• Most new users don't bother reading our rules. Here's the one that is ignored almost immediately upon signup: DO NOT ASK FOR FANEDIT LINKS PUBLICLY. First, read the FAQ. Seriously. What you want is there. You can also send a message to the editor. If that doesn't work THEN post in the Trade & Request forum. Anywhere else and it will be deleted and an infraction will be issued.
  • If this is your first time here please read our FAQ and Rules pages. They have some useful information that will get us all off on the right foot. More details on our policies, especially our Own the Source rule are available here. If you do not understand any of these rules send a private message to one of our staff for further details.
  • Favorite Edit of the Year (FEOTY) Nominations for 2020 are now open! Submit your entries here.

The Superman Trilogy, Part I: The Last Son of Krypton (A Screenplay)

Duragizer

Well-known member
Messages
2,156
Reaction score
0
Trophy Points
51
Returned to the "Last Son" script for one final wave of revisions.

  • Removed the prism-bird from the opening. I did this to make Krypton more mysterious and alien.
  • Removed all elements indicating Kal was born on Earth. I have a strong ideological aversion to Byrne's raison d'être for the birthing matrix concept, but initially went with it because I found it more compatible with my concept of Kal as a bioengineered colonizer. In the end, I had to stay true to Siegel & Shuster's vision of Kal as the ultimate immigrant.
 
Last edited:

Duragizer

Well-known member
Messages
2,156
Reaction score
0
Trophy Points
51
I've come to realize that I have too much story to fit comfortably inside a trilogy of feature-length screenplays, so I've decided to retool my Superman trilogy into a three-season series instead. Everything from the destruction of Krypton to the development of Clark's powers is Episode 1, everything from Labor Day weekend to Jonathan's phone conversation with Helen is Episode 2, and I imagine a minimum of five further episodes to follow, bringing Season 1 to a close.
I'm going back on this. Having discarded the sidestories I had planned for Krypton, Luma, and Luthor, I don't have enough material left to sustain a multi-episode series.

I've also deleted the last page+ worth of posts. With the revisions underway, it'll be easier to simply repost the revised material than edit the old posts/link back to to them with lists of revisions made.
 

Duragizer

Well-known member
Messages
2,156
Reaction score
0
Trophy Points
51
FADE TO

Somewhere in Rice County, Kansas, where we find a sprawling conglomeration of metal pipes, tanks, and funnels.

SUPERIMPOSE: LUTHOR CORPORATION FERTILIZER PLANT No. 3 — SEPTEMBER 1933.

INT. FERTILIZER PLANT/LEVEL 3/LABORATORY #1 — SUNSET

Behind the windows of a sealed observation booth is DR. EMMETT VALE. A thin man with receding hair, he is assisted by a number of subordinate technologists and technicians. He peers out into the adjacent antiseptic chamber, where we find SUBJECT ONE. Seventeen years old, the swarthy girl is a sight to behold. She is strikingly beautiful, with azure eyes, a straight nose, high cheek bones, full lips, and snow white hair grown down to her knees. Tall, with a body toned with lithe muscle beneath the white gown she wears, she nevertheless broadcasts timidity. She keeps her eyes to the floor as technicians attach wires to her body.

TECHNICIAN #1

This last connection is made, Doctor.

EMMETT VALE

(to Subject One) This test will determine if even a small percentage of your strength has returned. We'll lower the weight slowly, adjusting with your bio-electric aura accordingly.​

Subject One glances up. Suspended overhead is a massive 100-ton steel weight.

EMMETT VALE

Let's begin the test.​

The weight descends. Subject One raises her arms, pressing against the mass as it meets her.

TECHNICIAN #2

She's bearing two tons.

EMMETT VALE

(nods) Continue.​

The weight is increased incrementally. Subject One is now bearing four tons, then six, then eight, then ten. Still no visible signs of strain or fatigue.

TECHNICIAN #2

Bearing sixty-four tons.​

At this point, Subject One has begun showing signs of tension. Slight but evident.

EMMETT VALE

Continue.​

The weight descends. Subject One grits her teeth, shifting to redistribute the weight.

TECHNICIAN #2

Seventy-four tons.​

Subject One can no longer stand upright. She is in a half-crouch, grimacing, straining to support the weight across her back and arms.

EMMETT VALE

Continue.

TECHNICIAN #2

I don't think she can support —

EMMETT VALE

Continue.

The weight descends. One of Subject One's knees buckles, striking the metal-plated floor, denting it. She cries out in agony.

EMMETT VALE

Stop.​

The weight rises, releasing Subject One. She collapses onto her side, spent.

INT. FERTILIZER PLANT/LEVEL 3/VALE'S OFFICE — DAY

Seated at his desk, Vale dictates into a wire recorder.

