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Gattaca
A Screen Play
by Andrew M. Niccol
FADE IN
A white title appears on a black screen.
"As night-fall does not come at once, neither
does oppression...It is in such twilight that
we all must be aware of change in the air
- however slight - lest we become victims of
the darkness."
Justice William O. Douglas
The title fades off, replaced by a second title.
"I not only think that we will tamper with
Mother Nature, I think Mother wants us to."
William Gaylin
The second title fades off, leaving a dark screen.
The darkness gradually gives way to a dawning light.
We are confronted with sight of a barren, empty landscape. A
wide expanse of wasteland.
Suddenly, without warning, an elephant tusk falls from the sky
and crashes onto the parched ground. The earth-shuddering
impact causes the tusk to rebound once in slow motion before
finally settling to the desert floor in a cloud of dust.
The first tusk is quickly followed by a second, also dropping
from the heavens. It lands near the first. Another tusk
smashes to earth several yards away. Yet another comes crashing
into the foreground.
Finally the dust settles upon a graveyard of tusks.
DISSOLVE TO
A BARREN, EMPTY LANDSCAPE
In another region of the wasteland, a forest of tree trunks
suddenly rains down from the sky. The trunks thump to the hard
ground, also rebounding in slow motion. Cleanly sawn,
branchless, palm-like trunks, they come to rest in the dust only
to be followed by a second cascade of lumber.
When the dust finally clears. the felled tree trunks lie in a
huge, log-jam in the desert.
DISSOLVE TO
A BARREN, EMPTY LANDSCAPE
Next to descend from the sky, a torrent of firewood. One shower
after another, crashing to the plain. Enough chopped lumber to
fuel a thousand hearths.
DISSOLVE TO
A BARREN, EMPTY LANDSCAPE
Joining the rest of the debris is a deluge of slate - sheets
of shale from a great unseen quarry in the sky come slamming to
earth. Some of the pieces shattering, some rebounding into the
air until the granite litters acres of landscape as far as the
eye can see.
TITLES ARE SPACED APPROPRIATELY THROUGHOUT THE PRECEDING
SEQUENCE. THE FINAL TITLE READS:
T H E N O T - T O O - D I S T A N T F U T U R E
The camera commences a long, slow pull-back from the pile of
elephant tusks. Gradually they are revealed as human
fingernails magnified many hundreds of times.
The tree trunks are mere hair follicles. The firewood,
whiskers. The slate, flakes of skin.
INT. INCINERATOR. EARLY MORNING.
A naked MAN, thirties, seen in profile, is crouched upon a metal
floor inside a small, brushed stainless steel tank, rubbing his
skin raw with a wire brush. JEROME MORROW.
Having completed his scrupulous ablutions, Jerome arches his
lean frame through the small, oval door of the metal room
with practised ease.
Securing the thick, fireproof windowed door behind himself, he
turns a switch to release gas into the vacated chamber. The gas
instantly ignites in what is now revealed to be a gleaming
modern stainless-steel custom-made incinerator.
We refocus on a MAGNIFIED CLOSE UP of his exfoliated flesh in
the incinerator as it blackens, curls and burns.
Jerone covers himself with a silk robe and steps into a pair of
backless slippers.
INT. EUGENE'S CONDOMINIUM. EARLY MORNING.
JEROME emerges from the incinerator room into a large, luxurious
loft-style condo containing a bizarre assortment of equipment -
arranged somewhat like a production line.
Long, scrupulously clean metal work benches are arranged along
one entire wall. Laid out on the benches in neat rows are
dozens of plastic bags - some filled, some unfilled. Instruments
on trays - various types of tweezers, scissors and other less
familiar utensils. Round, stainless steel containers filled
with hairs of differing lengths and other body matter.
JEROME approaches another man slumped over one of the benches.
EUGENE. He clutches an empty vodka bottle. He is snoring
lightly - sleeping off the night before. As JEROME gently
prises the bottle out of his hand, we are struck by the
similarity of Eugene's face to Jerome's.
Jerome pulls Eugene's chair back from the desk with surprising
ease. A wheelchair - a modern, ergonomic design. Jerome wheels
Eugene to a bedroom and, with some difficulty, hauls the larger
man onto the bed. Through his alcoholic fog, Eugene feebly co-
operates - his paralyzed legs a particular dead weight.
After covering Eugene with a blanket, Jerome enters a bathroom
containing a surgically-clean stainless steel basin, sink,
shower and toilet.
Beside the toilet stands a large, industrial-style stainless
steel refrigerator.
Donning protective gloves, Jerome opens the liquid-nitrogen
cooled refrigerator. A cloud of condensed water vapor billows
out. Revealed inside the fridge are racks of labelled jars and
silicon pouches - some containing a yellowish liquid, some a
deep, red liquid.
In front of one of the jars is a handwritten shopping list -
"TRUFFLES, CIGS, VODKA". Jerome smiles to himself as he
retrieves the note along with one of the jars. He checks the
jar's label. Satisfied with the date written there, he breaks
the seal and pours the contents into the clear, silicon pouch of
an IV-like device lying on the steel bathroom counter.
He seals the pouch and checks the apparatus by opening the valve
on its fine tube and squirting a small quantity of the liquid
into the nearby toilet bowl, as one would test a syringe. We
remain on Jerome's face as he reaches between his legs and
inserts the pouch.
Reopening the refrigerator, Jerome slides out a tray containing
neat rows of slim, fingertip-sized plastic sachets filled with a
deep, red-colored liquid. He removes his gloves, selects one of
the sachets and carefully adheres the sachet to the pad at the
end of his index finger. He prepares a second sachet for his
middle finger. Jerome then applies skin-colored cover-up makeup
to the sachets, blending them in with the color of his fingers.
JEROME, still dressed in his robe, climbs a large, spiral
staircase to the floor above.
INT. JEROME'S CONDOMINIUM. EARLY MORNING.
He emerges at the top of the staircase into a similarly large,
loft-stlye condominium. Through the floor to ceiling window
that opens onto a balcony we see that dawn is only just starting
to leak into the night sky.
In the bedroom JEROME removes a shirt from a drycleaning bag.
Printed on the bag - "Confidentiality Guaranteed". He emerges
from his bedroom, dressed in a smart albeit unconventionally cut
suit. He adjusts his tie in the mirror, careful not to disturb
the sachets attached to his fingertips.
INT. INVESTIGATOR'S POOL. MORNING.
A lone MAN swims a ferocious lap of freestyle in what appears to
be a pool of enormous length - yet he never reaches the pool's
end. We pull wider to reveal that the man is swimming against
an artificial current in a pool barely larger than himself.
Abruptly, the man stops and stands up - the fast-flowing current
instantly stilled. We glimpse the face of INVESTIGATOR LUCAS.
Thirties, he has a youthful yet rigid face. We have the
impression that he does not swim for pleasure.
EXT. CONDOMINIUM COMPLEX. MORNING.
It is still early as JEROME exits the building's underground
parking garage in an immaculate Studebaker Avanti and proceeds
down the long straight driveway. He exchanges a wave with a
GARDENER trimming a lawn.
The whir of the car's electric powered engine belies its
conventional appearance.
EXT. GATTACA AEROSPACE CORPORATION. DAY.
JEROME's car exits a highway and turns up the sweeping road
leading to the parking lot of "GATTACA AEROSPACE CORPORATION".
A sleek, modern, low-rise industrial compound boasting perfectly
manicured landscaped gardens.
INT. GATTACA AEROSPACE CORPORATION. DAY.
JEROME strides purposefully up to the entranceway with hundreds
of other GATTACA EMPLOYEES. He carries himself with a certain
arrogance, a cool detachment. All employees wear similarly
unconventionally-cut suits, short coiffed hair and robust tans.
The Gattaca employees are a seemingly equal split of men and
women and a diverse range of ethnicities.
They filter through a row of channels supervised by SECURITY
GUARDS. Each channel contains a computerized security device,
featuring a slim groove in which the employee places a finger
under the watchful eye of a Security Guard.
Jerome gives a polite nod to a Guard as he places his index
finger in the groove. His fingertip is jabbed with the
finest of needles and a minute blood sample taken.
The blood specimen confirms Jerome's identity - an ID photograph
appearing on a computer screen.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jerome spies a young woman
entering through the adjacent channel. She is also sneaking a
glance in his direction - IRENE. Catching each other looking,
they both quickly avert their eyes.
As Jerome enters the computer facility of Gattaca Aerospace
Corporation he furtively glances at the pin-prick puncture in
his fingertip sachet.
SOMEWHERE IN DEEP SPACE.
A GATTACA spacecraft skirts an asteroid. Taking advantage of
the rock's gravitational pull, the craft slingshots deeper into
the black void. Then abruptly the craft and the asteroid freeze
in mid-space, suddenly reverse direction and proceed forward
again - the spacecraft taking a slightly adjusted course.
We pull back to reveal that the journey is merely a highly
realistic graphic representation on a GATTACA computer screen
operated by JEROME.
Appearing simultaneously alongside the computer animation is a
seemingly never-ending column of computer instructions for this
celestial navigation - the incomprehensible language of the
computer programmer.
