On a blade of grass in India, a butterfly slowly emerges out of its cocoon. It holds tight to the stem as the wind of an airplane taking off in the distance threatens to blow it off. The disturbance finally dies down and the butterfly darts away to join the other butterflies taking to the sky.
A white, tanned, middle-aged man sits on a commercial airline flight returning home to North America. His East Indian girlfriend, sitting beside him, holds up a copy of the [TIME] Man of the Year magazine with his face on the cover. The caption under says "Prepare Yourself!". It turns out that this man has just finished setting much of India aflame in revolution with an exploding political party that gives poorer people larger votes. A map on the inside of the magazine shows parts of South East Asia, Africa, Central America and Europe as places where this grassroots movement is also spreading like wildfire.
There is much excitement and tension on the flight. Rumor has it that the man will be assassinated not too long after he arrives. There is a comparison made between him and Benigno Aquino, who didn't even make it down the flight steps. This man has countless enemies who would like nothing better than to make an example of him. He shrugs.
The core of the film, however, is not about him and his movement. It is about him and the woman by his side. She is a peasant girl, turned prostitute, turned guide, turned lover, turned girlfriend. She holds on tight to the best thing that has ever happened to her. She worries about everything, and also grounds him. He, as it turns out, is the goofiest and most ridiculous leader the world has ever met. An interviewer sneaks up beside him and the ugly misery begins:
"Do you think you're some kind of god?"
"No, I think Howard Stern is god... and Adam Carolla!"
"How would you like to see the planet in ten years"
"I have no idea. I defer all decisions to the people. I'll probably be dead, though."
... His girlfriend hits him, hard. He winces. Then she kisses him, hard. They laugh.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
To the interviewer she asks:
"Who do you love?"
...
The arrival of the plane is delayed. There is rioting at the airport, and a “security risk” for the other passengers. Police have been brought in to diffuse the crowd of different factions – all fighting amongst themselves. Some wave “GO AWAY” banners, some wave “WELCOME HOME, BROTHER”. There are communists, skinheads, greenies, hippies, CIA-types, groupies, celebrities, church groups, homeless people, housewives with their children, police forces and tons of media vying for space in the parking lot. The crowd threatens to spill into the airport. The president has demanded that the man not do or say anything to stir people up: “This mighty nation of ours, based on freedom and equality; will not tolerate a mass upheaval unless it serves those interests.” On CNN they discuss what that means, and what the implications are. Their on-scene reporter has apparently been mobbed by jeerers, lost twice in the mad shuffle of people, and exorcised by one fanatic. He reports, on live broadcast, how the man once said that “CNN is to news what chocolate is to food”, and that he refuses to make or keep appointments, instead preferring to "follow the wind".
Up in the airplane, the stewardess, who watches over them from a distance, pounces and nervously offers him some extra little packages of peanuts. “I think you’re so great.” She croons, “Are you going to run for president?” He smiles mischievously, “No, I’m just a writer. Presidents get no time to write. But if you want to help, talk to that bum over there.” And he hands her a business card, and points to tiny, serious looking, dark skinned man on the other side of the isle.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please return to your seats and fasten your seat belts. We have just received clearance to land at the San Francisco International Airport. Our arrival time is approximately 8:34 am. Thank you, I hope that you’ve enjoyed this flight.” The plane dives down urgently.
Four years earlier, in the Shivaji International Airport in Bombay, India; a ragged wide-eyed arrival approaches the customs officer...
...
