剧本〈少数派报告〉minority_report
Minority Report (2002)
by Jon Cohen.
Based on the short story by Philip K. Dick.
Early draft, Aug 15th 1997.
More info about this movie on imdb.com
DARKNESS
And then, slowly emerging from the mists of darkness, a pale,
beautifully proportioned FACE.
The oval face is female, a woman of indeterminate age, her
features as fragile as porcelain. Her eyes are closed in
sleep, or in death ... or in something in between.
Now TWO MORE FACES emerge out of the darkness. They are
male, and they float into position on either side of the
female. They are just as ethereally beautiful, just as pale,
and like the female their eyes are closed.
The ghostly lips of the female begin to twitch. Her features,
which have been expressionless, suddenly contort, mask-like,
into the face of a woman in fear. Her eyes open.
The male face on her right contorts too. His features warp
into an angry snarl -- the mask of a man enraged. His eyes
open.
The male face on her left takes on the expression of a young
boy, a boy who is terribly frightened. His eyes open wide.
As if they are lost in the same terrible waking dream, a
sudden and unnerving exchange begins ...
FEMALE
(frightened woman)
JOHNNY, PLEASE
MALE RIGHT
(mocking man)
"Johnny, please. Johnny please."
FEMALE
You're scaring me.
MALE LEFT
(child's voice)
DADDY, DON'T. DADDY
MALE RIGHT
(considering)
I don't like you any more, Carol.
FEMALE
(imploring)
Put the scissors down. You're scaring
me. Please.
MALE RIGHT
Oh, Carol.
FEMALE
Johnny! Stop!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
2.
MALE RIGHT
Don't grab at me! Let
MALE LEFT
Daddy! No!
All we see are three faces on the screen mouthing words but
we can imagine a terrible struggle taking place before us: a
man with scissors lunging at his wife, her anguished scream,
the whimpering cries of their son.
And then there is silence, and it is over, and the three
faces instantly return to their impassive porcelain state.
Their eyes slowly close. They do not move.
So that when they do move again, it is startling. In abrupt
unison, the EYES flash open. Three pairs of eyes stare
straight at us, accusing.
Three mouths open, but speak, in rasping tones, as one.
ALL THREE
Murderer!
The faces linger a moment, the weary eyes slowly close, and
the dark reaches forth, and takes them.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. SUBURBIA DAY
Morning in America. Just look at it. America in the
midfifties, the suburban landscape stretching endlessly into
the sun drenched distance. White house upon white house.
Emerald lawns, glistening with dew.
In each driveway, a big Chevy, or a Ford, muscled with chrome,
long tailfins that taper like the fins on rocket ships.
Kids burst out of the houses, and zoom down sidewalks on
trikes. Mothers in bright dresses stand in doorways,
watching. The smiling mothers wave to one another, then go
back into their houses.
Dogs bark, birds sing in trees of just the right height,
boys and girls laugh and ring the bells on their trikes. It
is a delicious world, where dogs and birds and children are
safe.
INT. A HOUSE
A family room with all the trappings of the era: a flagstone
fireplace, a console TV, a man's leatherette Barca-Lounger,
a pipe stand holding two pipes on a nearby table, boxes of
children's games neatly stacked on a wall shelf.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
3.
A young mother, CAROL, her hair -in a pony-tail, stands at a
picture window in a corner of the family room, staring mildly
at the scene outside.
CAROL'S POV - A LITTLE GIRL
A little girl bounces a red ball on the sidewalk. The ball
gets away from her, and rolls into the street.
At the same moment, a two-toned CHEVY, lush and huge, rounds
the corner.
The girl sees the car coming, but still goes after the ball.
THE FAMILY ROOM
Carol sees what is about to happen -- but she doesn't cry
out, or bang on the window, or run for the front door. She
watches. And smiles a little.
OUTSIDE
The girl careens gleefully into the middle of the street.
INSIDE THE CHEVY
The driver -- a man in a loose fitting dark green suit, white
shirt, thin brown tie -- sits behind the steering wheel of
the car.
Disturbingly, the man's hands are not on the steering wheel.
Not only that, he is holding the morning newspaper up in
front of him, reading, oblivious to the scene before him.
Through the windshield, we see the little girl in the road
in front of him, going for her ball.
CAROL
Watches, her smile in place.
OUTSIDE
The little girl picks up her red
ball, as the Chevy bears down on
her.
INSIDE THE CHEVY
An alarm suddenly CHIRPS. The car automatically brakes to a
halt. The man looks around the edge of his paper to see
what is happening.
THE STREET
The car has stopped, inches from the girl.
The girl giggles as, the man in the car gives her a big wink.
She waves, then runs back to the sidewalk with her red ball.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
4.
The man goes back to his newspaper, and the car, entirely on
its own, starts up again. The car rounds a corner, and
disappears.
INSIDE THE HOUSE
Carol turns away from the window. She startles when she
sees her husband, JOHNNY, is there behind her. He is in his
pajamas. How long has he been there, watching her?
JOHNNY
(gruff)
Why'd you let me sleep so long?
CAROL
It's Saturday, Johnny, you always --
(beat)
Why are you staring at me like that?
He takes a step toward her. He stands there, his thick black
hair tousled with sleep, scratching his stubbled jaw,
considering her.
JOHNNY
I'm unhappy that you let me sleep so
long.
He takes another step toward her. She doesn't move a muscle.
A little BOY suddenly enters the room. Johnny turns, looks
at his son, looks back over his shoulder at his wife. Then,
without a word, he begins to walk out of the room. On his
way out, Johnny's eyes flick to Carol's sewing basket, which
sits beside a sewing machine. It is not the sewing that has
caught his attention, but a large pair of garment SCISSORS
which lie across a fold of colored cloth.
EXT. THE HOUSE -- MOMENTS LATER
Johnny stands on the front porch, scratching. He walks down
his front walk, and bends over to pick up the newspaper.
Carol stands in the doorway, watching him.
A SHADOW slides over Johnny, cast from above. The air fills
with the piercing WHINE of an engine. Johnny looks up,
alarmed.
In the sky above him, just beyond the tips of the suburban
trees, is a black PRECRIME POLICE HOVERCRAFT.
The children, the mothers, Carol in the doorway -- everyone
freezes in place, as Johnny is cast into an inexplicable
drama.
Racing SOUNDLESSLY down the street toward him, are SLEEK
TECHNOLOGICAL MARVELS, lethal and efficient looking -- they
seem to be cars -- but they are so different from the fat
Fords and Chevies in the driveways that it is hard for us to
process them.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
5.
Helmeted police with mirrored visors erupt out of the cars.
More police drop from the hovercraft in harnesses. Their
uniforms are black, seem actually to absorb light. Their
left hands are bare, their right hands are encased in some
sort of complicated glove.
CLOSE
ON - A GLOVE
The glove is a weapon of some kind, the elongated index finger
ending in an open barrel.
Clearly, this is not, as it first seemed, the past -- not
America in the 1950's. It is the neo-past, the retro world
of America 2040, where the familiar of yesterday is
intermeshed with hypertechnology.
And all of that hypertechnology is focused on JOHNNY, as he
makes a run for the house, sheets of newspaper scattering
behind him. He bursts up the front porch, shoving Carol out
of the way.
Eight Precrime police officers assemble in the yard. >From a
backpack, one of them quickly removes an instrument with a
handle grip and an ovoid screen. It is a holographic scanner.
He activates it, scans the officer in front of him, and an
IDENTICAL POLICE OFFICER takes three-dimensional form.
The two real officers circle the house, repeating the maneuver
a dozen times.
In less than a minute, a decoy force of men -- three
dimensional, standing in place, but shifting and turning
like living beings -- has been created. An overwhelming
police deterrent presence has been established.
INSIDE THE HOUSE
The Precrime police overwhelm the interior of the house,
too. It is impossible to tell which officers are real, and
which are scanned holographs. The juxtaposition of the
futuristic cops in a 1950's style house is disorienting.
INSIDE A BEDROOM CLOSET
Johnny, in his pajamas, crouches beneath a rack full of his
wife's dresses.
UPSTAIRS HALLWAY
Two OFFICERS, standing back-to-back, hold their gloved hands
out in front of them, palm out. When the first officer points
his palm toward a door at the end of the hallway, his glove
BEEPS softly.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
6.
The officer looks at his PALM. A red thermal IMAGE appears
on a small flexible screen -- the heat outline of a crouching
man. The first officer flicks his helmeted head to the second
officer.
THE BEDROOM
The room is packed with police -- how many are real?
THE CLOSET
Johnny squirms, his pajamas saturated with sweat. He calls
out through the door.
JOHNNY
I didn't do anything!
OUTSIDE THE CLOSET
Every officer in the room lifts his gloved hand and points
his index barrel at the closet door. The effect is deeply
accusatory.
An OFFICER 1 speaks, his VOICE electronically manipulated to
be as menacing as possible.
OFFICER 1
Come out of the closet on your hands
and knees.
Nothing happens. Two officers aim their barrels at the
perimeter of the door. In repeated, small SONIC BLASTS, the
closet door is blown off of its frame, revealing Johnny among
the dresses.
Johnny starts to rise, and BAM, a section of floorboards is
blasted away beneath his feet.
OFFICER I
Hands and knees!
Johnny trips among the splintered floorboards, and drops.
He stays on his hands and knees, and approaches. He lifts
his head and looks up at the officer.
JOHNNY
I didn't Another OFFICER 2 bends
down with a DEVICE -- the words
"IdentiScan" on its side -- and blips
a red laser light into each of
Johnny's, eyes, reading his irises.
The officer nods affirmatively to
the other officer.
OFFICER 2
POSITIVE FOR JOHN PALMER.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
7.
OFFICER 1
(to Johnny)
John Palmer, if you were being
arrested for any other crime, I would
now read you your rights.
(beat)
But you are under arrest for the
future murderer of your wife, Carol
Palmer. You have no rights.
Johnny, on his hands and knees, goes limp.
EXT. THE HOUSE -- LATER
In the background, Johnny is guided into a Precrime police
vehicle as the neighbors look on. Carol and her son stand
in the doorway, stunned.
TWO OFFICERS remove their helmets. The first man is tall,
sandy-haired, good eyes, deeply blue; This is PAUL ANDERSON,
late thirties, Director of the Precrime Division, Washington
D.C.
The second man is ED WITWER, Anderson's second in command,
late thirties, big like Anderson, good face, strong in the
shoulders, short brown hair.
The two men are deeply comfortable together. They can speak,
or not. It doesn't matter -- they still communicate. Two
good cops, good together.
They walk side-by-side around the house, dematerializing the
holographic decoy cops.
WITWER
Thought we might a had a runner.
Anderson seems tired, takes a moment to answer.
ANDERSON
Yeah, a runner.
WITWER
A little chase -- that'd been good.
ANDERSON
Fifty cops on the scene takes the
chase out of them.
WITWER
(smiles)
But only eight of us were real.
Witwer dematerializes the last decoy.
ANDERSON
We ever get a runner, I'd be too old
to give chase.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
8.
WITWER
You'd chase. You'd love it,. Man.
They get to the front of the house and watch the Precrime
vehicle holding Johnny zoom SOUNDLESSLY away.
ANDERSON
I love it more Johnny boy doesn't
get to murder his wife.
WITWER
(beat)
It's a beautiful world.
EXT. SAME SCENE -- LATER
The children play on their trikes. The wives talk among
themselves. The birds sing, the dogs bark.
The little girl bounces her red ball again. She stops a.
minute, when two pieces of newspaper blow past her,
unexpectantly littering the orderly suburban landscape.
INT. A BEDROOM - SUBURBAN VIRGINIA (OUTSIDE WASHINGTON) DAY
Decorated in a 1950's style. Anderson lies in bed beside
his wife, LISA, a pretty, green-eyed brunette. It is early
morning, they are both awake. Her hand caresses his chest.
