Independence Day Page #2

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.

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