Next

Thirty feet square. CRIS JOHNSON, wearing a jail uniform,

sits in a HEAVY CHAIR that is bolted to the floor. Mid-

twenties, jaded, rebellious, handsome as a statue, Cris

radiates a serene, if somewhat scruffy, charisma.

He faces a PLASMA SCREEN MONITOR on a bare wall. To the left

of the screen, an unframed MIRROR; to the right, a DIGITAL

CLOCK-CALENDAR.

A WOMAN’S FACE appears on the plasma screen. CALLIE FERRIS.

Thirty. Tailored. Angular. Kate Hepburn-ish.

Ferris on monitor

Mr. Johnson, you’ve been sent to us

by the state authorities for

testing. We want to determine if

there’s any substance to your

claims.

CrIS

Fire away.

FERRIS ON MONITOR

If we can verify your ability, we

may be able to help you avoid a

criminal trial.

CRIS:

And “we” is...?

Ferris ON MONITOR

Homeland Security.

Ferris’ face is replaced on the plasma screen by a series of

random video clips. Hang-gliding. Traffic jam. Volcano

erupting.

Ferris ON MONITOR

Now if you would, please look at

the monitor and tell us what you

see, say, five minutes from now.

Cris looks at the clock. 16:32 / March 9, 2006. He squints

and the clock speeds up a little.

Ferris (o.c.)

Are you there yet?

In a few seconds, the clock reads 16:37.

2.

On the monitor. Ferris’ image has been replaced by footage of

surfers riding big waves in Hawaii.

CrIS

Surfers.

Ferris (o.c.)

Good. Now can you move ahead ten

minutes.

Varied images fast forward on the plasma screen. He arrives

at 16:
47 and reports on what he sees.

cris

Ants crawling up a tree.

Ferris (o.c.)

Excellent. Can you get to 1900

hours?

Cris looks ahead and squints.

CLOCK:

Minutes whiz by.

PLASMA SCREEN:

Clips play and change almost too fast to be recognized.

Clock

Cris gets to 19:
00 -- and keeps going.

Mirror

Cris has a five o’clock shadow.

Clock

Hours tick off like an accelerating metronome.

Mirror

Cris sports a three-day stubble. He struggles to get out of

the chair, but he is now strapped into it, bound at the wrist

and ankle. His face fills with rage.

Plasma screen

The evening news zips by. Talking heads. Reportage.

3.

Mirror

Like a window into a time machine. Cris’ beard lengthens. He

grows pale. His clothes change every few seconds. Rage gives

way to the panic of a man trapped on a runaway train.

Plasma screen

The news dissolves into a blur.

Mirror

Cris ages before his own eyes. Wrinkles etch into skin. Hair

greys, recedes. Outrage ebbs into hollow resignation as Cris

watches himself waste away.

Woman’s voice

Sir...Sir?

Cris’ tired old eyes look up, confused.

Int. VEGAS HOTEL Coffee shop - day

A perky young WAITRESS stands over him, holding a pot of

coffee.

WAITRESS:

Warm-up?

On cris

Young again.

CRIS:

Just the check.

She sets it on the table with a flirtatious smile. He takes

it to the register and pays cash.

Cris (V.O.)

“The future ain’t what it used to

be.” Ever hear that expression?

A moment later, A SECOND CRIS follows the first Cris to the

register, repeating his every movement.

CRIS (V.O.)

It’s a joke, but it’s true. The

future changes every time you look

at it. Because you looked at it.

As Cris 2 pays cash, Cris 1 proceeds into the casino.

4.

CRIS (V.O.)

Cause once you see it, you’re

different.

Cris 2 follows, literally walking in Cris 1’s footsteps.

CRIS (V.O.)

Maybe just a little.

A DRUNK bumps into Cris 1 and spills his Daiquiri on him.

CRIS (V.O.)

And that changes everything else.

Cris 2 -- the real Cris -- follows a moment later and

sidesteps the Drunk, who spills his Daiquiri on someone else.

CRIS (V.O.)

It’s got something to do with

quantum physics.

Cris 2 reaches the gaming tables and merges with Cris 1.

Cris (V.O.)

That’s why I stay away from

roulette and craps. It only takes a

millionth of an ounce to change a

roll. Just placing a different bet

can throw things off.

A roulette ball skitters indecisively between two grooves

before settling into one of them.

CRIS (v.O.)

I’ve got other rules, too. I don’t

play against people, like at poker.

Only against the house.

Slot machines. Horse racing. Sports games.

CRIS (v.o.)

And my goal isn’t to win big. At

least not any more. The idea is to

go unnoticed so I can keep coming

back to the trough.

He passes the MILLION DOLLAR SLOT. Stops, like it’s calling

out to him.

5.

CRIS (v.o.)

So no jackpots. No longshots. No

big bets except when I want ‘em to

see me lose.

Cris notices a DESPERATE GAMBLER on the verge of tears.

Clearly, he’s dropped a bundle. Cris approaches him and

points to the MILLION DOLLAR SLOT.

CRIS:

Try that one, man. I’ve got a

feeling.

Gambler

(suspicious)

Then you play it.

CRIS:

Against my religion.

Cris offers the guy a handful of silver dollars.

CRIS:

Do it, quick, before somebody else

gets there.

While the Gambler dawdles, a MIDWESTERN DOWAGER plants

herself at the MEGA-SLOT and starts feeding it dollars.

Cris sighs and walks off.

The Gambler watches him go, then reacts to BELLS, FLASHING

LIGHTS, and SHRIEKS OF CELEBRATION. The Dowager has hit the

MEGA-JACKPOT.

Blackjack section

Cris takes a stool at a crowded table.

CRIS (V.O.)

Mainly I stick to blackjack. Boring

but controllable.

Cris antes up. Cards are dealt. He’s got a four showing.

Taking a hit, he goes bust with a jack. So in real time, he

sticks.

CRIS (V.O.)

And safe unless they think you’re

counting.

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