Maybe they will make love.
Lisa's hand stops suddenly on the center of Anderson's chest.
LISA
Jesus, Paul. Your heart's hammering.
(playfully)
I excite you that much?
He turns to her, and the grim set of his jaw makes her smile
vanish.
ANDERSON
I used to love being a cop. LISA
You're still a cop. I'm a factory
worker. We don't catch murderers.
We process them.
Lisa takes a long breath. She's been down this road before.
She speaks reassuringly.
LISA
You're the best homicide cop in the
country Anderson snorts disdainfully.
ANDERSON
Great -- except there's no such thing
as homicide. What I do best doesn't
exist anymore.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
9.
LISA
PAUL.
(beat)
You're the Director of a perfect
system. A Cop with a perfect record
ANDERSON
The Precogs have a perfect record.
They identify the accused -- I just
put on my monkey suit and go round
them up.
Lisa hugs him, kisses the back of his neck.
LISA
And then I prosecute them. And they
go to jail. And lives are saved.
Thousands of lives.
(beat)
And that's a cop's dream.
Anderson is silent for a time. He sighs, then smiles, and
turns to his wife, takes her in his arms.
ANDERSON
No. You're a cop's dream.
INT. THE BATHROOM -- LATER
Anderson steps out of the shower, and begins to towel himself
dry- He glances out a casement window. He tilts his head,
curious, then wipes at the steam on the window.
ANDERSON'S POV LISA
Lisa stands in the backyard in her nightgown, talking on a
cell phone. She hangs up, moves quickly back into the house.
ANDERSON
Cocks his head, then goes back to
toweling off.
INT. KITCHEN -- LATER
Checkered linoleum floor. Appliances out of the 1950's.
Except there are little differences. When Lisa puts a skillet
of eggs on the stove, the heating element is not an electric
coil, or gas but a shimmering field of light.
Lisa is dressed in a blue jersey skirt and a brief jacket.
Anderson wears a gray suit, thin blue tie, white shirt,
wingtipped shoes. He doesn't look up from the newspaper as
he speaks.
ANDERSON
Who called?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
10.
Lisa keeps her back to him as she flips the eggs. She touches
her long brown hair.
LISA
No one. I called about my hair.
Getting it done this afternoon.
Anderson looks like he's about to say something else, when
suddenly someone RAPS on the back screen door. Anderson and
Lisa both turn and smile.
ANDERSON
Come on in, neighbor. Want some
coffee?
OUTSIDE THE DOOR
FRANK D'IGNAZIO, 65, white-haired, robust, hesitates before
coming in. A thin METALLIC ARM with a red laser light arches
quickly down from above the doorway, shines into each of his
EYES, scanning the irises. The arm lifts out of view, the
screen door UNLATCHES.
Frank enters the kitchen, carrying a basket of tomatoes.
FRANK D'IGNAZIO
Brought these for your supper.
LISA
Oh, Frank. That's so sweet. Thank
you.
FRANK D'IGNAZIO
Sweet, nothing. I gotta get rid of
these things. One plant, and I'm
invaded by tomatoes. When I was a
kid
Anderson laughs, claps his friend and neighbor on the back,
teases him.
ANDERSON
Before all this genetically engineered
crap ...
Frank gives him an ornery look, then a smile.
FRANK D'IGNAZIO
Yeah well, it's true. It used to be
a challenge to grow things. An art.
Now you put one plant in the ground
-- then jump the hell out of the
way.
Anderson gestures for Frank to sit down.
ANDERSON
Coffee?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
11.
FRANK D'IGNAZIO
Nah, thanks. Can't stay. You guys
are rushing off to work anyway.
Lisa sets the eggs down in front of Anderson.
LISA
You and Ellie come for supper then.
ANDERSON
We'll barbecue.
Frank nods and pushes on the screen door.
FRANK D'IGNAZIO
You betcha. We'll bring some more
tomatoes -- a new batch will have
grown by then.
They all laugh, Frank exits, Anderson goes back to his paper.
EXT. DRIVEWAY -- LATER
Anderson waves to Lisa. Her big Studebaker drives off down
the tree-lined street and away.
Anderson approaches his Chevy. He doesn't take out a key to
unlock it. There is no lock. He slides in behind the wheel.
Doesn't take out a key for the ignition -- there is no
ignition.
A thin METALLIC ARM arches down from the sun visor, scans
Anderson's EYES, identifying him. A seat harness wraps around
him, and the car STARTS.
Anderson picks up a folder marked "Precrime" and begins to
read through the papers. The Chevy backs out of the driveway
and takes him to work.
EXT. INTERSTATE 95 - ALEXANDRIA, VA -- LATER
A vast spread of corporate and government buildings -- the
spillover from Washington D.C. across the Potomac River into
Virginia.
Beyond the white of Washington is "The Sprawl" -- the massive
unzoned city that has spread uncontrolled on the outskirts
of the Capitol. It is impenetrable and uninviting, especially
to those comfortable in the utopian suburbs.
Anderson's Chevy moves in a sea of fifties-type cars.
Occasionally, an ultramodern vehicle zips past them. In the
sky above is another sea -- of advertising dirigibles,
holographic billboards, hovercrafts, skim-jet transports.
On one of the holographic billboards giant words begin to
flash: "I LIKE MIKE!"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
12.
Then a picture of the smiling President appears. Then the
words: "RE-ELECT PRESIDENT MIKE BILLINGS FOR ANOTHER FOUR
YEARS! KEEP THE PAST IN OUR FUTURE!"
INSIDE ANDERSON'S CHEVY
Through his windshield, Anderson glances at a holographic
road sign.
THE ROAD SIGN reads: "FBI Headquarters 1 mile. CIA
Headquarters 1.5 miles. PRECRIME Headquarters 2 miles."
Anderson goes back to his papers.
INT. PRECRIME HEADQUARTERS
Anderson sits in a too large office in a too large chair.
He abruptly rises and begins to pace. The room is large,
but he paces like a lion confined in a cage.
He punches an intercom. A female VOICE responds.
INTERCOM VOICE
Yes, Director Anderson?
ANDERSON
Where's Ennis Page? Why hasn't he
delivered this morning's Precog discs?
Ed Witwer opens the door to the office., and casually walks
in.
INTERCOM VOICE
I'll find him, sir.
Ed shakes his head, smiles.
WITWER
Bullying the staff again, Director
Anderson?
ANDERSON
Screw you.
Anderson turns away and stares out a large window. Witwer
joins him.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
Was that fun for you, yesterday?
WITWER
The Johnny Palmer bust?
ANDERSON
Yeah.
WITWER
It was okay. We got our man.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
13.
Anderson takes a long breath.
ANDERSON
When do we not get our man?
They turn as Ennis PAGE, 44, a thin, tight little man with
burr cut hair, knocks and enters the room. He carries a
black BRIEFCASE marked:
"Zone 218 - Washington/Alexandria, VA." The case is cuffed
to his wrist.
PAGE
Sorry I'm late, sir. Precogs put
out a heavy national volume this
morning -- four for our zone.
ANDERSON (DISTRACTED)
Put the case on my desk, Ennis.
Page hesitates, doesn't do it. Anderson moves quickly to
Page.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
What was I thinking.
Anderson leans over the BRIEFCASE. A small panel recedes, a
red laser scanner clicks on, scans Anderson's eyes, BEEPS
affirmatively, then clicks off. The cuff on Page's wrist
falls open.
Now Page puts the case on Anderson's desk. Page hesitates.
Anderson and Witwer know just what he's going to do. Page
reaches down, unable to resist straightening a pile of papers
strewn on Anderson's desk.
Anderson and Witwer exchange knowing smiles. When Page looks
up they try to cover, but are not quick enough. He frowns
tightly, and heads for the door.
Anderson calls after him.
ANDERSON Thanks, Ennis. Witwer turns to leave, too.
WITWER
Now that's a guy who really cares.
Witwer grins to himself as he walks out of the office.
Anderson takes a deep breath and goes to his desk, and opens
the briefcase. Four small bright DISCS sit in rows. He
removes one, places it in a VIDEO MONITOR that lifts into
view from the center of his desk. He sits back, weary, and
watches.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
14.
VIDEO SCREEN
A young black woman stands in a hallway. She stares at a
door, gun in hand. She opens the door, enters a bedroom.
She glides toward a bed, where a man lies sleeping. She
lifts the gun and fires it into his sleeping form.
ANDERSON pops the disc, jots down some notes, pops in a new
disc.
VIDEO SCREEN
A white woman stands at a stove, cooking. A man comes up
behind her slowly, silently, a necktie taut between his hands.
He raises the necktie toward her neck
ANDERSON
He's not watching the screen. He is
out of his chair now, looking out.
The window.
INT. PRECRIME MAIN LOBBY
A tour of Precrime is in progress, like the public relations
tours run by present-day FBI. The TOUR GUIDE, a pretty,
smartly uniformed woman in her twenties, leads a group of
adults and children, all with glowing nametags, through the
building.
TOUR GUIDE
Welcome to the main headquarters of
Precrime. Smaller Precrime branches
are scattered throughout the United
States.
The group follows the guide slowly through the lobby.
TOUR GUIDE (CONT'D)
Precrime was established in 2030,
with the harnessing of the remarkable
talents of the Precognitive mutants.
She points cheerfully to a stubby little man, MR. HARRIS.
TOUR GUIDE (CONT'D)
Mr. Harris, can you tell me how many
Precogs there are?
MR. HARRIS
Three. Uh, right?
TOUR GUIDE
That's exactly right! A lot of people
assume there are Precogs in every
branch office.
(MORE)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
15.
TOUR GUIDE (CONT'D)
But there are only three Precogs,
right here in this building. And
the information they give us, we
send out to all the other branches.
(beat)
And what is that information -what
do the Precogs do?
An eager boy, TIMMY has the answer to that one.
TIMMY
They protect us.
The guide tousles his hair.
TOUR GUIDE
(chipper voice)
That's right, Timmy. Because of the
Precogs, you're going to grow up
murderfree. Isn't that something?
MR. HARRIS
They ever wrong? The Precogs ever
screw up when they predict a murder?
The guide laughs tolerantly.
TOUR GUIDE
Never, sir. It's an infallible
system. The Precogs predict a
homicide, and our Precrime police
then apprehend that future murderer
before the event occurs. And right
next door is the Judicial Center,
where we prosecute the
futuremurderers.
TIMMY
Can we see the Precogs?
TOUR GUIDE
No, I'm sorry. That part of the
building is not open to the public.
(beat)
Now, if you'll just step this way
...
She waves the group on toward an elevator.
INT. THE PRECOG CHAMBER
The chamber is an elaborate, hypertech hospital, constructed
for the maintenance of three beings -- the Precogs. They
are triplets -- two of the Precogs are male, one is female.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
16.
Technicians swarm all over them like worker bees. The bodies
of the Precogs are being tended to: exercised, cleansed,
groomed.
The head of each Precog is encased in a complex, ornate HELMET
that seems to be an amalgam of organic tissues and bright
metallics. The helmets pulse slightly, and the surfaces
seem to flow and shift, like oil on water.
A network of micro-thin cables that are actually strands of
light, rise Medusa-like from each helmet, then centralize
into a single strand, and connect to a massive mainframe
computer.
The Precogs appear to be in suspended animation, or in comas.
They are absolutely still and limp -- except for their faces.
Their faces are in constant motion, the lips mouthing scenes
from murders only they can see. Life for a Precog is an
endless cycle of death.
CLOSE ON - THE FEMALE PRECOG
we recognize her fragile and perfect FACE from the opening
scene of the movie. She floats in a glowing nutritive bath.
Like her brothers, she seem to be eternally young, or
eternally old.
The technicians lift her from her bath. She is dried, dressed
in a robe, then guided into an over-sized, throne like chair.
Her brothers are guided into their thrones, on either side
of her.
