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
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
FERRIS ON MONITOR
If we can verify your ability, we
may be able to help you avoid a
And “we” is...?
Ferris ON MONITOR
Ferris’ face is replaced on the plasma screen by a series of
random video clips. Hang-gliding. Traffic jam. Volcano
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.
Are you there yet?
In a few seconds, the clock reads 16:37.
On the monitor. Ferris’ image has been replaced by footage of
surfers riding big waves in Hawaii.
Good. Now can you move ahead ten
Varied images fast forward on the plasma screen. He arrives
47 and reports on what he sees.
Ants crawling up a tree.
Excellent. Can you get to 1900
Cris looks ahead and squints.
Minutes whiz by.
Clips play and change almost too fast to be recognized.
Cris gets to 19:
00 -- and keeps going.
Cris has a five o’clock shadow.
Hours tick off like an accelerating metronome.
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.
The evening news zips by. Talking heads. Reportage.
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.
The news dissolves into a blur.
Cris ages before his own eyes. Wrinkles etch into skin. Hair
greys, recedes. Outrage ebbs into hollow resignation as Cris
watches himself waste away.
Cris’ tired old eyes look up, confused.
Int. VEGAS HOTEL Coffee shop - day
A perky young WAITRESS stands over him, holding a pot of
Just the check.
She sets it on the table with a flirtatious smile. He takes
it to the register and pays cash.
“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.
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.
Cause once you see it, you’re
Cris 2 follows, literally walking in Cris 1’s footsteps.
Maybe just a little.
A DRUNK bumps into Cris 1 and spills his Daiquiri on him.
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.