Independence Day Page #2

WHITMORE:

Clever.

CONSTANCE:

Age was never an issue when you

stuck to your gun. You were

thought of as young and

idealistic. But the message has

gotten lost. There's too much

compromise, too much politics.

WHITMORE:

(pointedly)

Isn't it amazing how fast everyone

can turn against you.

Realizing she may be pushing him too far, she hands him

another paper.

CONSTANCE:

Well, the Orange County Register

has named you one of the ten

sexiest men of the year.

WHITMORE:

You see, substance at last.

An AIDE appears at the doorway.

CONSTANCE:

Excuse me, Mr. President. It's

the Secretary of Defense.

Whitmore goes to the phone, picks it up.

WHITMORE:

Yes? Say that again?

CUT TO:

AN OLD RUSSIAN SATELLITE

Drifting away from us the old Russian satellite becomes

smaller and smaller. We PAN with it as we SEE it's on a

collision course with something huge.

Suddenly the satellite EXPLODES on IMPACT with the much larger

object that dwarfs the puny piece of hardware. As huge as it

is, we get the feeling we've only seen a portion of the total.

NEW YORK SKYLINE - EARLY MORNING

A slow crane down from the Manhattan skyline, revealing...

EXT. CLIFFSIDE PARK - NEW JERSEY - MORNING

With the New York skyline across the Hudson behind them, old

men sit in this small park playing chess. Unlike the others,

DAVID MARTIN is in his early thirties, sixties hippie meets

nineties yuppie nerd.

He concentrates intensely on his next move. MOISHE. sixties.

smokes a cigar impatiently.

MOISHE:

What are you waiting? My social

security will expire, you'll still

be sitting there.

DAVID:

I'm thinking.

MOISHE:

So think already.

David makes a move. Instantly Moishe counters his move.

David furls his brow in thought.

MOISHE:

Again he's thinking.

Moishe reaches into a paper bag and retrieves a coffee in a

Styrofoam cup.

DAVID:

You have any idea how long it

takes for those things to

decompose?

MOISHE:

You don't move soon. I'll begin to

decompose.

Just as David finally makes his move, Moishe counters again.

David shoots him a look and stares back down to the board.

MOISHE (cont'd)

David, I've been meaning to talk

with you. It's nice you've been

spending so much time with me,

but...

DAVID:

Dad, don't start.

MOISHE:

I'm only saying, it's been what?

Four years, you still haven't

signed your divorce papers.

DAVID:

Three years.

MOISHE:

Three, four. Move on. It's not

healthy.

Moishe takes a big puff on the cigar and coughs.

DAVID:

Look who's talking healthy.

Suddenly David's beeper goes off.

MOISHE:

How many times is that now? You

trying to get fired?

David moves his queen.

DAVID:

Checkmate. See you tomorrow, Dad.

He gives his father a quick kiss and hurries away.

MOISHE:

That's not checkmate I can

still... Oh.

(yelling after him)

You could let an old man win once

in a while, it wouldn't kill you.

CUT TO:

EXT. NEW YORK CITY STREETS - MINUTES LATER

David pedals his bike through mid-town Manhattan. He arrives

at COMPACT CABLE SYSTEMS.

INT. COMPACT CABLE OFFICES - LATER

His bike hoisted on his shoulder, David squeezes through the

revolving doors. MARTY GILBERT, short, nervous and harried,

comes rushing over.

MARTY:

What the hell is the point of

having a beeper if you don't turn

it on?

DAVID:

It was turned on. I was ignoring

you. What's the big emergency?

MARTY:

Started this morning. Every

channel is making like it's

nineteen fifty. Snow, static, all

kinds of distortions. No one

knows what the hell is going on.

David deposits his bike in the kitchenette as Marty tosses his

coke bottle in the trash. David retrieves it.

DAVID:

Damn it, Marty. There's a reason

we have bins labeled "recycle."

Finding more bottles in the trash, David turns to Marty

accusingly.

DAVID:

What the hell is this?

MARTY:

So sue me.

Before David can say anything, Marty ushers him out of the

room.

INT. TRANSMISSION FEED - CONTINUOUS

Technicians are working feverishly. Clearly every monitor is

experiencing varying degrees of signal disruption. David

moves over to the main console.

DAVID:

Did you try to switch to

transponder channels?

MARTY:

Please, would I be this panicked

if it was that simple?

David examines the readouts, puzzled.

DAVID:

Let's retrofit the dish to another

satellite.

MARTY:

We've tried. It's not working.

It's almost as though they

weren't even there.

David looks up, puzzled.

DAVID:

That's impossible.

CUT TO:

A TELEVISION SET

Bad reception. A hand SMOCKS the side of it. No use.

WIDEN TO REVEAL:

INT. MOBILE HOME - DAY

Eleven-year-old TROY BRENNON tries to fix the television.

His older brother MIGUEL, seventeen, cooks breakfast.

MIGUEL:

Stop it.

TROY:

It's all fuzzy.

MIGUEL:

You're gonna break it. Just leave

it alone. Here, take your

medicine.

Miguel sits a small bottle of medicine and a spoon down in

front of Troy. Troy pushes the bottle away.

TROY:

I don't need it.

MIGUEL:

(pushing it back)

Just take it, dick head.

(turning to his sister)

Alicia! Make sure he takes his

medicine.

His sister, ALICIA, fourteen, hormones kicking in, testing

boundaries, listens to her walkman while putting on too much

makeup. Miguel throws a dish towel to get her as Troy hits

the television again.

EXT. TRAILER PARK - SAME - MORNING

A beat up pick-up truck comes down a dirt road and skids to a

halt on the gravel next to the Brennon Mobile Home at this

small shabby countryside trailer park. An angry FARMER jumps

out, slamming his door.

INT. BRENNON MOBILE HOME - SAME

Alicia opens the front door and smiles flirtatiously at the

angry farmers, LUCAS, who marches over. Miguel edges her out

of the doorway, wanting to handle this himself.

MIGUEL:

Morning, Lucas.

Lucas holds a bowl full of rotted vegetables.

LUCAS:

You like these! I've got a whole

goddamned crop full!

Unceremoniously, he dumps them at Miguel's feet.

LUCAS (cont'd)

Where the hell is your father?

You know what time it is?

MIGUEL:

He had to re-fuel. There musta

been a problem.

LUCAS:

We both know what the problem is.

He's a damned nut case, is what he

is. I musta been out of my mind.

Troy SMACKS the television again.

MIGUEL:

Troy, stop it! I swear to God!

LUCAS:

Miguel, if he's not in the air in

twenty minutes, that's it. I'm

getting someone else.

Lucas storms away. Again, Troy whacks at the television.

MIGUEL:

Stop it, Troy! I swear to God!

Determined, Troy HITS the television again. This time the

picture goes out completely.

CUT TO:

EXT. SPACE - THE ORBIT - SAME

Rolling over us, the immense under-belly of this enormous

craft obliterates our view. A loud SCREECH. Suddenly the

bottom begins to SEGMENT.

Dozens of large sections begins to DISENGAGE, extracting

themselves, twisting away from the larger bilge.

The separated SEGMENTS themselves are enormous. Slowly they

twist downwards on a collision course to the blue planet

below... Earth.

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