Not once are their helmets removed. What they feed into the
mainframe is too valuable. It must be gathered twenty-four
unrelenting hours a day.
INT. A ROOM
Ennis Page sits in a room just off the Precog Chamber. He
can see them through a large window. He works a large
computer console, the gathering point for the information
the Precogs constantly feed the computer.
Perhaps every ten seconds, a small DISC is released by the
computer, and mechanically gathered, sorted, and placed -under
Page's watchful eye -- into a black case.
ANDERSON is in the room standing quietly behind Page. As
Director, Anderson is authorized to come and go, but from
his fussy movements, it's obvious Page sees anyone else in
the room as an intruder in his special domain.
Anderson turns and looks through the window at the Precogs.
ANDERSON
What would they think about if we
unhooked them?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
17.
Page looks up from his work.
PAGE
They don't think, sir. They just
see.
Anderson is silent.
PAGE (CONT'D)
They're not even alive, really.
Anderson contemplates the scene, nods to Page's words, then
turns and walks out of the room, as Page looks on.
INT. THE PRECOG CHAMBER
The female Precog sits in her chair. Her eyes are open.
She faces the window that looks into Page's main frame room.
In the window we see Anderson leaving the room.
The female Precog's eyes drift closed.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT.COURTROOM - JUDICIAL CENTER -- DAY
A trial is in progress. The defendant is Johnny Palmer. He
sits, ashen, at a table, his DEFENSE ATTORNEY beside him.
There are no jurors in the Juror BOX. There is a JUDGE, 55,
and stern. There are a few people in the public seats.
The Precrime prosecuting attorney is Lisa Anderson. She
wears a black robe, and addresses the Director of Precrime,
Anderson, who sits in the witness stand.
LISA
Director Anderson, do you swear that
the disc you now present to the court
is the only and authentic disc of
the future murder of Carol Palmer by
her husband, John Palmer?
It is a ritual that they both have acted out hundreds of
times. Anderson gives the rote answer as he holds up the
DISC.
ANDERSON
Yes. This is the only and authentic
disc of the event seen by the
Precognitive mutants and recorded by
the Precrime Division. This is the
immutable evidence of the infallible
system.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
18.
LISA
The murder of Carol Palmer will occur
... ?
ANDERSON
In one week -- June 16th, 2040 at
10:33 in the morning.
Lisa steps back. The judge reaches out and Anderson hands
him the disc. The judge inserts it into a special video
machine on his desk. Anderson steps down, his ritual part
in this trial completed.
A. huge MONITOR comes to life behind the judge. He does not
turn around to watch -- he has his own monitor.
Johnny Palmer watches, eyes wide. We now see, in detail,
what we previously heard the Precogs act out in the beginning
of the movie.
THE MONITOR
The Palmer's family room. Johnny reaches into Carol's sewing
basket for the scissors. Carol stands defenseless in front
of him. Their son cowers in a corner of the room.
CAROL
Johnny, please --
JOHNNY
"Johnny, please. Johnny please."
CAROL
You're scaring me.
JOHNNY'S SON
DADDY, DON'T. DADDY
Johnny approaches his wife with deadly menace.
JOHNNY
(considering)
I don't like you any more, Carol.
CAROL
(imploring)
Put the scissors down. You're scaring
me.
Please. We cut away from the monitor and stay on JOHNNY
PALMER'S FACE as he sits at the defense table. He winces at
each terrible exchange.
JOHNNY (O.S.)
Oh, Carol.
CAROL (O.S.)
Johnny! Stop!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
19.
JOHNNY (O.S.)
Don't grab at me! Let
JOHNNY'S SON (O.S.)
Daddy! No!
Johnny Palmer cries out as the MONITOR goes blank.
JOHNNY
I didn't do it. I'm innocent! It
didn't happen!
The JUDGE hits his gavel.
JUDGE
How does the defense plead?
The defense attorney glances at his watch, then quickly
rattles off the words to his part of this judicial ritual.
DEFENSE ATTORNEY
The defense acknowledges the
infallibility of the system. We are
Guilty. We throw ourselves at the
mercy of the court.
JOHNNY
Not Not The Precogs are wrong! No!
The court guards are on him in an instant. They lead him
out of the courtroom.
INT.A BOARDING HOUSE - THE SPRAWL -- DAY
Anderson pushes down a tight hallway thick with police and
enters a disheveled room. The fifties interior is drab: a
Formica table, bad curtains, a frayed Lazy Boy positioned in
front of a TV.
Ed Witwer is already on the scene. He stands a few feet
from the BODY of a man, gunshot wound to the head, a handgun
on the floor nearby.
WITWER
(to Anderson)
Looks like the old days.
Anderson nods to his former partner. Anderson leans over
the body.
ANDERSON
That would be bad news for an
infallible system.
Witwer is suddenly bored.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
20.
WITWER
We know it can't be a murder -- the
Precogs would've seen it. Why do
you insist on coming to these things?
ANDERSON
Keeps the system honest. And besides,
I like to pretend I'm a cop.
Anderson turns to an officer.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
Who's got the Coroner?
Another OFFICER steps forward with a large blue case.
OFFICER
Right here, sir.
The officer places the case beside the corpse, and opens the
latches. Inside the case is a large metallic APPARATUS: the
"Coroner."
It comes to auto-life, and begins to unfold itself - It rises
crab-like, and steps out of its case.
Except for his mouth, the doctor doesn't move. His projected
image stands beside the body, his arms folded behind his
back. He is the interface, the way the humans communicate
with the crab apparatus.
ANDERSON
Hi DOC.
HOLOGRAPHIC DOCTOR
Hello, Director Anderson.
The coroner crab begins to walk the body, which is face down
on the floor. It moves slowly, hesitating as it crawls the
body's back to insert various razor thin probes and core
samplers through the shirt and into the spinal cord.
WITWER
This a homicide, Doc?
HOLOGRAPHIC DOCTOR
I'm presently analyzing neurohormones,
Assistant Director Witwer. I have
not concluded my examination.
The crab engulfs the back of the head, probes the wound.
HOLOGRAPHIC DOCTOR (CONT'D)
I'm detecting carbonization of skull
fragments around the entry wound.
Witwer whispers to Anderson.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
21.
WITWER
Bingo. The guy put the gun to his
own head.
HOLOGRAPHIC DOCTOR
I have not determined that yet,
Assistant Director.
Witwer grins.
WITWER
You have good ears for a ghost, Doc.
The coroner crab steps away from the body.
HOLOGRAPHIC DOCTOR
Please rotate the corpse to the
lateral supine position.
Two officers turn the body face-up. The crab inches close
to probe the face. Disconcertingly, it lifts the eyelids,
and examines the interior of the mouth, so that for a moment
the manipulation makes the corpse seem alive.
Then the crab moves down the trunk and the legs At last, it
comes to a standstill. The holographic Doctor closes his
eyes as if in thought.
WITWER
Can you imagine if this was a
homicide? Who even knows how to
hunt down a killer any more?
Anderson gives him a hard look.
ANDERSON
I know how, dammit. You know how.
WITWER
Easy, partner.
(beat)
But you know what I'm saying. The
state legislatures are pushing to
stop funding for training homicide
detectives ...
ANDERSON
God bless the Precogs.
The Doctor opens his eyes.
HOLOGRAPHIC DOCTOR
This event is a negative homicide.
A mortal wound was generated by a
.22 calibre bullet self-delivered to
the parietal 'portion of the skull
on June 10th, 2040, at 11:57 pm,
(MORE)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
22.
HOLOGRAPHIC DOCTOR (CONT'D)
Eastern Standard Time. This event
is a positive suicide.
The holographic doctor begins to shimmer, then disappears
back into the coroner crab. The crab crawls back into its
case, folds its probes and legs tight to its metal body, and
shuts down.
Witwer turns to Anderson.
WITWER
It's time to stop coming to these,
partner.
Anderson watches as the med techs lift the body onto a
stretcher.
ANDERSON
Yeah. You're right.
INT. A BANQUET - WASHINGTON, D.C. -- NIGHT
Anderson, in black-tie, with Lisa in a shimmering blue gown
at his side, moves through a huge room filled high level
government officials and politicians.
ANDERSON
A little bit of me dies every time I
come to one of these things.
LISA
It's only a party, Paul.
ANDERSON
I'd never have let them appoint me
to Precrime if I'd have known this
was going to be part of it.
LISA
You're exactly what Precrime needed.
An amazing homicide cop and a real
person ANDERSON in an unreal job.
Exactly. The public loves the
Precogs. But they give people the
creeps, too. You're something they
understandp a regular cop running
things.
Anderson sighs as he looks around the elegantly appointed
banquet hall.
ANDERSON
Let's invite all these irregular
assholes over for a barbecue. Burgers
and beer -think they'd come?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
23.
A barrel-chested man with a great shock of pepper gray hair,
SENATOR MALCOLM, 58, takes hold of Anderson's elbow from
behind.
SENATOR MALCOLM
I'd come, Mr. Director. And I'd
make all the other assholes come
with me.
Lisa reddens, Anderson gives an embarrassed cough. The
Senator laughs and claps him on the back.
SENATOR MALCOLM (CONT'D)
Nice job this morning. Another
negative homicide. The Precogs never
let us down.
Mrs. Malcolm smoothly occupies Lisa, while the Senator eases
Anderson in the opposite direction SENATOR MALCOLM I have a
dream, Paul.
ANDERSON
I know you do, Senator.
SENATOR MALCOLM
Hundreds of Precogs. Not just
predicting murders, but predicting
all crimes. Burglary, arson, assaults
...
ANDERSON
How about jaywalking? Littering?
Now there's a crime.
The Senator smiles through his teeth.
SENATOR MALCOLM
I don't want a police state, you
know that. But we have an opportunity
here, and
ANDERSON
No sir, we don't have that
opportunity. There are only three
Precogs. They're a lucky accident
of nature. There are no more.
SENATOR MALCOLM
(beat)
We can make more. Just give me your
support. Help me increase funding
for the Precog Engineering Project.
ANDERSON
Precogs aren't sheep or pigs. Seeing
into the future is a gift, a
nonreproducible event.
(MORE)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
24.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
There was only one Mozart, and there
are only three Precogs.
SENATOR MALCOLM
Fuck Mozart. The people want to be
safe. They want that more than they
want food or love.
He gestures at the room full of glittering partygoers.
SENATOR MALCOLM (CONT'D)
Look at us -it's 2040 and we've
wrapped ourselves up in the 1950's
like a big security blanket. Why?
Because we want to feel like they
felt. Safe.
ANDERSON
Senator, a world filled with hundreds
of Precogs is not my idea of a safe
place.
The Senator gives it one last shot.
SENATOR MALCOLM
Sure could use your help, Paul.
ANDERSON
I decline, Senator. I'm sorry.
SENATOR MALCOLM
(icily)
Don't think I'll come to your barbecue
after all.
The senator moves off. Anderson stands stiffly among the
sea of black-ties and exquisite fifties dresses.
INT. PRECOG ENGINEERING LAB - CHEVY CHASE, MD DAY
Anderson walks through the lab with a tall, pale man, DR,
RESFIELD, 60, the head scientist. It is not a place that
warms Anderson's heart.
Biotechnicians work at long stainless steel tables dissecting
and examining protoplasmic tissue masses. Other technicians
peer through massive microscopes. Still others use robotic
arms to manipulate radioactive organics behind leaded-glass
barriers.
DR. RESFIELD
You don't get out here much.
ANDERSON
Not my sort of place.
Dr. Resfield emits a dry little laugh.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
25.
DR. RESFIELD
The head of Precrime squeamish?
ANDERSON
When it comes to needles and scalpels,
yeah.
DR. RESFIELD
I promise we won't use any on you.
ANDERSON
What do you use them on?
DR. RESFIELD
(beat)
On bits of this and that.
Anderson looks at him. The doctor pauses outside a thick
door. An IdentiScan device quickly reads their eyes, and
the door opens with an electronic hiss.
