- We're about ready to go here.|- Good.
I'm looking for James.|Has anybody seen James Ballard?
- You know- the producer of this epic.|- I think I saw him in the camera room.
James?
Are you in there?
Could we please get your approval|on our Steadicam shot?
Of course.
Be there in a minute.
Where were you?
In a private aircraft hangar.
Anyone could have walked in.
Did you come?
No.
What about your camera girl?
Did she come?
We were interrupted.
I had to get back to the set.
Poor darling.
Maybe the next one.
Shit.
Not a lot of action here.
They consider this|to be the airport hospital.
This ward is reserved|for air crash victims.
The beds are kept waiting.
Well, if I ground up|during my flying lesson Saturday...
you might find me next to you.
You're getting out of bed soon.
They want you to walk.
The other man-|the dead man-
his wife's a doctor.
Dr Helen Remington.
She's here somewhere,|as a patient, of course.
Maybe you'll find her in the hallway|during one of your walks.
What was her husband?
A chemical engineer|for a food company.
Where's the car?
Outside,|in the visitors car park.
What?
- They brought the car here?|- My car, not yours.
Oh.
Yours is a complete wreck.
The police had to drag it|to the pound.
It's behind the station.
After being bombarded endlessly|by road safety propaganda...
I'm almost relieved to have...
found myself|in an actual accident.
Dr Remington.
- James Ballard?|- Yes.
- Crash victim?|- Yes.
We'll deal with these later.
Both of the front wheels of their car|and the engine...
were driven back|into the driver's section.
Oh, and the floor.
Blood still marked the hood|like little streamers of black lace...
running toward|the windshield wiper cutters.
Tiny flecks were spattered|across the seat and steering wheel...
and the instrument panel was...
buckled inwards...
cracking the clock|and speedometer dials.
The cabin was deformed.
There was dust, glass...
plastic flakes everywhere inside.
The carpeting...
was damp.
It stank of blood|and other body and machine fluids.
I should've gone to the funeral.
I wish I had.
They bury the dead so quickly.
They should leave them|lying around for months.
What about his wife, the woman doctor?|Have you been to visit her yet?
I couldn't.
I feel too close to her.
I don't like the idea|of you getting into a car so soon.
I can't sit on this balcony forever.|I feel like a potted plant.
How can you drive,James?
You can barely walk.
Is traffic heavier now?
There seem to be three times as many|cars as there were before the accident.
I have to leave for work.
After this sort of thing how can people|even look at a car, let alone drive one?
I'm trying to find Charles' car.
It's not here.
Maybe the police|are still holding it.
They said it was here|this morning.
This is your car?
You might tear your glove.
I never should have come here.
I'm surprised the police|don't make it more difficult.
Were you badly hurt?|We saw each other at the hospital.
I don't want the car.
In fact, I was appalled to find|I have to pay to have it scrapped.
Can I give you a lift?
I somehow find myself|driving again.
You haven't told me|where we're going.
I haven't?
- To the airport, if you don't mind.|- The airport?
- Why? Are you leaving?|- Not yet.
Though not soon enough|for some people.
A death in the doctor's family|makes the patients uneasy.
I take it you're not wearing white|to reassure them.
I'll wear a fucking kimono|if I want to.
So, why the airport?
I work in|the immigration department.
- Do you want a cigarette?|- No.
I started to smoke|at the hospital.
Kind of stupid.
All this traffic-
- I'm not sure I can deal with it.|- It's much worse now. Have you noticed?
Yes.
The day I left the hospital...
I had the extraordinary feeling|that all these cars...
were gathering for some special reason|I didn't understand.
There seemed to be|ten times as much traffic.
Are we imagining it?
You've bought yourself|exactly the same car again.
It's the same shape and colour.
We're close to the airport garage.
It won't be busy|this time of day.
"Don't worry.|That guy's gotta see us."
"Don't worry.|That guy's gotta see us."
These were the confident last words of|the brilliant, young Hollywood star...
James Dean...
as he piloted his Porsche|550 Spyder race car...
toward a date with death...
along a lonely stretch|of a California two-lane blacktop-
Route 466.
"Don't worry.|That guy's gotta see us."
The year: 1955.
The day: September 30.
The time: now.
The first star of our show...
is Little Bastard...
James Dean's racing Porsche.
He named it after himself|and had his racing number 130...
painted on it.
Who is that, the announcer?|Do I know him?
That's Vaughan.
He spoke to you at the hospital.
I thought he was|a medical photographer...
doing some sort|of accident research.
He wanted every conceivable detail|about our crash.
When I first met Vaughan|he was a specialist...
in international|computerized traffic systems.
I don't know what he is now.
Which brings us to|the second star.
The stuntman and former race driver|Colin Seagrave.
