"Epic of Gilgamesh":

Screenplay Prologue

FADE IN:

EXT. URUK - DAWN - 2700 BCE

The camera soars over a golden plain, kissed by the rising sun, where the city of Uruk stands as a monument to human ambition. Its towering mud-brick walls, etched with cuneiform tales of gods and heroes, gleam in the morning light. Ziggurats rise like mountains, their steps bustling with priests in linen robes, offering incense to the heavens. The Euphrates River snakes nearby, alive with reed boats, fishermen casting nets, and women washing vibrant fabrics. The air pulses with life—market vendors shouting, hammers striking bronze, and distant temple chants weaving through the morning breeze.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
(Deep, resonant, carrying the weight of ages)

This is Uruk, the city of splendor, where the divine and mortal intertwine, where walls stand as eternal as the stars. Here reigns Gilgamesh, two-thirds god, one-third man, a king whose strength could topple mountains, whose pride challenges the heavens themselves. But beneath his glory lies a restless heart, and his rule presses heavy on Uruk’s soul. This is the dawn of his saga—a tale of friendship, loss, and the quest to defy death’s shadow.

CAMERA DESCENDS into the heart of Uruk’s marketplace. Stalls overflow with barley, lapis lazuli, and cedarwood. CHILDREN dart through the crowd, laughing as they chase a stray goat. A group of CITIZENS gathers near a tavern, their faces etched with fatigue and frustration.

NINSUNNA
(30s, weathered potter, clutching a clay tablet)

Gilgamesh’s walls may guard us from invaders, but who guards us from him? My husband and sons toil endlessly, hauling bricks for his grand palace. Their hands bleed, their spirits break, all for his name to shine.

LUGAL
(50s, stooped weaver, her voice sharp with defiance)

He strides through Uruk like a storm, taking what he pleases. Last week, he claimed my neighbor’s daughter on her wedding night. The gods gave him power, but no heart to wield it justly. Uruk deserves better.

SHAMASHU
(20s, fiery bronze-smith, gesturing toward the ziggurat)

I saw him at the festival, wrestling men like they were children, laughing as they fell. He builds temples to Shamash but forgets the god’s justice. Does he think himself above Anu? Above the heavens?

The crowd murmurs, their discontent rising like heat. A PRIESTESS, ISHTARAN, adorned in gold and turquoise, her headdress glinting, steps forward. Her presence commands silence.

ISHTARAN
(40s, serene yet commanding, eyes sharp with wisdom)

Enough, all of you. The gods hear your cries, and they do not turn away. Gilgamesh is their chosen, born of Lugalbanda and the goddess Ninsun. His strength is Uruk’s shield, his name its pride. Yet... (pauses, glancing at the sky) I have read the omens in the stars, felt tremors in the sacred fires. The gods weave a fate to test him, to teach him the weight of his crown.
The camera follows her gaze to the sky, where clouds churn, streaked with crimson. A distant rumble of thunder rolls, and the crowd shifts uneasily.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

High in their celestial council, the gods gaze upon Gilgamesh with mingled awe and displeasure. His deeds raise Uruk to glory, yet his hubris threatens the divine order. Anu, king of the heavens, and Aruru, mother of creation, decree a challenge—a being to match his might, to stir his soul, to set him on a path toward wisdom.

CUT TO: INT. TEMPLE OF ANU - NIGHT

The temple is a cavern of shadow and flickering light, oil lamps casting golden pools on polished stone. A massive statue of ANU, king of the gods, looms at the altar, its lapis eyes glowing faintly. ISHTARAN kneels, scattering myrrh into a brazier, her chants soft but resonant. The ceiling sparkles with a mosaic of stars.

