Chicago Jones and the Temple of Doom
Directed by Robert Townsend
An underground cave with light coming from a tunnel.
Through the tunnel, we hear the sound of footsteps and heavy breathing. A LARGE SHADOW is visible against the tunnel wall, running towards the cave.
From the mouth of the tunnel emerges DARLA, her head on a swivel. She’s a young, curvy, light skinned woman, wearing a billowy floral dress, covered in dirt. She’s frantic:
“Oh my god.”
The camera moves from Darla’s panicked face UP to the red-colored nail of her index finger. She is POINTING UP—past an avalanched wall of rocks—to an illuminated opening: a streak of light beams down into the cave.
“I think I see a way out. Let’s go!” continues Darla, looking back towards the tunnel. Who is she talking to?
Against the wall of the tunnel, the long throw of another shadow approaches. It’s walking veryyyy slowly towards the opening.
“Chiggy!!” She pleads. “Come on!!”
The shadow lumbers still. Darla scoffs:
“Ughh!!!”
She turns toward the rock wall and begins climbing. She’s a quarter of the way up when:
“I ain’t climbin’ up there.” Says a voice.
Darla turns around.
“What do you mean, Chiggy!? We gotta go!” Darla pleads, gesturing to the light coming out of the ceiling.
Our camera FOLLOWS the beam of light, past Darla’s face, down into the cave, as a wide-brimmed hat with a feather slides into the path of the beam. The hat tilts up, revealing the face of a man:
“I said I ain’t climbin’ up there, bitch.”
This is CHICAGO JONES. Early 40s, medium complexion, face a lil strung out, with a patchy goatee. His face says one thing: skeptical.
“Chiggy, it’s right there!” says Darla, still pointing.
“We gon have to find ourselves another way outta here. Because I’m not finna climb up no god damn rocks.”
Darla is beside herself.
“They’re gonna come after us once they realize we escaped!”
“Well, these hands work, sweetie. I was with the escaping shit up until the climbing shit came into play. I guess I’m just gonna have to be with the fighting shit now.”
“Chiggy, please. We came all this way. Let’s go!”
“Bitch, what did I say? I am wearing Eggshell. I’m not climbing anything.”
Chicago double-hand gestures down to the rest of his outfit, and our camera pans with it. He is indeed wearing an off white shirt and pants underneath a khaki utility jacket. It’s definitely some fly shit.
“Chiggy, please! Look at me. I’m covered in dirt, and this is one of my favorite dresses.”
“Well, just cause you ain’t got no sense don’t mean I have to forfeit mine”
“Ughhh!!”
An old, scratchy SIREN sounds. It floats, jarringly, through the tunnels of the underground.
Chicago and Darla look at each other: her with panic, him with disgust.
We move to—
—a makeshift underground laboratory.
A worker in uniform rotates a handle attached to a large speaker. This is the source of the siren.
Workers all around begin mobilizing. We track one of them as he approaches a glass office with generals and uniformed men of varying ranks inside. He flings the door open:
“General, two of the hostages are no longer in their cell.”
“Well, why all the panic? They won’t get far. This place is completely walled off.”
“It’s Chicago Jones, sir.”
“Oh, damnit.”
This is General Ironside, late 50s, white, fully in uniform with grey hair and a strong ass chin. He begins rubbing the bridge of his nose. Post-sigh, he continues:
“That girl with him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Shit.”
“Sir?”
“Alright. You two come with me. Let’s use the dogs.”
Loud barking noises. Just outside of the office: a row of violently rumbling cages. A petrified worker walks over slowly to unlatch them.
Back at the cave.
Chicago sits calmly on a large rock, chewing on a tooth pick. The siren still blares.
“What the fuck is wrong with you Chiggy! I swear!!”
“How much longer you gon keep fussin?”
“They are going to FIND us! Unlike you, I’m trying to get the FUCK up outta here!”
“Go for it. Ain’t nobody stopping you.”
“Chiggy there are heavy rocks up here, I need your help.”
No response.
Darla picks up a few small pebbles, she begins hurling them at Chicago. One clips the brim of his hat.
Chicago stands up, incensed. He dusts off his clothing and points at Darla:
“Woman! Don’t play with me! I’ll fuck you up!”
“Come help me!”
“Oh, I’ll come help you! You gon make me come up that wall after all. Stop playin around.”
Chicago sits back down on his rock, and crosses one leg over the other. He waits. Darla is even more frantic than before. With heavy breath, she keeps pulling rocks off the walls, scavenging for more light to peek through.
