《时间机器》TheTimeMachine

the time machine

by

john logan

february 22, 2000

int. columbia university - lecture hall - day

darkness. then a sound...

click-clack, click-clack, click-clack...

the familiar sound of chalk writing on a blackboard.

fade up to see...

a hand zooming across a blackboard at incredible speed,

forming an endless algebraic equation.

amazingly, when the writer reaches the end of the blackboard

he does not lift the chalk and return to the left side to

begin a new line -- instead he simply loops around and

continues writing, right to left, upside down.

the college students in his class -- all male and dressed in

late victorian clothes -- smile at this familiar peculiarity

and tilt their heads to try and read the endless equation,

copying furiously into notebooks.

the hand continues to zoom along the blackboard... and then

slows... and then stops... the students wait... the hand taps

the chalk on the blackboard for a moment and we finally

see...

alexander hartdegen, a handsome young man not much older than

his students, standing at the blackboard. he is gazing out a

window, looking at a bird on a tree branch. he smiles.

the students glance to one another.

alexander remembers himself and turns back to the blackboard,

his hand again flying as:

alexander

so -- length, width, breadth --

formulate the area and of course we

arrive at solid mass. but imagine

if we continue the equation as i've

done -- can't we begin to recognize

another dimension beyond the first

three? i theorize we begin to find

duration -- the object's place in

time. let's note that as 'd'

here...

alexander reaches the left side of the blackboard and loops

around again in an unbroken line to continue the equation

from left to right again.

the students are hopelessly lost. they finally stop copying

and just watch alexander work, admiring his brilliant

innovation.

meanwhile, a man watches from the back of the lecture hall.

he is david philby, alexander's closest friend, a bit older.

alexander

... if we accept the theoretical

possibility of duration as a fourth

dimension we find that our equation

might -- no, that's not right --

he erases some numbers quickly with his hand, sending up a

cloud of chalk dust, he coughs.

alexander

-- there, that looks more like

it...

he continues to scribble at lightning speed. then...

he begins humming to himself.

the students watch, amused. philby smiles.

alexander finally stops humming and writing. steps back and

looks at the equation. then he turns to his students.

alexander

does this make any sense to you?

the students are confused. one offers:

student

sir, if i may, wouldn't it be

easier if you applied a fibonacci

sequence to the differential

coefficient?

alexander

(smiles)

it's not supposed to be easy, it's

supposed to be beautiful... all of

you think about that tonight and

we'll press on tomorrow. good

afternoon.

the students begin to rise, class over. they leave the

classroom talking eagerly about alexander's theories,

inspired.

a sudden new angle: from above we see alexander going to

philby, leaving the classroom talking with him. we are in

the upper balcony of the classroom. a solitary figure looks

down, watching them.

this new figure is a thin man with pale skin, dry like

parchment. somehow ominous.

int. columbia - hallway - day

alexander walks with philby:

alexander

... the point is i know it will

work once the, um, numbers and such

are in order.

philby

do you know you were humming?

alexander

i was not.

philby

somewhere around 'd+2xy something

something.'

alexander

damned if i can keep her out of my

equations.

philby

tonight's the night?

alexander

(checking pocket watch)

god, and i'm running late --

a prim woman appears before them:

prim woman

dr. hartdegen, dr. philby... dean

fulton would like to see you.

alexander and philby exchange a look. gulp. they follow the

prim woman.

int. columbia - dean fulton's office - day

they follow the prim woman, dean fulton's secretary, into his

dark, paneled office.

prim woman

he's outside.

alexander and philby move through the office and out to a

garden courtyard...

ext. columbia - garden courtyard - day

oddly, chickens are clucking about the courtyard.

the thin man we saw before, dean fulton, is casually tossing

down feed for the chickens. with his other hand he carries

an umbrella to protect himself from the sun. he does not

look up.

dean fulton

gentlemen, watch your step.

alexander and philby stop. dean fulton looks up and smiles,

benevolent.

dean fulton

my fowl have polluted the yard.

philby

dean fulton...

dean fulton continues to lazily scatter feed for his

chickens.

dean fulton

dr. philby, dr. hartdegen. i

received the most extraordinary

letter last week. from a parent.

we are always pleased to receive

letters from parents. they are our

employers, after all. this

gentleman's son is in your class,

dr. hartdegen.

alexander

(knows what's coming)

i see.

dean fulton

as i recall the syllabus the name

of your tutorial is 'applied

mathematics and engineering', am i

correct?

alexander

exactly correct, sir.

dean fulton stops scattering feed and gazes at alexander with

a smile. this is an old game between them and they both

rather enjoy it. to a point.

dean fulton

well, just as i thought. surely

it's all been a terrible mistake.

this parent actually suggested that

your freshman course in applied

mathematics has somehow become a

seminar on theoretical physics!

alexander

imagine that.

dean fulton

but i know that none of my faculty

would ever deviate from the

assigned curriculum.

alexander

well... perhaps i have 'deviated'

the tiniest bit.

dean fulton

might i ask why?

alexander

because the assigned curriculum is

boring.

philby groans very quietly.

alexander

sir, that curriculum is forty years

out of date. the students today

are looking toward the new century

-- they want to be challenged and

inspired, not spoon-fed dusty old

equations that have been proved a

thousand times. they want to

explore.

