okay...let it go.

The guard narrows his eyes doubtfully, fingering his walkie-talkie.

MARTIN
It's just a protest for today, the
anniversary. I'll talk to them.

When all the students are seated, there are obvious borders of empty seats between
the Gods supporters and the normal majority. Standing on stage under a video
projected "History of the Western Gods" slide, Martin addresses the group.

MARTIN
Morning, everybody. We all know
what day this is...

Martin raises his voice over scattered hostile mutterings.

MARTIN
And there will be protests and rallies
everywhere, except in my classroom.
Anybody who wishes to leave...

A fur clad YOUNG MAN leaps to his feet.

YOUNG MAN
Sign the treaty! End the oppression!

MARTIN
Like this gentleman...may do so now.
Thank you and may Thor guard you.

To icy, hostile glares, the fur-wearing young man summons up what dignity he
has and trudges up the stairs to the exit. Martin waits expectantly, then moves to
his video projector.

MARTIN
My name is Martin Hardy. To call me
Professor Hardy would be flattering...
but premature.

Martin taps a laptop computer key to change the projected slide to "The Origin of
the Western Gods".

MARTIN
The Norse, Greek, and Roman gods...
are they aliens, genetic freaks, or an
ancient civilization with incredible
technology?

At each key tap, the slides show statues and murals of the various gods.

MARTIN
We'll study how our Western society
first worshipped, then accepted, and
eventually surpassed them.

A slide pops up showing a montage of newspaper, magazine, and Internet "WAR
OF THE GODS" banner headlines.

MARTIN
And then went to war with them.
And won. Now, today, the treaty...

Another slide dissolves into a photograph of a treaty document.

MARTIN
A possibility of a world without nuclear
weapons...the same weapons that won the
war for us...in exchange for their secrets...
secrets we may yet discover for ourselves.

An eager student up front can't restrain himself, he blurts out in disbelief.

EAGER STUDENT
What? You're against the treaty?

MARTIN
I didn't say that. I'm strictly neutral.
In this class, we take notes, not sides.

Ignoring the audible exasperated, disappointed groans, Martin taps up a picture of
a toga clad Dionysos, clutching grape bunches and a wine goblet.

MARTIN
Dionysos...the Greek god of wine and
the harvest.

HANNAH, a toga-wearing female student, interrupts loudly.

HANNAH
You mean Bachuus. He used his proper
Roman name when he aligned himself with
the True Gods.

MARTIN
All right, Hannah, yes, True Gods...

HANNAH
And his death was a war crime! Bachuus
had absolutely no military involvement
in the war.

VARIOUS STUDENTS
Bullshit! He was involved! Shut up!

MARTIN
Quiet! Let her speak! As far as we
know, Hannah's historically accurate.

HANNAH
He was targeted solely for his DNA.

Hannah defiantly raises her voice over the other student's groans and jeers.

HANNAH
The U.S. government recovered his body
and took genetic samples! That's why the
United States won't sign the treaty! They
already have God DNA!

VARIOUS STUDENTS
That's crap! Go live on the island!

Like a music conductor, Martin waves his arms, calms the students.

MARTIN
Quiet, please...what we do know is that
since the death of Bachuus, we continue
to make wines and harvest crops. We'll
study how human technology can replace
divine powers.

A frowning CHRISTIAN STUDENT interrupts Martin.

CHRISTIAN STUDENT
I object to that. I'm a Christian and
humans will never--

HANNAH
Hey, Christian! Think your God is
safe just because he's in space? We
thought our gods were--

BOOM! The classroom door is kicked open and several young FANATICS, all
wearing Viking furs and helmets, march in chanting.

FANATICS
No treaty, respect the gods!
No treaty, respect the gods!

The security guard speaks quickly, urgently into his walkie-talkie. Surrounding
students hoot and jeer at the fanatics.

VARIOUS STUDENTS
Twenty-first century! Trick or treat!
It's not Halloween yet, morons! Go live
on the island, you fanatics!

The HEAD FANATIC up front, spots a knot of toga-clad students down the steps.

HEAD FANATIC
Hey! Are you Roman brothers or...Greek
traitors?

Grinning at his football buddies, a BURLY STUDENT rises, points at the fanatic's
sheathed sword.

BURLY STUDENT
Yo, moose-head. Take your toy sword
and go home.

Wrong words. With a chilling sliding metallic sound, the fanatic slips out a very
real sword. The students all recoil away. The security guard comes up the steps,
hand on his gun. Seeing him, the fanatic holds his sword ready.

HEAD FANATIC
Come on. I am not afraid to die.

The guard pulls out his gun. Running up, Martin gets quickly in between both men.