“Trying to tell me what to do. Bitch, they know who I am. Watch how I work these fools.” Chicago mumbles to himself.
Through the mouth of the tunnel, we begin to hear the ravenous barks of dogs. Darla reacts, as she excavates harder:
“Oh my god!! Ughh!!”
“Bitch, calm down! I got this.”
Chicago stands up. He is not necessarily built different, but “wiry athleticism” is more the word for it. His shoulders slope forward and his arms are lanky. He begins miming practice punches.
Darla, exhausted, forfeits her archaeology efforts. She slumps down. The barks of the dogs get louder.
“Chiggy, please.” Darla says with spent energy.
“Girl, I told you what’s about to happen: I’ma talk these fools down… punch ‘em out when they least expect… then take whatever keys they got. Then boom, we outta here. Come down here and watch me do this shit.”
“Chiggy, you don’t understand…”
Darla pauses for a tired exhale, then continues:
“…I stole the Detnica Diamond.”
Chicago’s neck cranes around and his face is a full on scowl:
“You WHAT?”
“Chiggy, please.”
“You lyin!”
“I’m sorry, Chiggy.”
Darla unlatches her bra and pulls out a small irregularly shaped diamond with a tribal marking etched into the side of it. It’s divine.
“I told you we were gonna come back for that shit after we got outta here!”
“I had to take the chance. It was right there…”
“Right where?”
In Darla’s hand, the diamond catches the beam of light, refracting it everywhere.
One of these new beams of light shines directly at us, piercing right INTO THE FRAME, sending us to—
A flashback.
A private office in the back of the laboratory. Lights low. We’re in close on General Ironside’s face. He is sweating and grunting hard. His grunts PULSE in unison with a knocking sound.
Opposite: a close up of Darla, on her back, pretending to enjoy the exchange.
MINUTES LATER
Ironside is getting dressed. Darla, ashamed but firm, sits on the edge of the infirmary style bed. Ironside turns to her:
“You know, I could use you around here.”
“I’m sure you could.”
“We’ve spent so much time down here, I forget what it feels like to be around something so… well-designed.”
Darla hears this, but doesn’t turn to look in his direction. Ironside walks up behind her and caresses her shoulder, continuing:
“No hard feelings, right?”
“Whatever you say. As long as you hold up your end of the deal.”
“Oh, I will. Immunity for you and that character you’re with.”
“And?”
“That was it, right?”
Darla turns around swiftly, her bright red-nailed index finger pointed at Ironside’s chin.
“Don’t play with me!”
“Okay, okay. I’ll get you the money you asked for. No problem. But next time ask me before we start the shenanigans. I tend to forget things when my pants are down.” jests Ironside, smiling at her smugly.
*SPLINK: A glimmer in the corner of Darla’s vision. A rare looking asymmetrical diamond, roughly the size of a golfball sits on a desk, underneath a lamp. Next to it: a magnifying glass and a long sheet of notes and documentation. She knows exactly what it is, she’s no slouch when it comes to jewels. This is the coveted DETNICA DIAMOND. She quickly re-focuses:
“Damn right you gonna get me that money.” Darla says, looking directly into Ironside’s cold, dead eyes.
“Look, we have to keep drilling. I’m going to send you back to the cell with everyone else so no one suspects anything but… not a word of this to anybody.”
“You know I want my money. Why the fuck would I say anything?”
“Good, because I can’t hand out favors to everyone. And not everyone has what I need.”
Ironside slaps Darla on the butt, grabbing a handful. She grimaces internally. Ironside, turning to exit:
“I’ll send someone in to walk you back.”
Ironside slips out of the room, and almost instantly a guard shuffles in. He looks Darla up and down.
Darla meets the guard’s stern look with a wobbly smile. She’s slightly out of breath, as she adjusts her bra hastily:
“So soon? Darn it.”
“Let’s go.”
She takes a deep breath and is escorted out.
A flash of light and we’re—
—back in real time. Close on the refracting diamond in Darla’s outstretched hand. Without hesitation, Chicago:
“Bitch, what??”
“Chiggy, I’m sorry.”
“What the FUCK is wrong with you?”
“I was going to tell you, I just… I had to take the chance.”
“No, fuck the diamond. The hell you doing fuckin on that bitchmade white man? God damn it, woman!”
“Chiggy, what was I supposed to do? He offered me a way out!”
