Written by: Joseph C. Jukic
Directed by: Angelina Jolie
Starring: Pax Thien Jolie-Pitt
THE STORY ARCH
- Act I: The Call to the Jungle. We meet LINH (a fierce, disillusioned young woman) and NGUYEN (played by Pax Thien Jolie-Pitt), a scout caught between his duty to his village and the encroaching war.
- Act II: The Iron Women. Focuses on the “Long-Haired Army”—the female guerrilla fighters. They navigate the Cu Chi tunnels and the psychological toll of asymmetric warfare.
- Act III: The Reckoning. A climactic battle at a nameless ridge where the “Empire” realizes the land cannot be owned, only endured.
SCENE 1
EXT. CENTRAL HIGHLANDS – DUSK
A canopy of emerald green breathes. The air is thick enough to chew.
SUPERIMPOSED: 1968. THE AN KHE PASS.
The silence is rhythmic—insects, dripping water, and then… the crunch of a dry leaf.
A young man, NGUYEN (19, lean, eyes like flint—PAX THIEN JOLIE-PITT), freezes. He carries a Mosin-Nagant rifle like it’s an extension of his own spine. He signals to the shadows behind him.
From the ferns, three women emerge. They aren’t just soldiers; they are ghosts draped in black silk and mud. Leading them is LINH (20s). Her face is a map of stoicism.
NGUYEN (in Vietnamese, subtitled)
The metal birds are coming. I can smell the fuel on the wind.
LINH Let them come. The soil is hungry.
Linh kneels, pressing her palm to the earth. She isn’t checking for vibrations; she’s saying a prayer to the ancestors.
LINH They call this a “theater of war.” They think we are the actors. They don’t realize the jungle is the only director that matters.
EXT. SKY – CONTINUOUS
The distant thwack-thwack-thwack of Huey helicopters breaks the peace. They appear as black dots against a bruised purple sky.
NGUYEN (A dry, wit-filled smirk)
They’re late for dinner.
Linh looks at Nguyen. A rare, fleeting moment of kinship.
LINH Then let’s make sure the table is set.
She pulls a tripwire from her pack. Nguyen nods and vanishes into the brush with the grace of a predator.
CUT TO BLACK.
TITLE CARD: VIETNAM: GRAVEYARD OF EMPIRES
PRODUCTION NOTES
- Visual Style: High-contrast cinematography. Deep greens and muddy browns. The camera should feel handheld and intimate, mirroring the claustrophobia of the jungle.
- Thematic Core: This isn’t just about combat; it’s about the endurance of the Vietnamese spirit and the specific, often overlooked sacrifices of the women who fought on the front lines.
SCENE 14
INT. DAMP BUNKER – NIGHT
Rain lashes the jungle canopy above, muffled by six feet of packed earth. A single kerosene lamp flickers, casting long, dancing shadows against the dirt walls.
NGUYEN sits on a crate, his rifle leaning against his knee. In his hands is a crumpled, water-stained copy of Stars and Stripes, scavenged from a discarded American rucksack.
LINH enters, shaking water from her scarf. She notices him staring intensely at the front page.
LINH What does the enemy say today? More lies about the body count?
Nguyen doesn’t look up. He smoothes the paper with a dirt-stained thumb. A grainy photo of MARTIN LUTHER KING JR. stares back at him.
NGUYEN A monk was killed. Not one of ours. An American.
LINH (Skeptical) The Americans kill their own?
NGUYEN The ones who speak of peace, yes. This man… he spoke for the poor. He spoke against this war. He said the bombs in Vietnam explode in the streets of his own cities.
Nguyen looks at the date on the paper. April 1968. He looks at the “Graveyard” surrounding them. He shifts his gaze to a small, leather-bound book tucked into his vest—a translation of the Psalms left behind by a French priest years ago.
He speaks the words not as a believer, but as a poet recognizing a dark truth.
NGUYEN (Softly, in English) “The Kings and their armies are in desperate flight…”
He switches back to Vietnamese, his voice gaining a cold, rhythmic edge.
NGUYEN (CONT’D) “The women at home divide the spoil.”