MARTIN
Stop! Put the gun down! You, lower
your sword! Do it, both of you.

Both the guard and fanatic slowly obey, neither taking their eyes off each other.
Martin speaks slowly, deliberately to the sword-wielding, wild-eyed, fanatic.

MARTIN
I respect your beliefs. But Valhalla waits
for those fallen in battle. And this would
not be a noble warrior's death.

The less fanatical thugs murmur agreement, tug at their leader to back off.
Slowly, the fanatic sheaths his sword, stares at the toga-wearing students.

HEAD FANATIC
If this treaty is signed, Greek blood will
be all over it.

For emphasis, the fanatic spits in the student's direction, then marches out.
Releasing a long sigh, Martin staggers down the steps on weak legs, waves
good-bye to his stunned students.

MARTIN
Today's a bad day...class dismissed.

As his class files out, two AGENTS in suits and ties march down the steps and
approach Martin, busy stuffing his back pack with lecture material.

AGENT #1
Professor Martin Hardy?

MARTIN
Yes? Well, actually, no, I'm not yet....

Martin's voice trails off as both agents hold out official United Nations ID.

AGENT #1
Come with us, please.

Slipping his back pack on, Martin looks curiously at the agents.

MARTIN
May I ask--?

AGENT #1

No. INT. HALLWAY - DAY
Escorted by the two agents down a long hallway, a clearly nervous Martin looks
anxiously about his strange new surroundings.

MARTIN
Where are we? Am I in some kind of
trouble? Just tell me what...

Passing an open room, Martin sees inside the same fanatics that threatened his
students. Tugging off wigs and fur costumes, they chat with the same security
guard who confronted them in Martin's classroom.

MARTIN
...what...is going on here?


INT. MIRRORED ROOM - DAY
The two agents lock Martin in a large room with a table and chair facing a wall
mirror. He sits heavily in the chair and stares at his reflection.

INT. ROOM BEHIND MIRROR - DAY
Darkened figures in a room behind the mirror watch Martin. Red laser beams focus
on his chest, relaying data to a digital monitor...123 beats per minute. A monitor
shows Martin's eyes in extreme close-up, his pupil dilations measured in microns.

MARTIN'S VOICE
Uh...hello? Anybody there?

An automatic pen traces Martin's words on rolling seismic graph paper on a
voice stress-analysis machine. A wrinkled, aged hand reaches for a microphone.
INT. MIRRORED ROOM - DAY
An amplified baritone VOICE fills the room.

VOICE
Martin, what's your religion?
Puzzled, Martin looks around the room. There are no visible speakers. The
hypnotic voice comes from everywhere.

VOICE
Well? Norse, Greek, Christian...?

MARTIN
Uh...none of them, I'm agnostic.

Suddenly projected on the glass mirror before Martin is a frozen video frame of
him naked in bed making love to a young blonde woman.

MARTIN
Jesus Christ!
The picture vanishes and the voice speaks dryly.

VOICE
So...you're Christian.

MARTIN
No! Just an expression! How, where,
did you get that picture? You can't--

Up on the mirror comes several enlarged photocopies of Martin's E-mails.

MARTIN
Jesu...that's illegal!

VOICE
(reading calmly)
Hercules Too, can I get Resistance
videotapes and literature? Hera,
can you prove CIA and DNA claims?
(quietly)
You wrote those E-mails. Does that
mean you fight for the Gods?

A bewildered Martin rises, walks up to the huge mirror.

INT. ROOM BEHIND MIRROR - DAY
The shadowy figure holding the microphone studies Martin, just inches away.

MARTIN'S VOICE
No, it's research for my papers.

At a nod from the dimly lit figure, a rear projector changes the image.

INT. MIRRORED ROOM - DAY
Martin stops, steps back to size up the new picture, a montage of his essays.
Titles like "A New Compromise", "Mediating a Possible Treaty", and "Two Sides,
One Middle Ground".

VOICE
I've read your papers... all so middle
of the road, careful to not offend. But
never an opinion on the war...a war you
sat out, watching while others fought.

Martin abruptly goes to the locked door, tugs uselessly on it. He can't escape
that deep, gentle voice filling the room.

VOICE
Your parents divorced when you were
four...your natural father was killed in
the war...your step-father wounded...
Religion provides comfort, father figures.
I'm surprised you're not-

MARTIN
All right! Enough!

Walking up to the mirror, Martin stands glaring at his reflection.

MARTIN
I don't know what's going on, or who
you are back there, but you can't-

A light clicks on behind the mirror, lighting up an old man's face. Hovering in mid-
air like a hologram, the effect is so eerie that Martin jerks back. The light snaps
off, the old man vanishes, and Martin stares at his own shocked face. The door
abruptly unlocks, swings slightly open.