Colin Seagrave!
He will drive our replica|of James Dean's car.
You up for this?
You bet.
I myself shall play the role of James|Dean's racing mechanic Rolf Vudrich...
sent over from the Porsche factory|in Germany.
This mechanic was himself fated to die|in a car crash in Germany...
The third, and in some ways...
most important player-
the college student,|Donald Turnipseed...
played by movie stuntman|Brett Trask.
Turnipseed was on his way back home|to Fresno for the weekend.
James Dean was on his way|to an automobile race in Salinas.
Salinas was just a dusty town|in Northern California.
The two would meet|for one moment...
but it was a moment...
that would create|a Hollywood legend.
You'll notice that we're not wearing|helmets or safety padding of any kind.
Our cars are not equipped|with roll cages or seat belts.
We rely solely on the skill|of our drivers for our safety...
so that we can bring you|the ultimate in authenticity.
All right.
Here we go.|The fatal crash of James Dean.
Okay, let's wind it up.
Go.
Is this part of the act,|or are they really hurt?
I don't know.|You can never be sure with Vaughan.
This is his show.
Rolf Vudrich...
was thrown from the Porsche...
and spent a year...
in the hospital...
recovering from his injuries.
Donald Turnipseed was found|wandering around in a daze...
but basically unhurt.
James Dean died of a broken neck|and became immortal.
What's the matter?
Help me up.|I'm dizzy. I can't stand.
I know that man Seagrave.
I think he's genuinely hurt.
for fines and possible arrest.
Disperse at once.
- How you doin'?|- I'm all right.
- What's the matter with Seagrave?|- He hit his head, I think.
His balance is off.
Why are the police|taking this so seriously?
It's not the police,|it's the Department of Transport.
It's a big joke.|They have no idea who we really are.
Was I glib?
"James Dean died of a broken neck|and became immortal."
I couldn't resist.
Oh, God.
What happened?
Here. Lie down.
They did the James Dean crash.
It seemed to go perfectly, but then|he was feeling nauseous on the way back.
I'm sure it's concussion.
We're familiar enough with that,|aren't we?
Seagrave.
Seagrave,|I really would like...
to work out the details...
of the Jayne Mansfield crash|with you.
We could do the decapitation.
The head embedded|in the windshield.
And the dead dog thing,|you know.
You know, the chihuahua|in the back seat.
I got it all worked out.
I'll be ready, Vaughan.
I want really big tits.
Out to here.
So the audience can see 'em get|all cut up and crushed on the dashboard.
Yeah, we'll do that.
Ballard, I need your help.
Do you live here with Seagrave?
No, I live in my car.|This is my workshop.
This is my new project.
You recognize her?
That's Gabrielle.
She's right outside the door there.
I thought|you might be missing these.
Here you are,|at the nerve centre.
Vaughan makes everything|look like a crime, doesn't he?
What exactly is your project,|Vaughan?
A book of car crashes?
A medical study?
A sensational documentary?
Global traffic?
It's something...
we are all intimately involved in.
The reshaping of the human body|by modern technology.
He must have fucked a lot of women|in that huge car of his.
It's like a bed on wheels.
It must smell of semen.
It does.
Do you find him attractive?
He's very pale.
Covered with scars.
Would you like to fuck him, though,|in that car?
No.
But when he's in that car, he-
Have you seen his penis?
Looks like it's badly scarred...
from a motorcycle accident.
Is he circumcised?
Can you imagine|what his anus looks like?
Describe it to me.
Would you like to sodomize him?
Would you like to put your penis|right into his anus?
Just thrust it up his anus?
Tell me.|Describe it to me.
Tell me what you would do.
How could you just kiss him|in that car?
Describe how you'd reach over...
and unzip his greasy jeans...
take out his penis.
Would you kiss it|or suck it right away?
Which hand would you hold it in?
Have you ever sucked a penis?
Do you know|what semen tastes like?
Have you ever tasted semen?
Some semen|is saltier than others.
Vaughan's semen|must be very salty.
Have you come?
I'm all right.
Finish your story.
The junior pathologist|at Ashford Hospital.
Then the husband|of a colleague of mine.
Then...
a trainee radiologist.
Then the service manager|at my garage.
You had sex with all those men|in cars?
Only in cars?
Yes.|I didn't plan it that way.
Did you fantasize that Vaughan|was photographing all these sex acts...
as though they were|traffic accidents?
Yes.
They felt like traffic accidents.
We must accumulate|all the paper we can, Ballard.
Some of the stuff|that Helen brought back is terrific.
Tolerances of the human face|in crash impacts.
Mechanisms of-
Where is the-
I'm sure we see this again|in slow motion- closer, I mean.
In detail.
