We open on a beautiful lake view somewhere in the rural northeast. The trees are green as can be, the sun is at the midpoint in its rise, and the lake is shimmering.
A loon calls out, and a regionally accurate bird returns its call.
The shot pans to a massive estate. Fresh cut grass for acres, sturdy Adirondack and rocking chairs fill the space (NOTE: No hammocks – a sling of woven rope is unacceptably dynamic for this crowd).
The camera continues to steadily zoom into a top-floor window. The pillowy curtains are already drawn open, left that way from the night before. There are several pictures framed. Some are sepia-toned and others colored from the post black-and-white film era. Homemade birthday cards and generic Hallmark Mother’s Day cards and a few “get well soon” cards adorn the nightstand.
A woman in her 70s wakes from her slumber and begins getting ready for her day. We leave her alone because we are not creeps (NOTE: there are no names needed to make distinctions between characters in this film. Instead, characters will be differentiated only by their ages).
NEXT SCENE
A group of 70-, 80-, and 90-year-olds pack into a mustard yellow room on the first floor of the estate. Stackable banquet chairs line the space in 15 rows of 10 facing a projector screen at the front of the room.
Ad-libbed chatter among the 70-, 80-, and 90-year-olds (mostly about the politics of the dining room, if their children have called today, and the light breeze in the air).
An extremely youthful woman in her early 20s walks into the room from the back. Her skin is so supple you could bounce a ping pong ball off it. Her hair thick and curly, something only imaginable for one still producing collagen (NOTE: It is imperative that the actress who plays this role is a bona fide young person. No ladies above 26, even if she is a La Roche Posay brand ambassador!) She wears a polka dot pink dress over bootcut low-rise jeans and Mary Janes with ruffle socks. The extremely youthful woman glances around, turning her head back and forth, scouring the room for an empty seat.
She is then bombarded by the reality of her fellow audience. She must choose a place, and she knows it will have to be next to one of them. The extremely youthful woman uncomfortably squeezes in between a 73-year-old woman with an untraceable odor and an 86-year-old man with glasses so far down his nose she wonders why he’s even wearing them. She attempts to make herself as compact as possible in an effort not to absorb any of her neighbors’ decrepit nature – these things can spread through osmosis.
EXTREMELY YOUTHFUL WOMAN: (sighs)
73-YEAR-OLD WOMAN: (turns her head to the right towards the extremely youthful woman)
What is it, dear? (NOTE: Actress must possess the ability to perform a historically accurate Bronx accent – silent H’s, R’s reduced to “ahhhr,” etc.)
86-YEAR-OLD MAN: (looks to his left, confused) What?
73-YEAR-OLD WOMAN: (exasperated) Not you.
The extremely youthful woman puts her head down. She settles in, begrudgingly, to watch the scheduled film with all of these putrid old people. She knows they will be hacking and sniffling and guffawing and asking questions all the way through. This army of feeble elders is about to ruin her favorite movie.
EXTREMELY YOUTHFUL WOMAN: Fuck.
Opening montage of “The Incredibles” rolls.