Linh pauses, her hand on her holster. She hears the weight in his voice—the realization that empires are fragile things, held together by ego and paper, while the earth remains.
LINH Psalm 68. My mother used to say the French brought that book to save our souls, but they forgot it also predicts their end.
NGUYEN (Folding the paper) They fight for a king who is already dead. They just haven’t heard the news yet.
Nguyen stands, picks up his rifle, and blows out the lamp.
FADE TO BLACK.
SCENE 22
EXT. RAINFOREST CANOPY – DAY
The heat is a physical weight. High above, the sky is a searing, predatory blue.
NGUYEN is perched in the crook of a massive banyan tree, fifty feet above the forest floor. He adjusted his binoculars. On the horizon, four black specks materialize. The “Huey” Bell UH-1 Gunships.
The sound reaches him a second later—a rhythmic, guttural throb that vibrates in his marrow. Thwap-thwap-thwap-thwap.
Nguyen pulls the small, weathered book from his vest. He flips the thin pages with a practiced hand, his eyes darting between the approaching steel and the printed word.
NGUYEN (A whisper, barely audible over the rising roar) “Sing to God, sing in praise of his name, extol him who rides on the clouds…”
The lead gunship tilts, its nose dipping like a hawk spotting a field mouse. The M60 machine guns mounted on the doors are visible now—black stingers ready to spit lead.
NGUYEN (CONT’D) “…rejoice before him—his name is the Lord.”
He watches as the “rider of the clouds” lets loose. A volley of rockets streaks from the pods, trailing white ribbons of smoke. They arch beautifully, terrifyingly, toward the treeline a kilometer away.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The forest floor erupts in orange blossoms of fire. Even from his height, Nguyen feels the hot breath of the explosions.
He looks back at the text. He isn’t praying for salvation; he is observing a grim irony. To the boys in the cockpits, they are gods of the air. To Nguyen, they are just the latest occupants of a graveyard.
NGUYEN (In Vietnamese, with a sharp edge) You think the clouds belong to you. But the earth belongs to us.
He snaps the book shut and tucks it away. He grabs a signal mirror from his pocket. With a steady hand, he catches the sun and flashes a warning to the units below—three quick bursts of light.
Below him, the jungle swallows the flash. The female soldiers of the unit vanish into the brush and the trap-doors of the earth, turning the “Graveyard” into a silent, waiting mouth.
NGUYEN (CONT’D) Ride your clouds, little kings. The ground is waiting.
Nguyen slides down the trunk with the fluid speed of a lizard as the shadow of the lead helicopter sweeps over the canopy, darkening the world for a heartbeat.
SCENE 35
INT. CU CHI TUNNELS – “THE STRATEGY ROOM” – NIGHT
A low-ceilinged cavern carved from the red clay. Roots hang from the ceiling like veins. The air is stagnant, smelling of salt, earth, and sweat.
A dozen female soldiers—THE LONG-HAIRED ARMY—sit in a circle. They are cleaning AK-47s by the light of a single tallow candle. LINH sharpens a bamboo stake, her eyes fixed on Nguyen.
NGUYEN stands by a map pinned to the dirt wall. He holds the tattered Stars and Stripes from the previous week. He looks at his comrades, his voice low but resonant, echoing in the narrow space.
NGUYEN The Americans call us “rebels.” They say we are the ones who defy the order of the world. But they do not know what a rebel truly is.
He opens his small book of Psalms. The pages are translucent with oil and age. He reads 68 with a chilling, measured pace.
NGUYEN (CONT’D) “You went up to its lofty height; you took captives, received slaves as tribute. No rebels can live in the presence of God.”
He looks up, the candlelight reflecting in his dark pupils.
NGUYEN (CONT’D) The man who pulled the trigger in Memphis… the one who murdered the monk, Martin Luther King… he was a man from their own South. A rebel against the very peace they claim to bring here.
One of the younger soldiers, THI (17), looks up from her rifle.
THI Why would he kill a man of peace from his own land?
NGUYEN Because in the empire of the blind, the man who sees is the enemy. That assassin represents the rot in their own house. They come here to “liberate” us, yet they cannot stop the rebels in their own streets from killing their prophets.