EMMETT VALE

(cont'd) The compound has an approximate biological half-life of forty-eight hours; its symptoms subsided in increments over the next twenty-four. (beat) Subject One's senses are restored, though I cannot be certain she won't relapse or undergo other changes to her health. Further testing is in order.​

INT. FERTILIZER PLANT/LEVEL 3/SUBJECT ONE'S CELL — DAY

Subject One's cell is a drab concrete room, harshly lit by a ceiling light fixture. Mostly spartan, it is furnished with some few luxuries: a small desk, complete with phonograph player, records, and a half-dozen books braced between bookends. Lying upon her cot, hands folded beneath her head, Subject One listens in on Vale with her super hearing.

EMMETT VALE

(O.S.) The compound has proven an effective counterbalance. I recommend Subject One's cell be reinforced with it once enough bars have been synthesized. In the interval, equipping the guards with outfitted cudgels should be sufficient.​

EXT. KENT FARM — WHEAT FIELD — NIGHT

Jonathan Kent is busy removing a large boulder embedded in the ground. Working with a long pry bar, he struggles to uproot the stubborn boulder. Though a virile man still, Jonathan is beginning to show the signs of age; his blond hair is starting to fade to a pale gray and he now wears his glasses on a permanent basis.

As Jonathan sweats and strains against the boulder, Clark walks up to him, his red-haired dog Rusty — son of Shelby — running circles about his heels. Seventeen years old, Clark has grown into a strapping young man — tall, broad-shouldered, and rustically handsome.

CLARK

Pa?

JONATHAN

(busy) Hrm?

CLARK

Can I help?​

Struggling with the pry bar for a few more seconds, Jonathan finally gives the futile effort up. Taking off the hat he's wearing, he wipes his moist brow, sighing with exasperation.

JONATHAN

(steps back) You're gonna need something for leverage, son.​

Stepping up to the boulder, Clark reaches under and uproots it, holding it aloft with one hand effortlessly. This is a Clark who wouldn't struggle lifting the rear of the Model T now.

CLARK

Where do you want it?

JONATHAN

(smiles) Let's take it to the barn, around back.​

Leaving the field, they take the boulder behind the barn, where Clark gently sets it down on the ground. With a few short whacks, he splits the boulder up into smaller chunks to be hauled away later.

CLARK

Is it alright if I head off to the park? I was hoping to meet the gang there.

JONATHAN

All your chores done?

CLARK

Uh-huh.

JONATHAN

Then what do you need my permission for? (claps Clark on back) School starts tomorrow. Make the most of these precious few hours.

CLARK

(grins) Thanks, Pa.

JONATHAN

Just don't be late getting back for supper.

CLARK

Am I ever?​

Before Jonathan can reply, Clark is gone in a flash. Shaking his head, Jonathan takes his hat and slaps a boulder chunk with it, smiling.

EXT. BYRNE PARK — DAY

It is a sunny, late Labor Day afternoon. Though most visitors have retired home for the coming evening, several people are still present, playing games, flying kites, talking, reading, or just sitting and milling about.

Dropping out of super speed, Clark arrives on the park outskirts, well out of view of anyone. Checking his clothes over to make certain they are neat and clean, he proceeds onward, walking at a leisurely pace. He soon spots Lana and Pete. Like Clark, they, too, have matured into young adults. Pete is tall, almost as tall as Clark, just as handsome, but lanky in build. Lana, shorter than the two boys but still tall for a lady, is a beauty with large thick-lashed eyes, full cheeks, and full pink lips, a large congregation of freckles covering her exposed skin only adding to her natural beauty. Sharing a bench, the pair are deep in conversation, too busy to notice Clark.

CLARK

(waves) Lana! Pete!​

Noticing Clark, they rise from the bench. Clark joins them.

PETE

(claps Clark on arm) Glad to see you made it out today, fella.

CLARK

Summer break's almost over. Like my pa said, "Make the most of these precious few hours." (beat) Brought the pigskin?

LANA

(brings out football) bien sûr.​

Heading out to a clear area on the grass, the three begin playing catch.

PETE

(tosses ball to Lana) Returning to the Torch again this year, Lana?

LANA

(catches ball) Returning to this question again this year, Pete?​

Lana tosses the ball to Clark, who tosses it back to Pete.

PETE

(catches ball) Well, yeah. This is senior year. (tosses ball to Lana)

LANA

(catches ball) So? (tosses ball to Pete)

PETE

(catches ball) You've been editor-in-chief of the school paper three years straight. Don't you wanna give something fun a run your final year? (tosses ball to Clark)

CLARK

(catches ball) Working on the Torch is plenty fun, Pete. (tosses ball to Lana)

PETE

You think milking cows is fun, Kent.