dean fulton

do they?

dean fulton smiles and then begins to scatter feed again.

dean fulton

what are these animals, gentlemen?

alexander and philby exchange a look.

philby

um, your chickens, sir.

alexander helpfully offers:

alexander

and roosters.

dean fulton

no, dr. hartdegen, they are not

just chickens and roosters. they

are science. perhaps they aren't

'inspiring' to you. perhaps they

don't 'challenge' you --

alexander

no, sir --

dean fulton

animal husbandry is science, dr.

hartdegen. i have been breeding

these fowl for fourteen years. i

have filled a library with

information on their feeding

patterns, social behavior and

breeding. empirical, exacting,

quantifiable records.

alexander

sir --

dean fulton looks up at him, his eyes cold:

dean fulton

'duration' is not a dimension.

scientists do not imagine the world

around them. they do not wool-

gather or cloud-spin. they prove.

they demonstrate. columbia

university does not teach fantasy.

philby shoots alexander a warning look, but alexander can't

help himself:

alexander

with respect, sir, would we have

the telegraph without fantasy?

would we have radium and x-rays

without someone first dreaming we

could?

dean fulton

the advances you speak of were the

result of countless years of study

and empirical experimentation, a

careful evolutionary process, not

chalkboard parlor-tricks.

alexander

my equations are not parlor-tricks!

dean fulton

abstract mathematics, relativity of

dimensions, geometrical 'durations'

-- even allowing for the uses of

speculation, what is the point?

alexander

because it's a new way of seeing

the world! of seeing our place in

it!

philby

sir, if i may --

dean fulton

(with finality, to

alexander)

young man, we have a way of doing

things here. radical theorizing is

not acceptable. have i made myself

understood?

alexander

yes, sir.

dean fulton

very good. now if you will excuse

us for a moment.

alexander goes back into the office.

philby

if i might explain, sir --

dean fulton

you supported his application, dr.

philby. you are his senior,

advisor. i depend upon you to

restrain his... excesses. any

repetition of the behavior i

witnessed in his classroom today

and there will be consequences for

you both.

philby

yes, sir.

dean fulton

now you are upsetting my fowl.

please go.

philby extricates himself from a chicken pecking at his shoe

and goes.

alexander (v.o.)

he's a dinosaur. he's already

extinct, he just doesn't know it...

ext. streetcar - day

alexander and philby are in an open horse-drawn streetcar,

heading downtown. everywhere around them, the massive city

bustles.

new york city at the end of the 19th century. it is vibrant

to the point of frenzy; reaching for the future in a furious

upheaval of construction.

title: new york city - may 12, 1895 - 5:17 p.m.

alexander

... one day he'll be discovered by

some future archeologists and they

won't know what to make of him.

the thick brow, so lacking in

imagination. the dim little eyes,

devoid of curiosity.

philby

you know generally teachers are

supposed to teach real equations

that add up to real numbers.

alexander

where's the challenge in that?

philby

alex, this is your first year as an

associate professor. you might

want to play things a little more

conservatively.

alexander

you sound like my father...

alexander points to the masses of grey businessmen, all in

identical bowler hats, marching along the sidewalk:

alexander

look at them, philby, all alike,

everyone in an identical bowler

hat. do you want your students to

turn out like them?

philby

i want my students to emerge with

theoretical and practical

knowledge.

alexander

i don't. i want them to run along

this street and knock off every

bowler they see.

philby

you may not like it, but this is

the world we live in, alex. little

grey men with little grey hats.

alexander

but shouldn't it be better?

shouldn't we be teaching our

students to imagine a world beyond

all this?

alexander points to a new building going up, a complex

spider's web of steel girders.

alexander

look at that, philby. a steel

frame building. ten years ago it

was unheard of. no little grey man

thought of that. the new century

belongs to men who are willing to

imagine the impossible...

their streetcar passes a few huddled beggars on the curb.

the businessmen ignore them. alexander watches them, his

eyes sad.

alexander

(quietly)

in the future, we'll be better.

philby

what?

alexander

nothing.

ext. alexander's house - evening

alexander's sprawling victorian house sits on a quiet street.

there is a quaint shop right across the street. the shop

features a window showing a female mannequin dressed in

period clothes. the sign above the shop: branson's apparel

and haberdashery.

alexander and philby hurry into his house...

int. alexander's house - evening

alexander's house is a lovely world of victorian elegance

constantly at war with his erratic and creative enterprises.

everywhere alexander's scientific passions are evident:

animal skulls rest alongside leather-bound tomes; mechanical

inventions in various states of completion rest atop heavy

mahogany tables; test tubes and microscopes are spread out on

an unused piano.

the one facet that most immediately reflects alexander is

aural: the ticking of scores of clocks; a steady metronomic

cadence.

alexander bounds in, philby following.

alexander

mrs. watchit! mrs. watchit!

mrs. watchit, alexander's housekeeper, troops down the

stairs. she is a wry and commanding british woman in her

60's.

mrs. watchit

oh huzzah, the master's home.

alexander

do you have it?!

mrs. watchit

hello, mr. philby.

philby

hello, mrs. watchit. you're

looking in the pink.

mrs. watchit

must be all the exercise i get

scampering up and down these stairs

like a wee lamb.

alexander

don't torture me -- do you have it?

mrs. watchit

i have it, but don't you think for

one moment i'll be letting you go

out in that filthy coat -- now go

upstairs and change. i've laid out

your green coat.

alexander

what's the matter with -- ?