Anderson looks around the lab. Technicians lower mesh
cylinders into some sort of chemical VAT. Another technician
turns a dial, and an electric charge courses through the
roiling liquid.
ANDERSON
What's happening here?
DR. RESFIELD
We're in an interesting phase.
ANDERSON
What's in the cylinders?
DR. RESFIELD
Neurotissue.
ANDERSON
From ...?
DR. RESFIELD
A fusion of sources. From the
Precogs' deceased mother. From the
Precogs themselves.
ANDERSON
A fusion of ... ?
DR. RESFIELD
In lay terms, we mated sperm from
the brothers with ova from the mother
and sister to create new growth.
The CYLINDERS shudder as the voltage is increased.
DR. RESFIELD (CONT'D)
And then we add mutating variables.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
26.
Anderson stares into the roiling vat. Dr. Resfield waits
for more questions. But it is clear from Anderson's
expression he has already learned enough.
INT. ANDERSON'S OFFICE -- DAY
Anderson sits in his office reviewing Precog discs for
premurders in the local Washington area We stay on him as he
watches the monitor. He pops the disc, jots down some notes,
slides in the next disc.
Anderson's mouth slowly opens. He leans close to the monitor,
his face ashen.
EXT. FRANK D'IGNAZIO'S BACKYARD -- LATER
Frank is on his hands and knees, working his vegetable garden.
He whistles softly under his breath as he trowels the rich
soil.
He sits up as he hears someone open the garden gate. He
lifts his straw hat in greeting, gives a smile. It's
ANDERSON.
FRANK D'IGNAZIO
What are you doing, playing hooky?
Anderson tries to smile. But it won't come. He looks around
the abundant garden.
ANDERSON
It's great out here, Frank.. You got
the touch.
Frank straightens with a grimace.
FRANK D'IGNAZIO
I got the arthritis, is what I got.
Anderson reflexively looks up at a high WHINING sound from
over head. Frank follows his gaze. A Precrime HOVERCRAFT
glides into position overhead.
Frank stares, then lowers his eyes to the ground. He takes
a long sad breath.
FRANK D'IGNAZIO (CONT'D)
Ah shit, neighbor.
(beat)
Goddamn Precogs don't miss a beat,
do they?
(beat)
Can we do this inside? Ellie's not
home.
Anderson's voice is full of pain.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
27.
ANDERSON
Sure, Frank. Yeah.
INT. FRANK'S KITCHEN -- MOMENTS LATER
Frank wanders the kitchen, trying to focus on his situation.
Anderson has trouble meeting his friend's eyes.
Through a window we can see black suited police officers
with mirrored helmets swarming outside Frank's house.
FRANK D'IGNAZIO
(distracted)
I thought I'd buried it all.
Thirty-five years -- all those minutes
and days to bury it.
(beat)
But suddenly you see the man who
murdered your daughter walking the
streets -- my God it throws you.
Frank stops pacing. He stares at a kitchen drawer.
ANDERSON
He'd served his time, Frank. I know
it's not fair. It's way beyond not
fair ...
Frank looks. At Anderson bitterly.
FRANK D'IGNAZIO
(yells)
God damn the Precogs. You know?
Why couldn't they have been around
to save my girl?
(softly)
Now they're catching me.
Frank reaches into the drawer and pulls out a small handgun.
FRANK D'IGNAZIO (CONT'D)
I really shoot the bastard, huh?
When?
ANDERSON
Next Wednesday, at noon.
FRANK D'IGNAZIO
Good.
Anderson's cop eyes are all over the gun.
ANDERSON
It's not in you, Frank, to kill
anybody.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
28.
FRANK D'IGRAZIO
Tell it to the Precogs. It's set in
stone now, right?
Frank puts the gun on the kitchen counter. Anderson relaxes.
FRANK D'IGNAZIO
(almost inaudible)
I don't want to be a part of this
world anymore.
ANDERSON
I know, Frank.
Frank gives Anderson a look -- no, friend, you don't know.
Then Frank looks hard at the gun on the counter.
FRANK D'IGNAZIO
(beat)
21 Tell me, Paul. Do the Precogs
see everything?
ANDERSON
No.
FRANK D'IGRAZIO
Then they won't have seen this.
Frank suddenly snatches up the gun and presses it to his own
head. On Anderson's anguished FACE, at the SOUND of the gun
going off.
EXT. FRONT YARD -- LATER
Anderson stands with his old partner, Witwer, on Frank's
front porch. Behind them, through an open door, we see Lisa
comforting Ellie D'Ignazio in the living room.
Anderson is deeply shaken. Witwer tries to talk him through
it.
WITWER (GENTLY)
We had to bring him in.
Anderson doesn't respond.
WITWER (CONT'D)
He was a future murderer.
ANDERSON
(angrily)
You blame him? The guy killed his
daughter!
Witwer lets the implication of his words sink in.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
Yeah. I know. I know.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
29.
Anderson turns and watches as they wheel Frank's draped body
into the back of an ambulance. Anderson's bitterness erupts.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
I hate the Precogs, Ed. I believe in
them absolutely and I hate them
absolutely. Jesus.
Witwer listens to him.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
And that goddamn lab trying to grow
more of them. Put a Precog in every
home, you know? So we can have more
Franks -people shooting themselves --
over who knows what?
Witwer kneads Anderson's shoulder, talks to him in soothing
tones like you'd calm an agitated horse.
WITWER
Precrime did the job it was supposed
to do.
The two men can hear Ellie sobbing inside the house.
WITWER (CONT'D)
You know it. And you believe in it.
ANDERSON (BEAT)
Yeah.
WITWER
It's not easy. It beats us down.
Ellie in there -- no doubt she hates
you right now.
Anderson turns to Witwer.
ANDERSON
That's why I got into this business
-- to be hated.
Anderson almost manages a small smile. Witwer puts his arm
around him. Walks him away from the scene.
WITWER
They hated us when we were regular
cops. Now we're Precrime, and they
still hate US. It's one of the little
perks of law enforcement nobody knows
about.
Their quiet laughter is tinged with sadness. Anderson looks
into his partner's good, open face. Then they both look
away, their understanding of each other complete.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
30.
INT. ANDERSON'S BEDROOM -- LATE NIGHT
Anderson stares out the window at Frank's house, illuminated
by the moon. It's a mournful sight.
Lisa rises on an elbow and watches him from the bed.
Lisa rises on an elbow and watches him from the bed.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. PRECRIME HEADQUARTERS-ALEXANDRIA-DAY - ONE WEEK LATER
Ennis Page, in the mainframe room just off the Precog Chamber,
picks up a black BRIEFCASE marked: "Zone 218 Washington /
Alexandria, VA." He approaches the door, and his eyes are
scanned. The door opens with a HISS.
We follow Page as he walks through doors and corridors until
he reaches a long hallway leading to the Director's office.
Anderson's secretary, Angela, looks up on Page's approach.
She nods. He nods.
He walks around her desk. His eyes are scanned, and the
door to Anderson's office opens.
ANDERSON looks up, wearily.
INT. ANDERSON'S OFFICE -- LATER
Anderson inserts a disc into the video monitor, almost
absently. As we have seen him do before, he swivels his
chair away from the monitor, and stares at Washington D.C.
across the Potomac. Hovercrafts and transports skim through
the sky above the Washington Monument.
The camera stays on Anderson's back as the sound from the
Precog disc begins. He hears his own voice speaking in
strained, agitated tones.
ANDERSON O.S.
Let's not do this, Ed.
Anderson slowly swivels around and stares with disbelief and
horror at the monitor.
THE MONITOR
shows Anderson and Witwer in a room, a few feet apart pointing
guns directly at each other. Their eyes intense and panicked.
Who murders whom?
Ed's eyes cut to a huge digital clock on the wall as the red
seconds tumble away.
ANDERSON
Oh, Ed ...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
31.
Witwer lowers his gun. He stands unresisting before
Anderson.
Witwer sees his own death in Anderson's wild eyes, has always
seen it.
Anderson FIRES his weapon, puts a bullet straight into
Witwer's heart, throwing him back against a wall. Witwer
slumps, dying, beneath the huge digital clock, which reads:
5:20 AM.
BACK TO SCENE
Anderson stares as the monitor fades to a blank. His hand
goes to his mouth. His body begins to shake. He hugs
himself, but he can't stop the shaking.
The DISC pops out of the side of the monitor. It is a small
SOUND, but it has Anderson up and out of his chair as if it
were a gunshot, He reaches for the disc but cannot touch it.
His legs suddenly weaken, and he drops to one knee beside
his desk, like a man in need of prayer.
There is a single thought that screams through his brain.
It is an almost visible thing, filling the room, blackly.
Anderson whispers the sickening words that shape his fate.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
I kill you.
(beat)
Oh god, I kill you.
As Anderson pulls himself up, and tries to reach again for
the disc ...
CUT TO:
INT. THE PRECOG CHAMBER
In an image just like the scene in the beginning of the movie,
the three FACES of the Precogs hover in the misty darkness.
Their closed eyes open in SUDDEN UNISON. They speak as one.
ALL THREE
Murderer!
After a long moment, the eyes close again, and the Precogs
fade into the mists ...
CUT TO:
INT. ANDERSON'S OFFICE
Anderson looks up sharply at the SOUND of a knock on his
door. Every normal sound seems grotesquely AMPLIFIED, the
traffic outside, his own breathing.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
32.
His senses are on overload.
The door begins to open. A stockinged leg is the first thing
Anderson sees. His secretary, ANGELA.
ANGELA
Sir?
She hesitates before fully entering the room, Anderson grabs
at the incriminating disc. He sees his EYES reflected in
its alloy surface. He pushes the disc deep into his pants
pocket.
Somehow he finds his voice.
ANDERSON
Come in. Angela.
She looks at him, uncertain. Then she places a small stack
of papers on his desk.
ANGELA
Need you to sign these. And your
eleven o'clock starts in five minutes.
ANDERSON
My ... eleven.
ANGELA
(beat)
Budget coordination with the FBI.
(beat)
You okay, sir?
Anderson runs his hand through his hair, can't think fast
enough. He sees her glance at the black Precog disc case.
He shuts it, awkwardly, and it auto-locks.
ANDERSON
Have Page take this.
Angela steps back, disturbed.
ANGELA
But sir, the procedure
ANDERSON (SNAPS)
I make procedure. Call him.
(long beat)
I'm not okay, Angela ... you're right.
My head and stomach. I'm going down to the clinic. Or maybe
just home.
Angela looks relieved at the explanation.
ANGELA
Yes sir.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
33.
He moves past her. His FINGERS fidget against the hidden
disc in his pocket.
ANDERSON
I'll speak to Witwer, put him in
charge for the rest of the day.
He hesitates at the door, turns to look at his office, and
at his view of Washington. Then he is gone.
INT. OUTSIDE WITWER'S OFFICE -- MOMENTS LATER
Anderson looks in the door Of Witwer's empty office. He
takes a step inside.
Witwer's booming voice sounds from behind him, startling
him.
WITWER
Breaking and entering. That'll get
you five to ten, hard.
Witwer immediately scans his old partner's ashen face.
WITWER (CONT'D)
What's wrong?
Anderson can hardly bear to meet his friend's eyes. He
REACHES into his pocket, as if to lift the disc into the
light. If he could just do that, show it to Witwer.
WITWER Paul?
Anderson's hand comes out of his pocket, EMPTY.
ANDERSON
Take over for me today?
WITWER
You sick?
ANDERSON
Yeah.
Witwer makes a show of backing away.
WITWER
Don't give it to me. You probably
have that Trans-10 virus going around.
A stomach thing. I hate stomach
things.
Anderson Almost smiles.
ANDERSON
Ed.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
34.
WITWER
Yeah?
Witwer looks at him. Anderson almost reaches out for him.
ANDERSON
Run the place, okay?