140 #x20x08x$$x20x08x$$x20x08x$$x20{
150 #x00x00x00x00x00x00x00x00x00x00
160 #xfexfexfexfexfexfexfexfexfexfe
Jerome is transported - plotting a path through the heavens.
As his fingers fly across the keys he does not once take his
eyes from the screen.
His is one of hundreds of ergonomically designed work stations,
arranged in ever-widening circles in a huge, curcular, well-
appointed if antiseptic room. Each curved desk contains a
computer terminal consisting of a keyboard and a slim,
transparent screen behind which is seated a PROGRAMMER,
designing software for the aerospace agency. At the center of
the room is a donut-shaped command console, chairs facing
outwards, from which operations are monitored.
Floor to ceiling smoked-glass curved walls offer the only
concession to nature - a tinted view of a man-made, meticulously
landscaped garden.
Jerome tears himself away from his screen and picks up a
discreet mini-vac. He vacuums between the keys of his keyboard.
DIRECTOR JOSEF, 50's, a shorter, official-looking man
approaches. His assistant IRENE stands at his shoulder.
DIRECTOR JOSEF
You keep your work station so clean, Jerome.
JEROME
--Next to Godliness, isn't that what they say?
The Director smiles at the notion and places a computer disc
on Jerome's desk.
DIRECTOR JOSEF
I reviewed your flight plan. Not one error
in a hundred thousand keystrokes. Phenomenal.
(placing a hand on Jerome's shoulder)
It's right that someone like you is taking us
to the Belt.
(glancing to notification on Jerome's screen)
You have a substance test.
The Director briskly departs, Irene in tow. At a nearby work
station, a painfully thin programmer, NAPOLEON, perks up at
the mention of the test.
Jerome merely shrugs and pretends to reach down and scratch his
ankle. However he surreptitiously produced one of Eugene's
transparent specimen bags from his sock. An EXTREME CLOSE UP
reveals the bag's contents - flakes of skin, hair follicles,
eyelashes, a fingernail. Cupping the bag in his hand to avoid
detection, Jerome sprinkles the fraudulent body matter over his
keyboard, desk surfaces and the floor around his work station.
He opens his desk drawer and casually scatters the remainder of
the bag. Finally he inspects a comb already laced with two
hair follicles.
Jerome rises from his work station and makes his way towards the
testing lab.
INT. GATTACA AEROSPACE CORPORATION - TESTING LABORATORY. DAY.
White-coated LAMAR, forties, buzzcut, a man's man, checks
JEROME's eyes with an instrument. Satisfied with his
examination, he passes a transparent plastic container to
JEROME. Standing directly in front of the technician with his
back to camera, Jerome opens his fly. A steady stream of urine
begins to flow into the container from Jerome's hidden pouch.
LAMAR
(staring admiringly at the discharge)
Jerome...never shy. Pisses on command.
You've got a beautiful cock. I ever told
you that, Jerome?
JEROME
(deadpan as he continues to urinate)
Only every time I'm in here.
Jerome hands the container to Lamara who seals and label it as
Jerome refastens his trousers.
LAMAR
I see a lot of cocks. I speak from experience.
Yours is a beautiful example. Why didn't my
folks order a cock like that for me?
LAMAR pours the urine sample into a high-tech device where it
is instantly analyzed. The urine identifies Jerone while also
registering a negative drug reading. The computer reads
"VALID".
LAMAR
(walking Jerome to the door)
If everything goes to plan, this could be the
last time I see you for a while. One week to
go. Please tell me you're the least bit excited.
JEROME
I'll tell you at the end of the week.
Jerome departs.
INT. GATTACA - RESTROOM. DAY.
JEROME enters the restroom and glances at the toilet stalls.
Only three in the bank of twenty is occupied. He tarries at the
mirror above the uniform line of basins, unnecessarily
reknotting his tie.
A toilet flushes and a COLLEAGUE exits one of the stalls. He
and Jerome exchange a nod. When the man has exited the restroom,
Jerome enters the man's vacated stall.
INT. GATTACA - TOILET STALL. DAY.
JEROME immediately feels around the back of the toilet bowl and
detaches a secreted stainless steel container.
With surprising swiftness and dexterity, Jerome removes an
extremely fine contact lens from each eye and drops the pair
into the toilet bowl. He inserts two replacement lenses from
the container and reattaches it in its hiding place.
Jerome flushes the toilet and exits the stall. He checks in the
mirror that his new contact lenses are properly inserted.
INT. GATTACA - CORRIDOR. DAY.
Walking back along one of the long, glass-walled corridors,
JEROME becomes aware of a peculiar noise in the complex -
or to be more precise, a lack of noise. The incessant tapping
of computer keys has stilled.
As Jerome gazes through the glass walled corridor, we see the
reflection of his face, deep in thought.
JEROME (VO)
The most unremarkable of events. Jerome
Morrow, Navigator First class, is only days
away from a one-year manned mission to 951
Gaspra in the Outer Asteroid Belt. Nothing so
unique in that. Last year over one thousand
citizens from every walk of life embarked on
some space mission or other. Besides,
selection for Jerome was virtually guaranteed
at birth. He is blessed with all the physical
and intellectual gifts required for such an
arduous undertaking, a genetic quotient second
to none.
Jerome's gaze drifts to the sky.
JEROME (VO)
No, there is truly nothing remarkable about
the progress of Jerome Morrow, except that I
am not Jerome Morrow.
EXT. BEACH. DUSK - THIRTY-ODD YEARS EARILER
A starry sky. The camera tilts down to find palm trees
swaying against a setting sun.
JEROME (VO)
I was conceived in the Riviera. Not the
French Riviera.
The camera tilts down further to find a Buick Riviera parked in
a deserted beachfront parking lot on a polluted stretch of
beach.
JEROME (VO)
The Detroit variety.
Through the car's steamed windows we see Jerome's mother and
father, MARIA and ANTONIO, early twenties, making love.
JEROME (VO)
They used to say that a child conceived in love,
has a greater chance of happiness. They don't
say that any more.
INT. FAMILY PLANNING CLINIC. DAY.
MARIA, wearing a medical gown, lies on an examining table, feet
in stirrups. A NURSE, forties, wheels an instrument tray
towards her. Maria suddenly disengages her feet from the
stirrups and swings her legs off the table.
NURSE
What are you doing?
MARIA
(shaking her head)
I can't do this.
NURSE
(misinterpreting the problem)
I told you, the government pays. It's all
taken care of.
MARIA
No, you don't understand. I can't.
The nurse places a comforting hand on Maria's shoulder.
NURSE
(reassuring)
The doctor will give you something.
MARIA
(removing the hand, adamant)
I'm not doing it.
NURSE
(trying to make her see reason)
Honey, you've made one mistake--
The remark stings Maria.
NURSE
(softening her tone)
--I've read your profile. I don't
know about the father but you carry
enough hereditary factors on your own.
(pause)
You can have other children.
MARIA
(holding her swollen stomach protectively)
Not like this one.
NURSE
(trying to be diplomatic)
Honey, look around you. The world doesn't
want one like that one.
Maria gets off the table and reaches for her clothes laying
across a chair.
MARIA
(irate)
You don't know what it will be!
The nurse watches Maria as she dresses, genuinely bewildered.
NURSE
(calling out to Maria as she disappears
out of the door)
The child won't thank you!
INT. DELIVERY ROOM. DAY.
We focus on a crucifix dangling on a rosary. Tilting up we find
the rosary clasped between MARIA and ANTONIO's intertwined
hands.
JEROME (VO)
Those were early days--days when a priest
could still persuade someone to put their
faith in God's hands rather than those of
the local geneticist.
Bathed in sweat, Maria gives a final push on the delivery table.
While still attached to his umbilical cord, the heel of the
NEWBORN BABY BOY is immediately pricked by a masked NURSE. A
minute drop of blood is inserted into an analyzing machine.
Even as the baby is put into Maria's arms, page after page of
data begins to appear on a monitor, pulsing warning signals
throughout the spreadsheets.
Two assisting NURSES exchange a look. Antonio senses something
amiss.
ANTONIO
What's wrong?
JEROME (VO)
Of course, there was nothing wrong with me.
Not so long ago I would have been considered
a perfectly healthy, normal baby. Ten fingers,
ten toes. That was all that used to matter.
But now my immediate well-being was not the
sole concern.
Antonio turns his attention from his baby to the data appearing
on the monitor. We see individual items highlighted amongst the
data - "NERVE CONDITION - PROBABILITY 60%", "MANIC DEPRESSION -
42%", "OBESITY - 66%", "ATTENTION DEFICIT DISORDER - 89%"--
JEROME (VO)
My destiny was mapped out before me--
all my flaws, predispositions and
susceptibilities - most untreatable to
this day. Only minutes old, the date and
cause of my death was already known.
Antonio focuses on a final highlighted item on the monitor's
screen, "HEART DISORDER - 99% - EARLY FATAL POTENTIAL.".
"LIFE EXPECTANCY - 33 YEARS".