VOICE
Good-bye, Martin.

Martin stares at the open door, then scoops his backpack up off the table, heads to
the door. But when he gets there, he stops, looks back at the mirrored wall.

MARTIN
Mind telling me what this is about?
Still dead quiet. Martin could just march out, anytime, free as an uncaged bird,
away from that deep, fatherly voice, but...

MARTIN
I mean, you drag me in here, you show
pictures of me in bed, my E-mails...

INT. ROOM BEHIND MIRROR - DAY
Silent dark shadows watch and listen, lasers aimed at Martin's chest indicate a
slower, more relaxed heart-rate, the pupils are less dilated, and the sharp voice-
print spikes have flattened out.

MARTIN'S VOICE
You ask questions like some test.

INT. MIRRORED ROOM - DAY
Standing by the open door, Martin continues lecturing his mirror image.

MARTIN
Which I obviously failed...right?

VOICE
How do the gods fly, Martin?

MARTIN
I...I don't know. God's breath! Is
that why I'm here, you think I know
some of the god's secrets?

VOICE
No. I'm just curious. They have no
wings, yet they fly. Any ideas?

Martin hesitates, then walks back to the table, drops his backpack on it.

MARTIN
Before he was killed, Hermes was the
messenger of the gods. Old depictions
showed him with wings on his feet and a
silver hat.

Rummaging through his backpack, Martin fishes out a glossy photograph of an
ivory statue of Hermes, winged feet, silver hat, just like the FTD ads.

MARTIN
But modern satellite photos...

Martin slaps down a high tech shot of a blurred human figure in flight.

MARTIN
...suggest that his hat was actually a flight
helmet and the wings were metallic. I've
heard rumors that these were recovered
from his body, that the Air Force is now
God-flying out in Area 51. That true?

A long silence. Stuffing his back-pack, Martin snorts slightly.

MARTIN
Guess this Q and A only goes one way.

Martin heads to the open door.

VOICE
What do you think of the gods, Martin?
You hate them, love them, fear them?

Pausing at the door, Martin glances back at the mirror.

MARTIN
I study them. That's all.

VOICE
Want to go to their island?

Out in the hallway, Martin's footsteps stop dead.

VOICE
Want to live with them?

Martin pokes his head back into the room.

INT. DINING ROOM - NIGHT
The mood is cold and tense in a modest dining room. MARTIN sits
defensively at the table, watched by his mother KIM, his step-father BARRY,
both in their 50's, and his teen-aged step-sister SARAH.

MARTIN
Yes, this is all very weird and sudden,
but to work for the U.N. diplomatic corps
on the island, well, it's a tremendous
opportunity...

BARRY
...to die young! Martin, the second we
sign our nukes away, they'll attack us.

SARAH
Oh, Dad, that's such bullshit.

KIM
Sarah! Don't talk to your father like--

SARAH
Like what? An adult?

Shoving away from the table, Sarah rises to her feet, nods coldly to Kim.

SARAH
Thanks for dinner, Kim. It was just like
mother used to make.

Kim quickly grabs an angry Barry's twisted, crippled hand in a "never mind, let it
go" gesture. Leaving the room, Sarah stops, looks at Martin.

SARAH
Take care, Martin, be careful. I hope
when the treaty is signed, there won't
be an island anymore.

BARRY
If it is signed and we disarm, there
won't be anything anymore. Remember,
I've met your friends, the gods.

Barry stands, tugs up his shirt with stiff, bent hands. His chest and stomach are
scarred with old, faded burns.

BARRY
We were in Labrador waiting for the
Norse gods to attack...

FADE to groups of soldiers huddled in trenches in rocky terrain. A wall of black
thunderclouds on the horizon race towards them as the ground begins shaking

BARRY'S VOICE
The ground shook from Thor's hammer,
then the air caught fire with Odin's breath...

We FADE back from men convulsing and dying on the shaking, rolling ground
back to the dining room where Barry looks at Sarah.

BARRY
They thought they were immortal, all-
powerful...until they got nuked. So
next time, they too will use nukes...and the
Greek gods will join the Roman and Norse.

SARAH
Dad, if they do, it's because we forced
them to. Look at Germany after World
War One, Iraq after the Gulf War...all
sanctions and isolation ever do is cause
more conflict.

Arms folded, father and daughter grimly stare at each other. Finally, Barry sighs.

BARRY
Ah, I don't blame you...you don't
understand, you were nine when it
happened...too young to volunteer.

Barry steps away from Sarah to level his eyes on Martin.

BARRY
Unlike some.

Mouth tight, Martin meets Barry's eyes, but says nothing. The silence hangs
heavy and tense until Barry flops down in his chair and grunts at Kim.