WITWER
(smiles)
Sure. Right into the ground.
(beat)
Go on home before I call Infectious
Control and have them spray you down
with something.
Anderson moves unsteadily down the hallway. Witwer calls
out.
WITWER (CONT'D)
You want me to do the discs, or hold
them for you to review when you get
back?
ANDERSON
Can't let them back up. Do 'em.
WITWER
Call you later. Take it easy, all
right?
Witwer lifts his hand in farewell, Anderson fixes on that
last image -- Witwer waving goodbye.
INT. PRECRIME UNDERGROUND GARAGE -- LATER
Anderson, sweating now, leans against a thick cement pillar
and pulls out a cell phone. He hits a button.
INTERCUT BETWEEN ANDERSON / LISA AT THE JUDICIAL CENTER
Lisa sits in a meeting. Her phone CHIRPS softly. She glances
at the display, then rises to take it. She goes to a corner
of the room.
LISA
Paul?
ANDERSON
Listen to me.
Lisa presses her phone close to her ear.
LISA
I can hardly hear you.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
35.
ANDERSON
I'm underground. Weakens the signal
so it can't be picked up.
Alarm moves across her face.
LISA
But we're on Secure
ANDERSON
Listen, dammit! I'm going to murder
Ed.
The Precogs picked it up.
On Lisa -- can she have heard right?
LISA
Paul. Paul His crackling voice
faintly comes through the phone.
ANDERSON'S VOICE
... home.
Lisa's phone goes dead.
BACK TO ANDERSON
Anderson looks down a long row of parked Precrime ground
transports. They are sleek and menacing, the black shells
lumpy with dangerous gadgetry. In the distance, a POLICE
OFFICER, holding an armful of equipment, opens the back of
one of them.
He looks up at Anderson's approach. He puts his equipment
down, and salutes.
POLICE OFFICER
Hello, sir.
Anderson nods, moves close.
ANDERSON
What's your name, officer?
POLICE OFFICER
Bob, uh, Robert Smythe.
ANDERSON
These the new Python transports?
The young officer turns and looks at the transport with pride,
is about to speak, when Anderson touches a palm-sized Nova
stun gun to the base of his neck.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
(sincerely)
Sorry, Officer Smythe.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
36.
The officer buckles. Anderson catches him, rolls him gently
into the back of the transport.
Then Anderson quickly reaches into the transport, and begins
stuffing equipment into a duffel bag: a helmet and black
uniform, the weapon-glove, a folded rifle, a holographic
scanner, and other equipment whose function we can only guess
at.
Anderson looks up at a sound, echoey FOOTSTEPS. They
approach, then fade away.
Anderson places the officer's hands and legs together, then
aims a nozzled cylinder at them. He shoots a spray of blue
BindFoam chemical restraint, sticking the man to the floor
of the transport in an adhesive glob.
Then he leaves the scene, running.
INT. ANDERSON'S CHEVY
Anderson grips the wheel of his Chevy, driving down 1-95.
The fact that he can't control his car -- that the steering
wheel has no function, his speed is predetermined, and his
direction is guided by satellite -- is maddening now.
From inside the cars that glide along beside him people turn
and look curiously at the man who is actually gripping his
steering wheel.
Anderson slams it with his fist. Through his windshield
Anderson sees a four year old boy in the driver's seat of a
passing red and black Ford. His mother sits in the
passenger's seat, blithely reading. The boy mimics Anderson,
gleefully slams his steering wheel too, then laughs.
Anderson turns and looks the other way, into the distance,
at the "Sprawl,' the vast unzoned city attached to Washington
D.C. You can see it in his face: a man could lose himself in
there.
EXT. POTOMAC PARK
Anderson stands on an embankment. He holds the Precog disc
in his hand, ready to throw it into the river.
He stands like that ... and then slowly lets his hand drop.
He doesn't do it.
INT. ANDERSON'S HOME - SUBURBS -- LATER
Lisa enters the house, in a rush. Every shade is drawn.
Paul Anderson sits in an overstuffed chair, absolutely
motionless, like a man who has died suddenly.
ANDERSON
Don't move.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
37.
Lisa doesn't get it. She continues toward him.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
Stop! Moving heats you up, makes it
easier for them to pick you up on
their thermals.
She looks at him, scared, stops in her tracks. She is
suddenly suffocating.
LISA
It's a hundred degrees in here.
ANDERSON
I turned the furnace all the way up.
Your hair dryer. The oven. If they
come, it'll buy me twenty seconds.
Maybe thirty.
LISA
Nobody's coming for you.
Anderson stares at her.
LISA (CONT'D)
On the phone -- what you said. It's
impossible.
She shakes her head in disbelief. Anderson speaks, choking
on the words.
ANDERSON
I'm going to kill Ed Witwer.
LISA
It's not true.
Anderson's right hand hangs over the side of his armchair.
We see the bright DISC cupped in the palm. He seems about
to reveal it to her, but doesn't, yet. He keeps staring at
her intently. Something is holding him back.
LISA (CONT'D)
You're upset. You've been unhappy.
There's a lot of pressure on you.
And then Frank ...
ANDERSON
One week from today. Tuesday, June
25, at five-twenty in the morning.
I shoot him, Lisa.
LISA
(beat)
You need to take time off.
Anderson laughs harshly.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
38.
ANDERSON
You don't have to worry about that.
She steps toward him.
LISA
(gently)
I want to hold you.
ANDERSON
If you love me, stand there. And
don't move.
Tears well in her eyes.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
I saw the disc, Lisa. I shoot him.
In the chest. And he dies. I I've
watched a thousand murders. This
time I star in one.
LISA
Something's wrong. You wouldn't do
it.
ANDERSON
The Precogs are never wrong. They
emit a single disc. "The immutable
evidence of the infallible system."
The room is terribly hot, his words -- she begins to sway
unsteadily.
Anderson focuses on her. Her face. Her hair ...
LISA
We'll figure this out. We'll review
the system.
ANDERSON
There is no review. There's only
the disc. It Shows My quilt. There's
no defense.
Her long hair. He stares.
LISA
You can't run. Please, let's --
A SOUND outside. They both turn. A deep silence. The
furnace churns out heat. And Anderson looks at Lisa's hair
... and finally understands.
Slowly, and very carefully, Anderson slides the DISC back
into his pocket. He rises from his chair. For the first
time he goes to her, reaches out, and touches her hair.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
39.
ANDERSON
Last week. It was strange. I watched
from the bathroom window. You went
out in the backyard to make a call
She looks at him.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
An appointment, you said. For a
haircut that afternoon.
Lisa's hand jumps to her hair.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
You didn't get your hair cut. You
went to the trouble of calling first
thing in the morning. It was that
important ...
She reaches for him. He pulls away.
LISA
Stop it! Paul, please. You're
panicking. Everything's going to
look wrong. You're going to distrust
everybody and everything now.
Lisa implores him.
LISA (CONT'D)
You can't distrust me.
(beat)
It was Ed I called.
Anderson cocks his head.
ANDERSON
Ed. why outside? Why lie about it?
LISA
Stop being a cop and listen to me!
A booming, electronically altered VOICE suddenly penetrates
the walls of the house from outside.
VOICE (O.S.)
Director Anderson! There is no
escape!
Anderson, betrayed, glares at his wife. She's frantic.
LISA
Your birthday's tomorrow! We wanted
to But be's already on the move,
running for the upstairs.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
40.
VOICE (O.S.)
Drop to your hands and knees and
stay there. Precrime is entering
your house!
Lisa screams, as her front door is sonically BLASTED off its
hinges, and a swarm of Precrime officers in mirrored helmets
hurtle in.
LISA
Paull They move past her and spread
through the rooms and up the stairs
like a disease in fast motion.
UPSTAIRS
Helmeted officers hold their gloved right bands palm out,
scanning rooms for thermal presence.
An OFFICER I steps out of a small room. He speaks, his voice
electronically altered.
OFFICER I
He Is got a hair dryer going. Screwed
up my reading.
The others nod.
OFFICER 2
We're not picking up shit.
They rush into rooms, with increased urgency. We follow
OFFICER I as he moves counter to the group and down the
stairs.
He hesitates as he moves through the living room, which is
awash in personnel. Lisa stands against the wall, pale and
shaken. He looks at her for a long beat, then steps over
the shattered door and out into the sunlight.
OUTSIDE
Everywhere else in the neighborhood it is green and calm.
But Anderson's house looks like a wasps's nest someone has
kicked. Four Precrime hovercrafts are suspended above it,
engines WHINING. Black Python transports are all over the
street out in front, and more keep coming.
And everywhere on foot, there are Precrime police. OFFICER
I approaches a Python ground transport. Another officer
guards it, weapon out, his head turning right to left. He
settles on OFFICER I's approach and raises his weapon.
OFFICER 1 doesn't even break stride. He walks right up to
the guard -- and then right through him. A holograph decoy.
OFFICER 1 enters the Python.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
41.
INSIDE THE PYTHON
OFFICER 1 removes his helmet -- it's Anderson. And then
comes the moment of truth -- have they cancelled his
IdentiScan access to Precrime vehicles yet?
A little scanner arm arches down from the visor, and flashes
a red beam into his eyes. Anderson presses his lips together.
The Python turns on, and a generated voice greets him.
VOICE
Paul Anderson 0256 clear.
Anderson grips the steering wheel. But his time, since it
is a law enforcement. Vehicle, the steering actually works.
Anderson pulls out.
FROM ABOVE, as the Python transport slips away from the chaos.
THEN HIGHER, and we see that the direction the Python is
headed will take it from the green of the suburbs, through
the white of Washington, and into the dark of The Sprawl.
INT. PRECRIME HEADQUARTERS -- DAY
Ed Witwer sits alone in an antechamber. He stares at an
oversized oak door, then looks down at the floor.
He runs both hands through his hair. He is tired, his eyes
weary, lost.
A voice comes over the intercom.
VOICE
Enter now please, Assistant Director
Witwer.
Witwer pulls himself together, and opens the door.
INT. A CONFERENCE ROOM
Witwer takes a seat at the end of a long table.
Powerful men sit at the other end of the table. SWANSON,
sharp-boned, the FBI Director. CRONIN, awl-like eyes, the
CIA Director. Senator Malcolm. Chief Justice POLLARD, whose
face reveals nothing. Vice-President ALMER, whose tongue
darts across his dry lips unsettlingly. Unpleasant looking
men in an unpleasant mood.
Cronin looks up from a printout he's been reading and stares
at Witwer.
CIA CRONIN
The central question is: Why does
Anderson want to kill Witwer?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
42.
Cronin holds up the printout.
CIA CRONIN (CONT'D)
We checked your finances. His
finances. Nothing irregular, you
don't steal from him, he doesn't
steal from you. You haven't done
anything that he might have
discovered, and vice versa.
Swanson holds up another sheath of papers.
FBI SWANSON
Personnel checks reveal no ambitious
coups planned by you to topple him.
(beat)
He's done nothing to you, or you to
him.
Witwer presses his lips together.
VICE-PRESIDENT ALMER
You fucking his wife?
WITWER
No.
FBI SWANSON
HIS MOTHER? HIS BROTHER?
Witwer gives him a bad look.
FBI SWANSON (CONT'D)
Okay. There we are.
JUSTICE POLLARD
So, you are friends, partners, and
soul mates. Anderson has no motive.
WITWER
I can't think of one.
(beat)
Maybe JUSTICE POLLARD The Precogs
are mistaken?
Witwer looks away. Jesus, he wants out of this room.
JUSTICE POLLARD
You don't believe that, do you?
WITWER
(barely audible)
No. The Precogs are infallible.
Senator Malcolm is impatient with all this.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
43.
SENATOR MALCOLM
You're goddam right. So, gentlemen
-screw the motive. We got a
pre-murderer on the run, and a nasty
little PR problem.
The very powerful men level their unpleasant gazes on Witwer.