ISHTARAN
(Whispering, reverent)

Great Anu, father of the skies, hear your servant’s plea. Gilgamesh’s pride blinds him to your will. His people suffer, their prayers rise like smoke. Send a sign, a force to balance his fire. Let him face his own heart and learn the fragility of mortal life.
A sudden gust sweeps through the temple, snuffing out half the lamps. ISHTARAN freezes, her breath catching as the statue’s eyes seem to pulse with light. A low hum fills the air, like the earth itself stirring.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

Far from Uruk’s walls, in the wilds where no man treads, the goddess Aruru answers. From the clay of the earth, she shapes a new life—Enkidu, born of the steppe, wild as the wind, strong as the mountains. He is Gilgamesh’s equal, his mirror, his destiny.

EXT. WILD STEPPE - DAWN

The camera glides over a boundless wilderness—rolling hills, seas of grass swaying in the breeze, and herds of gazelle grazing under a pink sky. ENKIDU emerges, a towering figure with matted hair and sinewy limbs, moving with the grace of a predator. He kneels at a stream, drinking alongside antelope, his eyes fierce yet searching, untouched by human ways.

ZARQU

(20s, wiry hunter, crouched behind a boulder, whispering)
By Shamash, what is he? No man moves like that, swift as a lion, yet he frees our game from traps. The herds follow him like a brother. Is he a spirit sent to curse us?

DUMUZI
(30s, grizzled trapper, clutching a spear, skeptical)

Spirit or beast, he’s costing us our hunt. Three days, and every snare’s empty. We must tell the king. If Gilgamesh can’t tame this wild man, Uruk’s fields will starve.
ENKIDU pauses, his head snapping up as if sensing their gaze. He lets out a guttural roar, scattering the gazelles, and sprints into the horizon, his form blurring into the dawn. ZARQU and DUMUZI exchange a look of awe and fear.

ZARQU
(Nervous, gripping his bow)

He’s no demon, Dumuzi. He’s... something else. Like the gods made him to challenge the king himself.

DUMUZI
(Grim, standing)

Then let Gilgamesh deal with him. This is beyond us. Come, we ride to Uruk at first light.












EXT. URUK - ROYAL PALACE - DAY

The camera sweeps up to a grand balcony overlooking Uruk’s sprawl. GILGAMESH, mid-20s, stands like a god carved from bronze, his muscular frame draped in a lion-skin cloak, his eyes blazing with restless fire. The crowd below roars, but their cheers carry an edge of fear. He raises a fist, his voice thundering.

GILGAMESH

People of Uruk! I have raised walls to shame the heavens, built temples to honor the gods, made Uruk the envy of the world! Who among you can match my strength? Who dares question my will?

The crowd’s cheers swell, but faces betray unease. A YOUNG WOMAN, INANNA, 18, is led toward the palace by GUARDS, her wedding veil trailing, her eyes brimming with tears.

INANNA
(To herself, trembling)

Shamash, god of justice, why do you let him claim me? This was to be my day with Ennugi, my love. Why must a king take everything?
In the crowd, INANNA’S MOTHER, NINKA, clutches her husband, ENNUGI’S FATHER, her voice breaking.

NINKA
(40s, anguished, gripping her husband’s arm)

He takes our daughters, our sons’ futures, our peace. Gilgamesh builds for eternity, but what of us? When will the gods hear our pain?

ENNUGI’S FATHER
(50s, resolute, eyes fixed on the palace)

They hear, Ninka. They must. No king, not even one born of Ninsun, can defy the gods forever. Something comes. I feel it.

The camera pulls back, revealing Uruk’s majesty—its ziggurats, markets, and river—yet shadowed by tension. The great ziggurat casts a long shadow over the city, its peak touching the stormy sky.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

Gilgamesh, king of Uruk, stands alone in his glory, a colossus among men. Yet his heart hungers for a challenge, a purpose beyond conquest. The gods have heard Uruk’s cries and set their plan in motion. From the wilds comes Enkidu, a force of nature, a mirror to the king’s soul. Their meeting will spark a fire that burns through legend, a bond that will shake the pillars of the earth.

FADE OUT.
END PRELUDE