Joe Calabrese said:
I've written a few specs with an opening credit sequence, but almost all without. The times I did were when it is not only unique, but critical to establish the story, characters, etc...
That's about the situation here. It establishes in part who and what the main character is, his "status," the female lead and her "status," plus it establishes the basic, underlying conflict that will have to be resolved (as soon as it's all out in the open). I don't think it is either unique or critical, but it sure does save a lot of explaining later on.
What I was concerned with was that it was obviously a place to roll the credits, perhaps too obvious. It is, however, all action and nothing particurarly artsy-craftsy, nothing whatsoever that says, or implies, "... Put the credits here, dummy!" If "they" wanted to, they could display the credits in whatever way, style, form, etc. they want and start the story on page one.
Let's see if I can do this (excuse the formatting). It's just in first draft form anyway. By page ten all the main characters are on board:
FADE IN
INT. EXECUTIVE OFFICE -- AFTERNOON
Someone (unseen) is milling about in the large and quiet, dimly lit office. They can be heard TEARING something open (a FedEx or UPS package), followed by liquid being POURED.
Although angry black clouds signal a rapidly approaching spring storm, the view out the window is nevertheless impressive. The office is in an upscale, beautifully landscaped Florida complex set well back from a busy four-lane.
There's a somehow familiar mechanical SOUND (a CD being put in a changer), then silence.
Suddenly, loud - very loud - MUSIC shatters the air.
The dark gray clouds begin to cry. Cars out on the highway turn on their lights. A light comes on inside the office.
A few bars into the SONG, and it's inexplicitly cut off. That's followed by another familiar sound (a CD being ejected) and a CRASHING noise (it being tossed in the trash can).
On display by a window and mounted on a tripod is a well used Nikon F-3 attached to a 300mm, f-2.8 lens. Not too long ago it was top-of-the-line professional equipment.
Outside, trees begin to bend and leaves are pushed along by the strengthening wind. There's an occasional flash of lightning and the guttural, rumbling sound of THUNDER.
Another music TRACK comes on and it too is LOUD.
Celebrity photographs and framed gold and platinum records cover an entire wall. A dozen or so trophies (music awards) sit on a credenza.
Whoever the office belongs to is evidently in the music business, and is very successful at it.
Promotional photographs, CDs and a few yet unopened UPS and FedEx envelopes are neatly arranged on the glass top desk.
The MUSIC abruptly stops again.
PAUL MORTON, 45, is staring out the window, holding a clicker and a glass of wine. He looks the sophisticated but deadly serious and hard working executive type. He presses the clicker and a third TRACK begins its assault.
He tastes the wine as he listens to the MUSIC and studies an 8 X 10 photograph.
He doesn't like what he's hearing. He HUFFS, ejects the CD and summarily trashes it and the group's photo, adding to ones he may have already considered, and rejected.
He goes back to the window, this time just to watch the storm's arrival, and enjoy his wine, in peace.
CONTINUING POV
In the far distance a city bus stops and discharges two hesitant passengers - a mother and her young child. The woman opens an umbrella as the bus pulls out into traffic.
Paul notices them, but he's more interested in the approaching storm that...
... hits full force, with strong, gusting winds and PELTING rain that comes down almost horizontally.
Like a magnet, Paul's gaze becomes repeatedly drawn back to the woman and kid. They're on the sidewalk, walking as fast as they can, trying desperately to reach shelter.
Paul looks up toward the heavens, then back at the pair - and shows no sympathy to their plight.
The umbrella isn't doing the woman and child much good; they're getting soaked.
A few cars pass, and the drivers look, but don't stop.
The sound of the driving RAIN continues to build as Paul watches them struggle.
The child is crying. She tries to pick him up but in the process looses the umbrella to the wind.
They get closer and Paul suddenly becomes aware of something about the woman that might not be good.
The sound of the wind and rain becomes a surrealistic, almost throbbing ROAR, at least in Paul's unraveling mind.
He goes over to the tripod mounted camera.
