INDEPENDENCE DAY: Dean Devlin & Roland Emmerich AN AMERICAN FLAG
Oddly still, posted in gray dusty sand.
WIDEN TO REVEAL:
EXT. LUNAR SURFACE - THE MOON
One small step for man, one large pile of garbage for moon-
kind. Untouched for years, the flag stands next to the
castoff remains of the Apollo mission. Slowly the discarded
equipment begins to RATTLE and SHAKE.
AN ENORMOUS SHADOW creeps towards us blotting out the horizon,
a loud RUMBLE is heard.
Suddenly we are covered in DARKNESS as the SHADOW engulfs us.
Only the lonely image of our EARTH hangs in the air, until a
huge silhouetted OBJECT suddenly blocks our view.
CUT TO:
EXT. NEW MEXICO - RADIO TELESCOPE VALLEY – NIGHT
A field of large satellite dishes scan the skies.
Super up: S.E.T.I. INSTITUTE, NEW MEXICO
INT. INSTITUTE - MONITORING CONTROL CENTER – SAME
A lone TECHNICIAN works on his putting skills. Behind him,
wall to wall technical equipment quietly sifts through data.
A RED LIGHT begins to flash.
The Technician turns and slowly walks towards the source. One
by one a series of LIGHTS turn on.
The Technician (TECH ONE)
grabs a pair of headphones. His eyes widen.
INT. SLEEPING QUARTERS – SAME
Sleepily a SUPERVISOR picks up the phone.
SUPERVISOR
If this isn't an insanely
beautiful woman, I'm hanging up.
INT. CONTROL CENTER – SAME
TECH ONE
Shut up and listen.
He holds the phone up to a speaker, increases the volume. A
strange FLUCTUATING TONE plays out in sequential patterns.
INT. SLEEPING QUARTERS – SAME
HEARING it, the Supervisor BOLTS UP, banging his head on the
bunk above him.
INT. CONTROL CENTER - MOMENTS LATER
A pajama party on acid. Five other technicians, in various
states of undress, hover anxiously around the main console.
The Supervisor enters, tying his robe.
SUPERVISOR
God, I hope it's not just another
damned Russian spy job.
TECH THREE
(overlapping)
Negative. Computer affirms the signal is unidentified.
TECH TWO
(hanging up the phone)
The boy from Air Res Traffic say the
skies are clear. No terrestrial
launches.
TECH ONE
It's the real thing. A radio
signal from another world.
The room becomes quiet as they realize that after years of
searching the heavens, they might have finally found
something.
SUPERVISOR
Let's not jump the gun. Run a
trajectory source computation.
Tech Three slides over to another computer.
SUPERVISOR (cont'd)
I want to know exactly where it's
coming from.
TECH THREE
This can't be right.
Tech Three just stares at his screen in disbelief.
SUPERVISOR
What's wrong?
TECH THREE
Calculated distance from source is
at three hundred and eight five
thousand kilometers.
(turning to Supervisor)
It's coming from the moon.
The Supervisor reaches over and turns up the volume on the
speaker. As they listen to the strange TONES we...
CUT TO:
INT. HALLWAY - PENTAGON – SAME
Elevator doors OPENS revealing four star GENERAL GREY,
Commander in Chief U.S. Space Command. Understandably
nervous, the COMMANDING OFFICER escorts him down the hall. GENERAL GREY
Who else knows about this?
COMMANDING OFFICER
S.E.T.I. in New Mexico identified a
signal but they're even more
confused than we are.
The General shoots him a disapproving glance.
COMMANDING OFFICER
Excuse me, Sir.
He slides his security card through the lock and the doors fly
open.
INT. SPACE COMMAND - THE PENTAGON – CONTINUOUS
Banks of computers, Technicians and assistants working
feverishly through the night. The Officers cross the room.
Super: SPACE COMMAND - THE PENTAGON
COMMANDING OFFICER
Satellite reception has been
impaired but we were able to get
these.
They arrive at a glass table. The surrounding officers snap
to attention as a SECOND OFFICER quickly brings over a large
transparency. We SEE a grainy image of a large vague OBJECT.
GENERAL GREY
Looks like a big turd.
The two Officers exchange a glance.
COMMANDING OFFICER
We estimate it has a diameter of
over five hundred and fifty
kilometers and a mass roughly one
fourth the size of our moon.
The General turns to the Second Officer, concerned.
GENERAL GREY
A meteor?
SECOND OFFICER
No Sir. Definitely not.
GENERAL GREY
How do you know?
SECOND OFFICER
Well, er... it's slowing down.
GENERAL GREY
It's doing what?
SECOND OFFICER
It's... slowing down, Sir.
The General walks over to a phone, picks it up.
GENERAL GREY
Get me the Secretary of Defense.
(pause)
Then wake him up.
CUT TO:
INT. WHITMORE'S BEDROOM - FRE-DAWN
Laying in bed THOMAS J. WHITMORE reads a stack of papers. The
phone RINGS.
WOMAN'S VOICE
(filtering through phone)
Hi. It's me.
The warm look on Whitmore's face tells us everything about how
he feels about the woman on the other end.
WHITMORE
Hi honey. What time is it there?
INT. HOTEL ROOM – NIGHT
Dressed in a night gown, MRS. MARGARET WHITMORE unpacks her
briefing papers lays them out on a small desk as she talks.