NURSE
The name?
(typing details into birth certificate)
For the certificate.
MARIA
Antonio--
ANTONIO
(correcting her)
--No, Vincent Antonio.
With a computer stylus he signs the nurse's handheld screen.
EXT. TRACT HOME - BACKYARD. DAY.
2-YEAR-OLD JEROME (REFERRED TO BY HIS GIVEN NAME OF "VINCENT"
FOR MOST OF THE FOLLOWING FLASHBACK) running with a toy rocket
falls more in clumsiness than fatigue. MARIA suddenly whisks up
the toddler.
MARIA
(hysterical)
Oh, Vincent, Vincent, Vincent...I can't let
you out of my sight.
Maria frantically listens to her young son's heartbeat. For
his part, Vincent appears surprised by the attention. Maria
places a portable oxygen mask over Vincent's mouth.
JEROME (VO)
I was born Vincent Antonio Luca. And from
an early age I came to think of myself as
others thought of me - chronically ill.
Every skinned knee and runny nose treated
as if it were life-threatening.
INT. DAY CARE CENTER. DAY.
MARIA and ANTONIO drop off dark-haired 2-YEAR-OLD VINCENT at a
Day Care Center.
JEROME (VO)
And my parents soon realized that wherever
I went, my genetic prophecy preceded me.
While HEALTHY CHILDREN play outside on tricycles, clamber over
jungle-gyms and finger-paint, the PRE-SCHOOL TEACHER shows
Vincent into a room where CHILDREN WITH OBVIOUS DISABILITIES
sleep on mats.
Maria wheels around and marches out of the center with Vincent
in her arms. Antonio follows close behind, pleading with his
wife to see sense.
JEROME (VO)
They put off having any more children
until they could afford not to gamble -
to bring a child into the world in what
has become the "natural" way.
EXT. HOME. DAY.
ANTONIO reluctantly shows off his spotless Buick Riviera to a
prospective BUYER.
JEROME (VO)
It meant selling the beloved Buick.
The two men haggle over the price while MARIA, holding VINCENT
in her arms, looks on. Finally money and a pink slip are
exchanged.
VINCENT (VO)
My father got a good price. After all,
the only accident he'd ever had in that
car was me.
As the BUYER drives away, Antonio shrugs to Maria to hide his
disappointment.
EXT. GENETIC COUNSELLING OFFICE BUILDING. DAY.
ANTONIO, MARIA and 2-YEAR-OLD VINCENT exit a packed commuter
bus and enter a Genetic Counselling office building bearing
the sign - "PRO-CREATION".
INT. GENETIC COUNSELLING OFFICE. DAY.
A GENETICIST stares into a high-powered microscope as ANTONIO,
MARIA and 2-YEAR-OLD VINCENT are shown into the office by a
NURSE. On the counter beside the Geneticist is a glass-doored
industrial refrigerator containing petri dishes arranged on
racks several feet high.
GENETICIST
(to the nurse, without taking
his eyes from his binocular microscope)
Put up the dish.
While Antonio and Maria take a seat in front of a television
monitor, the Nurse puts a labelled petri dish under a video-
equipped microscope. The Geneticist swings around in his chair
to greet his clients.
Four magnified clusters of cells - eight cells on each cluster
- appear on the television screen.
GENETICIST
Your extracted eggs...
(noting the couple's names from
data along the edge of the screen)
...Maria, have been fertilized with...
Antonio's sperm and we have performed an
analysis of the resulting pre-embryos.
After screening we're left with two healthy
boys and two healthy girls. Naturally, no
critical pre-dispositions to any of the major
inheritable diseases. All that remains is
to select the most compatible candidate.
Maria and Antonio exchange a nervous smile.
GENETICIST
First, we may as well decide on gender.
Have you given it any thought?
MARIA
(referring to the toddler
on her knee)
We would like Vincent to have a brother...
you know, to play with.
The Geneticist nods. He scans the data around the edge of the
screen.
GENETICIST
You've already specified blue eyes, dark
hair and fair skin. I have taken the liberty
of eradicating any potentially prejudicial
conditions - premature baldness, myopia,
alcoholism and addictive susceptibility,
propensity for violence and obesity--
MARIA
(interrupting, anxious)
--We didn't want--diseases, yes.
ANTONIO
(more diplomatic)
We were wondering if we should leave some
things to chance.
GENETICIST
(reassuring)
You want to give your child the best possible
start. Believe me, we have enough imperfection
built-in already. Your child doesn't need
any additional burdens. And keep in mind,
this child is still you, simply the best of you.
You could conceive naturally a thousand times
and never get such a result.
ANTONIO
(squeezing Maria's hand)
He's right, Maria. That's right.
Maria is only half-convinced, but the Geneticist swiftly moves
on.
GENETICIST
Is there any reason you'd want a left-handed
child?
ANTONIO
(blank)
Er, no...
GENETICIST
(explaining)
Some believe it is associated with creativity,
although there's no evidence. Also for
sports like baseball it can be an advantage.
ANTONIO
(shrugs)
I like football.
GENETICIST
(injecting a note of levity)
I have to warn you, Mr Luca, he's going
to be at least a head taller than you.
Prepare for a crick in the neck in
sixteen years time.
Antonio beams proudly.
GENETICIST
(scanning the data on the screen)
Anything I've forgotten?
MARIA
(hesitant about broaching the subject)
We want him--we were hoping he would get
married and have children. We'd like
grandchildren.
GENETICIST
(conspiratorial smile)
I understand. That's already been taken
care of.
(an afterthought)
Now you appreciate I can only work with
the raw material I have at my disposal but
for a little extra...I could also attempt to
insert sequences associated with enhanced
mathematical or musical ability.
MARIA
(suddenly enthused)
Antonio, the choir...
GENETICIST
(interjecting, covering himself)
I have to caution you it's not fool-proof.
With multi-gene traits there can be no guarantees.
ANTONIO
How much extra?
GENETICIST
It would be five thousand more.
Antonio's face falls.
ANTONIO
I'm sorry, there's no way we can.
GENETICIST
Don't worry. You'll probably do just
as well singing to him in the womb.
(rising to end the appointment)
We can implant the most successful
pre-embryo tomorrow afternoon.
Maria is staring at the four magnified clumps on the screen.
MARIA
What will happen to the others?
GENETICIST
(reassuring)
They are not babies, Maria, merely
"human possibilities".
Removing the petri dish from beneath the lens of the microscope,
he points out the four minuscule specks.
GENETICIST
Smaller than a grain of sand.
DISSOLVE TO
INT. TRACT HOME. DAY.
A red pencil draws a mark on a doorway at the height of a
child's head. The child moves away and the name, "ANTON 11" is
written beside the mark by proud father, ANTONIO.
JEROME (VO)
That's how my brother, Anton, came into the
world - a son my father considered worthy
of his name.
There is little physical similarity between 11-YEAR-OLD ANTON
and 13-YEAR-OLD VINCENT standing beside him, apart from their
height. In fact Vincent is mortified to see that his younger
brother's mark is a fraction of an inch higher than the mark
beside his own name, "VINCENT 13". Vincent runs from the room.
EXT. BEACH. DAY.
13-YEAR-OLD VINCENT and 11-YEAR-OLD ANTON sit together on a
windswept beach.
Anton picks up a broken shell and deliberately slices the tip of
his thumb with the sharp edge. He hands the shell to Vincent
who hesitantly follows suit.
JEROME (VO)
By the time we were playing at blood
brothers I understood that there was something
very different flowing through my veins.
The two brothers press their thumbs together, merging the blood.
JEROME (VO)
And I'd need an awful lot more than
a drop if I was going to get anywhere.
EXT. BEACH. LATER IN THE DAY.
While ANTONIO and MARIA doze under a beach umbrella, ANTON and
VINCENT enter the water, diving through the waves. From above
we watch their two young bodies swimming beside each other
beyond the breakers.
JEROME (VO)
Our favorite game was "chicken". When our
parents weren't watching, we used to swim outside
the flags, as far out as we dared. It was about
who would get scared and turn back first.
Suddenly VINCENT stops swimming, pulling up sharply in the
water, exhausted and fearful. He watches ANTON swim on into the
distance.
JEROME (VO)
Of course, it was always me. Anton was by far
the stronger swimmer and he had no excuse to fail.
INT. SCHOOL - CLASSROOM. DAY.
A TEACHER gives a physics lesson. The bespectacled 13-YEAR-OLD
VINCENT has his arm energetically raised at each opportunity but
is never called upon. Eventually he lowers his arm in defeat.
JEROME (VO)
My genetic scarlet letter continued to follow
me from school to school. When you're told
you're prone to learning disabilities, it's
sometimes easier not to disappoint anybody.
EXT. STREET. NIGHT.
13-YEAR-OLD VINCENT stands at a cul-de-sac at the end of a long,
straight deserted street. He places a basketball in the middle
of the street to represent the SUN and begins to unwind the huge
reel of string attached to the ball. 11-YEAR-OLD ANTON walks a
pace behind him. Several yards along the trail a bead is
threaded through the string to represent the planet MERCURY.
