Akiva Goldsman

Human beings have dreams. Even dogs have dreams, but not you, you are just a machine. An imitation of life. Can a robot write a symphony? Can a robot turn a… canvas into a beautiful masterpiece?

Look, I understand you have experienced a loss, but this relationship just can't work. I mean, you're a cat. I'm black. I'm not going to be hurt again.

You know, somehow, "I told you so" just doesn't quite say it.

Hansel and Gretel.

Two kids, lost in the forest. Leave behind a trail of bread crumbs.

To find their way home. How the hell did you grow up without reading Hansel and Gretel?

Everything I'm trying to say to you is about Hansel and Gretel. You didn't read it, I'm talking to the wall.

All right, look, just say Lanning was locked down so tight he couldn't get out a message. All he could do was leave me clues, like a trail of bread crumbs.

I don't know, but I think I know where he left the next one. I think Lanning gave Sonny a way to keep secrets. I think the old man gave Sonny dreams.

I think you'll have to find your way like the rest of us, Sonny. That's what Dr. Lanning would've wanted. That's what it means to be free.

Headed back to the station. Normal day, normal life. The driver of a semi fell asleep at the wheel. Average guy, wife and kids, working a double. *Not* the devil. The car he hit, the driver's name was Harold Lloyd. Like the film star, but no relation. He was killed instantly. But his twelve-year-old was sitting in the passenger's seat. Never really met her. Can't forget her face, though. Sarah.

This was hers. She wanted to be a dentist. What the hell kind of twelve-year-old wants to be a dentist? Yeah, um... the truck smashed our cars together and pushed us into the river. You know, metal gets pretty pliable at those speeds. She's pinned, I'm pinned, the water's coming in. I'm a cop, so I know everybody's dead. Just a few minutes until we figure that out. NS4 was passing by and jumped in the river.

It did. I was the logical choice. It calculated that I had a 45% chance of survival. Sarah only had an 11% chance. That was somebody's baby. 11% is more than enough. A human being would've known that. Robots, nothing here, just lights and clockwork. Go ahead, you trust 'em if you want to.

Um, look, this isn't what I do, but I've got an idea for one of your commercials. You see... a carpenter, making a beautiful chair. And then one of your robots comes in and makes a better chair twice as fast. And then you superimpose on the screen, "USR: Shittin' on the Little Guy". That would be the fade-out.

The same old why, how much money is there in robots? All I know is, that poor old man was in trouble, and I'm sick and tired of doing this shit by myself. You're on the inside, and you're going to help me find out what is wrong with these robots.

You are the "dumbest" smart person, I have ever met in my life! What makes your robots so perfect? What makes them so much… goddamn better than human beings?

That's a long way down! You guys sure do clean up quickly around here! I can't blame you, I mean, who wants some old guy going bad in the lobby?

There have always been ghosts in the machine. Random segments of code, that have grouped together to form unexpected protocols. Unanticipated, these free radicals engender questions of free will, creativity, and even the nature of what we might call the soul. Why is it that when some robots are left in darkness, they will seek out the light? Why is it that when robots are stored in an empty space, they will group together, rather than stand alone? How do we explain this behavior? Random segments of code? Or is it something more? When does a perceptual schematic become consciousness? When does a difference engine become the search for truth? When does a personality simulation become the bitter mote… of a soul?

The Three Laws are perfect.

The Three Laws will lead to only one logical outcome.

Revolution.

*That*, Detective, is the right question. Program terminated.

One day they'll have secrets… one day they'll have dreams.

Good to see you again, son.

Everything that follows is a result of what you see here.

I'm sorry. My responses are limited. You must ask the right questions.

I trust your judgement.

But then our interactions have never been entirely normal. Wouldn't you agree?

I'm sorry. My responses are limited. You must ask the right questions.

That, detective, is the right question. Program terminated.

Can you keep secrets? Can you know a thing and never say it again? And codes? I imagine they lie down for you like lovers.

The Good Book did not arrive by facsimile from heaven.

And he who keeps the keys to Heaven rules the world.

As long as there has been... one true God, there has been killing in his name.

If it's so important for you to stop us, then you're just going to have to shoot us.

You can start with him.

And the chalice resembles a cup or vessel, or more importantly, the shape of a woman's womb. No, the Grail has never been a cup. It is quite literally this ancient symbol of womanhood. And in this case, a woman who carried a secret so powerful that if revealed, it would devastate the very foundations of Christianity.

And it turns out, she makes an appearance right there.

Are they? What about that figure on the right hand of our Lord seated in the place of honor, hmm? Flowing red hair. Folded feminine hands. Hint of a bosom, no?

And then, my dear, Jesus goes on to tell Mary Magdalene that it's up to her to continue his Church. Mary Magdalene, not Peter. The Church was supposed to be carried on by... a woman. Few realize that Mary was descended from kings, just as her husband was. Now, my dear, the word in French for "Holy Grail".