(he notes he is covered

in chalk dust)

-- what would i do without you,

mrs. watchit?

he bounds up the stairs. phiby follows.

mrs. watchit

and change your tie!

she bustles off, grumbling happily.

int. alexander's bedroom - evening

charles darwin stares at us. imposing. inspiring.

challenging.

a bust of darwin looms over alexander's bedroom.

alexander, in a new coat, is trying to work a complicated

knot in his tie. his eyes study the problem in a mirror.

alexander

emma actually likes chalk dust --

says it smells like me.

philby

how romantic...

philby goes to alexander, helps him with his tie.

philby

the most able inventor i know and

you can't tie a simple four-in-

hand.

alexander

that's how i knew we were destined

to be together. when i met her

parents for the first time i came

right from class and i was covered

in chalk. they sniffed and

snorted, but she just smiled. at

that moment -- i just knew. how

did you know with molly?

philby

she made the best shepherd's pie i

ever tasted.

alexander

do you have a romantic bone in your

body?

philby

(completing the tie)

no, i'm all bowler hat, remember?

alexander quickly goes to his old coat and transfers his

pocket watch, journal and many loose scraps of paper covered

in equations to the new coat as:

philby

alex, really... good luck tonight.

she's a fine girl, and she's done

wonderful things for you.

alexander

oh?

philby

(smiles)

she's gotten into your equations.

alexander stops, looks at him. smiles.

alexander

i guess she has.

he glances at his pocket watch.

alexander

i've got to hurry...

he hurries out, philby following...

int. alexander's house - stairs - evening

alexander races down the stairs, tucking the watch into his

vest.

they pass a series of clocks of every size and shape that run

down the wall along the stairway.

philby

all these clocks -- how can you

constantly be running late?!

alexander

perseverance.

int. alexander's house - entry hall - evening

mrs. watchit waits. alexander and philby appear down the

stairs.

mrs. watchit

now that's more like it. you look

a proper gentlemen for once.

alexander

then if emma turns me down will you

marry me?

mrs. watchit

(dry)

oh, i'm already swooning.

alexander

ouch -- all right, wish me luck.

he begins to sprint out the door -- mrs. watchit stops him

with:

mrs. watchit

you might be wanting this?

she holds up a velvet ring box. he takes the box.

alexander

oh -- thanks. well...

(a wink to philby)

... time's a wastin'!

with that he is out the door.

mrs. watchit and philby stand for a moment, catching their

breath after alexander's tornado of enthusiasm.

philby

i wonder if that poor girl has any

idea what she's in for?

mrs. watchit

for our sake, i hope not.

ext. fifth avenue - night

the many luxurious horse-drawn carriages glide along fifth

avenue with stately dignity. rich pedestrians stroll along

the sidewalk.

alexander leaps out of a carriage and begins to stride toward

an entrance to central park.

he passes a flower seller.

flower seller

have some flowers, sir?

alexander

not tonight, thanks.

he continues on toward the entrance to the park -- stops.

alexander

no -- i promised her flowers.

he turns around and hurries back toward the flower seller.

but...

a sudden mechanical clanking sound makes him stop dead in his

tracks. the siren's song...

he turns...

pulled over to the curb is a magnificent stanley steamer

automobile. it is a glorious collection of bronze and copper

and steel and wooden dashboard and leather upholstery and

groaning steam tank and clanking engine. alexander stares,

transfixed.

alexander glances at his watch -- running late -- but he just

can't resist this new marvel. flowers forgotten, alexander

steps to the motorist, currently tinkering with the car's

engine.

alexander

it's spectacular...

motorist

thanks. old nell's my girl all

right. al least when she decides

to move, stubborn beast.

alexander

(walking around the car,

admiring)

i've only read about them -- and

the new internals.

motorist

now that's what i call plain crazy

-- internal combustion is just too

dangerous, all those little

explosions, never catch on.

alexander

how do you keep the water

temperature stable?

motorist

there's a cantilevered gasket on

the --

suddenly -- the car lurches forward dangerously -- alexander

instantly grabs the brake lever and hauls it back -- the car

screeches to a stop.

motorist

god -- could have killed me -- bad

girl, nell! how did you know to do

that?

alexander

i just love mechanical things.

motorist

well, much obliged -- i'm always

forgetting the confounded brake --

say, if you wait until i get her up

and running i'll give you a

perambulation. tell you all about

her.

alexander

(pained)

ahhh... i'm afraid i've got a prior

commitment.

motorist

next time then. we perambulate

here most every night.

alexander

you have my word...