BARRY
Pass the goddamn peas.

Sarah leaves the room. Martin, Kim, and Barry eat silently, a silence abruptly
broken by a soft cell phone ring. Martin quickly exits the room.


INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
The cell phone's incoming display screen shows not just the name, SUSAN, and
her phone number, but also a picture of a young blonde woman...the same one
seen in bed with Martin in the frozen video frame projected on the interrogation
room's mirrored wall.

MARTIN
Hello, Susan.

SUSAN'S VOICE
So, when were you going to tell me?
And link us up, I want to see your face.

Martin sits down in front of a computer screen with a little video camera mounted
up top, and pushes a button on the cell. On screen pops up a real time video image
of Susan, young, blonde, and angry.

SUSAN
Is it true? You're going to the island?
Martin merely nods.

SUSAN
That says it all about our relationship...
I heard about it in the faculty room,
not from you. Good-bye.

MARTIN
Wait. Uh, Susan...do you remember
last month, when, out of the blue, you
suggested we go to a hotel?

An unguarded wary look flashes across Susan's face, then she recovers, replies
too casually.

SUSAN
Of course...why?

As Martin takes a deep breath, we FLASHBACK to the frozen video image of
he and Susan making love. It's in a hotel room. We CUT BACK to Martin.

MARTIN
Why did you do that?

SUSAN
Why not? Something different,
something fun. Why?

Martin says nothing, watching Susan intently. She licks her lips, glances away for
an instant.

MARTIN
Yes, it was good we linked up to see
each other's faces. Now what's--

Susan's face vanishes as the computer screen goes blank.

INT. AIRPORT - MORNING
Sarah, Barry, and Kim huddle around Martin in an awkward airport good-bye, one
little knot amongst many groups all doing the same thing.

SARAH
You're not allowed to E-mail us?

MARTIN
Nope. There's a technology embargo.
I can't bring my cell phone, much less
a computer.

Shaking her head, Sarah gives Martin a quick hug, then steps back to allow Barry
to thrust a hand out and mutter gruffly.

BARRY
Don't be getting yourself hurt out
there. It'd upset your mother.

The two men roughly shake hands, but avoid eye contact. In an unspoken
agreement, both Barry and Sarah move away to give Kim and Martin some space
and privacy to hug and talk softly.

KIM
I know why you're going...I know.
You used to go to church when you
were young, asking all these questions.

MARTIN
Mom...

KIM
Then your father left us, and there was
that terrible war...

Caressing Martins face, Kim looks fondly at him.

KIM
I hope you find those answers.
Be careful, Marty. I love you.

A final hug, then Martin waves good-bye to everybody, and heads for the gate,
where two U.S. Marines wait for him.

EXT. AIRPORT - MORNING

Head down against the buffeting winds, Martin jogs towards a Sikorsky Seahawk
helicopter, its blades whipping and screaming. INT. CHOPPER - MORNING
Scrambling into the noisy chopper, Martin straps himself into a seat behind the
PILOT and CO-PILOT, and obeys their gestures to don a flight helmet with
internal speakers and a mouth mike.

PILOT
(into mouth mike)
Morning, sir. Can you hear me?

MARTIN
Yes, I ca-holy shit!

Martin grabs his straps in a panic as the chopper zooms up off the tarmac. Both
pilots grin at each other. They're roller-coaster cowboys, they love this.

PILOT
Sorry, sir. First time aboard Vomit
Airlines?

MARTIN
Yeah.

CO-PILOT
Well, if the ride gets too bumpy, there's
plastic bags at your feet.

Any reply Martin was going to make is cut off by a tight bank that pushes him
against the chopper wall.

PILOT
Just try and relax. Our in-flight movie
today is called…the Pacific Ocean in 3D.
It'll be playing outside your window for
about five hours.

CO-PILOT
And there's no hot meals, alcoholic drinks,
or smoking. Enjoy the flight.

Settling back into his protective harness, Martin exhales, closes his eyes.

EXT. OVER THE OCEAN - DAY
High over the sea, the jet helicopter pounds towards the rising sun.

INT. CHOPPER - DAY
Fitfully dozing, Martin jerks wide awake when something hits the top of the
helicopter with a loud metallic clunk. Startled, he blurts into the mouth mike.

MARTIN
Jupiter's life! What was that?

CO-PILOT
Re-fueling, sir. Look up, there's a
C-130 tanker plane 12 o'clock high.

Pressing against the window, Martin peers up, gulps nervously.

MARTIN
Uh, isn't that thing a little close?

CO-PILOT
Naw. It'd only be a problem if we
were bouncing around.

Wide-eyed, Martin looks around. The chopper's bouncing around plenty.