SOLARIS

 

by

​

Steven Soderbergh 

​

October 4, 2001

​

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:

 

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?

​