(he takes a last, longing

look at the car)

... she's just a beauty.

he sprints off into central park.

ext. pavilion - central park - night

a full moon shines in the night sky.

gentle period music from a band, glowing lanterns hanging

down and the swaying shapes of dancers.

we are at a beautiful pavilion in central park. a magical

antique setting of ease and grace. white linen suits and

straw boaters. parasols and high-button shoes.

a beautiful woman stands with her back to us watching the

dancers... she slowly turns...

emma smiles.

alexander stands, just watching her, bewitched.

then they come together and kiss lightly, as befits 1895

decency.

emma

you're late.

alexander

got here as soon as i could.

emma

dance with me...

alexander

you know i can't.

emma

trust me...

she takes his hand and they dance. she is a natural dancer,

smooth and gentle. he does his best, following her minute

cues with great sensitivity.

as they dance:

emma

you promised me flowers.

alexander

what?

emma

you promised me flowers tonight,

don't you even remember?

alexander

sorry... i was distracted.

emma

(lightly)

well there's something new.

alexander

i need to... um... talk to you.

emma

talk away, professor.

alexander

not here... alone. may we?

please?

she leads him from the dance floor.

emma

let's walk through the park...

ext. central park - path - night

alexander and emma walk through the park, arm in arm,

enjoying the exquisite night.

flickering gaslights provide a dim illumination on the path

they follow as it winds through the dark foliage.

emma

(looking at

constellations)

... orion's belt, pointing to the

earth. you see it over the rocks

there? sailors consider that an

omen of good fortune; the hunter

watching over them on their

travels... are you listening to me,

alex?

alexander

(glancing up)

what? yes -- orion -- good fortune

-- sailors.

emma

all right, what is it now?

alexander

(nervously)

emma, you know i have great...

admiration for you.

emma

admiration? my my.

alexander

i mean... well... affection.

emma

you're getting warmer.

he stops.

alexander

oh dammit, i love you! i can't

eat, i can't sleep, i can't think,

all i do is moon over you and --

hum, apparently.

emma

(mock seriously)

and what do you propose, professor?

shall we hold a seminar to study

the problem?

a beat. he takes a huge gulp of air and then commits himself

-- he dramatically drops to one knee -- and then in a great

rush of words:

alexander

marry me. i'll do everything i can

to make you happy and build a life

and have babies and make you proud

and be worthy of you and... ah...

make you happy, did i say that?

she looks down at him, tears of joy coming to her eyes.

emma

oh, professor...

he leaps up and embraces her. a long, joyous embrace.

he stops --

alexander

wait, i have something for you.

he searches through his many pockets -- coat, vest, pants --

begins plucking out the loose scraps of paper covered with

equations -- but can't seem to find the jewelry box.

she watches him for a moment, amused, loving him all the more

for his befuddlement.

emma

you know, the moment is rather

dying here.

alexander

hold on... i know i have it...

he finally finds the velvet jewelry box. snaps it open.

inside is a lovely moonstone ring. the gem is a pale,

translucent blue mirroring the full moon above.

alexander

i know it's not a diamond but --

emma

a moonstone.

alexander

your birth stone. i thought --

she holds a finger to his lips.

emma

you thought right.

he slips the ring on her finger. she holds it up to the

moonlight, deeply moved.

emma

look, it matches the moon...

then...

a low voice from the thick trees next to them.

voice

i just might cry.

alexander and emma turn to see a tall thin man stepping from

the trees. his hands are buried deep in his overcoat

pockets.

thin man

couldn't help but overhearing. two

fine young people starting out on

the road of life. i wish you the

very best.

alexander

thank you...

thin man

i hope it's a happy journey for you

both -- and much as i hate to do

this, moved as i am by your

protestations of love, i'll be

needing your money now.

alexander

(smiles)

sir...?

thin man

and your jewelry too. i guess we

could consider this your first

little bump on the road to married

bliss.

alexander

i don't understand.

the thin man removes a hand from his pocket. he holds a

small revolver.

thin man

now don't make a scene... there's

no cause for that. just hand over

your wallet, will you?

he holds the gun up, lethal, a sudden glint as the barrel

shines in the moonlight.

thin man

did you hear me, lad?

alexander

all right, all right -- here --

everything --

alexander swiftly gives the man his billfold.

thin man

and the watch.

alexander hands over his pocket watch as the thin man eyes

emma's ring.

thin man

and the ring.

emma

no --

thin man

i'm afraid so, darling. maybe

he'll buy you a diamond now.

alexander

please, not that -- look --

the thin man pulls back the hammer of the revolver. click.

thin man

give me the ring.

emma

no...

the thin man suddenly lurches forward and grabs emma's arm --

trying to wrench the ring violently from her finger --

alexander instantly springs to her defense -- a struggle --

the gun fires -- the flash of cruel, phosphorous light

momentarily illuminating them all starkly --

emma recoils to alexander -- alexander looks at the thin man,

disbelieving --

the thin man glares at him --

thin man

why did you do that?! it's only a

ring!

the thin man races away into the darkness.

alexander holds emma, she clings to him, blood flowing over

his fingers. he snatches her up and carries her -- running

urgently through some trees to a carriage path beyond --

carriages filled with young lovers float past.

alexander

help me! please!

an empty carriage finally stops -- alexander lurches into the

carriage with emma --

int./ ext. carriage - central park - night

-- alexander holds emma in the back of a carriage. he

urgently screams to the driver:

alexander

get to columbus hospital! now!

the driver whips his horses and the carriage takes off.

alexander

please hurry! we've no time!

