The Incredible Shrinking Man

The strange, almost unbelievable,

story of Robert Scott Carey

began on a very ordinary summer day.

I know this story better than anyone

because I am Robert Scott Carey.

- This is the way to spend a vacation.

- Mm-hmm.

I'm thirsty.

Mmm! That sun feels good.

- I'm thirsty.

- Interesting.

- A cold bottle of beer'd taste fine.

- Why don't you get it?

- Me?

- Mm-hm.

- I'm on vacation. All week.

- Well, so am I, my friend.

- Louise?

- Hmm?

- I think we should get married.

- We've been married six years.

- Really?

- Mm-hm.

Seems like six minutes.

I am not gonna get you that beer.

I provided the boat.

You provide the beer.

- Your brother provided the boat.

- I'll make you a deal.

- What?

- You get the beer, I'll get the dinner.

- How's that?

- OK, you got yourself a deal.

To the galley, wench.

Fetch me a flagon of beer.

I'm sorry, Captain, but we're

out of flagons. It'll have to be a can.

Out of flagons?

How are we to make the Philippines?

We're not going, sir.

We're going home at the end of the week.

Mutiny.

- Make 'em cold!

- Like ice.

- Scott, what was that?

- I don't know. Some kind of mist.

Look at your chest.

But then, on an equally ordinary day,

six months later.

- Morning, Joe.

- Morning, Mrs Carey.

- Looks like a nice day, huh?

- See you tomorrow.

Here, kitty-kitty-kitty.

Here, kitty-kitty-kitty. Come on, Butch.

That's a boy. There you go.

- Scott? Scott, are you dressed yet?

- I'll be right there.

All right.

- Lou?

- Yes, dear?

You sure you got the right

pants from the cleaners?

Just a second.

- You asked that yesterday morning.

- They still don't fit.

- They still too loose?

- The cuffs are draggin'.

They do look kinda big.

I dunno what that cleaner's doing,

but tell him to cut it out.

You're just losing weight.

It's very becoming, so don't complain.

- You want one or two eggs?

- One.

One?

Now that's why your pants don't fit.

- Lou?

- Yeah?

Hey, the shirt doesn't fit either.

It's your shirt.

It's got your monogram on it.

- What's that supposed...

- Eat your breakfast and forget it.

I know a lot of people who'd like to

lose weight. What's your secret?

- Maybe it's the cooking around here.

- Well, thanks a lot. Drink yourjuice.

- Lou, do me a favour.

- What, honey?

- Pick up a bathroom scale today.

- All right.

Still get five foot eleven inches,

Mr Carey.

- I've been six foot one since I was 17.

- Mm-hm.

- What's the weight?

- Still 174 and a quarter pounds.

I don't understand it.

That's a loss of almost ten pounds.

I told you,

you're probably overworking yourself.

You told me that when you overwork

you get nervous and lose weight.

But I've never lost that much weight.

Besides, I haven't been

particularly nervous lately.

Not eating wouldn't

make me lose height, would it?

Oh, I very much doubt if you've

been losing height, Mr Carey.

Why don't you put your things on?

You told me that you've been six

foot one since you were 17 years old.

That's right.

How many physical examinations

have you had since then?

Oh, the draft board, the Navy,

a life insurance physical.

That's not too many.

It's possible there might have been

errors made on all of them

as regards your height.

It often happens. A number of things

could cause such errors.

If you stood erect, you'd measure out

as taller than you actually are.

Or if your height was taken in the

morning, you'd measure out as taller.

Why's that?

Because people decrease in height

during the day.

See, the body weight compresses the

spinal discs, the bone joints and so on.

- I see. Two inches, Doctor?

- I wouldn't worry about it, Mr Carey.

As far as I can see

you're in perfect health.

Likely lost a little weight

due to an insufficient diet but...

People don't get shorter, Mr Carey.

They just don't get shorter.

What'd Charlie think about

your idea for the ad?

Huh? Oh, he thinks it has possibilities.

- Well?

- Four pounds.

- Up or down?

- Down.

That does it, my boy.

You're gonna start taking vitamins.

I'm gonna get you so fat

on ice cream and cake

you'll think you're

living in a child's paradise.

- I don't think that's gonna fix it.

- Then we'll see a doctor.

- You're due for a checkup anyway.

- I've already seen a doctor.

- When?

- A week ago.

Well, honey,

why didn't you say something about it?

Come here, Louise.

- Kiss me.

- You think that's gonna fix it, huh?

You didn't have to stretch.

You used to stand on your toes.

What? In your stocking feet?

- I'm getting smaller, Lou. Every day.

- Well, that's silly, honey.

People just don't get smaller.

Yeah. Yeah, you're right.

We'll go back to the doctor tomorrow.

I'm sure he's got a pill for it.

Don't worry, Butch. Everything's

gonna be all right. Go to bed.

Well, that's the last of them, Mr Carey.

- This has been a long week, Dr Bramson.

- I must have worn out your machine.

I needed two full sets of pictures

spaced several days apart.

I had to compare them before I...

Before I could be sure.

Sure of what, Doctor? What is it?

Relax, Doctor, you can't tell me

anything I haven't imagined.

You are getting smaller.

I... I don't profess to understand it,

Mr Carey.

There's no medical precedent

for what's happening to you.

I simply know that

you're getting smaller.

The X-rays prove it beyond any doubt.

But that's impossible.

That's what we've always believed,

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