웹개발공작소

KAFKA
by
Lem Dobbs
        PRAGUE - MORNING



The Old Town is quiet.  It's very early in the twisted

streets of this ancient ghetto.  Dark corners casting a

medieval spell over a modern century oblivious to their

romance and mystery.
The River is the dividing line.  Elegant gardens on the

opposite bank embracing the monotonous solemnity of the New

Town, tower steeples silhouetted against the sombre sky.
An empty motor bus rattles along a deserted street.
A Gothic bridge links the two halves of the strange city.

Its half-moon arches becoming circles as they meet their

reflections in the water.  Thin mist swirls over the

cobblestones above.
A few boats in the water.  Fishermen casting their lines in

silence.  One or two lights now burning in buildings beyond.
In the Old Town Square the great clock on the cathedral

strikes six.
                                                       CUT:


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			THE LOST WORLD

			 JURASSIC PARK



Screenplay by

David Koepp



		     based on the novel by

Michael Crichton

	EXT. TROPICAL LAGOON - DAY



A 135-foot-luxury yacht is anchored just offshore in a

tropical lagoon.  The beach is a stunning crescent of white

sand at the jungle fringe, utterly deserted.
				ISLA SORNA

		87 miles southeast of Nublar
Two SHIP HANDS, dressed in white uniforms, have set up a

picnic table with three chairs on the sand and are carefully

laying out luncheon service -- fine china, silver, crystal

decanters with red and white wine.
PAUL BOWMAN, fortyish, sits in a chair off to the side,

reading.  MRS. BOWMAN, painfully thin, with the perpetually

surprised look of a woman who's had her eyes done more than

once, supervises the settings of the table.
She looks up and sees a little girl, CATHY, seven or eight

years old, wandering off down the beach.
				MRS. BOWMAN


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