carriage driver

i'm trying sir -- !

emma clings to alexander, her hand clasped tight to his vest,

blood flowing out of her, pooling. her dying eyes just

watching him.

alexander

god hurry please -- just get out of

the park --

and then the carriage slows -- stops -- alexander stabs his

head out the window and sees --

a long line of carriage ahead of them. a traffic jam. pairs

of lovers enjoying the beautiful night, gazing up at the

stars.

alexander

oh god...

a distant bell begins to toll. time inexorably, cruelly

moving on.

alexander

please -- hurry!

the driver whips the horse -- tries to maneuver the carriage

through the traffic jam -- a jumble of horses -- their horse

shies -- can't get through.

emma's hand clutches alexander's vest, fingers moving

slightly. the bell continues to toll. time running out.

her lips move noiselessly, her eyes stare up at him, praying

for one parting glance.

he continues to shout to the driver, fighting time, not

looking at her:

alexander

(desperate)

for god sake do something!! --

just -- get off the path!

carriage driver

i'm trying, sir! -- i can't get

through!

alexander glances down to emma. she is dead. her eyes open.

he stares at her. not wanting to believe. the bell

continues to toll.

fade to black...

and then a strange sound in the darkness...

the roar of a tiger -- distorted, echoing...

then another sound...

click-clack, click-clack, click-clack...

chalk racing across a blackboard.

title: four years later.

fade up to...

int. alexander's house - lab - day

an endless equation -- alexander's hand speeds across a

blackboard -- manic, ferocious. we pull back to reveal...

an enormous blackboard, floor to ceiling, two stories high,

filling one wall -- and two other blackboards, filling two

other walls, also covered with equations. a shocking flash

of alexander's fevered mind.

he stands with his back to us, perched high on a rolling

library ladder, his hand violently scrawling numbers in a

frenzied rush. he pulls the ladder along as he works,

totally absorbed.

the drapes around the room are drawn tight against any hint

of the day outside. windows sealed.

in the flickering gaslight we see a cacophony of scientific

equipment and experiments filling every inch of the chamber

below him, two stories filled with beakers and test tubes;

microscopes and coils; engineering blueprints and gyroscopes;

and the huge chalkboards crowded with layers upon layers of

intense calculus and geometry and equations.

there is another large part of the lab, jutting off from the

house. a closed curtain conceals this part of the lab.

and all the clocks have stopped. the steady metronomic

cadence that was the aural life of alexander's house is no

more. we see a number of clocks around the lab. all have

been allowed to run down.

a knock at the door -- alexander ignores it -- another knock.

he finally turns from the blackboard.

alexander

what?!

and we see him -- alexander is very different now: cadaverous

and intense, a face that looks as if it has not seen the sun

in years. and eyes marked by tragedy.

mrs. watchit enters. the years of dealing with his

heartbreak have taken a toll on her as well.

mrs. watchit

sir, mr. philby is here.

alexander

here?

mrs. watchit

yes, sir, he --

alexander

tell him to go away --

philby pushes past mrs. watchit. he wears an overcoat and a

bowler hat.

philby

i won't go away, alex.

alexander stares down at philby. philby is shocked at the

change in his friend.

alexander

all right, mrs. watchit. you can

go.

mrs. watchit

may i get you some --

alexander

that'll be all.

she leaves the lab.

philby

my god, alex, what's happened to

you?

alexander climbs down the ladder as:

alexander

i've been working.

philby

i came by the house every day after

the funeral. and then every week.

then every other month. then i

stopped coming. did you even

notice?

alexander

i'm sorry, david.

philby

it hurt me, alex. very much.

alexander

then why are you here?

alexander proceeds to obsessively tidy the lab, almost hiding

things from philby. philby is increasingly disturbed by this

behavior, as:

philby

it's my jamie's birthday today.

your godson. he's nine years old.

at his party he asked me if uncle

alex was coming. i told him no.

then he asked me if you didn't like

him anymore.

alexander

for god's sake, david --

philby

there are some things i need to say

to you. you may not like hearing

them, but i don't know if i'll ever

get another chance --

alexander

you care for me. and you're

concerned. and i have to start

living my life again. i hear it

from mrs. watchit every day.

philby

but you won't listen. you won't

see me, you won't see anyone. what

would you like me to tell jamie?

that uncle alex is busy? that

uncle alex is hiding up there in

his laboratory --

alexander

hiding?

philby

you know that's what it is. mrs.

watchit tells me you're here at all

hours -- day and night --

alexander

(sharply)

that's because i'm working. you

remember that? you used to care

about your work.

philby

i care more about my life. and

yours.

a difficult beat.

philby

alex... alex, please stand still

and look at me.

alexander stops. looks at philby.

philby

(gently)

what happened to emma will never go

away. it's part of you now and it

always will be. but you have to

learn to live with it...

alexander

i live with it every minute of

every day.

philby

i know that --

alexander

you don't know that. you couldn't

possibly. if i'd only done this,

or that, if i'd arrived ten minutes

earlier, or later. if we'd taken a

different path or i hadn't fought

the man for the ring. you have no

idea what it is to relive every

moment of that night -- consider

every action you made -- and every

one of them wrong.

philby

it wasn't your fault, alex.