ANTON
How many astronauts are there, anyway?
Vincent ignores him and continues to reel out the string.
ANTON
I bet I could be one.
Vincent stops and regards his younger brother with contempt.
VINCENT
You're standing on Venus.
Anton lifts his foot. There is a bead beneath it.
INT/EXT. CAR / SATELLITE DISH. DUSK.
VINCENT has developed into a handsome 17-YEAR-OLD. His
spectacles hidden, he and a YOUNG WOMAN are necking in the front
seat of a beat-up car, parked overlooking a huge satellite dish.
JEROME (VO)
I was popular enough until it got around
that I wasn't a long-term proposition.
The love-making intensifies. The YOUNG WOMAN moves down
Vincent's chest and unzips his fly.
JEROME (VO)
Those who didn't know already could easily
find out for themselves. It was certainly
no problem coaxing the information out of me.
We remain on Vincent's face as he climaxes. The YOUNG WOMAN
turns her head away from the spent Jerome and, out of his
view, trickles semen from her mouth into a clear specimen vial.
JEROME (VO)
I didn't blame them. You need to know if a
prospective husband can qualify for a mortgage
or life insurance or can hold down a decent job.
INT. HOME. DAY.
In the living room of their modest home, the dark-haired, 17-
year-old, bespectacled VINCENT sits opposite his PARENTS. The
crestfallen Vincent has a book on his lap entitled "CAREERS IN
SPACE".
MOTHER
(trying to break it gently)
Vincent, you have to be realistic. A
heart condition like yours--
VINCENT
--I don't care. I'll take the risk.
MOTHER
It's not just you they have to be concerned
about. Perhaps we could get you one of
those new pacemakers. They're not perfect
but--
FATHER
(letting his frustration show)
For God's sake, Vincent, don't you understand.
The only way you'll see the inside of a space
ship is if you're cleaning it!
Vincent looks at his father in disbelief.
On a dinner table on the other side of the living room, 15-YEAR-
OLD ANTON looks up from the biological specimen he is studying
with a magnifying glass.
INT. PERSONNEL OFFICE - WAITING ROOM. DAY.
17-YEAR-OLD VINCENT hides his glasses in his pocket as he enters
a WAITING ROOM. He gazes around at other APPLICANTS.
JEROME (VO)
My father was right. It didn't matter how
much I lied on my resum? my real C.V. was
in my cells. Why should anybody invest all
that money to train me, when there are a
thousand other applicants with a far cleaner
profile? Of course, it's illegal to discriminate -
"genoism" it's called - but no one takes the
laws seriously.
As Jerome enters the office, we focus on the doorhandle he has
just touched.
JEROME (VO)
If you refuse to disclose, they can always
take a sample from a doorhandle...
Vincent hesitates before shaking the PERSONNEL OFFICER's
outstretched hand.
JEROME (VO)
...or a handshake...
We focus on Jerome's envelope attached to his application form
sitting on the Manager's desk.
JEROME (VO)
...even the saliva off your application form.
Sitting opposite the manager, Jerome's face falls. The manager
puts a clear, plastic cup in front of Jerome.
JEROME (VO)
But for the most part we know who we are.
And if all else fails, a legal drug test
can just as easily become an illegal peek
at your future in the company.
Vincent saves the Manager the trouble and exits the office,
leaving the cup where it sits.
EXT. BEACH. DAY.
17-YEAR-OLD JEROME walks up the beach to find 15-YEAR-OLD ANTON
sitting with the YOUNG WOMAN Vincent had previously dated.
JEROME (VO)
I didn't blame Anton for his free ride. You
can't blame someone for winning the lottery.
The Young Woman hastily departs.
LATER the two brothers face each other on the sand. Anton is
the more statuesque of the two.
ANTON
(cocky)
You sure you want to do this?
Vincent's answer is to walk towards the water. Anton smiles
mockingly at his brother's grim "game face" and
follows.
From an aerial view we watch VINCENT and his younger brother, ANTON,
swim beyond the breakers.
JEROME (VO)
It was the last time we swam together.
Out into the open sea, like always,
knowing each stroke towards the horizon
was one we had to make back to the
shore. Like always, the unspoken contest.
We watch the two young men swimming stroke for stroke. They
swim far out, beyond the point. Suddenly ANTON starts to slow,
his strokes becoming labored until he becomes motionless in the
water. He begins to sink like a stone. VINCENT, realizing
Anton is no longer beside him, turns back to lend support.
Vincent takes him in a lifeguard hold and begins to nurse him
back to shore. Finally the two boys are coughed up onto the
shallows. They collapse, just beyond the waterline, exhausted,
gasping for air. ANTONIO and MARIA arrive on the scene. ANTON
is the first to recover while VINCENT clutches his side, his
face screwed up in pain. Maria kneels down and starts to
administer to Vincent but his father, Antonio, is unable to
conceal his anger and contempt for Vincent.
ANTONIO
Vincent, you damn fool! You could have killed
Anton with your ridiculous contest! Why should
he risk his life to save yours?! When are you
going to get it through your thick head--you
can't compete with your brother! Why try?!
Maria takes Antonio aside. Anton and Vincent exchange a look.
ANTON
Why didn't you say anything?
VINCENT
Why didn't you?
(staring back at his father knowingly)
It's okay. It's the way they want it.
JEROME (VO)
It confirmed everything in the minds of
my parents - that they had taken the right
course with my younger brother and the
wrong course with me. It would have been so
much easier for everyone if I had slipped away
that day. I decided to grant them that wish.
INT. HOME. NIGHT.
ANTON stands at the mantlepiece in the dimly-lit living room.
He gazes at a framed family portrait - Vincent's face has been
torn out of it. He suddenly spies VINCENT exiting the front
gate, carrying a suitcase. Anton goes to shout Vincent's name
but the words don't get out.
EXT. GATTACA. DAWN.
A pick-up truck, packed with a CLEANING CREW, pulls into the
rear of the building. They are no longer strictly the migrant
workers we have come to expect but rather a mixture of
ethnicities - all members of a genetic underclass that does not
discriminate by race.
As VINCENT exits the truck and turns towards the camera, we
discover that he has now matured into the man we have come to
know as JEROME. The only visible differences are the glasses he
wears and his hair, still naturally dark.
JEROME (VO)
Like many others in my situation, I moved
around a lot in the next few years, getting
work where I could. I must have cleaned
half the toilets in the state.
We follow VINCENT through the course of a day. Cleaning
restrooms, toilets, picking up litter, sweeping, washing
windows - gazing at the AEROSPACE WORKERS below. The building
is part of the Gattaca facility, located near a shuttle launch
site. Throughout the day, with the regularity of 747's, Vincent
spies rocket ships in the distance, launching into the sky.
Jerome's is the only head that turns and looks up. Long after
the sun has set, Vincent is still working. Another rocket ship
lights up the darkness. Vincent gazes forlornly into the
heavens.
EXT. GATTACA - GLASS WALL. DAY.
VINCENT cleans a window from the outside, staring in at the
arrogant GATTACA EMPLOYEES entering the security channels -
a smaple taken from their fingertips. Jerome, in a trance,
constantly cleans the same spot of glass. He fails to notice an
Older Janitor, CAESAR, appear beside him.
CAESAR
When you clean the glass, Vincent, don't
clean it too well.
VINCENT
(confused)
What do you mean?
CAESAR
(glancing to the Gattaca workers)
You might get ideas.
VINCENT
But if the glass is clean, it'll be easier
for you to see me when I'm on the other
side of it.
Caesar smiles at Vincent's cockiness.
INT. GATTACA. DAY.
VINCENT empties garbage into a dumpster adjacent to Gattaca.
His attention is drawn to something in the trash. A discarded
manual on Celestial Mechanics and Navigation. He wipes food
residue off the corner.
INT. ASTRONOMY & TELESCOPE SHOP. DAY.
A forest of telescopes on tripods in an astronomy shop. VINCENT
enters the store with a bucket and squeegee and immediately goes
to clean the storefront window. The STORE OWNER looks up from
his tabloid - "STAR" magazine.
OWNER
Where's Earl?
JEROME
He fell. Lucky it was only the second floor.
The owner nods and returns to his magazine. When he looks up
again one of his tripods is missing its telescope and Jerome is
nowhere to be seen.
INT. IN-VALID HOUSING PROJECT. NIGHT.
JEROME returns to his bare apartment. He removes the cloth
covering the bucket to reveal a dumpy-shaped telescope snugly
wedged inside. He starts to pour over his collection of
textbooks. Other tattered space paraphenalia adorns the wall.
JEROME (VO)
Of course the best test score in the world
wasn't going to get me in the front door
unless I had the blood test to go with it.
EXT. GATTACA. NIGHT.
While his fellow WORKERS sit on the steps at the service
entrance to Gattaca, passing around an unlabeled bottle of clear
liquor, VINCENT sits some distance away studying his text book.
In the absence of a computer, he practices typing commands on a
keyboard handdrawn on the flap of a cardboard box.
A tiny, seedy-looking man, GERMAN, forties, appears from
nowhere and takes a seat beside him.