Chicago’s mouth drops. Darla comes down to console him. He doesn’t even hear or see Darla, but instead the visual of her deed seeps deeper into his mind’s eye.
“God damn it! Son of a mothafucka!”
Chicago was practicing punching before, but now he’s really swinging on the air around him. On some Boyz in the Hood shit.
“Chiggy.”
Chicago starts rapidly pacing, he’s panicking:
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“Chiggy.”
“Girl, you gon’ make me kill this man.”
The dog barks are as loud as can be. Shadows start to form on the tunnel wall at the mouth of the cave.
“Chiggy, no! No one is supposed to know.”
“No shit!”
“Listen, we’ll just talk our way out of this one. He doesn’t know I have it.”
“God damnit, woman! You put me in a tough spot! Can’t believe you!”
The barks are loud loud: They’re here.
The foamy mouths of TWO DOGS peek around the corner first, followed by TWO HENCHMEN, each holding a dog by a THICK braided ROPE of a leash. They are a struggle to contain.
“You are to report back to your holding cells immediately. Or we will be forced to take action.” the henchmen say.
“Fuck you and this hellhole.” Says Chicago, pointing at them. His other fist is balled.
The dogs bark and lunge at him. They are yanked put by the leashes.
“Chiggy, let me do the talking.”
Darla steps up, facing the henchmen:
“Look gentlemen, we just went for a walk and got lost. It’s no biggie. We sure are sorry and we don’t have a problem with that at all.”
Another singular shadow lumbers slowly into the mouth of the tunnel. It’s Ironside. His voice reverberates:
“Oh boy, oh boy.”
“Shit.” says Darla.
He emerges from the mouth of the tunnel in full uniform. He’s a tall man, taller than expected, and the minimal light of the cave frames his chiseled jaw as he steps between the barking dogs. But most obvious about his appearance, to Chicago and Darla at least, is the gunmetal black revolver dangling from his belt loop.
“What happened? You seem so much less talkative now that I’m here.”
Chicago is fuming. The color of his internal monologue in this moment is a boiling, bright red. Darla, trying to cut tension:
“Hello, General.”
“Hello, Darla.”
Ironside flashes a quick look to Chicago, who is scowling directly at him. At his side, two balled fists. The dogs bark.
“And hello, Mr. Chicago Jones. We haven’t had a lot of time to talk down here. But you are a man who comes with a big reputation. It’s unfortunate we had to have our first real interaction under these circumstances.”
Darla, driving Ironside’s gaze back in her direction:
“Circumstances? What do you mean? We just wanted to explore the tunnels for ourselves. You all might have missed a spot and we thought we could… uh… find more for the collection.”
“Oh, cut it out.”
Ironside steps forward, pacing into the space between Chicago and Darla as they stand still. He begins circling them, as the icy black of the revolver catches the beam of light. He looks Darla up and down, inspecting. Stopping on the side of Darla:
“You know what I think?”
Darla plays coy:
“You’re welcome to think a lot of things.”
Ironside is now behind them both. Chicago is red hot, to the point where he’s barely listening to the exchange.
“I think… something in here belongs to me.”
Chiggy about faces towards Ironside with anger in his eyes:
“What, mothafucka!? Fuck do you mean, belong?? I should fuck you up!”
Ironside is stunned. Turns out, Ironside wasn't speaking of Darla. She tries to calm Chicago down over the loud barks of the dogs:
“Chiggy. No.”
“Nah, fuck that, Darla! I’m on his ass!”
Ironside steps back, feigning fear:
“Uh-ohhh. I see what’s happening. Our friend Chicago knows something. Something he’s not supposed to know.”
Darla looks at the ground, in shame. Ironside, putting it all together:
“So that means… you told him. And you told him, because… you were in a bind. Aww, isn’t that sweet? Oh, I see very clearly now: you’re in a bind.
And you’re in a bind because you thought you could get outta here with the big prize. No, the money wasn’t enough for you Darla. You wanted it all.”
Ironside stops, looks at the both of them, then continues with a smirk:
“Oh, you wanted it alright.”
Chicago lunges at Ironside with a fist. Ironside draws the gun, and points it at him. Chicago stands down. Ironside, while gesturing to the gun in his hand:
“Chicago, I was a fan. Still am. I know this isn’t your style. But me personally, I am not above this course of action at all.”
The dogs are REALLY agitated now. With a gun pointed at his face, Chicago fumes:
“Bitchmade motherfucker.”