alexander

wasn't it?... i have a dream almost

every night now. the lady and the

tiger, you remember that story? in

the dream i'm alone in a huge

chamber with a thousand doors.

behind every door, save one, is a

tiger. i have to make the

decision. which door conceals

emma? and i just stand there...

looking at the doors...

philby

do you find her?

alexander doesn't answer. a beat.

philby

alex, nothing will ever change what

happened, but --

alexander

that's where you're wrong. i will

change it.

a beat. philby looks at him. alexander offers nothing more,

continues to scurry around the lab.

alexander

david... i appreciate your concern,

i do. but i ask you to have faith

in me. just for a little while

longer. i'm working on something

now. something... extraordinary.

philby

what is it?

alexander

you wouldn't believe me.

philby

i would.

alexander

i'll tell you what... come by for

dinner in a week and i'll show you.

philby

why don't you come to our house

instead?

alexander

i can't do that --

philby

when's the last time you were

outside this house --

(notes a disheveled cot in

the corner)

-- or this room?

alexander

(tense)

i can't leave when i'm so close.

philby

there are trains leaving grand

central every then minutes. a

dozen liners leaving the harbor.

get on one of them. go to

singapore, scotland, manchuria,

anywhere, just away from here --

alexander

that's absurd --

philby

you're dying here. don't you see

that?!

a tense beat.

alexander

you won't say that in a week.

philby

i pray to god that in a week you're

not here.

a beat.

philby

all right. i'll come for dinner.

and in the meantime... you'll think

about what we discussed?

alexander

in a week... we will never have had

this conversation.

philby looks at him, mystified and concerned.

alexander

good night, david.

philby

good night, alex.

philby turns to go.

alexander

still wearing that bowler hat.

philby stops. turns back.

philby

it's raining outside. open the

drapes and you might know that.

he goes.

alexander stands for a moment.

int. alexander's house - lab - night

alexander sits, drinking a glass of brandy. he is staring at

the curtain concealing the other part of the lab.

we notice that all the chalkboards have been wiped clean.

he drains the glass of brandy. bon voyage.

then he rises and moves to the curtain. he pulls the curtain

back and reveals...

the magnificent creation itself: the time machine.

we take in this beautiful creation of curving brass and thick

velvet, elegant lines and a hopeful feeling of victorian

futurism, as alexander moves to the windows by the machine.

he slowly pulls back all the drapes on the windows. the time

machine sits in an area of the lab that juts off, like a

greenhouse with windows offering a generous view of the world

around him: his quiet garden and the small dress shop across

the street.

alexander moves to the time machine. he sits, nervously

settling in.

the brass control panel ahead of him has a simple display

showing the year and date -- august 7, 1899 -- and a control

lever that moves forward and back.

a beat. he takes a deep breath and then... reaches for the

control lever --

cut to:

ext. pavilion - central park - night

all is as it was. gentle period music from a band, glowing

lanterns hanging down and the swaying shapes of dancers.

a beautiful woman stands with her back to us watching the

dancers... she slowly turns.

emma smiles.

alexander stands, just watching her, his eyes wide,

incredibly moved. we note that alexander wears the clothes

he was wearing when he got into the time machine. it is the

older alex, pale and thin.

she goes to him and kisses him.

emma

you're late.

alexander

(with difficulty)

got here as soon as i could.

emma

dance with me...

alexander

you know i can't.

emma

trust me...

she takes his hand and they dance. she is, again, a natural

dancer, smooth and gentle. he tries to follow her minute

cues but the experience of holding her in his arms again is

almost too much for him. he is overcome with emotion.

emma

alex, what is it?

alexander

holding you... again.

emma

darling.

alexander

i need... to talk to you.

emma

all right...

alexander

not here... alone. please.

she leads him from the dance floor.

emma

let's walk through the park...

alexander

no... let's walk through the city.

emma

(a little mystified)

all right...

he takes her hand and leads her away from the pavilion --

then he stops, sees he must lead her through one of a number

of tree-lined paths out of the park. the gaping darkness of

the park is strangely ominous. behind each door a tiger.

emma

alex, what is it?

alexander

nothing -- let's just get out of

the park.

he takes her arm and makes his decision -- he pulls her

quickly down one of the paths.

ext. central park - path - night

alexander pulls emma toward an exit to the city, going as

quickly as he can. his eyes dart nervously into the dark

trees around them.

emma

alex...?!

alexander

shhh. let's just hurry on here.

we don't have to talk, all right?

she stops, pulling him.

emma

why do we have to race for heaven's

sake?!

alexander

(looking around, alert)

i want to get into the light,

that's all. please...

he pulls her along.

emma

this running along is all well for

you -- you're not wearing a corset.

then a sound stops him -- an unholy echo through the night,

tormenting him from his nightmares -- the roar of a tiger.

alexander

my god...

emma

alex, it's just the zoo.

he grabs her and pulls more quickly, a little desperate.

alexander

please, emma, it's just a little

further.

he hurries her along. they finally reach the exit and emerge

from central park to fifth avenue...

ext. fifth avenue - park exit - night

he stops, looks around, sees lots of pedestrians and

carriages and gaslight. safety. victory.

he breathes deeply and smiles. he offers her his arm.

emma

oh, now you're all gallant.

she shakes her head and then takes his arm. they stroll.

ext. fifth avenue - night

a bit later. alexander and emma make their way down this

most magnificent of boulevards. he holds her arm tightly, as

if in fear of losing her again.

emma

you're so pale... i hope you're not

coming down with something.

alexander

no, i'm fine. i'm...