GERMAN
(offering his hand)
Vincent, I'm German--
(anticipating Vincent's response)
That's my name.
He looks the apprehensive Vincent up and down.
VINCENT
What do you think?
GERMAN
(shrugs)
I think I could do something
(glancing to the text book)
provided you know what you're doing
and you can meet the terms.
Vincent pulls a plastic e-money card from his overalls.
GERMAN
You got a photo of yourself?
Vincent produces a snapshot of himself - torn from the family
portrait. German feeds the snapshot into the pocket-sized
computer he carries. The picture is instantly scanned and
appears on the computer's small color screen. German returns
the photograph and hastily departs.
CAESAR, the elderly janitor, notices German's exit.
CAESAR
(to Vincent)
I thought I told you not to get any ideas.
High up the side of a building, washing windows, VINCENT pauses
occasionally to practice typing commands on his cardboard keys -
viewing a screen in his imagination - or the nightsky itself.
He hears his name being called.
GERMAN
Vincent...Vincent...
VINCENT
(staring through his glasses)
German, is that you?
GERMAN
Vincent, come down. I've found him.
INT. IN-VALID HOUSING PROJECT. NIGHT.
GERMAN leads VINCENT through a maze of corridors.
JEROME (VO)
For the genetically superior, success
is easier to attain but is by no means
guaranteed. After all, there is no gene
for fate. And when, for one reason or
another, a member of the elite falls on
hard times, their genetic identity becomes
a valued commodity for the unscrupulous.
One man's loss is another man's gain.
He gives a conspiratorial nod to another passing DNA BROKER,
both men carrying their palm-top computers.
GERMAN
(enthusiastically reading from data on
his portable screen as he walks)
He has the heart of an ox. He could run
through a Goddamn wall--if he could still run.
Actually, he was a big college swimming star.
VINCENT
I hope he's not just a body.
GERMAN
No problem. Before he dropped out he was
an honor student, the right majors--
VINCENT
How do I square the accident?
GERMAN
(still reading data from his
palm-top computer)
It happened in Australasia. He checked
in yesterday. No family complications, no
record he ever broke his neck. As far as
anybody's concerned, he's still a walking,
talking, fully-productive member of society.
You just have to get him off the pipe and
fill in the last two years of his life.
(correcting himself)
Excuse me, your life.
German has stopped walking as if they have arrived.
VINCENT
(looking around for a likely
candidate but finding none)
Where is he?
German reaches towards a PARAPLEGIC sitting in his wheelchair
in the stairwell directly in front of them, his head slumped, an
incriminating bong nestled in his lap. German pulls the man's
head up by the hair. EUGENE. Depsite the patchy, unkempt
beard and thick glaze over his eyes he bears a striking
similarity to Vincent. Vincent holds a mirror beside the face
of the lethargic Eugene to compare his own reflection.
GERMAN
(smiling confidently
What did I tell you? Which one's the mirror?
VINCENT
(still not fully convinced)
That's the hair color in his profile?
German checks an entry in his computer: "HAIR: BLONDE"
GERMAN
Yeah.
VINCENT
(touching his own dark strands)
I'd have to bleach my hair.
GERMAN
(irritated, impatient)
Why are you inventing problems? You two
are a couple of goddam clones. You look
so right together, I want to double my fee.
VINCENT
(a thought occurs, addressing the
paraplegic for the first time)
How tall are you?
EUGENE
(deadpan)
Four foot six.
Vincent grins, realizing that Eugene is referring to his seated
height. There is an instant connection between the two men.
VINCENT
Okay, how tall did you used to be?
EUGENE
(apathetic, still under the
influence of whatever he's been smoking)
Six one.
VINCENT
(to German, disappointed)
He's too tall.
GERMAN
(shrugs)
You can wear lifts.
VINCENT
Even with lifts I'm never that tall.
GERMAN
There's a way.
INT. BACKSTREET SURGERY. NIGHT.
In a primitive operating theatre, VINCENT lies on a table, his
lower legs masked off for surgery. The SURGEON switches on a
surgical saw and lines it up with handdrawn incision marks.
Metal struts are ready to elongate his legs.
INT. IN-VALID HOUSING PROJECT - APARTMENT. DAY.
GERMAN wheels the dazed EUGENE into the apartment, cluttered
with space paraphenalia. One wheel of his rusting wheelchair is
flimsily held on with wire. VINCENT follows behind on crutches,
both lower legs in casts and cross-braces. Vincent signs the
contract German puts in front of him.
EXT. STREET OUTSIDE A BAR. DAY.
EUGENE, glassy-eyed, strides out of a bar, past camera and into
the street. We hear a squeal of brakes and a sickening thud.
INT. HOUSING PROJECT - APARTMENT. DAY.
EUGENE awakens with a scream, bathed in sweat, arms bound to a
bed - the only real piece of furniture in the room. VINCENT,
sitting on a crate beside him, soaking a towel in a bowl of
water, is taken by surprise. Eugene continues to scream and
thrash, fighting against his bindings. Vincent stuffs the towel
into Eugene's mouth and holds onto his arms.
JEROME (VO)
I confess, at first I wondered if I had rescued
a man who was already dead.
INT. HOUSING PROJECT - APARTMENT - BATHROOM. NIGHT.
VINCENT holds EUGENE's head over the toilet bowl as he vomits
violently. Eugene's paralysis and Vincent's broken legs make
the operation doubly difficult.
Finally Eugene has nothing left in his stomach to vomit. He
drops to the floor in exhaustion. Vincent, also exhausted from
the effort of holding Eugene over the bowl, joins him on the
broken linoleum. Both men stare up at the ceiling that carries
a map of the constellation.
VINCENT
You okay, Jerome?
EUGENE
(ironically referring to
their mutual immobility)
Yeah. You want to go dancing tonight?
Vincent smiles.
INT. HOUSING PROJECT - APARTMENT. NIGHT.
EUGENE turns his nose up at the plate of boiled meat and
potatoes that VINCENT puts in front of him. Vincent catches the
look.
VINCENT
What's wrong with it?
EUGENE
I think I'd better choose the menu. After all,
you're learning how to be me, I'm not learning
how to be you.
VINCENT
(shrugs)
Suit yourself.
EUGENE
(trying to be more diplomatic)
Listen, I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful
--I know you and that little broker--what do you
call him?
VINCENT
German.
EUGENE
You're both going to a lot of trouble--
(trying to be tactful)
Maybe you can con somebody into believing
you're me to get your foot in the door--but
once you're inside, you're on your own. I'm
sure you're sincere...
(glancing to the space paraphenalia)
...but I was being groomed for something like
this myself. Even without the accident I don't
think I would have made it. My point is--how the
hell do you expect to pull this off?
Jerome merely stares back as if the thought of failure has never
occurred to him.
VINCENT
(shrugs and states it simply)
I don't know exactly, Jerome.
EUGENE
(laughing)
At least you're honest.
(a thought occurs)
Call me by my middle name--Eugene--If you're
going to be Jerome, you may as well start
getting used to it.
NB: FOR THE REMAINDER OF THE SCREENPLAY "VINCENT" IS REFERRED
TO AS "JEROME".
INT. HOUSING PROJECT - APARTMENT. NIGHT.
JEROME looks through Eugene's personal effects, including a
photograph album. He is drawn to a swimming medal inside the
album at a page displaying a photo of a wealthy, austere
MOTHER - Eugene evidently comes from money.
Even as he wheels into the room in his rickety wheelchair we see
that EUGENE has the bearing of someone of good breeding. He has
a bag of blood on his lap. More blood is being drawn from his
arm through an IV. Eugene catches Jerome looking at the album.
JEROME
(guiltily closing the book)
I have to know where you come from.
EUGENE
If anybody asks, tell them the truth--
your family disowns you. You are a
disappointment, Jerome.
JEROME
(referring to Eugene's medal, impressed)
What about this?
EUGENE
Wrong color. It's silver.
(tossing the bag of blood to Jerome)
It's not easy living up to this.
Eugene wheels away.
INT. HOUSING PROJECT - APARTMENT. DAY.
JEROME practises writing with his right hand, trying to
replicate Eugene's signature.
EUGENE
(wheeling by, looking over Jerome's
shoulder at the signature)
It needs work.
JEROME
(rueful)
You had to be a right-hander.
EUGENE
Noone orders southpaws anymore.
INT. HOUSING PROJECT - APARTMENT. DAY.
A pair of spectacles lie on the bed. JEROME, still wearing his
twin casts, sits behind an optometrist's portable examining
device. GERMAN hovering in the background, an OPTOMETRIST
custom-fits JEROME with gossamer thin contact lenses.
JEROME (VO)
Myopia is a dead giveaway - one of the earliest
and most justifiable of the quality-of-life
corrections. Anybody with impaired vision is
certain to be suffering from all the other
deficiencies of a "nonadvantaged" birth.
GERMAN
(inspecting the lens in Jerome's eye)
It's no good. I can see an edge. He may as
well walk in there with a cane.
INT. HOUSING PROJECT - APARTMENT. DAY.
