SOLARIS

First, over BLACK, we hear the sound of a light rain.

Then:

A MAN'S VOICE

I'm not a poet. I've never moved

anyone with my words.

(beat)

Maybe that's why they chose me.

EXT. WOODS - DAY

A mural of leafless trees beneath an overcast sky. Rain

continues to fall.

Maybe now we begin to notice a strange quality to the light

(or is it the sky?). Something vaguely unsettling.

CUT TO:

INT. BEDROOM - MORNING

Still, the sound of rain is heard.

A MAN:

40s, lies on his side in bed, staring at us.

He has not been sleeping. In fact, judging from his distant

expression, he has not slept in ages.

CUT TO:

EXT. ROAD - DAY

Less like a road and more like a path that you maneuver a

vehicle through.

The Man, dressed in rain gear, walks down the middle. He is

accompanied by a medium-sized LABRADOR, and seems in no

particular hurry.

The sound of tires appear and grow in intensity. The Man,

without saying an actual word, instructs the dog to heal.

The dog obeys as the Man moves off the road. The vehicle

hurtles past him -- its engine quiet, its windows darkened --

spraying muddy debris in its wake.

Seconds later, the car brakes abruptly and skids to a stop.

THE MAN:

Stops walking and stares at the car, which seems ominously

still.

The car then reverses direction and begins to move toward the

Man, who remains motionless.

When the car is alongside him, a darkened window turns

transparent and we see a WELL-DRESSED BUREAUCRAT in the rear

seat. His demeanor is pleasant and professional.

WELL-DRESSED BUREAUCRAT

Dr. Kelvin?

The Man he is addressing, who we now understand is CHRIS

KELVIN, stares back at him.

CUT TO:

INT. CABIN - DAY

The contrast between the cabin's rustic aesthetic and the

aggressively high-tech equipment contained therein isn't as

jarring as you might imagine.

Kelvin is seated in front of a desk, scrolling through a text

readout on a flat, transparent holographic screen. Behind

him is the Well-Dressed Bureaucrat from the car, and two

others:
A WOMAN in her 50s and a MAN in his 30s. They are

also well-groomed. Each of their suits are embroidered with

a small but distinctive LOGO of some sort that composes the

acronym DBA.

Kelvin scrolls through several menus, hits a few keys, and a

digitized VIDEO IMAGE appears on his screen: A MAN, unshaven,

looking into the camera.

The man, GIBARIAN, looks very tired and somewhat apologetic.

The lower part of the screen has a time of day and date

display that reads: 0221 HRS 11/14/31.

GIBARIAN:

We take off into the cosmos, ready

for anything:
solitude, hardship,

exhaustion, death. We're proud of

ourselves, in a way. But our

enthusiasm is a sham. We don't

want to conquer the cosmos -- we

want to extend the boundaries of

Earth to the cosmos. We are only

seeking Man. We don't want Other

Worlds. We want mirrors.

(beat)

Maybe we don't need to know what it

is, or why. Maybe just knowing

that it is should be enough.

Gibarian stares at the camera for a long moment before

switching it off and ending the transmission.

Kelvin sits back.

The visitors exchange glances.

CUT TO:

INT. SPACE CAPSULE

Close on Kelvin. We hold on him a long time, as a myriad of

readouts scroll and flash across his face. A slit of

sunlight glides slowly through frame.

DISSOLVE TO:

KELVIN:

in the same capsule, a month later. He is asleep.

DISSOLVE TO:

KELVIN:

in the same capsule, two months later. He is dictating some

coordinates to Earth. He absently scratches his heavy growth

of beard.

DISSOLVE TO:

KELVIN:

two months later still. He is looking out his small,

rectangular window, and for the fist time we cut around to

see the approaching planet: SOLARIS.

Kelvin stares at it, hypnotized. It has a translucent

quality, as though it is lit from within, and its undulating,

ocean-like surface slowly changes colors.

Kelvin's attention is diverted as an orbiting ship, the

PROMETHEUS, edges into frame.

KELVIN:

Prometheus, this is Athena 7, on

approach, do you read me?

(beat)

Prometheus, this is Athena 7, on

approach, do you read me?

No response. He exhales and types on a keyboard.

EXT. SPACE

The Athena 7, sporting a DBA logo, advances toward the

Prometheus.

CUT TO:

INT. PROMETHEUS

Kelvin, in a space suit, climbs with some difficulty out of

the Athena 7, which has come to rest in the DOCKING BAY of

the Prometheus. Several exploratory PODS fill the remainder

of the area.

Kelvin gets his bearings and looks around, but sees no sign

of life.

CUT TO:

INT. CORRIDOR

Empty.

(NOTE:
Except for some ROBOTIC, NON-SPEAKING CHARACTERS: the

AUTOMATED TASKMASTERS. These are small, bug-like repair

units that constantly roam the ship, fixing things. Their

tiny hum is virtually silent, and we see them all the time on

the Prometheus. They can adhere to any surface at any

angle.)

Kelvin, now out of his space suit and holding a small

carrying case and a duffle bag, moves on.

CUT TO:

INT. GIBARIAN'S ROOM

Ransacked.

Kelvin registers it, then moves to the corner of the room

where the computer terminal rests. Within moments he has

discovered Gibarian has recorded a video message for him to

replay.

VIDEO:

Gibarian addressing the camera. He appears to be lucid, but

extremely fatigued.

GIBARIAN:

Hi, Chris.

(a light smile)

I'm so glad you came.

(beat, the smile fades)

I still have a little time, and I

want to tell you something. To

warn you. By now you know about

me, or if you don't, get Snow or

Sartorius to tell you; it doesn't

matter.

(beat)

I didn't lose my mind. You should

be able to tell from this video.

I'm not mad.

(beat)

If it happens to you, remember that

it isn't madness.

(beat)

You should know, I'm in favor of

destroying Solaris. I know

that's... illegal. And unethical.

And irresponsible. But it's the

only way to make it stop.

A long moment of silence is broken by a noise on the video,

which draws Gibarian's attention offscreen.

GIBARIAN:

(addressing whoever made

the noise)

Cut that out. Do you hear me?

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