Ironside raises his voice, beckoning to Darla:
“Where is it?”
No answer. He trains the gun on Darla instead:
“Hand the diamond over. Now.”
Darla starts patting her dress down unseriously, as there are only so many places it could be.
Chicago presses forward slightly. He takes a few steps until Ironside calls towards the henchmen with the dogs, who threaten by lessening their grip of the dogs. *WOOF WOOF!*
“Hold on there, Mr. Jones”
“I swear: if you ain’t have that gun I’d fuck you up real good. I swear to god.”
Darla, finally, retrieves the Detnica Diamond from deep in her bra. She holds it out for Ironside to lay eyes on. Darla’s eyes shoot over to Chicago’s: they make some kind of connection. Ironside, pleased:
“There it is.”
Ironside reaches out the grab the diamond in space, but Darla shifts its placement—she positions the diamond right IN the beam of light, causing a huge refraction. Twenty more light beams ricochet into the space and Darla aims a big fat one straight for Ironside’s eyes. SHWING—
Ironside recoils from the blinding ray:
“Aghhh!!!”
Darla swipes down on his outstretched trigger arm, knocking the gun out of his hand and to the ground.
Before Ironside’s vision recovers, a blurry figure moves into his POV: Chicago Jones LEAPING, fist cocked and aiming straight for his mug. BBOOOOUNK!
Chicago lands a thudding punch to his face.
Ironside goes out cold, falls and hits the ground with a thud. Chicago talks his shit:
“Now who’s talking, motherfucker! Say something now! Bitchmade mothaf—”
Chicago sees movement from the corner of his eye: the unleashed dogs charge toward him.
“Oh shit!!”
Chicago starts running away frantically. Darla, thinking quickly, hurls the Detnica Diamond at the dog closest to her and it clocks the feral mutt square in the forehead. The dog makes a whimper and goes out cold.
The second dog reaches Chicago and leaps up onto him, knocking him to the ground:
"Oh! SHittttrt! Fuck!”
The dog is on top, aiming to bite Chicago’s face off. He holds the dog by the throat resisting, as saliva drips onto him. There is fear in his eyes:
“Aghhhh!!!!”
The dog’s sharp front teeth inch closer and closer to Chicago’s nose:
“No!!!!”
*GUNSHOT!*
The rabid dog on top off Chicago slumps off of him sideways, blood spattering out of its side. It squeals in pain.
Darla, stands several feet off, holding the smoking gun. She breathes heavy. Chicago with wide-eyes:
“Damn, bitch! You almost shot me!!”
Darla stands over Chicago with the barrel pointed at his face.
“I ain't the bitch.”
Darla tosses the gun onto his chest.
“Now get the fuck up, Chicago.”
Chicago stands up and looks at Darla with measured approval. They turn, and look at the two henchmen, still holding on to their leashes. Chicago points the gun in their direction, they grimace.
Chicago then lowers the gun and places it on a nearby rock:
“Like he said. That’s not my style.”
Chicago approaches the two henchmen. He starts loosening his shoulders and miming punches:
“Let’s go y’all.”
The left henchman signals to the right one that he should go first. Before he can protest, he shoves him forward. Reluctantly, he steps towards Chicago with fists raised. They box. Chicago bobs, weaves and lands a few punches. The henchman eats them. They keep boxing. The henchman is no slouch, but Chicago is like that. Left hook, left jab. Right uppercut. Before long, the henchman is bloodied all up and down his face. On a missed punch from Chicago, the henchman grabs Chicago and tries to choke him out. Chicago elbows him in the stomach, sending him backward then sends a mean right hook to his jaw: knocking him out cold.
“That’s right, mothafucka!!”
Chicago talks his shit.
The other henchman has seen enough. He yells with rage and starts flinging the thick, braided leash in his hand. He thrashes about, using it like a whip. He charges at Chicago and flings the whip forward: it makes a loud CRACK! sound that echoes through the cave.
Chicago backpedals.
The henchman moves closer, twirling the rope around and aiming it at Chicago. Another whip that snaps inches in front of Chicago’s feet: CRACK!
Chicago looks to his left: He picks up the gun and shoots the henchman.
The henchman collapses and falls to the ground.
The cave is silent.
Darla and Chicago exchange a look. Then, a smile.
THEME MUSIC PLAYS
Chicago tucks the revolver in his pants. Darla goes over to pick up the Detnica Diamond, wiping the dust off of it.
Darla and Chicago hightail it outta the cave, in search of another way out.