The Optometrist has been replaced in the living room with a
BLACK MARKET DENTIST who bonds JEROME's small, gapped teeth to
match EUGENE's perfectly straight, white picket fences.
INT. HOUSING PROJECT - APARTMENT. DAY.
Hair already bleached and cut to match Eugene's hairstyle,
JEROME sits in a chair against a hastily erected white paper
backdrop. From his wheelchair, EUGENE puts the finishing
touches to Jerome's hair. He wheels himself out of the way.
The final accomplice in Jerome's deception, a BLACK MARKET
COMPUTER GRAPHICS DESIGNER, takes Jerome's photo with a video
camera. Manipulating the captured image, the Designer morphs
Jerome's face into the face of Eugene. The resulting photo that
spits out of a printer is neither one nor the other but an
acceptable combination of the two.
INT. HOUSING PROJECT - APARTMENT. DAY.
EUGENE is starting to prepare Jerome's specimen bags for the
first time. He winces in pain as he plucks several hairs from
his head. JEROME, now out of his casts, prepares job
applications.
EUGENE
(still grimacing, referring to the follicles)
You really need that much?
JEROME
More than that. You'll get used to it.
EUGENE
(yanking out another hair)
God, what wouldn't you do to leave the planet?
JEROME
(inspecting a hair follicle)
Leave? Just a few million years ago every atom in
this hair--in our bodies--was a part of a star.
I don't see it as leaving. I see it as going home.
EUGENE
(marvelling at Jerome's earnestness)
God, you're serious, aren't you?
Jerome ignores him. Having learnt his lesson, he hands the
envelopes to EUGENE to lick the flaps.
INT. HOUSING PROJECT - APARTMENT. DAY.
JEROME is doing a late-minute cram on a geriatric computer from
the late 1990's. Checking the time, Jerome hurriedly picks up
the shirt that EUGENE has been ironing from a prone position on
the floor.
JEROME
It's not too late to back out.
EUGENE
You don't know what a relief it is not to
be me. Are you sure you want the job?
Jerome contemplates the question for a moment.
JEROME
What about you? What's in this for you, Eugene?
EUGENE
(referring to the bladder bag he wears)
Listen, I bag this stuff anyway. It may
as well pay my rent.
Jerome hurrise to the bathroom where, with some difficulty, he
inserts his urine device for the first time. The new improved
Jerome emerges into the living room ready for his interview.
INT. GATTACA CORPORATION - TESTING LAB. DAY.
JEROME emerges from a bathroom and hands a TECHNICIAN his
plastic cup full of fraudulent urine and inserts it into the
analyzer.
TECHNICIAN
(reading off the profile)
Congratulations.
JEROME
(perplexed)
What about the interview?
TECHNICIAN
(referring to the cup)
That was it.
EXT. GATTACA. DAY.
JEROME, scarcely able to disguise his delight, exits Gattaca,
trying not to stare at the superb specimens who are now his
"colleagues".
JEROME (VO)
The majority of people are now made-to-order.
What began as a means to rid society of
inheritable diseases has become a way to design
your offspring--the line between health and
enhancement blurred forever. Eyes can always be
brighter, a voice purer, a mind sharper, a body
stronger, a life longer. Everyone seeks to give
their child the best chance but the most skilled
geneticists are only accessible to the priveleged few.
In a nearby park MODEL CHILDREN from MODEL PARENTS play
together.
JEROME (VO)
Anyone who is the product of an altered
DNA is proudly referred to as a "DAN",
"self-made man or woman", "man-child".
INT. HOUSING PROJECT - APARTMENT. NIGHT.
JEROME wheels EUGENE out of their housing project. He takes in
the neighborhood for the last time. We focus on a POOR COUPLE
cradling an INFANT.
JEROME (VO)
Those parents who, for moral or, more likely
economic reasons, refrain from tampering with
their offspring's genetic makeup or who fail
to abort a deprived fetus condemn their children
to a life of routine discrimination.
We glimpse other PEOPLE in the neighborhood. They appear poor
but, for the most part, physically normal. However a pall of
gloom hangs over them.
JEROME (VO)
Officially they are called "In-Valids"*. Also
known as "godchildren", "men-of-god", "faith births",
"blackjack births", "deficients", "defectives",
"genojunk", "ge-gnomes", "the fucked-up people".
[* "IN-VALID" pronounced as in "an invalid license"]
JEROME (VO)
They are the "healthy ill". They don't
actually have anything yet - they may never.
But since few of the pre-conditions can be
cured or reversed, it is easier to treat them
as if they were already sick.
As they enter a car, driven by GERMAN, Jerome spies a beautiful
young GIRL, 11, sitting on the steps of the housing project,
staring forlornly into space. While there is no outward sign of
any deficiency, she is somehow aware that she is damaged goods.
Jerome glances in the rearview mirror.
JEROME (VO)
By means of a donor I have cheated the
system for the last four years to open doors
that would otherwise be closed to me.
Jerome wheels Eugene into the palatial condominium complex where
the two men now reside.
INT. GATTACA. PRESENT DAY.
We return to JEROME's reflection in the glass. Other GATTACA
EMPLOYEES are gradually gathering behind him.
JEROME (VO)
In the guise of Jerome Morror I have risen
quickly through the ranks of Gattaca. Only one
of the Mission Directors has ever come close
to discovering my true identity.
We now see what Jerome has been gazing at through the window
the whole time - the sight that has brought a hush to the
complex. Through an open office door lies the body of a large
man - the MURDERED DIRECTOR, lying where he has just been
discovered, in a pool of his own blood.
JEROME (VO)
Strange to think, he may have more success
exposing me in death than he did in life.
Jerome wipes his eye and also goes to investigate. We focus on
an extreme close up of his EYELASH. Loosened by Jerome's hand,
it breaks free and floats gently down to the floor where it
comes to rest.
INT. GATTACA AEROSPACE CORPORATION. MORNING.
DETECTIVE HUGO, late-forties, wearing a crime-scene hygenic suit
and gloves and a full clear mask - looking more like a surgeon
or a toxic waste worker than a detective - places a blood-
spattered computer keyboard alongside the Director's shattered
skull. The indentations match the blunt corner of the keyboard.
Hugo detaches the dangling keyboard from its parent computer and
seals the likely murder weapon in a marked, transparent plastic
bag.
A CREW of similarly-suited homicide detectives systematically
vacuum the surrounding office area with metallic, industrial-
looking mini-vacs. Once each work space has been vacuumed, the
transparent plastic vacuum bag is detached, sealed and labelled.
OTHER DETECTIVES video the scene with camcorders. Video prints
spit out of the cameras for instant inspection.
EXT. GATTACA - LANDSCAPED GARDENS. DAY.
A silicon police tape cordons off the crime scene. From the
landscaped garden, a crowd of GATTACA EMPLOYEES view the
proceedings through the glass walls.
EMPLOYEE 1
(staring at the Director's body)
Awful.
EMPLOYEE 2
Yeah, awful it didn't happen sooner.
Nervous smirks from nearby employees. We focus on JEROME.
Standing slightly apart from the others, he does not appear to
share the joke, or perhaps even hear it. Jerome watches, wide-
eyed, as a DETECTIVE approaches his work station with a mini-
vac. A chill goes through Jerome as the detective's cleaner
passes over his desk.
Jerome is distracted by a smear on the window, obstructing his
view. Without thinking, he breathes on the glass and rubs the
smear away with his elbow. Nearby, elderly janitor, CAESAR
notices Jerome's fastidious act and reads the panic in Jerome's
eyes. DIRECTOR JOSEF suddenly appears at Jerome's shoulder.
Standing a pace behind the Director, computer notepad in hand,
is IRENE.
DIRECTOR JOSEF
You're lucky to be getting out of this.
JEROME
We're still going ahead as planned?
DIRECTOR JOSEF
The launch window is only open until week's
end. Tragic though this event may be, it
hasn't stopped the planets turning.
He glances towards a group of Detectives headed by HUGO.
DIRECTOR JOSEF
You'll have to excuse me, Jerome. I have to
meet with the authorities--naturally, we're
co-operating in any way, although I won't
tolerate a major disruption.
(as he departs)
I wish I was going with you, Jerome.
As the pair depart, Jerome and Irene exchange a glance. Irene
is also aware of Jerome's unease.
INT. GATTACA - CORRIDOR. DAY.
We focus on JEROME's eyelash, still lying on the floor.
A huge crescent-shaped hair that fills the screen. Suddenly
there is a roar of a mini-vac and the eyelash is sucked up. We
follow the eyelash's journey, down the throat of the cleaner
into the specimen bag where it is sucked against the bag's
clear, plastic wall.
INT. GATTACA - COMPUTER COMPLEX. DAY.
The DIRECTOR's corpse is sealed in a plastic bodybag and wheeled
away on a gurney. The blood and other body matter from the
murder scene is sucked up by a portable wet-vac and the sample
bag appropriately labeled.
EXT. GATTACA - COURTYARD CAFETERIA. DAY
A chime sounds over the P.A. follwed by an announcement.