VICE-PRESIDENT ALMER
And here is our solution. You are
now Director Witwer.
Witwer shakes his head, starts to protest. Almer silences
him with a raised finger.
VICE-PRESIDENT ALMER (CONT'D)
Precrime must demonstrate its
willingness to go after one of its
own. Total impartiality.
WITWER
Now look--
Cronin talks right over him.
CIA CRONIN
The public must believe that every
future murderer is pursued with equal
vigor.
FBI SWANSON
Therefore, Precrime will put in charge
the man best suited to the job. And
who would pursue a murderer harder
... than his intended victim?
JUSTICE POLLARD
You went after Anderson yesterday
-because it was right, and because
you believe.
Almer speaks with a tight irony.
VICE-PRESIDENT ALMER
And your belief will certainly grow
stronger with each tick of the clock.
Witwer looks at the men with thinly-veiled hatred. But he
does not deny their words.
JUSTICE POLLARD
Haw long will it take, Director?
Wiltwer takes a long breath, concentrates his mind on the
task he can't avoid.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
44.
WITWER
He knows Precrime, of course. And
the streets -- he's rusty, but he'll
remember how to work them. It'll
come back to him fast. He's ... the
best.
Witwer almost smiles. Justice Pollard's not smiling.
JUSTICE POLLARD
We're not here to praise Caesar --
we're here to bury him.
Witwer looks at Pollard, then lifts a finger and touches his
right eye.
WITWER
He can't avoid iris identification.
Every door he opens, every ATM he
uses, or taxi or transport he boards
-- he'll get scanned.
(quietly)
It won't take long to find him The
eyes that look back at Witwer
areunblinking.
EXT. THE SPRAWL NIGHT
The unzoned city is full of 1950's iconography, but it all
feels different than it did in the suburbs. Where the burbs
were Ike, the city is Joseph McCarthy.
The fat Ramblers and Studebakers have a little grime on them.
The women's dresses are tighter and more urgent, the men's
suits have some shine at the elbows. You look over your
shoulder here, move faster, and smile a lot less.
And some streets you don't go on at all. Anderson's Python
moves down one of them. He stops under a blackened suspension
bridge, gets out. He's still in uniform. He holds a duffel
bag.
He starts to walk away from the Python, then hesitates.
He's left the door open. He shakes his head at his
sloppiness. Goes back and shuts the door. Walks away again.
INSIDE THE CAR
He's left a small DEVICE on the passenger's seat. Digital
numbers shoot by in reverse. Something CLICKS.
OUTSIDE THE CAR
Anderson continues walking away. He doesn't look back as
the Python is engulfed in a miniature sun of heat and flame.
It's not a gasoline powered vehicle -- so it doesn't explode.
It just ceases to exist.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
45.
EXT. ORANGE DRY CLEANERS - -- NIGHT LATER
Through a smeared window Anderson sees racks of suits and
dresses hanging in clear plastic bags. He gets to work on
the door.
INT. ANDERSON'S HOUSE -- NIGHT
Lisa lies in her bed, alone in the dark. She listens to an
almost inaudible sound, a high WHINE.
EXT. ANDERSON'S HOUSE
A Precrime HOVERCRAFT floats high above her house, a dark
moon in the low clouds.
EXT. ORANGE DRY CLEANERS -- EARLY MORNING
A worker stands in the back of the store puzzling over the
clean clothes piled on the floor. It almost looks like a
nest, like someone slept there
EXT. SUBWAY LATER
Anderson, in a blue suit and fedora, carrying his duffel
bag, stands on a subway platform. He takes out a cell phone,
dials a number. He looks up at the SOUND of a train.
The approaching MagLev train has a lit sign on its front
car: "33rd Street Express."
CUT TO:
INT. PRECRIME HEADQUARTERS
Search and Command room. Witwer moves up and down the aisles,
past technicians who man computers and holographic tracking
displays.
A Precrime TECHNICIAN 1 suddenly sits upright. Witwer picks
him out of the cgowd and zeroes in.
TECHNICIAN
I It's Anderson.
Witwer grabs a phone, punches a button
WITWER
Paull The technicians scramble to
pinpoint Anderson on a
Glowing holographic MAP.
CUT TO:
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
46.
EXT. SUBWAY STATION
Anderson, holding his phone, is IdentiScanned along with
everyone else as he steps onto the train.
CUT TO:
INT. PRECRIME HEADQUARTERS
Another TECHNICIAN 2 calls out to Witwer. Witwer covers his
phone mouthpiece.
TECHNICIAN 2
He's been Scanned. He's on the 33rd
Street Subway!
TECHNICIAN 1 Calls from the other side of the room
TECHNICIAN
His cell phone tracks for The Sprawl.
We got him on the Subway, tool
CUT TO:
INT. SUBWAY CAR
Anderson sits on a seat in the rear of the car.
ANDERSON
Why am I going to kill you,Ed?
INTERCUT:ANDERSON ON THE SUBWAY /WITWER AT PRECRIME
WITWER
There's no motive
ANDERSON
My wife calling you before breakfast?
WITWER
We were planning a surprise party.
It was going to be today.
(beat, ironic)
Happy birthday, partner.
ANDERSON
This party's no fun, Ed. It's a hell
of a surprise, though.
(beat)
I'm having trouble trusting people,
Ed, I gotta tell you.
At Precrime, they upload a MAP DISPLAY of the Express train's
route. We see a blue light moving -- the train. And two
separate red dots along its route.
An OFFICER points at the dots, and speaks to Witwer in a low
voice.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
47.
OFFICER
The train makes two stops, here and
here: 20th, then 33rd Street.
Witwer covers the Mouthpiece
WITWER
(to the officer)
Split the units, go to both
OFFICER
We'll never make 20th Witwer waves
him away -- do your job. Now.
ANDERSON
You there, Ed?
WITWER
I'm here. You gotta come in, Paul .
ANDERSON
I'm a Cop, Ed. I need a motive.
WITWER
Come in. We'll figure this thing
out together.
CUT TO:
EXT. THE SPRAWL
Precrime transports zoom through the city
CUT TO:
INT. THE SUBWAY TRAIN
Anderson looks out the window into the tunnel dark. He talks
to Witwer.
INTERCUT: ANDERSON/WITWER
WITWER
It'll get ugly if you keep running.
And your eyes, Paul -- every move
you make a Scanner will pinpoint you
for us.
ANDERSON
I saw a news flash. You're the new
Director. Is that the point of this?
WITWER
Fuck you.
Anderson smiles.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
48.
ANDERSON
Didn't think so. But it has to be
something, Ed.
Witwer looks at the DISPLAY MAP. We see the blue train
nearing its first stop, 20th street. We see two waves of
lighted green dots -- Precrime units heading for 20th and
33rd.
WITWER
Paul. Come in.
Anderson sees an overhead light come on in the train: "Next
Stop 20th Street.
ANDERSON
If I come in, it puts me close to
you. If I get close ... I may kill
you. I can't risk that.
(beat)
Anyway, they'd force you to lock me
up. And that'd be it -- I'd never
get my chance to solve this thing.
Witwer needs to keep him talking
WITWER
You're kinds liking this, in a way,
aren't you? The action ...
ANDERSON
And you get to be a real cop again.
We get to flex our muscles.
CUT TO:
EXT. 20TH STREET SUBWAY STATION
Precrime vehicles pull up. Hovercrafts appear in the sky
above.
CUT TO:
INT. 20TH STREET SUBWAY STATION
Anderson's train is just finishing off-loading passengers.
The doors close and the train begins to pull out as the first
helmeted Precrime officers flood the platform.
One of them points.
CLOSE
ON: A TRAIN WINDOW
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
49.
Anderson is visible through the window, talking on his cell
phone.
CUT TO:
INT.PRECRIME HEADQUARTERS
Witwer stares at the map. The train has stopped at 20th
street. But Anderson's still talking. He isn't getting off
-- he's going on to 33rd Street, the last stop.
Technician 2 presses his earphone close, listens, then calls
over to Witwer. Witwer covers his mouthpiece.
TECHNICIAN 2
We have visual verification -- he's
still on the train.
Witwer gives him a thumb's up. We STAY ON Witwer as he
listens to Anderson, and watches his train move toward 33rd
on the MAP.
ANDERSON'S VOICE
I want to tell you something, partner.
You listening?
Witwer nods. Now the MAP shows all the Precrime units
swarming toward the 33rd Street subway station.
WITWER
Yeah.
ANDERSON'S VOICE
I gotta do this. I have to figure
this thing out.
(beat)
But listen to me now. If it was you
running, I'd come after you, Ed.
Witwer stares at the MAP, at all the units he's sent after
his friend.
ANDERSON'S VOICE (CONT'D)
You're a cop. And I'm a future
murderer.
(beat)
Do your job, Ed. Come after me hard.
Because, Jesus Christ, I wouldn't
sleep or eat until I had tracked you
down and put a gun to your head.
CUT TO:
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
50.
EXT. 33RD STREET SUBWAY
Precrime officers pour down the stairs toward the train
platform.
CUT TO:
INT. PRECRIME HEADQUARTERS
Witwer watches on the MAP at all the little symbols merging
together, like a gameboard -- but this game ends in a reallife
confrontation between one man and an army of them.
WITWER
You wouldn't shoot a cop would you,
Paul?
(beat)
Paul? Paull He looks urgently to
the phone technician
TECHNICIAN
I He's still on the line.
Witwer presses his ear to the phone. He can hear the subway
make its STOP. Then he hears a chorus of mechanized VOICES
-the voices of the Precrime police, the SCREAMS of panicked
passengers
VOICES ON ANDERSON'S PHONE
Police. Everyone down on your hands
and knees!
(then)
Oh, shit.
CUT TO:
INT.SUBWAY TRAIN
The Precrime officers aim the index barrels of their
gloveweapons at ANDERSON, who sits blithely on a seat, holding
his cell phone to his ear.
Anderson begins to shimmer, then dematerialize ghost-like,
into nothingness. He was a holographic decoy.
What is actually there on the train seat is Anderson's cell
phone. Rigged to its mouthpiece is a tiny digital voice
recorder.
CUT TO:
INT. 20TH STREET SUBWAY
Anderson trots up the stairs and safely out onto the streets
of The Sprawl.
DISSOLVE TO:
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
51.
EXT. STREET - THE SPRAWL -- NIGHT
Every city has its underbelly. If you lifted the fat dark
underbelly of The Sprawl this is where you'd end up.
The streets here feel like alleys, clotted and tight. There
are streetlights, bright ones -- but the light dies at its
source, never makes it through the sour air down to the
ground.
The retro fifties look comes apart here. The people that
you see -- and you only catch quick glimpses of them, they
move like rats -- wear black mostly, tight fitting
tech-fibers.
ANDERSON'S caught one of the rats, a thin bald guy in black.
Anderson has him pinned up against a wall. They're having
some kind of exchange -- which consists of the guy answering
none of Anderson's questions, and Anderson pressing him harder
against the wall.
Finally, the guy does something odd. He lifts a finger and
pulls down Anderson's right lower eyelid. Anderson lets
him. Then the guy does the same on the left. Has a long
look. And then nods. Anderson releases him, and they go
off together.
EXT. AN APARTMENT BUILDING -- LATER
An oppressive brick thing on a side street. The facade is
crumbling. Nothing good happens in a building like this..
The guy leads Anderson to the building, then scurries off
into the night.
INT. ROOM -- LATER
A stained overstuffed chair in the corner, a dreary little
kitchen with crusted dishes in the sink.
But jarringly, in the center of all this, is a make-shift
hypertech medical setup: a gleaming operating table, an array
of lasers, scalpels and surgical equipment, an anesthesia
console.
Anderson sits in a chair facing DOC. DOC is a big man with
delicate fingers. He sneezes, then blows his nose hard into
a handkerchief.
DOC
Got a cold.