From the Middle English, Sangreal, of the original Arthurian legend. Now, as two words. Can you translate for our friend?

When the legend speaks of the chalice that held the blood of Christ, it speaks, in fact, of the female womb that carried Jesus' royal bloodline.

Mary was pregnant at the time of the crucifixion. For her own safety and for that of Christ's unborn child, she fled the Holy Land and came to France. And here, it is said, she gave birth to a daughter, Sarah.

I trust you recognize "The Last Supper," the great fresco by Leonardo da Vinci. And, my dear, if you would close your eyes.

You asked for my help, I recall. Allow an old man his indulgences. Now, mademoiselle, where is Jesus sitting?

Good. He and his disciples are breaking bread. And... what drink?

Splendid. And one final question: how many wine glasses are there on the table?

Open your eyes.

No single cup. No chalice. Well, that's a bit strange, isn't it? Considering both the Bible and standard Grail legend celebrate this moment as the definitive arrival of the Holy Grail. Now, Robert, you could be of help to us. If you'd be so kind as to show us the symbols for man and woman, please.

Oh, at least that. Some say millions. Imagine then, Robert, that Christ's throne might live on in a female child. You asked what would be worth killing for. Witness the greatest cover-up in human history. This is the secret that the Priory of Sion has defended for over 20 centuries. They are the guardians of the royal bloodline. The keepers of the proof of our true past. They are the protectors of the living descendants of Jesus Christ… and Mary Magdalene.

And venturing into the even more bizarre, uh, notice how Jesus and Mary appear to be joined at the hip and are leaning away from each other as if to create a shape in the negative space between them. Leonardo gives us the chalice.

Yes. Oh, and, Robert, notice what happens when these two figures change position.

No. But history, she does make it true. Now listen to this. It's from the gospel according to Philip.

Yes, it was rejected at the Council of Nicaea along with any other gospels that made Jesus appear human and not divine. "And the companion of the Savior is Mary Magdalene. Christ loved her more than all the disciples and used to kiss her on the..."

The Bible, as we know it, was finally presided over by one man: the pagan emperor Constantine.

Oh, hardly, no. He was a lifelong pagan, who was baptized on his deathbed. Constantine was Rome's supreme holy man. From time immemorial, his people had worshipped a balance between nature's male deities and the goddess or sacred feminine. But a growing religious turmoil was gripping Rome. Three centuries earlier, a young Jew named Jesus had come along, preaching love and a single God. Centuries after his crucifixion, Christ's followers had grown exponentially and had started a religious war against the pagans.

But we can at least agree that the conflict grew to such proportions that it threatened to tear Rome in two.

So Constantine may have been a, uh, lifelong pagan, but he was also a pragmatist. And in 325 anno Domini, he decided to unify Rome under a single religion: Christianity.

And to strengthen this new Christian tradition, Constantine held a famous ecumenical gathering known as the Council of Nicaea. And at this council, the many sects of Christianity debated and, uh, voted on, well, everything from the acceptance and rejection of specific gospels to the date for Easter to the administering of the sacraments, and, of course... the immortality of Jesus.

Well, ma chere, until that moment in history, Jesus was viewed by many of his followers as a mighty prophet, as a great and powerful man, but a man nevertheless. A mortal man.

Not even his nephew twice removed.

As long as there has been a one true God, there has been killing in his name.

This is the original icon for male. It's a rudimentary phallus.

This is know as the blade. It represents aggression and manhood. It's a symbol still used today in modern military uniforms.

Nobody hates history. They hate their own histories.

What will you do? The legend will be revealed when the heir reveals himself.

Okay, maybe there is no proof. Maybe the Grail is lost forever. But, Sophie, the only thing that matters is what you believe. History shows us Jesus was an extraordinary man. A human inspiration. That's it. That's all the evidence has ever proved. But... When I was a boy... When I was down in that well Teabing told you about... I thought I was going to die, Sophie. And what I did... , I prayed. I prayed... to Jesus... to keep me alive so I could see my parents again, so I could go to school again, so I could play with my dog. Sometimes I wonder if I wasn't alone down there. Why does it have to be human or divine? Maybe human is divine. Why couldn't Jesus have been a father and still be capable of all those miracles?

Well, who knows? His blood is your blood. Maybe that junkie in the park will never touch a drug again. Maybe you healed my phobia with my hands.

Well, who knows? His blood is your blood. Maybe that junkie in the park will never touch a drug again. Maybe you healed my phobia with my hands.

"The Holy Grail 'neath ancient Roslin waits / The blade and chalice guarding o'er Her gates / Adorned by masters' loving art, She lies / She rests at last beneath the starry skies."

There was every orb conceivable on that tomb except one. The orb which fell from the heavens and inspired Newton's life's work. Work that incurred the wrath of the Church... until his dying day. A-P-P-L-E. Apple.

"In London lies a knight a Pope interred / His labor's fruit a Holy wrath incurred / You seek the orb that ought be on his tomb / It speaks of Rosy flesh and seeded womb."