Nguyen slams the paper onto the dirt floor.
NGUYEN (CONT’D) The “lofty height” they seek is a mountain of corpses. They take captives here, they take slaves of their own people there. They think they are in the presence of God because they fly in the clouds.
He leans into the circle, his face inches from Thi’s.
NGUYEN (CONT’D) But the Psalm says no rebel can live there. Their empire is a house divided. A house divided cannot stand against a forest that is united.
Linh stands up, the sharpened stake gleaming. She looks at the unit, then at Nguyen.
LINH If they are busy killing their own saints, they won’t see the devils coming from the ground.
Nguyen nods. He picks up his rifle. The transition from scholar to soldier is instantaneous.
NGUYEN Let them keep their heights. We own the depth.
FADE OUT.
SCENE 42
EXT. HIDDEN ENCAMPMENT – DAY
A canopy of camouflage netting filters the sun into jagged patterns of light. NGUYEN is sharpening a machete when BAO (50s, a seasoned Intelligence Officer with a weary, knowing face) approaches.
Bao carries a leather dossier—spoils from a high-ranking interrogation in the North.
BAO The prisoners are talking, Nguyen. Even the ones with “Silver Wings” on their chests.
NGUYEN The pilots usually have the most to lose. What does the high-born one say? The Senator’s son?
BAO (Lighting a hand-rolled cigarette) He’s broken. Not from the beatings, but from the realization. He told the officers that the men who sent him here—the men in Washington, the ones who went to their great University, Yale—they belong to a secret circle. A cult of “Skull and Bones.”
Nguyen stops sharpening. The screech of stone against steel ceases. He looks up, intrigued.
NGUYEN A death cult? In the heart of their democracy?
BAO He says they worship the grave to gain power over the living. They use the bones of the dead to decide who dies next in places like this. They think they have mastered death.
Nguyen reaches for his weathered book. He doesn’t have to look long to find the answer. He turns to the sixty-eighth Psalm, his thumb tracing the jagged edges of the paper.
NGUYEN They think the grave belongs to them. They are mistaken.
He reads, his voice dropping into a register of cold, prophetic certainty.
NGUYEN (CONT’D) “Our God is a God who saves; escape from death is in the Lord God’s hands.”
Nguyen stands up, looking out toward the dense, unyielding jungle. He thinks of the “Bonesmen” in their hallowed halls, thousands of miles away, moving pins on a map.
NGUYEN (CONT’D) “God will crush the skulls of the enemy, the hairy heads of those who walk in sin.”
He turns to Bao, a dark wit flickering in his eyes.
NGUYEN (CONT’D) If they want to worship skulls, we will give them plenty to look at. They walk in sin across our soil, thinking their pedigree protects them. But the Lord of this land is the land itself.
BAO The pilot cried when he said it. He realized he wasn’t fighting for “freedom.” He was just a sacrifice for his masters’ collection.
NGUYEN (Sheathing his machete) Then we are doing him a favor. We are breaking the cult, one “hairy head” at a time. Tell the sisters to prepare the ambush at the creek. If the Empire is run by death, let us show them how well we know their god.
Nguyen picks up his rifle. He looks like a man who has found a new, singular purpose: to prove that even the most elite “Bonesman” bleeds the same red as the clay.
FADE TO BLACK.
SCENE 55
EXT. MANGROVE SWAMP – DAWN
A thick, silver mist clings to the water’s surface. The only sound is the rhythmic dip of a paddle. BAO sits in the bow of a small sampan, his face illuminated by the ghost-light of the fog. NGUYEN stands at the stern, poling them through the black water.
Bao holds a fresh dispatch, printed on thin, grey paper.
BAO The second brother is gone. Los Angeles. Shot in a kitchen after he spoke of ending the war.
Nguyen stops poling. The sampan drifts into a cluster of mangrove roots.
NGUYEN RFK? The one who was supposed to take us home?
BAO (Nodding) The intelligence says the Americans are confused. They claim a lone madman did it. But the pilot we held—the Senator’s son—he didn’t look surprised when he heard the rumors of the plot. He spoke again of the “Tomb” at Yale. The Bonesmen.