Anderson looks at him uneasily. It's not just DOC -- it's
the whole setup, the needles and scalpels, the medical thing,
which Anderson truly does not care for. Doc sneezes again,
then looks up at his patient.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
52.
DOC (CONT'D)
Don't worry. I could cut open your
chest, sew a dead cat in there, and
you'd never get an infection. Not
with the spectrum antibios I'll be
shooting into you.
ANDERSON
I'm not hem for cat surgery,Doc.
Doc chuckles. Then he waits, expectantly.
Anderson hands him a tiny opalescent card. A preset cash
card. DOC slides it into small console, watches the numbers
flash up. He frowns, sighs.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
It's all I could safely move
He waits. Doc's not thrilled, but finally, he nods.
DOC
Yeah. All right.
Time to got down to business. Doc walks over to a large
medical cabinet and opens the door. It's full of EYES, and
parts of eyes -- 611 ! A cryo-jars.
Anderson tightens.
DOC (CONT'D)
You understand what I told you then.
I can't just give you new irises.
The Scanners will read the scar
tissue. Alarms will go off.
ANDERSOIN
I'm a cop, I know
DOC
I gotta take your eyes out.
Anderson knows this, too, wishes Doc would shut up ANDERSON
Yeah.
DOC (CONT'D)
And put in new ones.
ANDERSON
Yeah. I get it, DOC.
Anderson rises up out of his chair and goes over to the
operating table. He lies down.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
Do me quick before I run out of here.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
53.
Anderson lies there, blinking up at the ceiling. He listens
to Doc preparing instrument trays. It's a bad sound.
EXT. THE SPRAWL -- DAY
The suspension bridge where we saw Anderson vaporize the
Python transport. Witwer stands watching as a Precrime
techno-unit sifts through the white ashes.
Witwer lifts his face to the acrid breeze coursing off the
Potomac. It's a pose a track dog might hold, nose up, testing
the air for a scent.
INT. BOARDING HOUSE ROOM - THE SPRAWL -- DAY
We can't see anything at first, because Anderson can't see
anything either. He's in a deep post-surgical haze. DOC'S
voice comes to him. It's warped and ugly.
DOC'S VOICE
Don't take the bandages off for twenty
four hours. You'll go blind if you
do.
Anderson makes an affirmative grunt Now we see his
surroundings, even though Anderson still can't. He lies in
a grungy bed, his head and eyes swathed in white dressings.
Doc stands over him.
DOC
You're in a room. I had you moved
here, a couple miles from my place.
If they find you, they don't find
me.
Anderson grunts weakly.
DOC (CONT'D)
A guy will come in, feed you once.
(beat)
I juiced up the nano-reconstruction
around your new eyes, 'cause I know
you're in a hurry.
ANDERSON
(Fuzzily))
Nano-re ...construction.
DOC
Organic microrobots that reconstruct
nerves and blood vessels. It'll
feel like fleas chewing on your
eyeballs. Don't scratch.
Anderson is already reaching his hands for his bandages.
Doc forces them away.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
54.
DOC (CONT'D)
I'm giving you a bonus, might come
in handy. Feel this.
Doc takes an air-syringe out of his pocket and touches it to
Anderson's hand.
DOC (CONT'D)
It's a temporary paralytic enzyme.
Someone spots you, you duck into an
alley, shoot this under your chin.
Doc presses the tip into the soft underpart of Anderson's
chin. Anderson jumps.
DOC (CONT'D)
The enzyme turns your facial muscles
to mush. You won't look like the
same man.
ANDERSON
Jesus.
DOC
You tighten up again in about thirty
minutes. Hurts like nothing you
ever felt. It's vicious, but
effective. I'll put it in your bag.
Finally, Doc takes a small clock out of his pocket and places
it on a dresser beside Anderson's bed.
DOC (CONT'D)
I'm setting up a timer. When it
buzzes tomorrow, take off your
bandages, and get the hell out of
here.
Anderson, groggy, starts to say something else, but then he
hears a door open and close, and Doc is gone.
EXT. THE SPRAWL -- NIGHT
The Precrime presence mounts on the streets. A couple of
units move past the boarding house, but they don't stop.
INT. BOARDING HOUSE ROOM -- DAY
Anderson sits in a chair, his dressings like a blindfold.
He looks like a hostage. He is sweating. Keeps reaching
for his dressings to scratch, then forces himself not to.
He speaks to someone we don't yet see. The guy DOC said
would come.
ANDERSON
I'm hungry, but sick to my stomach.
(MORE)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
55.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
Guess I should eat. (Beat) You gonna
help feed me?
Now the camera moves and we see who it is that has been sent
to help Anderson. It's the rat guy, the thin bald man
Anderson had roughed up the day before. The guy has a bowl
of hot soup in his hands. He stares contemptuously at
Anderson.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
So how do we do this, pal?
The rat guy doesn't say a word. He simply tips the hot soup
and it splatters down into Anderson's lap. Anderson cries
out in pain and surprise. The guy walks out of the room.
CLOSE
ON- THE TIMER
Twenty hours gone by. Four more to go.
EXT. THE SPRAWL
Precrime cops are shaking down any of the rats they can catch,
looking for leads, looking for anything.
INT. THE BOARDING ROOM
The TIMER shows one hour to go. Anderson sits in a chair,
squirming miserably. His dressings are wet with sweat, and
frayed and dirty at the edges where he has tugged and plucked
at them.
ANDERSON
(to himself)
Fuck.
He is this close to ripping the dressings off
EXT. THE BOARDING HOUSE -- DAY
A Precrime transport stops. Two officers get out. One of
them sets up a large thermal scanner on the sidewalk, and
does a read on the boarding house. The other does a read on
a pawn shop and bar next door..
The OFFICER I doing Anderson's boarding house, calls to the
other officer.
OFFICER 1
Got 27 warm bodies in this place.
What should it take, three or four
Spiders?
OFFICER 2
Do four. Speed things up, so we can
go eat.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
56.
The Officer 1 opens the back of the transport, and takes out
a box. He removes four round BALLS. They are silver, as
big as billiard balls.
He goes up to the boarding house, gets IdentiScanned, and
the front door opens. He rolls the balls down a dark hallway.
Then he goes back out to the transport, and leans against
it, bored. He holds up an electronic clipboard and waits
for the data to come in.
INT. THE BUILDING
The BALLS roll about eight feet, then suddenly come to
autolife as they spin. They open like flowers -- flowers
with legs.
CLOSE ON : A BALL
A fist-sized Spider takes shape. On its head is an IdentiScan
lens mounted on a thin metallic antenna.
INT. A ROOM
An OLD WOMAN sits at a card table eating a bowl of something
unidentifiable. She looks up with annoyance as she sees a
spider scuttling across the floor toward her. It makes a
CLICKING sound on the floor as it comes. She's poor, living
in The Sprawl -- she knows the drill. She continues to eat
as the SPIDER crawls up the leg of the card table. She barely
watches as it moves past her bowl and toward her hand.
OLD WOMAN
It's nice to have a little company
She smiles toothlessly at her joke The Spider hops onto her
am and inches up, then moves across her shoulder. It grips
her cheek lightly, as the IdentiScan antenna reads her eyes.
Then it leaps off her and onto the floor and CLICKS away
across the linoleum.
EXT. THE BOARDING HOUSE
The Precrime officer lifts his clipboard and checks a column
with his laser pen, and waits for the next one.
INT. ANDERSON'S ROOM
Anderson sits in his chair. He cocks his head, listening.
His body tenses. Something feels wrong.
The TIMER shows ten minutes to go. Blindfolded for a day
and a night, Anderson has no idea how much time he has left.
Three seconds, four hours?
A flattened SPIDER squeezes under his door. Anderson tenses
as it CLICKS across the floor toward him.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
57.
He knows that sound.
Anderson stumbles up and out of his chair. He starts to
grab at his dressings, remembers Doc's warning, and stops
himself. The SPIDER waits for him to settle, then CLICKS
toward him again.
Anderson moves around the room, avoiding the Spider. He is
dripping with sweat, starting to breathe hard. The Spider
Comes faster. Anderson crashes into a table, brings it down.
Falls across the bed.
EXT. THE BOARDING HOUSE
The Officer 1 squints at his clipboard. One of the Spiders
is taking too long. He adjusts his thermal scanner, and
sees the heat outline of a man bouncing around a room.
The other Officer 2 finishes reading the pawn shop and the
barroom, then wanders over to Officer 1. They both watch the
screen.
OFFICER 1
Stinking drunk.
OFFICER 2
(beat)
Or a guy who doesn't want to get
read.
INT. ANDERSON'S ROOM
Anderson forces himself to sit still, because he knows the
consequences. The Spider advances, starts up his leg.
The TIMER has not buzzed. Anderson can't touch his dressings.
The Spider moves across his shoulder and onto his face. It
WHIRS and HU14S trying to adjust its antenna against the
dressings.
EXT. THE BOARDING HOUSE
The officers eye the thermal scanner, as they reach for their
mirrored helmets, getting ready to go in.
INT. ANDERSON'S ROOM
The Spider crawls all over Anderson's head, trying to get
past the dressings for a read.
Anderson has no choice. None. He starts to lift at his
dressing. The Spider senses his cooperation, freezes in
place.
Anderson wants to scream. He unwraps his head, tugs the eye
pads away from his eyes. He rips them off. The Spider sits
on his shoulder, waiting.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
58.
Anderson's eyes are tightly closed. He opens them
ANDERSON'S POV - BLINDING LIGHT
Light brighter than a magnesium burn, brighter than a nuclear
flashpoint. Light to buckle the knees and push the brain
beyond endurance.
And though all this the faraway sound of a BUZZER going off.
The TIMER has finally sounded. Anderson's open eyes are
streaming with tears, but he has survived the moment.
ANDERSON'S POV - THE ROOM
It comes into slow focus The Spider, all business, reads his
eyes. Then, as if nothing unusual has occurred, it jumps
off his shoulder, and crosses the floor. It flattens, scoots
under the door, and is gone.
EXT. THE BOARDING HOUSE
The officers see that the Spider has gotten its read. They
pull off their helmets.
OFFICER I
Let's eat.
They start putting their equipment back into the transport.
INT. ANDERSON'S ROOM
Anderson stares at himself in a dusty mirror. His new eyes
are tender and bloodshot. And they are not blue, like the
ones he was born with, but a deep brown. Anderson is exactly
the same, and utterly different.
He grabs his duffel bag, and gets the hell out of there.
INT. PRECRIME HEADQUARTER'S -- DAY
Lisa, looking drawn and scared, sits in Witwer's office.
Witwer isn't looking too well, either.
WITWER
They told me to move into Paul's
office. I said fuck you very much.
Lisa nods.
WITWER (CONT'D)
(softly)
I don't want to do any of this, Lisa.
LISA
I know. I know that.
(MORE)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
59.
LISA (CONT'D)
(beat)
Everybody's got their reasons for
wanting you in charge. So do I --
you won't bring him in dead.
WITWER
Yeah. But if he shoots a cop ...
(beat)
Which is what he does four days from
now, isn't it?
Witwer's eyes imp involuntarily to a CLOCK on his desk.
LISA
He'd never hurt you.
WITWER
I know that. But the other thing I
know is -- the Precogs are never
wrong.
The words are leading them no place good. They stop talking,
and just sit there.
INT. THE SPRAWL
Anderson stands on a street corner waiting in line with
several people waiting for the N0.6 Turbo Tram.
The double decker Tram comes. People get off, then the line
starts to move forward as people get on.
Anderson fidgets. He's last in line. Each person gets
IdentiScanned as he boards. Anderson's putting his new eyes
to the test. If the scan goes wrong, he's positioned himself
to run.
The woman ahead of him, gets scanned, pays her fare.
Anderson's turn. Anderson goes up the steps, and a red beam
reads his eyes.
The Tram DRIVER glances at a monitor beside his steering
wheel, then nods at him.