(laughs)

... wonderful. just walking down

the street with you again.

emma

we took a walk three days ago.

alexander

not like this. never like this.

emma, i swear to you -- if i've

learned one thing, it's that

moments like this are rare. and i

will thank god for them every

moment of every day.

she is confused at his strange intensity, but respects his

seriousness.

emma

they are rare...

(she glances up at the

constellations above)

... orion's belt, pointing to the

earth --

alexander

(smiles)

the sailor's omen of good fortune.

the hunter watching over him on his

travels.

emma

so it's astronomy now, is it?

they are passing by the stanley steamer at the curb alexander

saw earlier. the motorist is still tinkering with the

engine.

emma

heavens, look at that now!

alexander

i've seen it.

he continues escorting her along.

emma

now i know you're ill -- passing up

the chance to explore some new

gadget.

alexander

it's only a machine.

she stops. genuinely concerned now.

emma

alexander... tell me what's going

on. is something wrong?

he looks at her deeply:

alexander

no, emma. everything is finally

right. tonight we're going to

start all over again. and this

time... i'm never going to let you

go.

he kisses her deeply. she is shocked at this public display

of affection, pulling back slightly.

emma

alex... people are staring.

alexander

let them.

he kisses her again.

emma

let them.

alexander

i have something for you...

he pats his pockets, feels the jewelry box, smiles. then he

notes the flower seller he saw before.

alexander

(smiles)

wait -- i want to do it right this

time -- stay here, don't move...

emma stands, mystified, as he goes to the flower seller.

flower seller

have some flowers, sir?

alexander

yes, as many as you have!

a sudden sound makes him spin back --

a frenzy of movement -- on the curb, the stanley steamer

suddenly lurches forward -- the brake not set -- the motorist

jumps out of the way -- the steamer slams forward to the

street full of horse-drawn carriages -- a horse rears and

bolts -- panic, screams -- the horse lurches to the curb --

toward emma -- the carriage topples over --

burying emma in a violent crash.

alexander races to emma -- too late. a crowd begins to form.

alexander folds himself over her in wordless torment.

int. alexander's house - lab - night

alexander sits in his lab, glaring at the time machine.

tormented. eyes haunted. drinking a glass of brandy. not

his first.

he glares at the time machine, his fury building -- then he

bolts up -- flings the brandy glass away from him -- it

shatters -- strides across the lab -- throws himself into the

machine.

alexander

time heals all wounds -- then let

it!

he slams the control lever forward violently -- in fury -- a

high-pitched whine -- building -- the world undulating around

alexander --

suddenly all the silent clocks in alexander's lab begin to

tick --

time travel

alexander's spine immediately arches back -- he screams in

pain --

the molecules of his body revolt as they are torn forward

through time -- as time tears through him -- his whole body

suffers as he bends and floats and rips through time -- when

he turns his head his whole face seems to elongate --

he's going too fast -- he eases back on the control lever --

the pain receding somewhat --

and the world around him changes --

the sun rises and then sets and then rises; in his garden

snails zoom past flowers that bloom and die in an instant;

apples grow ripe and then fall and decay in his garden; a

complicated spider's web grows in a corner of his laboratory

in seconds --

the sun and moon now shoot through the sky, a strobe-like

flashing of day and night, finally settling into a strange,

perpetual grey light.

he begins to control the lever a bit more -- it is sensitive

to his touch -- soon he can glance around a bit without

absolute agony -- and then with no pain at all --

in the window of the dress shop across the street he watches

a female mannequin as she is redressed, her clothes morphing

from style to style, a swirl of styles and outfits. and new

buildings spring up across the street as the seasons pass in

a blur, summer-fall-winter-spring-summer-fall-winter-spring.

his journey is accompanied by a strange symphony -- sound

bending around him; voices, music, period radio news reports,

industry. sounds that float and flit through his

consciousness, distorted, barely recognizable.

and bizarre shapes move through his world as well -- ghost

like apparitions -- strange and eerie as they bend and morph

through space -- people.

he can almost control the appearance of the people as he

gently modulates his speed with the control lever -- he sees

mrs. watchit bending through time -- philby, concerned --

then people he doesn't know, architects with blueprints,

pointing --

then the world directly around him is changing -- his lab

changing -- walls being torn down --

his lab is now a garage -- a series of swiftly morphing cars

denoting the passing time as years spin by on his control

in the distance he sees new york city expanding -- the

chrysler building (1930) and the empire state building (1931)

shoot up.

then the garage is torn down around him -- another

construction going up -- larger -- a restaurant.

he modulates the control lever -- controlling the ebb and

flow of time -- the patrons of the restaurant huddled around

a radio, a news report, fdr's voice... 'december 7... a day

that will live in infamy...'

he notes a store going up next to the dress shop: a newspaper

shop -- sees banner headlines as the years sweep past --

d-day! -- ve day! -- vj day! -- an enormous celebration in

the street.

the years spin by on his control panel: 1946... 1953...