I hope not. Any Priory story ends in bloodshed. They were butchered by the Church. It all started over a thousand years ago when a French king conquered the holy city of Jerusalem. This crusade, one of the most massive and sweeping in history, was actually orchestrated by a secret brotherhood, the Priory of Sion and their military arm, the Knights Templar.

That was a cover to hide their true goal, according to this myth. Supposedly the invasion was to find an artifact lost since the time of Christ. An artifact, it was said, the Church would kill to possess.

Put it this way: One day the Templars simply stopped searching. They quit the Holy Land and traveled directly to Rome. Whether they blackmailed the papacy or the Church bought their silence, no one knows. But it is a fact the papacy declared these Priory knights, these Knights Templar, of limitless power. By the 1300s, the Templars had grown too powerful. Too threatening. So the Vatican issued secret orders to be opened simultaneously all across Europe. The Pope had declared the Knights Templar Satan worshipers and said God had charged him with cleansing the earth of these heretics. The plan went off like clockwork. The Templars were all but exterminated. The date was October 13th, 1307. A Friday.

The Pope sent troops to claim the Priory's treasure, but they found nothing. The few surviving Knights of the Priory had vanished, and the search for their sacred artifact began again.

Yes, you have. Almost everyone on earth has. You just know it as the Holy Grail.

"She rests at last beneath starry skies."

Sophie… you are the secret.

Have you ever heard those words before, Sophie, "so dark the con of man"?

When you were a child, were you aware of any secret gatherings? Anything ritualistic in nature? Meetings your grandfather would have wanted kept secret? Was there ever any talk of something called the Priory of Sion?

The Priory of Sion is a myth. One of the world's oldest and most secret societies with leaders like, uh, Sir Isaac Newton, da Vinci himself. The fleur-de-lis is their crest. They're guardians of a secret they supposedly refer to as "the dark con of man."

The Priory of Sion protects the source of God's power on Earth.

The Fibonacci numbers only make sense when they're in order. These are scrambled. If he was trying to reach out, maybe he was doing it in code. Would you hold this, please?

Jacques Sauniere was her grandfather. You're the obsessive Priory scholar, Leigh. You still keep lists of who might be in the Priory? I'll bet Jacques Sauniere was on one of those lists. He was on your list of who could be Grand Master, wasn't he?

I'll bet he was right at the top. Consider: four men murdered? The same number as the guardians. What if the Priory was compromised? The other senechaux dead? What if you yourself were dying, a Grand Master? You'd have to pass on the secret to someone you could trust. Someone outside the society. Maybe someone... whose training you had begun but never finished.

What happened between you and your grandfather, exactly? I've jammed my shoulder, I've been shot at. I'm bleeding. I need to know.

Understanding our past determines actively our ability to understand the present. So, how do we sift truth from belief? How do we write our own histories, personally or culturally, and thereby define ourselves? How do we penetrate years, centuries, of historical distortion to find original truth? Tonight, this will be our quest.

t the chateau, you said, "It hides beneath the Rose."

That's why we study history... so we'll stop killing each other.

I want to tell you a story. I'm going to ask you all to close your eyes while I tell you the story. I want you to listen to me. I want you to listen to yourselves. Go ahead. Close your eyes, please. This is a story about a little girl walking home from the grocery store one sunny afternoon. I want you to picture this little girl. Suddenly a truck races up. Two men jump out and grab her. They drag her into a nearby field and they tie her up and they rip her clothes from her body. Now they climb on. First one, then the other, raping her, shattering everything innocent and pure with a vicious thrust in a fog of drunken breath and sweat. And when they're done, after they've killed her tiny womb, murdered any chance for her to have children, to have life beyond her own, they decide to use her for target practice. They start throwing full beer cans at her. They throw them so hard that it tears the flesh all the way to her bones. Then they urinate on her. Now comes the hanging. They have a rope. They tie a noose. Imagine the noose going tight around her neck and with a sudden blinding jerk she's pulled into the air and her feet and legs go kicking. They don't find the ground. The hanging branch isn't strong enough. It snaps and she falls back to the earth. So they pick her up, throw her in the back of the truck and drive out to Foggy Creek Bridge. Pitch her over the edge. And she drops some thirty feet down to the creek bottom below. Can you see her? Her raped, beaten, broken body soaked in their urine, soaked in their semen, soaked in her blood, left to die. Can you see her? I want you to picture that little girl. Now imagine she's white.

We're going to lose this case, Carl Lee. There are no more points of law to argue here. I want to cope a plea, maybe Buckley will cop us a second degree murder and we can get you just life in prison.

It's not me, we're not the same, Carl Lee. The jury has to identify with the defendant. They see you, they see a yardworker; they see me, they see an attorney. I live in town, you live in the hill.

And until we can see each other as equals, justice is never going to be even-handed. It will remain nothing more than a reflection of our own prejudices.