Through the window we SEE Los Angeles at night.
MARGARET
Two in the morning. I know I
didn't wake you?
WHITMORE
(filtered)
As a matter of fact you did.
MARGARET
(smiles)
Liar.
INT. WHITMORE BEDROOM – SAME
Whitmore sits up.
WHITMORE
I have a confession to make.
There's a beautiful young blonde
sleeping next to me.
Sleeping next to him, his six-year-old daughter, PATRICIA. MARGARET
(filtered)
You didn't let her stay up
watching T.V. all night?
WHITMORE
Of course not.
The little girl stirs awake, looks up.
PATRICIA
Mommy?
WHITMORE
You're flying back right after the
luncheon? Okay, here she is.
Whitmore hands her the phone and gets out of bed. Habitably
he turns on the television.
T.V. - NEWS PROGRAM
Several "Pundits" sit around a MaLaughlin-type news discussion
program.
The picture quality is snowy, static ridden.
PUNDIT #1
... the inexperience in public
office was inevitably going to
catch up with him. He's
scarified his ideals for
"politics as usual."
Whitmore ties on his robe as he adjusts the picture quality.
PUNDIT #2
...I said this during the
campaign. Leadership as a pilot
in the Gulf War has no
relationship to political
leadership. It's a different
animal...
Suddenly the channel changes. A cartoon comes on. Whitmore
turns to his daughter who holds he remote.
PATRICIA
(into phone)
Daddy let me watch Letterman.
WHITMORE
Traitor.
Whitmore exits the room.
INT. HALLWAY – CONTINUOUS
As Whitmore steps out of his bedroom, a Security guard snaps
to attention. Someone hidden behind a newspaper, sits on a
bench.
SECURITY GUARD
Good morning, Mr. President.
WHITMORE
Good morning, George.
The paper is dropped revealing CONSTANCE HALBROOK, mid-
thirties, aggressive, sharp, the President's communications
director. Quickly she gathers her things and follows Whitmore.
INT. BREAKFAST TABLE – CONTINUOUS
Two servants are preparing breakfast as Whitmore and Constance
enter. Whitmore sits down, grabs a coffee.
WHITMORE
You're up early this morning, Connie.
She tosses him one of the many newspapers in her hands. CONSTANCE
They're not attacking your
policies, they're attacking your age.
(another paper; reading)
"...addressing Congress, Whitmore
seems less like the President and
more like the orphan child Oliver
asking, 'please sir, I'd like some
more.'"
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
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.
CUT TO:
INT. WHITE HOUSE - BASEMENT CORRIDORS – DAY
Under a barrage of questions from her own staff, Constance hurries down the corridor.
AIDE #1
CNN is running a story that we're covering up some kind of nuclear testing experiments...
CONSTANCE
Tell them to run with it if they want to embarrass themselves.
AIDE #2
NASA has been up my butt all morning. They want to know our position. CONSTANCE
Our official position is we don't have an official position.
AIDE #3
Connie, what the hell is going on? Constance escapes into the elevator, turns around.
CONSTANCE
(smiles confidently)
Come on, people. Would I keep you guys out of the loop?
AIDE #1
In a second!
AIDE #2
Absolutely.
Before she can retort, the elevator doors close.
INT. OVAL OFFICE - WIDE SHOT – SAME
The President, General Grey, the SECRETARY OF DEFENSE and White House Chief of Staff ALBERT NIMZIKI are gathered around the couch.
SEC. OF DEFENSE
At the moment, our satellites are somewhat unreliable. Isn't it possible that thing may just pass us by?
NIMZIKI
What if it doesn't "pass us by?"
Let's retarget some ICBMs to blow it out of the sky...
GENERAL GREY
Forgive me, but with the little information we do have, the only thing that would accomplish is turn one dangerous falling object into many.
Just then the door opens and Constance enters.
PRESIDENT WHITMORE
What's the damage?
CONSTANCE
The press is making up their own stories at this point.
NIMZIKI
(to General Grey)
Get on the horn with Atlantic Command. Let's upgrade the situation to DEFCON 3. GENERAL GREY
That's not your call to make, Mr. Nimziki.
CONSTANCE
Isn't that a little premature?
NIMZIKI
I don't think so.
SEC OF DEFENSE
We're two days away from the fourth of July. We have over fifty percent of our armed forces on weekend leave, not to mention the troops and commanders we have in town for the Fourth of July parade. We call them back now, we're sending up a major red flag.
They go quiet as Commanding Officer from Space Command dashes into the room.
COMMANDING OFFICER
Our intelligence tells us the object has settled into a stationary orbit.
NIMZIKI
Well that's good news.
COMMANDING OFFICER
Not really.
He lays out the diagrams and photos on the table. Everyone gathers around.
COMMANDING OFFICER
Part of it has broken off into nearly three dozen other pieces.
PRESIDENT WHITMORE
Pieces?
COMMANDING OFFICER
Smaller than the whole, yet over fifteen miles in width themselves.
NIMZIKI
Where are they heading?
COMMANDING OFFICER
They should be entering our atmosphere within the next twenty-five minutes.
The room is silenced. All eyes turn to the President who says nothing. Nimziki leans in close to him.
NIMZIKI
Like it or not, we're at DEFCON 3.
Recall the troops and put them on yellow alert.
CUT TO:
To be continued…
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