DRIVER
Welcome aboard, Mr. Symington. Plenty
of seats in the back.
Anderson nods, moves casually to the back. But his jaw
muscles are flexing hard, working off the tension.
INT. A WEALTHY HOME - SUBBURIAN WASHINGTON -- NIGHT
Senator Malcolm releases a self satisfied little belch as he
finishes off a late night whiskey in his panelled den. He
wanders about admiring himself in the many political photos
adorning the cherry wood walls.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
60.
He's feeling cozy and safe, the way rich people can afford
to. No IdentiScan Spiders would ever be sent under his doors.
No intrusions of any sort, nothing that a coiffed secretary
or a loyal wife wouldn't announce before hand.
Which is why he doesn't immediately understand the small
SOUND at ear level, coming from just behind him. It's a
metallic CLICK-CLICK. He turns amiably. His eyes instantly
widen, and his knees buckle when he sees he's looking into
the barrel of ANDERSON'S cocked gun.
ANDERSON
Time to upgrade your alarm system,
Senator.
Senator Malcolm tries to regain his composure. His fear
embarrasses him.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
Your work-up of Witwer. The Security
Panel would've done one.
(beat)
Why do I kill Witwer?
The Senator finds his voice.
SENATOR MALCOLM
There's no motive.
ANDERSON
There's, always a motive.
Anderson presses the gun to the Senator's forehead. He slides
the barrel tip back and forth across the Senator's sweaty
skin. It makes a greasy red mark.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
I could've come to anyone on the
panel. But I picked you.
(beat)
Of all the shits on that panel, I
like you least of all. So if this
gun goes off, I'll feel bad, but
not, you know, devastated.
You can almost see a thought dawning on Senator Malcolm.
And then, shockingly he spits in Anderson's face, and turns
and walks to the other side of the den. His tone is mocking.
SENATOR MALCOLM
What the fuck was I worried about?
You can't kill me. The Precogs
would've seen it.
Anderson realizes this, too, lowers his gun. The Senator is
even laughing now. For a moment Anderson does nothing, then
he moves toward the Senator again.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
61.
The Senator stands his ground smugly.
SENATOR MALCOLM (CONT'D)
Witwer's clean. You're clean.
There's nothing. No motive. Kind
of like something Kafka would've
cooked up.
(beat)
You like that, cockroach? You're
fucked and you'll never know why.
The Senator is laughing hard now. Anderson lets him.
ANDERSON
Tell you something about the Precogs,
Senator. They're great on murder.
But it's the little things they fail
to see.
Anderson hits the Senator so hard it bounces him across the
floor and into the cherry wood panelling. Several of his
beloved photos crash down onto him.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
Little things like that, for instance.
Anderson steps over him, and walks out of the room
INT. PRECRIME HEADQUARTERS -- DAY
Search and Command room. Witwer stands there amidst all of
the technology speaking to a group of Precrime officers.
WITWER
He hasn't shown up on one goddamn
IdentiScan in three days.
No one says anything, and then LIEUTENANT GLASER, 30, speaks
up.
LIEUTENANT GLASER
He's found a room -- he's going to
sit it out.
WITWER
Yeah, except for holding a gun to
senator Malcolm's goddman head in
his own goddman house last night,
Anderson's sitting it out!
(beat)
Why hasnt he been scanned?
The officers look at their shoes.
WITWER (CONT'D)
Why is he invisible? He's moving
around but he isn't being seen.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
62.
Lieutenant Glaser tries again.
LIEUTENANT GLASER
He抯 beating the scanners
WITWER
No one beats the scanners.
Witwer reaches up, wearily, rubbing his face and eyes with
his hands. The fingers dragging across his eyes stop. Then
his hands drop away, and he looks at his men.
WITWER (CONT'D)
He's done his eyes
LIEUTENANT GLASER
But the scarring always
WITWER
He went the whole way. The crazy
bastard had his eyes removed. New
ones sewn in.
LIEUTENANT GLASER
That takes weeks to heal.
WITWER
If you're prepared to go blind, a
street surgeon'll juice up the repair
cycle. They don't give a fuck about
risk.
Witwer's eyes flick to a digital CLOCK on the wall. It's
something he can't help doing now.
WITWER (CONT'D)
He's going to do what it takes to
stay free -- if it blinds him, maims
him, or kills him.
Witwers admiring smile makes his men very uncomfortable .
INT. KITCHEN - THE SUBURBS -- DAY
A mother places a carton of milk on a table in front of her
teenage son. He pours it into his cereal bowl, then puts
the carton down in front of him.
There's a flexible Vid-Screen on the side of the carton,
about the size of a playing card. AS the sleepy kid watches,
the disposable Vid-Screen sparkles to life.
Nothing unusual, they always do that. For advertisements,
lost kids, or in this case crime bulletins.
A good one. The kid straightens up.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
63.
THE VID-SCREEN
A fully rotating mug shot of PAUL ANDERSON fills the screen,
followed by vital statistics and details of the precrime
he's been charged with.
The kid watches for a while, then gets bored, and pulls the
Dexi-Pops cereal box over and starts reading the back of
that.
INT. A LIVING ROOM - THE SPRAWL -- DAY
A big man in a tee shirt lies on a couch, a bowl of popcorn
perched on his belly. He stares at a TV monitor that's the
size of a twin bed.
TV
Anderson's face fills the monitor. The TV image is so big
that Anderson overwhelms the room with his video presence.
It's like God coming to pay a visit -- even if you want to
avoid Him you can't.
The big man with the popcorn tries to do just that. He surfs
through a zillion channels, but Anderson's visage is
omnipresent.
EXT. THE SKY - THE SPRAWL -- DAY
Anderson's face fills the skies, too. Witwer and Precrime
have pulled out all the stops.
Advertising dirigibles float by with Anderson's image on it.
Holographic billboards with Anderson hover in the air. There
are so many Andersons in the sky he seems to be part of the
weather, a special type of cloud.
People on the streets look up, briefly interested, then go
about their business.
EXT. A STREET - THE SPRAWL
One person who is paying deep attention to all this is
Anderson himself. He stands on a street corner, wearing
dark glasses and a fedora, staring at a public video kiosk.
VIDEO KIOSK
The mug shot of Anderson disappears and is replaced by a
Precrime SPOKESWOMAN.
SPOKESWOMAN
The United States Supreme Court has
issued a special injunction allowing
the unprecedented public viewing of
former Precrime Director Paul
Anderson's future murder of Edward
Witwer, the current Director.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
64.
ANDERSON
His mouth slowly opens. He steps
back against a wall and slides his
hand into his pants pocket. He looks
at the Precog DISC in his cupped
hand, then quickly puts it away.
He stares at the kiosk as people on the street begin to gather
around excitedly.
CROWDS OF PEOPLE look into the sky, in store windows, at
other video kiosks. They have the enthralled anticipation
of a mob at a public guillotining.
SPOKESWOMAN
She continues her declamation
SPOKESWOMAN (CONT'D)
The video you are about to see,
generated by the Precognitive mutants,
is the immutable evidence of the
infallible system.
(reassuring smile)
Citizens are urged to call
1-800-PRECRIME with any information
that may lead us to the whereabouts
of Paul Anderson, future murderer.
ANDERSON
Shakes his head in confusion and
disbelief. But he has the Precog
disc ...
The OLD GUY him nudges him
OLD GUY
This oughtta be good, huh?
VIDEO
KIOSK
And there it is, Anderson and Witwer standing there pointing
guns at each other. The whole thing just as we saw it before.
All the way through to the fatal moment.
ANDERSON
Oh, Ed ...
Anderson shoots him. Witwer slumps, dying. The video stops.
And then begins to play all over again, right from the start,
the 1-800-PRECRIME number scrolling along the bottom of it.
"Call now! Call now! Call now!
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
Moves quickly through the crowds.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
65.
INT. BAR - THE SPRAWL -- NIGHT
Ennis Page sits on a bar stool at the far end of a bar so
full of cigarette smoke it doesn't seem capable of supporting
life. But it supports the kind of life Page is interested
in.
An emaciated woman with a feral smile slides onto a stool
beside Page. He gives one shake of his head, and she slides
away again. His eyes cut to a group of females. He waits
for the next approach.
CLOSE ON: PAGE
as a HAND reaches over his shoulder and places a Precog disc
on the bar in front of him. Page makes a sound and tries to
jump away, as if the disc is something lethal. Which it is,
in a way.
Anderson presses him back down on his stool. Sits next to
him. Page stares at him, scared. Anderson looks straight
ahead as he speaks.
ANDERSON
"Ennis Page engages the services of
prostitutes because his relationships
with them compound his feelings of
selfloathing."
(beat)
Direct quote from your psychological
profile -- the kind of shit I had to
know as your former boss.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
'Page is an obsessive-compulsive
Type Nine." Another quote. Niners
are great for the kind of work you
do -- keeping all those Precog discs
in order.
You can almost see Page's heart slamming in his chest. He
tries to hide it with tough talk.
PAGE
I fuck whores and I'm orderly, so
what?
ANDERSON
Something's out of order, Ennis.
Deeply out of order.
Page looks unhappily at the disc on the bar PAGE You got a
disc Anderson picks it up, holds it tight in his fist
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
Not A disc. The disc. When I went
home sick, I stole it.
(MORE)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
66.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
I took it with me, Ennis. I wasn't
sick, I was running with the evidence.
(lets that sink in)
So how is it that Precrime has one,
too?
PAGE
(utterly baffled)
You can't make copies Anderson waits.
Lets Page work through it.
PAGE (CONT'D)
It's the basis of the system. The
immutable evidence. Copies are
impossible.
(beat)
You went home. A little later, I
came in with a disc for Mr. Witwer
to review. I wasn't halfway out the
door when he cried out.
Anderson is barely breathing, he's listening so hard.
PAGE (CONT'D)
He was in shock. He showed me. It
was you shooting him. Then all hell
broke loose. He had to send the
Precrime units to your house.
ANDERSON
Ennis -- you gave out the same disc
twice. Less than an hour apart.
The one I stole. And then another
one. Of the same event.
PAGE
It's impossible. The Precogs can
only move forward to new events.
Into the future. They never repeat.
Anderson looks around. Patrons are beginning to look over
in his direction, eyes lingering. He rises.
Page seems in a daze. As an obsessive-compulsive niner, the
concept of an untidy system is disorienting.
Anderson starts to say something to the man, then doesn't.
On the way out Anderson gets IdentiScanned. An automatic
DIGITAL VOICE calls out after him.
DIGITAL VOICE
Have a nice night, Mr. Symington
Anderson leaves the dark of the bar
for the deeper dark of The Sprawl.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
67.
INT. A STREET - THE SPRAWL -- DAY
A YOUNG GUY with a sparse moustache walks up to a payphone.
He picks up, the receiver and immediately gets IdentiScanned.
A light goes on, he's about to dial.
Anderson appears out of nowhere, shoulders him out of the
way. The young guy drops the receiver and stumbles back
onto the sidewalk. Anderson grabs the hanging receiver.
YOUNG GUY
Hey!
Hey, you can't He reaches for Anderson, then thinks better
of it. Anderson is twice his size and very menacing in dark
glasses.
YOUNG GUY (CONT'D)
I'm get-in' a cop.
The guy scurries off. Anderson dials quickly.
INTERCUT ANDERSON/LISAS OFFICE
Lisa, walking down a hallway in the Judicial Center, stops
to answer her BEEPING cell phone. She leans against a wall,
as lawyers and judges pass by.
ANDERSON
It's me.
LISA
Paul.
Lisa grips the phone and turns to the wall
ANDERSON
Your phone will be bugged. So we
can't meet, we can't do anything.
Just listen. Nowing you're listening
is enough.
Lisa nods, as if he's right there. He is right there, for
her. This is all she's got.
ANDERSON (CONT'D)
When Precrime stormed the house, I
thought you'd called them.