We can watch another tape.
No. I know this tape.
That tape player's fucked.
That's what it is.|It always does that.
It always does that.
You're upset.
I'm all right.
I'm all right now.
I've always wanted|to drive a crash car.
You could get your wish|at any moment.
I mean a crash car|with a history.
Camus' Vega...
Nathaniel West's station wagon...
Grace Kelly's Rover 3500.
Just fix it enough|to get it rolling.
Don't clean it.|Don't touch anything else.
Is that why you drive this car?
Do you see Kennedy's assassination|as a special kind of car crash?
The case could be made.
Here.|Take a look at this.
Tell me what you think of these.
Yeah, you recognize this one.|This is James Dean.
This is the next one Seagrave and I|are gonna do-Jayne Mansfield.
It's all very satis"fy"ing.
I'm not sure I understand why.
That's the future, Ballard...
and you're already|a part of it.
You're beginning to see that|for the first time...
there's benevolent psychopathology|that beckons towards us.
For example, the car crash|is a fertilizing...
rather than a destructive event...
a liberation of sexual energy...
mediating the sexuality|of those who have died...
with an intensity that's impossible|in any other form.
To experience that,|to live that, that is-
that's my project.
What about the reshaping|of the human body by modern technology?
I thought that was your project.
That's just|a crude sci-fi concept.
It kind of floats on the surface|and doesn't threaten anybody.
I use it to test the resilience of my|potential partners in psychopathology.
- What's going on, baby?|- What's going on with you?
- You wanna go for a ride?|- You and your friend?
- Just me and my friend here.|- All right, that's cool.
- Don't go away.|- I'm not. What you got under there?
- I'm clean.|- You got a place?
Just right back there,|in the back seat of my car.
- In your car?|- We'll drive. It'll be nice.
- You're a good driver?|- Absolutely. Sixty dollars.
- Sixty dollars?|- You'll get a nice, scenic ride.
- One-fifty for the two.|- No, it's just me.
- Just you?|- If he does get involved, 150.
- Maybe.|- What do you mean?
I'm saying, is he all right?
Come here, sweetie.
- Open your mouth.|- Yes, daddy.
There you go. Don't want you|blowing it up my urethra.
James, you drive.
James, we're leaving now.|You want a lift?
No, thank you.
Catherine's coming to pick me up.
What's going on?
They've been questioning Vaughan|about an accident at the airport.
A pedestrian was killed.
They think he was run over|intentionally.
Vaughan isn't interested|in pedestrians.
Don't you think he looks a bit shaky?
- Maybe I should drive him.|- Where's your car?
At home.|I couldn't face the traffic.
Why don't I drive?
You coming?
That's it. Yeah.
Yes.
Let's record this.
This is a work of art.
Absolutely a work of art.
Oh, yes, yes.
Slow down. Not so fast.
Slow down. Stop.
You couldn't wait for me?
You did the Jayne Mansfield crash|without me?
Oh, the dog.|The dog is brilliant.
I must have driven through something.
There's some blood on the car.
Here on the handle,|and on the wheel.
Also on the wheel well.
See?
If the police stop you again,|they may impound the car.
You're right, Ballard.|You're right.
There's an all-night car wash|by the airport service area.
Watch yourself.
Is there something here|that interests you?
This interests me.
I'd like to see if I can fit into a car|designed for a normal body.
Could you help me into it, please?
Yeah, sure.
Are these safe cars?
Yes, of course.|They're very safe.
I'm caught.
Oh, shit.
Fuck! This is bad.|This is really bad.
James, somebody named Vaughan.|You want it?
Hello. Ballard.
I need to see you.|I need to talk about the project.
Where are you?
I think you're making it too clean.
Medical tattoos|are supposed to be clean.
This is not a medical tattoo.|This is a prophetic tattoo.
And prophesies are ragged and dirty.
So, make it ragged and dirty.
Prophetic? Is this personal prophecy|or global prophecy?
There's no difference.
Let me see here.|Where is it?
There it is.
I want you to let her|give you this one.
Where do you think|that one should go?
I thought that was you up there.
My last lesson's next week.
James, my car is-
What?
Could it have been deliberate?
One of your suitors.
It was Vaughan.
The traffic.
Where is everyone?
They've all gone away.
I'd like to go back.
I'd like to register a claim|for the 1963 black Lincoln.
Is there a form I should fill out?
I can give you the forms now,|but you'll have to come back...
between 7:30 and 4:30|to register a claim.
What's your attachment|to that thing?
A close friend owned it.
It's gotta be a total write-off. I don't|see what you could possibly do with it.
Are you all right?
I don't know.
Are you hurt?
I think I'm all right.
I think I'm all right.
Maybe the next one, darling.
Maybe the next one.