NGUYEN The secret circle. Why so much confidential secrecy, Bao? If their cause is just, why do they hide their names and their rituals?
BAO Because power is a ghost. It only works if you cannot see where it begins or ends. They kill their own princes to keep the machinery of the war grinding. It is a sacrifice to their cult of bones.
Nguyen reaches for his pocket Bible, but he doesn’t open it this time. He knows the lines by heart. He looks at the dark, swirling water, seeing the reflection of a world he no longer recognizes as sane.
NGUYEN They think they are the masters of the transition. They think they decide who lives and who becomes a ghost.
He recites, his voice cutting through the mist like a blade.
NGUYEN (CONT’D) “Our God is a God who saves; escape from death is in the LORD God’s hands.”
He looks at Bao, his eyes narrowing.
NGUYEN (CONT’D) “God will crush the skulls of the enemy, the hairy heads of those who walk in sin.”
BAO The “hairy heads” are sitting in Washington, Nguyen. They aren’t in the mud with their soldiers.
NGUYEN (Pushing the pole back into the silt) It doesn’t matter. The Psalm says they cannot escape. They worship the skull, so they shall become it. They think their secrecy protects them, but the earth hears everything. Even the whispers in their “Tomb.”
The sampan moves forward, disappearing into the white void of the mist.
NGUYEN (CONT’D) If they have turned their own country into a graveyard for their leaders, what chance do they think they have in ours?
FADE OUT.
SCENE 61
INT. ANCIENT PAGODA RUINS – NIGHT
A headless stone Buddha sits in the corner, reclaimed by moss. Rain drips through the shattered roof, creating a rhythmic tink-tink-tink against a rusted ammo can.
BAO sits by a small fire, feeding it pages from a captured flight manual. NGUYEN sits opposite him, cleaning the bolt of his rifle.
BAO I saw him again today. The pilot from the ’67 crash. The one who told us about the “Tomb” at Yale.
NGUYEN The Senator’s son?
BAO (Nodding) John McCain. He carries the name of his father and his grandfather—both Admirals. He is the prince of their Navy. And yet, he looks at the sky as if it betrayed him.
Bao stares into the orange embers of the fire.
BAO (CONT’D) He spoke more of the cult. He said they believe the blood of the “unworthy” feeds the roots of their power. It reminded me of that story in your book, Nguyen. The one about the two brothers.
NGUYEN Cain and Abel.
BAO Yes. Cain killed his brother because he was jealous of the light. He thought by spilling Abel’s blood into the soil, he could keep the world for himself.
NGUYEN (Quoting softly) “The voice of thy brother’s blood crieth unto me from the ground.”
BAO The McCain boy… he is an Abel sent by Cains. The men of the Skull and Bones sit in their leather chairs and send their own “brothers” to die in this mud, just to see if they can command the wind. They are an empire of Cains, Nguyen. They have the mark on their foreheads.
Nguyen looks at the shadow of the headless Buddha on the wall. He thinks of the “confidential secrecy” Bao mentioned before—the hidden hand that guides the bullet in Memphis, the bullet in Los Angeles, and the napalm in the Highlands.
NGUYEN If they are Cain, then they are destined to wander. The Bible says Cain was cursed to be a fugitive and a vagabond on the earth.
He picks up his copy of the Psalms, turning to the familiar passage.
NGUYEN (CONT’D) “God will crush the skulls of the enemy…”
He looks at Bao, his face hardened by the firelight.
NGUYEN (CONT’D) Perhaps that is why they call it “Skull and Bones.” They aren’t celebrating power. They are celebrating their own end. They are gathering the pieces of what they will become once the earth is finished with them.
BAO They think the secret makes them gods. But secrets are just lies that haven’t rotted yet.
Nguyen stands up and kicks dirt over the fire, plunging the ruins into a sudden, heavy darkness.
NGUYEN Let McCain tell his stories. The more he talks, the more he realizes his “Kings” are just ghosts in suits. We don’t need a secret society, Bao. We have the trees. And the trees don’t keep secrets—they just wait.
FADE OUT.