1957...

the strange aural symphony continues as he hears music and

news, the music evolving from swing to early rock...

the restaurant dissolves around him and a house grows up --

he is in a den -- a black-and-white tv on -- alexander gapes

-- slowly, slightly...

on the tv: jfk's funeral... in the den he sees the shape of a

family nestled together, watching the funeral, weeping...

he presses on. the years spin by on his control panel:

1963... 1966... 1969...

on the new color tv in the den: news reports of the apollo

11, neil armstrong stepping on the moon... 'one small step

for man...' alexander stares, amazed.

the aural and visual symphony continues... rock segueing to

disco, vietnam news...

he is shocked to see the mannequin in a miniskirt! he sees

the dress shop becoming a department store and the newspaper

store becoming a high tech electronics shop --

on a bank of tvs in the electronics shop window he sees nixon

leaving the white house for the last time, august 9, 1974,

walking to the helicopter, the ferocious victory 'v'...

then alexander is suddenly outside as the house is demolished

-- quickly eroding around him -- he is in a vacant lot...

he is stunned to see the towers of the world trade center

looming in the distance -- the rollerskaters with boom boxes

swirling past with the grace of ballet dancers -- and

something so fantastical that alexander can only gape...

an airplane soaring above.

the years zip by on his control panel: 1979... 1985...

1989...

more disjointed sounds and images, tv reports and radio news

and music: oil crisis, plop-plop-fizz-fizz-oh-what-a-relief

it-is, ronald reagan, punk rock, gulf war, clinton...

then order from the chaos -- the overgrown vacant lot is

landscaped -- becoming a beautiful park...

he slows a bit, almost stopping -- intrigued by a

transformation across the street: the banks of tv screens are

replaced by an informational kiosk of some kind.

the control panel display clicks more slowly... february

2005... april 2005... may 2005...

alexander continues to stare at the information kiosk as he

comes to a stop, briefly, at: may 24, 2005

ext. park (2005) - day

alexander sits unnoticed in the time machine as he watches a

group of schoolchildren and their teacher gathering around

the informational kiosk. it is a public information booth

with a video screen showing the word vox. a glowing red blip

within the 'o'.

the vox kiosk is activated when the teacher steps in front of

a sensor eye.

vox kiosk (v.o.)

may i help you?

teacher

yes, please... tell us about the

terraforming.

the children watch, delighted, as images of the moon and

renderings and videos of some massive engineering project

appear on the vox screen.

vox kiosk (v.o.)

the joint united nations/microsoft

terraforming operation began nine

months ago with the moon base alpha

landings. after establishing

plymouth center the terraformers

began colony construction. can i

tell you more?

child

what are they doing now?

alexander watches, stunned. a machine that converses with

people.

vox kiosk (v.o.)

currently, the terraformers are

preparing the first excavation

demolitions for the subterranean

chambers. it is projected that the

first lunar colonists should be

landing within the decade. can i

tell you more?

alexander gapes at the vox kiosk. magnificent renderings of

a vast underground metropolis. people living on the moon.

he must see this grand adventure out. he presses on...

time travel

but almost immediately the time machine is lurching and

buffeting -- a strange darkness spreading over it as air raid

sirens scream --

alexander is alarmed -- he begins to pull back on the control

lever -- the date on the display clicks to: august 26, 2007.

and alexander and the time machine suddenly topple over as

the ground lurches below them --

ext. park (2007) - day

alexander looks up from the grass...

right into the eyes of a small albino alligator.

the alligator blinks at him and then slithers off, a brood of

other alligators with it.

alexander glances to the street -- sees an enormous pack of

rats emerging from a sewer drain -- a thick, undulating

carpet of rats --

and alexander feels the vibrations. the earth, a steady

rumble. his eye is drawn to a small puddle of water near

him. the water swirls around strangely and then -- whoosh --

forms into a vortex and spirals away into the sky --

alexander follows the water with his eyes and finally sees

it...

the moon.

filling the sky as if it were falling toward the earth.

parts of the moon are beginning to sheer off -- violently

peeling away like the skin of an onion -- as it impacts the

gravitational roche limit, 7,300 miles above the earth. (the

moon is currently 230,000 miles above the earth.)

the people on the street race around, tense and desperate,

flowing along the streets and sidewalks. national guard

soldiers are trying to retain order, urgent voices into

megaphones --

alexander hauls himself up -- and races into the mob --

ext. street (2007) - day

he grabs a man --

alexander

what's going on -- ?!

the man pulls away from him, terrified -- alexander is

bustled along the sidewalk in the mass of people -- he turns

to a woman:

alexander

please tell me -- what's

happening?!

she ignores him -- he is buffeted along in the mob of people

-- then, a voice, remarkably calm in the chaos, a familiar

voice:

calm voice

may i help you?... may i help

you?... may i help you?...

alexander pushes his way through the frenzy of people toward

the voice. finds himself at...

the front steps of the fifth avenue new york public library.

the twin stone lions looming over the chaos on the street.

the calm voice is coming from another vox kiosk, an upgrade

of the one he saw previously. alexander unintentionally

activates the unit by stepping in front of a red sensor eye.