We’ve all been there. You say something incredibly stupid on a first date, or you accidentally insult someone's dog, and you'd give anything to just... blink and redo the last sixty seconds. That’s the seductive, slightly pathetic premise of One Minute Time Machine, a 2014 short film that became a massive viral sensation for a reason. It isn't some high-concept Christopher Nolan epic. It’s a five-minute gag that turns into a philosophical horror story. Honestly, it’s probably the most efficient bit of sci-fi storytelling ever put on YouTube.
The premise is dead simple. James, played by Brian Dietzen (who many know from NCIS), is sitting on a park bench trying to woo Regina, played by Erinn Hayes. He has a small, nondescript box with a single red button. Every time he strikes out—which is often—he presses the button. Click. He’s back a minute earlier, ready to try a different opening line. It’s charming until it isn't.
The Brutal Logic of the One Minute Time Machine
Most time travel movies get bogged down in "the grandfather paradox" or "the butterfly effect." They try to explain the physics of wormholes. This film doesn't care about that. It focuses on the immediate human desire to be perfect. James isn't trying to stop 9/11 or kill Hitler; he just wants a girlfriend. He’s using a god-like power to avoid the minor social friction of a bad date.
Directed by Devon Avery and written by Timothy Nordwind (yes, the guy from the band OK Go), the film works because it understands the "save game" mentality of the modern world. We live in an era of undos and deletes. If we typo a text, we edit it. If we post a bad photo, we archive it. James is just taking that digital habit into the physical world. But the script flips when Regina, who happens to be a scientist, starts asking the right questions.
Here is the kicker: the box doesn't actually rewind time.
It’s a multiverse machine. Every time James presses that button, he isn't "fixing" his current reality. He’s killing himself. Specifically, he’s abandoning the current timeline—leaving behind a dead body or a grieving family—and hopping into a parallel universe where he gets a do-over. The One Minute Time Machine is actually a mass-murder device where the only victim is the user.
Why the "Short Film" Format Saved the Concept
If this were a two-hour Hollywood feature, it would suck. You’d have a middle act where the government tries to steal the box, or a climax where James has to "choose between love and the space-time continuum." Boring. By keeping it under six minutes, Avery keeps the stakes intensely personal.
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The pacing is frantic. Short sentences. Quick cuts.
Click. "Hi, I'm James."
Click. "Do you like poetry?"
Click. The repetition creates a rhythm that mimics a heartbeat—or a ticking clock. It forces the viewer to confront the absurdity of James’s obsession. He’s so focused on the "perfect" version of himself that he’s willing to discard thousands of versions of his own life. It’s a dark commentary on the "perfectionism" culture we see on social media today. We only show the highlight reel. James is literally murdering the blooper reel.
The Science and the Satire
While the film is a comedy, the "Many-Worlds Interpretation" of quantum mechanics is a real thing. Physicist Hugh Everett III proposed it back in the 50s. Basically, every time a quantum event occurs, the universe splits. The One Minute Time Machine takes this theory to its most cynical conclusion.
If there are infinite universes, does your individual life even matter?
Regina’s reaction in the film is what grounds the whole thing. She isn't impressed by the tech; she’s horrified by the ethics. When she realizes that there are dozens of "dead" Jameses piling up in other dimensions, the comedy evaporates for a second. It asks a legitimate question about consent and reality. Is Regina even falling in love with James, or is she falling in love with a curated script?
Most people watch this short on a coffee break and laugh at the ending—which is a hilarious bit of "be careful what you wish for" irony—but if you sit with it, the implications are messy. It’s about the death of character. We grow through our mistakes. We learn by being embarrassed. By using the One Minute Time Machine, James has effectively stopped growing. He’s a static character in a dynamic world.
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Production Value on a Budget
It’s worth noting how much they did with almost nothing.
- One park bench.
- Two actors.
- One prop box.
- Minimal color grading.
This is a masterclass in independent filmmaking. You don't need a Marvel budget to tell a story that resonates for a decade. The chemistry between Dietzen and Hayes is the real engine here. Dietzen plays James with a mix of desperation and smugness that makes his eventual "fate" feel earned. Hayes plays the "straight man" role perfectly, transitioning from skeptical date to horrified scientist with just a few facial shifts.
The film has racked up over 100 million views across various platforms since its release on the Sploid (Gizmodo) YouTube channel. It’s a staple of film festivals, winning various "Best Short" awards because it respects the audience's intelligence. It doesn't over-explain. It trusts you to get the joke—and the horror.
What One Minute Time Machine Teaches Us About Modern Tech
We are closer to James than we think. No, we don't have red buttons that reset the last sixty seconds, but we have algorithms that predict what we want to hear. We have AI that can rewrite our emails to sound "more professional" or "more empathetic." We are constantly "optimizing" our interactions.
The danger of the One Minute Time Machine isn't the physical death of the user; it’s the death of the authentic moment. When James finally gets the "perfect" interaction, it’s hollow. It’s a rigged game.
There’s a reason this short continues to pop up in people's "Recommended" feeds twelve years later. It taps into a primal human desire to fix the past, while simultaneously showing us why that desire is toxic. It’s the ultimate "monkeys paw" story for the digital age.
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Lessons for Creators and Sci-Fi Fans
If you're a writer or a filmmaker, study this script. It follows the "Rule of Three" but subverts it. It establishes a pattern, breaks it, and then introduces a third-act twist that recontextualizes everything you just saw.
- Constraint breeds creativity. Limiting the "time jump" to sixty seconds makes the stakes small but the tension high.
- Character over Concept. The box is just a catalyst for the relationship drama.
- The Ending is Everything. A short film is basically a long-form joke. The punchline has to land, or the whole thing is a waste of time.
How to Apply the "No-Undo" Philosophy
Instead of wishing for a One Minute Time Machine, there’s actual value in leaning into the awkwardness of life. The best stories usually come from the things that went wrong, not the things that went perfectly.
If you find yourself obsessing over a social blunder, remember James. He got the girl, but he had to die a thousand times to do it, and he ended up with someone who (spoilers) might just be as broken as he is.
Next Steps for the Curious:
To truly appreciate the craft behind this short, watch it twice. The first time, watch James and his reactions to the button. The second time, watch Regina. Look for the moment she realizes what’s actually happening. Then, go find Timothy Nordwind’s other work with OK Go—you’ll see the same obsession with timing and precision that makes the film work.
If you're looking for more "compact sci-fi," check out the Dust YouTube channel or the short film Portal: No Escape. They follow the same blueprint: one big idea, executed flawlessly, in a very small window of time. Stop trying to edit your life in real-time. The glitches are usually the best part.