ANNOUNCER (OC)
Thank you for your co-operation. Please
return to your work stations immediately.
The PROGRAMMERS get to their feet en masse and begin filing into
the work room.
EMPLOYEE 3
(sarcastic aside)
What, no counselling?
INT. GATTACA COMPUTER COMPLEX - DIRECTOR'S OFFICE. DAY.
A WOMAN ASSISTANT whose keyboard was used in the attack has to
pause as a MAINTENANCE WORKER gives her work station a final
spray to return it to its former pristine condition. A new
keyboard is plugged into her monitor to replace the one taken as
evidence.
INT. GATTACA COMPUTER COMPLEX. DAY.
JEROME opens his desk drawer to check his comb, now plucked
completely clean. He carefully places two of Eugene's hairs to
the comb and scatters another bag of fraudulent matter around
his work station.
INT. GATTACA - SIMULATOR ROOM. DAY.
In a large, bare room a simulator does a slow dance back and
forth on its hydralic legs, miming the path of the space
craft Jerome will soon be aboard. The simulation ends and
JEROME exits the simulator through a small door. IRENE
hesitantly approaches, carrying a slim electronic tablet.
IRENE
Excuse me, Jerome. I'm sorry to bother you.
Jerome turns, not displeased by the interruption.
JEROME
No bother.
IRENE
(referring to her notepad)
I've been asked to compile a log for the
investigators--they want to know everyone's
whereabouts last night.
JEROME
Last night? I was at home.
Irene makes a note with her stylus.
IRENE
Can that be, er, verified? Were you alone?
JEROME
No it can't be verified. Yes I was alone.
Irene makes another note.
JEROME
(wry smile)
Looks bad, doesn't it, Irene? What about
you? Where were you last night?
IRENE
I was at home.
JEROME
Were you alone?
IRENE
(hesitant)
Yes.
JEROME
(teasing)
So we don't know for sure about you, either.
IRENE
(wary, wondering where the
conversation is headed)
No.
JEROME
Why don't we say we were together?
IRENE
(confused)
Why would we do that?
JEROME
I have better things to do this week than
answer the foolish questions of some flatfoot.
Don't you?
Irene contemplates the question.
JEROME
(gently pressing)
Well, shall we say we spent the evening together?
Irene is still unsure whether or not Jerome is serious.
IRENE
To be convincing, Jerome, I would have to know
what that was like.
Irene turns and departs. Jerome watches her go.
INT. EUGENE'S CONDOMINIUM. NIGHT.
The paraplegic EUGENE, seated by the window, meticulously cuts
a long fingernail into numerous clippings. He places the
clippings in small plastic bags and seals them. He then begins
to fill tiny sachets with blood. He turns as he hears JEROME
enter down the spiral staircase with the groceries.
EUGENE
You didn't forget the truffles?
JEROME places the items in the refrigerator in the bathroom and
retrieves a bottle of vodka - the vodka incongruous-looking
beside the blood and urine specimens. Joining Eugene at his
workbench, he pours them both a drink.
EUGENE
(sensing something amiss, trying
to keep his humor)
Who died?
JEROME
The Mission Director.
EUGENE
(misinterpreting the deadpan remark)
You wish.
JEROME
They found him in his office this morning--
beaten so bad they had to check his nametag.
Eugene takes in the news, a smile broadening across his face.
EUGENE
What an act of benevolence--a service to the
community. So that's it. Now there's nothing
between you and ignition.
JEROME
He was still warm when they confirmed.
EUGENE
(confused by Jerome's attitude)
This calls for a celebration. Doesn't it?
JEROME
The place is crawling with Hoovers.
EUGENE
So what? You didn't kill him, did you?
Jerome shoots him a glance for the inappropriate remark.
JEROME
That's not the point.
EUGENE
(scoffing)
Hey, how much of you can be there? Even if the
"J. Edgars" do find something, in a week--
(glancing up to the night sky)
you'll be slightly out of their jurisdiction.
(gently chiding)
Come on, we've got to get drunk immediately.
JEROME
(still tempering Eugene's enthusiasm)
You're going to have to earn your supper. I've got
my final physical tomorrow.
Jerome wheels Eugene's chair to a specially constructed platform
that allows the wheels to spin in mid-air. Jerome tapes an
electrode to Eugene's chest and attaches the wire to a slim
recording device. Eugene begins to spin the wheel of the chair
faster and faster. Jerome monitors Eugene's steady heartbeat
through a set of headphones.
INT. GATTACA AEROSPACE CORPORATION - COMPUTER COMPLEX. NIGHT.
The complex is virtually empty - only a handful of the hundreds
of PROGRAMMERS working late into the night. IRENE approaches
JEROME's work station on the pretext of delivering some
documents. Trying to act casually, she looks under the papers
on his desk, then opens the top desk drawer.
We see an EXTREME CLOSE UP of the comb lying there - the two
hairs trapped between the teeth of the comb. Irene removes one
of the follicles and drops it into an envelope she is carrying.
INT. 24-HOUR SEQUENCING LAB. NIGHT.
"SEQUENCING-WHILE-U-WAIT". Similar to a 1-hour photo lab, the
store - little more than a booth - displays a price list on the
wall. "FULL SEQUENCE - $80". IRENE waits in line with a cross-
section of other CUSTOMERS. She checks the contents of the
envelope that contains the hair.
The YOUNG WOMAN in line ahead of her allows the TECHNICIAN to
take a swab from her full lips with a Q-tip.
TECHNICIAN
How old?
YOUNG WOMAN
(confused)
Me?
TECHNICIAN
(mustering patience, referring
to the Q-tip)
The specimen.
YOUUNG WOMAN
(proudly)
I kissed him five minutes ago. A real good one.
Overhearing, several PEOPLE in the line snicker.
TECHNICIAN
(long-suffering)
I'll see what I can do.
The technician hands the swab to an ASSISTANT. The Young Woman
is handed a number and takes a seat. Irene hands her envelope
over the counter. She too is handed a number. We follow
Jerome's follicle as another TECHNICIAN places it in an
analyzing machine.
INT/EXT. SEQUENCING LAB / PARKING LOT. NIGHT.
The TECHNICIAN returns the envelope to IRENE along with a
miniature compact disc.
TECHNICIAN
(remarking on the profile result)
9.4...very nice.
Irene does not appear to share the technician's enthusiasm.
She emerges from the sequencing lab and enters her car. Taking
a palm-top computer from her purse, she inserts the disc into
the computer. Jerome's counterfeit genetic profile appears on
the screen. The details confirm her worst fears.
EXT. MICHAEL'S DINNER CLUB. NIGHT.
JEROME and EUGENE, dressed to the nines, pull up in the car
to a darkened doorway in a poorly lit street. A VALET appears
out of the shadows. Familiar with the car, he goes immediately
to the trunk to retrieve Eugene's collapsible wheelchair.
Jerome tips the valet - a credit card wiped through a device.
INT. MICHAEL'S DINNER CLUB. NIGHT.
The chic, elegant establishment inside belies its darkened
exterior. JEROME wheels EUGENE into a decadent dinner club
full of an odd assortment of people. They are immediately
greeted respectfully by MICHAEL, the owner and maitre d'.
Jerome and Eugene are obviously regulars.
MICHAEL
Good evening, gentlemen. Your table is ready.
(referring to Jerome's mission)
Not long now, sir. You'll be upstairs
before you know it. We're going to miss you.
JEROME
Not as much as I'll miss your Stroganoff.
I'd like to take one of your chefs with me.
INT. MICHAEL'S DINNER CLUB. NIGHT.
In a secluded booth JEROME and EUGENE toast from a bottle of
1999 vintage Bordeaux. Eugene drinks longer than Jerome.
Jerome dabs his mouth with a napkin. He fails to notice a
minute FLAKE OF SKIN dislodged from his chin. We follow the
flake as it comes to rest beneath the table.
LATER, Eugene and Jerome watch COUPLES dancing a samba on the
dance floor. A WAITER vacuums the table with a discreet,
handheld miniature vacuum while a WAITRESS clears the plates.
She accidentally drops a knife onto Eugene's leg.
WAITRESS
(aghast at the sight of his lifeless legs)
I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?
EUGENE
(smiling, a trace of bitterness)
Honey, if you'd hurt me, I'd be cured.
Eugene, the worse for drink, gropes for the waitress's leg but
she easily avoids his clumsy pass.
EUGENE
You want to meet a real-life spaceman?
Jerome, always aware, scanning the club, suddenly spies
NAPOLEON, his Gattaca colleague, on the other side of the
room. Napoleon is taking a hit from a vial concealed in his
hand. Jerome abruptly turns his back to avoid being recognized.
JEROME
Let's get out of here.
EUGENE
(knocking back his drink,
misinterpreting the hasty departure)
You're right, there's more atmosphere
where you're going.
INT/EXT. CAR. NIGHT.
Driving along the freeway, Jerome's car suddenly dives down an
escape road. EUGENE looks sideways at JEROME.
JEROME
You drive.
INT/EXT. CAR. NIGHT.
