SCRIPT: "TERMINATOR" by James Cameron


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Sarah's apartment: Sarah and Ginger are crammed into the tiny bathroom, becoming inextricably tangled in each other's cords as they blow-dry, curl hair, and apply make-up. Ginger has her headphones inverted under her chin but in place, and is bouncing to music as she dries her hair. She is wearing a short terry-cloth bathrobe that reveals the greater part of her legs. Sarah is in a skirt and bra. The phone rings and Sarah goes out into the living room to get it.

SARAH (answering the phone): Hello?

VOICE (V.O.) (on phone, deep and breathy): First I'm going to rip the buttons off your blouse, one by one...then run my tongue along your neck, down to your bare, gleaming breasts...


Sarah cups her hand over the mouthpiece and calls out matter-of-factly:

SARAH: Ginger! It's Matt.

She resumes listening.

MATT (V.O.): ...and then slowly pull your jeans off inch by inch and lick your belly in circles, further and further down... then I'll pull off your panties with my teeth...

SARAH (represses laughter, then crossly): Who is this!?


Silence. Then Matt realizes to his horror who he's been talking to.

MATT (V.O.): Oh my God! Sarah! Oh, shit. Jesus, I'm sorry. I thought you were...Can I talk to Ginger?

SARAH: Sure, Bunky.

As Ginger approaches, Sarah hands her the receiver and goes into the bedroom.

GINGER: Hello?


MATT : First I'm gonna rip the buttons off your blouse...

In the bedroom, Sarah picks up four blouses on hangers lying on the bed and goes back into the hallway. In the living room, Ginger is still listening to Matt, nodding, as Sarah enters and starts holding the blouses against herself one by one for Ginger's inspection.

SARAH: What do you think?

GINGER (covering mouthpiece): Great.

Sarah hold up another one.

SARAH: How about this?

GINGER: Great.

SARAH: You're a big help.

GINGER (advisory tone): Alright, the beige one.

SARAH: I hate the beige one.

GINGER (same advisory tone): Don't wear the beige one.

Sarah gathers up the blouses and walks out.

SARAH (V.O.): This guy's probably a schmuck and I don't care what I wear.

A couple of beat, and she's back in the doorway with a concerned expression.

SARAH (continuing): You think the beige?


Sarah poses with Ginger in front of the mirror. They are dressed, made-up, hair-styled and ready.

GINGER (studying their reflection): Better than mortal man deserves.

Sarah grins and goes into the other room.

CUT TO LIVING ROOM: Sarah walks around the room, searching for something.

SARAH (calling): Ginger, have you seen Pugsley?

Ginger enters, stopping beside their phone answering machine.

GINGER: Not lately. Did you check messages?

SARAH (still looking): I thought you did.

She checks under the couch, then behind the drapes. She bends down.

SARAH (from beside curtains): Come here young man. Mind your mother.

Pugsley, the green Iguana cocks its head, blinking vapidly. Sarah lifts the three foot long lizard from his perch on the windowsill. She gives the complacent reptile a kiss on its blunt snout.

GINGER (groaning): Totally nauseating.


Sarah drapes the lizard across her shoulders where it sits contentedly as she looks for her purse. Ginger has been rewinding the message tape. She punches play and a male voice isheard.

VOICE (recorded): Hi, Sarah...Stan Morsky. Uh, something's come up and it looks like I won't be able to make it tonight. I'm really sorry. Call you in a day or so. Sorry. 'Bye.

Sarah stands still, crestfallen.

GINGER: That bum. So what if he has a Porsche, he can't treat you like that...it's Friday night for christ sakes.

SARAH (slumping): I'll live.

GINGER: I'll break his kneecaps.

Sarah resignedly slips Pugsley off her shoulders.

SARAH: You still love me, don't you, Pugsley?

She places Pugsley in a large terrarium with a 'Beware of dog' sign taped on the side.

SARAH (continuing): I'm going to a movie, kiddo. See ya'. You and Matt have a good time.

GINGER (as Sarah exits): We will, kiddo.


Parking garage: Sarah is a small figure in the shadowed echoing garage of her building. She passes the stalls with their inky shadows. The light near her Moped is out. She fumbles in the dark to unlock the chain. She looks up. Did she hear something...masked by the rattle of the chain? There is no movement for the length of the garage. Sarah, inexplicably nervous. She stows the chain and starts the bike. It whines reassuringly.

Sarah jumps on and whirs out of the garage. In a car nearby, Sarah is visible through the windshield as she pulls onto the street. Kyle Reese, hunched down in shadow, watching. He puts the car in gear and pulls out to follow her receding tail-light. Streetlights flash across his face, in stark-lines profile. Mouth cruel where the scar tugs at it.




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