As he experiences hard travel and difficulty in getting his message out, the man becomes very tired and run-down. As he and his guide (lover, but not yet girlfriend) wait in a cheap hotel room for a phone call from one of the local (underground radical) student contacts, he is upset to find that the hotel phone number he gave is now not working. At the limits of his tolerance, he takes yet another cold shower to try rinse himself of all the sweat and grime that this place generates. The woman gets into the shower with him and gives him a neck massage. When she reaches around to hold him, she finds some bruised spots around his belly; too tender to touch. Thinking not too much of it, they finish, dress, go ask the owner again if the phone is working - which it isn’t, and eat at one of the nearby street vendors. That night the man gets very sick. His body temperature climbs rapidly, his head aches, and his stomach goes into spasms. For the next two days he battles food poisoning, the woman becoming his nurse. He fears and refuses a trip to the doctor for as long a possible; but on third day her concern wins over and she gets him to concede that he needs help – only now he is truly too sick to get up. She leaves to locate assistance, and when she does he lapses into delusion. In it he visits a mad opera, and through all his agony and ugly visions of the troubles he’s trying to remedy, he sees her lovely compassionate face appear. Looking up at her, he awakes and says: “Honey... don’t leave... I missed you so much.” Behind her stands a small, dark skinned, and serious looking man wearing a stethoscope around his neck.
...
Eventually, the rulers concede that it's just not going to be possible to keep the party outlawed. Instead of the looming misery of complete oppression over the people, they allow the party into the race. As the party grows and is about to break though the critical mass, the panic flares and dies down just as suddenly - as many politicians start adapting new policies to compete. Life improves for all, as people discover that it’s beneficial to have faith in each other and learn to share their power fairly. The doom foreseen by The Great Capital Flight has been replaced by the efficiency of The Great Unity. Taxes drop, people have more free time, war is replaced by exchange of ideas, industry is properly regulated, crime and drug abuse decline, the environment rebounds quite rapidly. People feel more positive and optimistic, and interested in each other. Some of the wealthy elite stop trying to destroy the system and start to successfully model themselves after the more sociable and satisfying values of the people: family, justice, compassion, love. On the verge of victory, standing in front of his dark-skinned advisor, the presidential candidate declares: “And we didn’t even need to change the system! ...but don't worry, we will."
Yet for the couple their days are neither safe nor fun; mobs outside accost them at every turn. They retreat to their apartment. One morning they get into a terrible fight. It starts in bed when she tells him of her dream to have a family and raise kids. He scoffs at the idea and says that he’s not interested in either being a father or making any more people to fill the planet. She jumps up, accusing him of being too damn negative all the time. He doesn’t seem to mind:
“You never see anything. You’d make a good father!” she yells at him.
“No I wouldn’t, look at me!” he says, now rising out too. “Look! I’m a complete mess. I'd make a complete mess of a father.”
“What the hell do you know about a complete mess? You have no fucking idea! My father was a mess!”
“Mine too”
The volley hits a frantic pace, things being said that simply cannot wait any longer: “My father, -”
“I know. Jesus, what do you think-"
“- now I’m too messed up to even have children."
"- I’m so scared of?”
"I can’t even have children.”
...something hard and brittle breaks, and collapses; some kind of curtain lifts. They each look at the other, crying. He reaches out first, they embrace. Softly, he whispers in her ear:
"Okay, honey. Okay."
The couple rides in the back of a bus, which they enjoy doing to get around. They are both smiling out the same window. People stare, and smile. As the bus enters the middle of a busy intersection, another passenger gets up, and using a powerful handgun shoots both of them repeatedly. When the bus slams to a stop the assassin jumps out, runs to a nearby car waiting with its door open, gets in, and speeds off. The street comes alive in pandemonium.
A few days later, during the circus of a funeral, an old hysterical woman breaks through the security guarding the coffins and opens up the caskets. Indian butterflies emerge from each of them, to the crowd’s disbelief. The cameras capture the whole thing.
FADE OUT:/FADE IN:
Thirty years later, a holographic news broadcast tells of a remarkable discovery. The couple is alive and well hiding in remote (yet not poverty-stricken) India. Yes, they hoaxed their death in order to escape the insanity. Yes, they are very content and pleased to hear of the newfound joy and peace in the world. Yes, they are disturbed by how many people have turned their faked deaths into a religion: “No, we don’t believe that god has much to do with anything... we believe in human beings.”