The car careens around and around a small circular building -
a cloud of dust billowing up behind the car. We focus on a
BRICK wedged against the car's gas pedal.
EUGENE is at the wheel, JEROME in the passenger seat.
The hard turn is repeated with increasing recklessness, Eugene
fighting to control the bucking car.
EUGENE
(screaming in both fear and exhilaration)
I gotta stop!! I gotta stop!!
JEROME
Keep going!! Keep going!!
Finally the car spins to a halt in a cloud of dust. When the
dust settles it is revealed that they have been circling the
base of a huge satellite dish in a desolate location.
EXT. SATELLITE DISH. NIGHT.
EUGENE lies on the hood of the car, leaning against the
windshield, drinking from a bottle of vodka. In the
background, the unmanned satellite dish. JEROME relieves
himself against the building at the base of the satellite.
EUGENE
(gently chiding Jerome over the joyride)
You idiot. You could ruin everything
with a stunt like that.
Eugene spies a spacecraft launching from Gattaca city.
EUGENE
(gazing up into the night sky)
At least up there your piss will be worth something.
(smiling at the thought)
You'll all be showering in it, right?
JEROME
(zipping his fly)
And drinking it. It's like Evian by the
time it's filtered.
EUGENE
(referring to the rocket ship)
What is that one?
Jerome doesn't bother to look in the direction of the craft but
merely glances to his watch. He joins Eugene on the hood of the
car.
JEROME
(looking at his watch)
11.15 to the port. A maintenance crew.
EUGENE
How long do you stay up there before you go?
JEROME
A day or so.
EUGENE
(beaming)
I still can't believe they're sending you to
the Belt--you of all people--never meant to be
born, on a mission to discover the origin
of life.
Eugene laughs to himself and passes the bottle to Jerome.
JEROME
You should be going instead of me.
Jerome taps Eugene's lifeless legs with his foot.
JEROME
Up there they wouldn't be a problem.
EUGENE
(glancing heavenwards, shaking his head)
You know I'm scared of heights.
INT. CRIME LABORATORY - AUTOPSY ROOM. NIGHT.
The body and clothing of the MISSION DIRECTOR, lying on a metal
examining table is scanned with a blue-light magnifying
instrument. Fingernail specimens are taken for analysis. In
another area of the laboratory, the labelled vacuum bags are
attached to analyzers and the contents sucked out and
automatically identified. ID names and photographs of GATTACA
EMPLOYEES begin appearing on a computer screen at high speed
along with other personal details - all data automatically
logged for later review.
The photographs and personal details of JEROME and IRENE flash
past, amongst the faces of other employees.
We focus on a magnified close up of JEROME'S EYELASH, still
clinging stubbornly to the side of its specimen bag. We
continue to follow its journey as it is finally sucked into the
analyzer.
INT. CRIME LAB - ANALYZER MACHINE. NIGHT.
Inside the machine, a minute, cell-thin sliver is sliced from
JEROME'S EYELASH and analyzed.
INT. INVESTIGATOR'S CRIME LAB. NIGHT.
A severed HUMAN TONGUE sits on a tray in a sterile, sealed
chamber. Using gloves that protrude through the chamber's glass
wall, face buried in a binocular eyepiece, the INVESTIGATOR
takes a swab from the tongue.
INVESTIGATOR
(to the tongue, as he inserts the
tip of the swab into an analyzer)
Let's see what you've got to say for yourself.
A FEMALE ASSISTANT, looking on, hardly has time to smile at the
remark before information begins to appear on a nearby computer
terminal. The computer gradually builds a portrait of the owner
of the tongue using genetic predictors. The Investigator
wanders over to the window as his Assistant reads the
information from the screen.
ASSISTANT
The tongue is male. Mature. Blonse hair.
Brown eyes. Light complexion. Between
5'11 and 6'1. Pronounced Caucasian nose.
Thin lips. Weak chin. Lobeless ears.
Prematurely balding. Slightly bow-legged.
Broad shoulders. Barrel chest...
(pause)
Blind.
INVESTIGATOR
(interest piqued)
Blind?
(mildly amused, checking the
monitor for himself)
The tongue is blind?
ASSISTANT
(confused)
Who cuts out the tongue of a blind man?
INVESTIGATOR
(shrugs)
Someone who is mindful that the blind
still speak.
The INVESTIGATOR is alerted by the chime of his nearby computer.
On the screen, he discovers the face of 20-YEAR-OLD VINCENT
and the accompanying flashing message: TRACKING IN-VALID
883000181105-10 - NEW DATA -
INT. CONDOMINIUM COMPLEX - PARKING GARAGE. NIGHT.
Having plugged his car into an overnight charger, JEROME pushes
EUGENE in his wheelchair to the elevator. Bottle in hand,
Eugene leans over and vomits on the ground. Jerome shakes his
head resignedly. Eugene looks drunkenly up at Jerome.
EUGENE
(sarcastically referring to the pool of vomit)
I'm sorry. Did you want it?
Jerome meets Eugene's gaze. There is a trace of bitterness
in Eugene's drunken smile.
EUGENE
Let me get it for you.
Eugene bends down to scoop up some vomit with his hand but the
elevator arrives and Jerome quickly wheels him away. Eugene's
head flops to the side as he passes out.
INT. EUGENE'S CONDOMINIUM. NIGHT.
JEROME unlocks EUGENE's condo and wheels his chair inside. We
see their reflection in a full-length mirror as Jerome pushes
Eugene to the bedroom. After removing Eugene's soiled clothing,
he heaves the tall man from the chair and onto the bed.
EUGENE
(maudlin, sobbing like a child)
I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
JEROME
(attempting to comfort)
It's okay, Eugene.
EUGENE
You know I wasn't drunk--I knew what I was
doing when I walked in front of that car--
JEROME
--What car?--Go to sleep.
EUGENE
--I walked right in front of it. I was never
more sober in my life.
Jerome looks at Eugene's lifeless legs, trying to cover his
shock at the revelation.
JEROME
It's all right.
EUGENE
(grabbing Jerome by the collar)
I'm proud of you, Vincent.
Eugene's head falls back onto the pillow.
JEROME
(smiling to himself)
You must be drunk to call me Vincent.
But Eugene does not reply, drifting into sleep once again.
Jerome pulls a blanket over him.
On the verge of leaving, Jerome's attention is drawn to a wall
on the far side of the room. Approaching the wall, near
Eugene's mirrored closet, he detects a faint mechanical whir
coming from inside the adjacent condominium. Jerome
contemplates investigating but exits the condominium instead
- climbing the spiral staircase to his own condominium.
INT. JEROME'S CONDO - LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.
JEROME fastidiously vacuums with an upright cleaner. Using a
hose attachment he cleans around a picture frame that contains
Jerome's original computer keyboard handdrawn on the flap of a
cardboard box.
INT. GATTACA - COMPUTER COMPLEX. DAY.
In the vast room of COMPUTER PROGRAMMERS we pull-focus to
discover that we have been filming the complex through the
transparent specimen bag containing JEROME'S EYELASH.
On the mezzanine floor overlooking the scene of the crime,
the INVESTIGATOR holds the bag, transfixed by the lash. The
lead homicide detective, DETECTIVE HUGO, finishes interviewing
a GATTACA SECURITY GUARD and approaches the Investigator.
A large telescope in the background.
Although Hugo is deferential to his more youthful superior, his
body language betrays his displeasure. Hugo clearly does not
relish the Investigator's involvement in his case.
DETECTIVE HUGO
I don't understand why you were dragged out
here, Sir. It's hardly worth wasting your
time--a no-nothing case like this.
INVESTIGATOR
(gently rebuking his subordinate)
A man's dead, Detective.
DETECTIVE HUGO
Of course, Sir. We're checking the entry log,
alibis, grudges...
INVESTIGATOR
Grudges?
DETECTIVE HUGO
(looking out over the balcony)
I look around, I see a lot of dry eyes.
The Director was not...
(searching for the words)
...universally loved. He was leading the
cut-backs in the program. You're looking at
a room full of motives.
INVESTIGATOR
(shaking his head adamantly,
referring to the bag in his hand)
No, this is your man.
DETECTIVE HUGO
(not so convinced)
With respect, Sir--it may be the only
unaccountable specimen but the profile
suggests--
INVESTIGATOR
--What about his profile?
Hugo refers to a print-out of 20-YEAR-OLD VINCENT's profile
including his Genetic Quotient. (The fifteen-year-old photo of
Vincent now bears little resemblance to his assumed identity.)
DETECTIVE HUGO
According to this, he's a sick man. Congenital
heart condition. Who knows how long the specimen
has been here but there's an 80 percent chance
the owner of that eyelash has already died
himself from natural causes.
INVESTIGATOR
(terse)
So there's a 20 percent chance he's not dead.
Detective Hugo goes to comment further, then revises his
remark in his head before speaking.
DETECTIVE HUGO
Even if this Vincent Luca is alive, is it
likely he could bludgeon a man to death?
INVESTIGATOR
No. Not likely.
The Investigator's tone suggests that the identity of the
culprit is no longer a matter for debate. There is an awkward
pause before the Detective fal | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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