LANA

(catches ball) You'd rather I try out for cheerleading? (tosses ball to Pete)

PETE

(catches ball) Getting dolled up in a cute number? Hoofing it for the boys on the field? Flashing those grand gams of yours? A mite niftier than sitting on your keister in a cramped, fusty office getting an edge off mimeograph fumes, I can tell you. (tosses ball to Clark)

LANA

Sorry, Pete. Tried that freshman year; didn't take to it. (intercepts ball) Go long.​

Jogging out, Clark spreads his arms high. Lana sends the football sailing through the air; Clark just barely misses it. He goes to retrieve the ball.

LANA

(to Pete) Though if you want to admire my grand gams, you need only ask.​

As Clark returns with the ball, Lana hikes the hem of her skirt up to her thigh, affording both boys a lingering look at one long, shapely, creamy leg.

CLARK

(drops football) Hot damn!

Flashing a sexy grin, Lana drops her skirt back in place.

A couple hours later.

With the sun beginning to set, the three call it a day. Giving their farewells, they part to return home.

EXT. KENT FARM — BARN — SUNSET

Returning from the park, Clark crosses past the barn on his way to the house.

KENNY

(O.C.) Hey, Clark! Clark, up here!​

Stopping, Clark turns and looks up to the barn. He can just make out Kenny standing in the loft's open door.

INT. BARN/LOFT — SUNSET

Clark climbs the ladder to the loft, where he finds Kenny sitting in a wooden chair by the loft door, casually sipping from a bottle of root beer as he looks out, seemingly a million miles away. As tall as Pete but even leaner, he'd look handsome if he wasn't so painfully thin.

Turning to Clark, the black teenager hoists up a small carrying case of root beer.

KENNY

Have one.​

Clark silently takes one of the bottles. Placing his thumbnail under the rim of the metal cap, he pops it off with one flick of his thumb.

KENNY

I still haven't learned how you do that.

CLARK

Trade secret.

KENNY

You out with Pete and Lana?

CLARK

At the park, yeah.

KENNY

(looks out loft door) Those were the days, weren't they? Just us four, running wild all summer-long, day and night. (beat) Your folks always understood. My dad never did.​

Clark takes a seat in a second chair beside Kenny.

CLARK

(takes sip) How's your pa? Doing any better?

KENNY

Worse. A lot worse. (takes sip) I won't be coming back this year, Clark.

CLARK

(frowns) What do you mean, won't be coming back?

KENNY

I'll be needed at the gas station full-time now. I won't have time for school anymore.

CLARK

Ken, this is our senior year. Graduation's this spring.

KENNY

And I know you'll make it — with flying colours. (finishes bottle) Keep the rest.​

Morose, Kenny rises and crosses over to the ladder.

EXT. BRAVERMAN HOME/FRONT YARD — TWILIGHT

Kenny arrives home. The Braverman home is a cottage in shabby, weather-beaten, but otherwise alright condition.

INT. BRAVERMAN HOME/LIVING ROOM — TWILIGHT

Within the confines of the cottage living room we finding AL BRAVERMAN sitting in a threadbare armchair, a bottle of moonshine cradled in his lap. Eyelids droopy, lower lip hanging low, nose misshapen, chin unshaven, and frame and features positively skeletal, he is a homely man. His bleary eyes are quite yellow, but that could be due to the dirty lighting afforded by the living room's kerosene lamp.

As Kenny enters the cottage, he reluctantly steps into the living room doorway and stands there, watching his father for a sign of acknowledgement. Taking a long sip from his bottle, Al takes a gander at his son. Spitting a stream of saliva through the gap in his bottom front teeth, he returns to watching nothing.

INT. BRAVERMAN HOME/KITCHEN — TWILIGHT

Entering the kitchen, Kenny begins preparing supper. As he lights a fire in the wood stove, he rests a finger against his lips in thought.

INT. BRAVERMAN HOME/LIVING ROOM — TWILIGHT

Returned to the doorway, Kenny finds Al slipped into a doze. The bottle, held limply now in his hands, begins to tilt precariously forward, threatening to spill. Kenny strides up to the armchair and stills the bottle. This action is enough to jolt Al out of his light slumber. Thinking his son is trying to steal his bottle, the ugliness of Al's face deepens with a scowl as he slaps Kenny hard against the face. Kenny rears back. Al stares hard at Kenny for several long seconds, then falls back into unconsciousness.

INT. BRAVERMAN HOME/KENNY'S BEDROOM — TWILIGHT

Kenny enters his bedroom. Unlike the rest of the home, this room is kept clean and relatively tidy, though there are books everywhere, hardcover and paperback, fiction and nonfiction. Closing his door behind him, he strides up to his desk. Opening the top drawer, he reveals the revolver nestled inside.

Withdrawing the revolver, he pulls back the hammer, aiming it at the bedroom door, in the direction of his father. As Kenny keeps the barrel of the gun trained in that direction, his face twists with deep-seated loathing, his hand and arm beginning to violently shake with suppressed rage.
 
Top Bottom