We begin with a shot of a man kissing his bee-hived wife and two young children - a boy and a girl - at the entrance of a detached house with a tidy garden and white picket fence. Jolly music is playing but as the man leaves for work a low rumble comes in off-key to let us know that something is amiss. Our character is middle-aged, early 40s, with an affable, shaved face and manner. He is wearing a suit that looks neither cheap nor expensive. We see him greeting a blonde waitress at a diner as he buys a coffee. He waves to a redheaded grocer and a butcher with an eyepatch as he passes by their stores. He then enters his office, functional with in and out trays on every desk, and greets a grey-haired receptionist. He then joins his colleagues who have their backs to us and are already working together over a large white sheet of drafting paper. As he begins to discuss something with them the camera pans up and away.
The next scene takes place on, presumably, the following day. Our man goes through the same motions as before, saying bye to his, presumably, beloved wife and children and buying the same coffee from the same blonde waitress. But, what’s this? The redheaded grocer who he waves to looks different. Still redheaded, medium height and build, but wasn’t he handsomely square-jawed yesterday? This man is plain on his best day and, if we are being honest with ourselves, is actually ugly to the point of producing disgust. Our man waves at him and the butcher with the eye patch just the same as he did yesterday. Maybe we misremembered? No matter, the rest plays out the same, the greeting of the grey-haired receptionist followed by work on the large white sheet of drafting paper with colleagues. The cheery music sounds a little sourer, the rumbling undertone that little more ominous.
Another day. We know what to expect now. Our man’s demeanour is the same as yesterday and the day before. Does he ever change? He leaves his beautiful house, wife and children and heads off to his diner. There is a different blonde waitress today, yes, we are sure of it. He greets her as amiably as he has had previously. Maybe he knows her too? Can we make out her name tag? Joan. What was the yesterday one’s name? We can’t recall. And now here comes Mr. Greengrocer. Redheaded for sure but, yes, different from the day before. We could never forget that gruesome visage. This greengrocer is average in the extreme. Bland, even. Our man gives him the same wave as always. What is going on? We mull this over and forget to take a proper look at the butcher with the eye patch as the man goes by. We refocus our attention as he enters the office. We wait with baited breath but the grey-haired receptionist remains the same and the large white sheet of drafting paper – architectural work? is this important? – is present and correct so he and his colleagues can bow their necks to work.
On the fourth run through we are determined to stay vigilant. As he leaves his adorable family we scan their faces with intent. They remain the same. As we thought, the waitress is blonde, she is Joan, she is someone else. Her eyes are a little sadder, her face is a little dumpier. The redheaded greengrocer is all points and angles today, the butcher still wears the eyepatch and, yes, finally, the receptionist has changed. The same cheery demeanour and grey hair but now she has tight eyes and jowls. Our man is oblivious and he quickly gets to it with his anonymous colleagues over the large white sheet of drafting paper.
The fifth day and the music is now much more ominous thrum than jolly tune. In fact, what melody there is distinctly warped and skewed. His wife is brunette with beehive still but now has a strangely familiar mannish face whereas before she had been sweetly feminine. His children’s faces are switched, with the girl having the boy’s face and the boy having the girl’s. It is unsettling. There is no reaction from the man apart from his customary kisses. All of the other characters in our drama - if we can call it that - have changed now. The blonde waitress has the grey-haired receptionist’s face from yesterday, the grey-haired receptionist has the blonder waitress’s face, the redhead greengrocer the butcher with the eye patch’s and so on and so forth. There is no reaction from the man. He works over that large white sheet of drafting paper with his faceless colleagues as if it were the only thing in the world.
Before the sixth day begins, we hear a thudding sound and the screen visibly shakes before resting on the now familiar starting scene. There is no music, no sound at all, when our man greets his wife and children. Today, they have faces that are almost, but not quite, smooth. Eyes, nose and mouth are all present but are mere abstractions - the idea of an eye, mouth or nose rather than an actuality. They are fleshy and real enough but wrong. Very wrong. All of our other characters have these same features - we assume, as we cannot see one of the butcher’s eyes, hidden as it is by the eyepatch. The scene finishes, as usual, with the man and his colleagues leaning over that large white sheet of drafting paper. Whether the colleagues have changed as well is a moot point as their faces remain, as ever, hidden from us.
Now, between scenes, there is a black screen. We hear what sounds like very distant muttering but we cannot be sure. We wait and wait and just as we are about to get up, the seventh day begins. The music is back, but it is jollier than it has ever been, sugary enough to induce a coma. The man kisses his bee-hived wife and children whose faces now contain only a child’s drawing of eyes, mouths and noses. From the man, nothing, no reaction at all. We see the blonde waitress and the redheaded greengrocer with their crudely daubed faces and we wonder if the butcher’s eyepatch will be drawn on too, but it remains as solid and real as ever over what we can but assume is his crayon eye. The grey-haired secretary has the same affliction as the rest. The man, along with the colleagues with their backs to us, get to work over the large white sheet of drafting paper.
Here, instead of fading out, the camera moves to a previously unseen window and shows us the scene outside. We see a field, yellow and stubbly with chopped corn. As the camera pans up we notice a blur moving quickly up out into the sky. The camera zooms in and attempts to track its movement. The object never becomes fully clear but we are sure that just before we lose track of it that it is shaped like a saucer.
The screen fades to black for the final time.