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              <pre>


<b> 
</b><b>                                FANTASTIC MR. FOX
</b><b>          
</b>

                                   Written by

                    Roald Dahl, Wes Anderson &amp; Noah Baumbach




                                                         March 4, 2007  
<b>                         
</b>
<b>                         
</b>
<b>          EXT. WOODS. DAY
</b>
          An apple tree stands alone at the top of a hill. A handsome
          fox dressed in an Edwardian-style navy velvet suit leans
          against it with his arms folded and his legs crossed, chewing
          on a reed of wild grass. He holds an apple core in his paw.
          He spits out a seed. He looks off across a meadow that
          descends into the valley below.
          A female fox strides briskly up the hill. Her coat is a
          paler, especially beautiful shade of fox-red, and she wears
          men's trousers and a dark tunic. Fox says as she approaches:

<b>                         FOX
</b>          What'd the doctor say?

<b>          MRS. FOX
</b>          Nothing. Supposedly, it's just a twenty-
          four hour bug. He gave me some pills.

<b>                         FOX
</b>
<b>                         (REASSURINGLY)
</b>          I told you. You probably just ate some
          bad gristle.
          Fox brushes the fur on Mrs. Fox's ears with his paws. They
          walk together along the crest of the hill to a fork in the
          path. Fox points:

<b>                         FOX
</b>          Should we take the short cut or the
          scenic route?

<b>          MRS. FOX
</b>          Let's take the short cut.

<b>                         FOX
</b>          But the scenic route is so much prettier.

<b>          MRS. FOX
</b>
<b>                         (SHRUGS)
</b>          OK, let's take the scenic route.

<b>                         FOX
</b>          Great. It's actually slightly quicker,
          anyway.
          Fox throws his apple core away over his shoulder and dances a
          quick circle around Mrs. Fox, wrapping his arm around her
          waist extravagantly and making her laugh as they start off
          down the scenic route.

<b>                         
</b>
<b>                         
</b>
<b>                         
</b>
<b>                         
</b>
<b>          2.
</b>
<b>          EXT. FARM. DAY
</b>
          A rustic cottage surrounded by a small barn, a tin silo, and
          a rickity windmill. There is a sheep in a little pasture. A
          sign on a rail says Berkus Squab. Fox and Mrs. Fox watch from
          the bushes outside a fence.

<b>          MRS. FOX
</b>          What is a squab?

<b>                         FOX
</b>          You know what a squab is. It's like a
          pigeon, I suppose. Anyway, it's a type of
          bird we can eat.
          Fox motions toward the edge of the property.

<b>                         FOX
</b>          Should we go through the hole under the
          horse fence or climb the rail over the
          bridle path?

<b>          MRS. FOX
</b>          Well, I guess the horse fence would be a
          little safer.

<b>                         FOX
</b>          But the bridle path puts us out right
          next to the squab shack.
          Mrs. Fox hesitates. She fiddles with her paws. She nods
          nervously. She shakes slightly. Fox looks at her funny.

<b>                         FOX
</b>          What's wrong? I've never seen you like
          this. You're acting all skittish. Don't
          worry. I've been stealing birds for a
          living since before I could trot.

<b>          MRS. FOX
</b>
<b>                         (SHRUGS)
</b>          OK, let's take the --

<b>                         FOX
</b>          No, we'll do the horse fence. You gave me
          the scenic route already.
          Fox flashes a smile. He says suddenly:

<b>                         FOX
</b>          By the way, you look unbelievably
          beautiful tonight. You're practically
          glowing. Maybe it's the lighting.

<b>                         
</b>
<b>                         
</b>
<b>                         
</b>
<b>                         
</b>
<b>          3.
</b>          Mrs. Fox is, in fact, glowing, albeit ever so slightly. She
          stares at Fox enigmatically. Fox touches his paw to her
          cheek.
          (NOTE: an alternate version of Mrs. Fox will be used for this
          shot which can be literally lit from within.)
          With the speed, grace, and precision of athletes, Fox and
          Mrs. Fox: dart through a hole under a painted fence; race
          along a thin trail next to a garage; crawl beneath a window
          where a blonde woman serves an early dinner, dealing
          hamburgers like playing cards to three little, blond
          children; creep past a doghouse where a golden retriever
          sleeps with an airline sleeping mask over his eyes; and
          shimmy over a doorway outside a workshop where a blond,
          bearded farmer hacks into a stump with a hatchet, completely
          pulverizing it into sawdust. They arrive in front of a wooden
          shed. Fox whistles sharply with a half-chirp and performs a
          rapid reverse-flip with a flourish.
          Fox lifts a loose board. He looks to Mrs. Fox and puts his
          finger to his lips for her to be quiet. She shrugs
          impatiently. They duck inside.
          They come back out. Each holds a dead, bloody pigeon in
          his/her teeth. They start to run away. Fox looks up above
          them. He stops. He frowns. He takes the pigeon out of his
          mouth and says curiously, pointing toward the sky:

<b>                         FOX
</b>          What's that? I think that's a fox-trap!
          Look at this.

<b>          MRS. FOX
</b>          Get away from there.

<b>                         FOX
</b>          Is it spring-loaded? Yeah...
          (pointing to different spots)
          I guess if you come from over there, and
          you're standing at the door to the squab
          shack, this little gadget probably
          triggers the --
          (gesturing to Mrs. Fox)
          Move out of the way, darling. That's
          right where it's going to land.
          Mrs. Fox runs back to Fox and tugs at his arm.

<b>          MRS. FOX
</b>          Come on! Stop it! Let's go!

<b>                         
</b>
<b>                         
</b>
<b>                         
</b>
<b>                         
</b>
<b>          4.
</b>          Fox pulls on a little, hanging wire. A chain unrolls rapidly
          from a pulley, and a steel cage falls slap down on top of
          them. A small tag on the base of it says Badoit et Fils. Fox
          and Mrs. Fox stand motionless, side by side, in disbelief.

<b>                         FOX
</b>          No, it just falls straight down right
          here, doesn't it? I guess it's not spring-
          loaded.
          Sounds come from around the farm: the dog barks, doors open,
          voices yell, lights come on. Mrs. Fox turns to Fox and says

<b>                         QUIETLY:
</b>
<b>          MRS. FOX
</b>          I'm pregnant.
          Fox stares at Mrs. Fox. He is confused but moved.

<b>                         FOX
</b>          Wow. We're going to have a cub. Honey,
          that's great news!

<b>          MRS. FOX
</b>          If we're still alive tomorrow morning, I
          want you to find another line of work.
          Pause. Fox nods.

<b>                         CUT TO:
</b>          A wide shot of the entire valley. There are thick woods,
          green and yellow fields, two ponds, a small village, and a
          river running through the middle.

<b>                         TITLE:
</b>          2 YEARS LATER ( 12 Fox-Years)

<b>          EXT. HOLE. DAY
</b>
          The entrance to a tunnel under a dirt mound covered with
          holly bushes.

<b>          INT. HOLE. DAY
</b>
          A small, comfortable kitchen off a living room with two
          bedrooms behind it. Fox sits at the kitchen table reading a
          newspaper called the Gazette. His fur has gone grey at the
          temples, and he now wears a dark, double-breasted, pin-
          striped suit with a conservative necktie. Mrs. Fox stands at
          the counter-top stirring something in a bowl with a whisk.

<b>                         
</b>
<b>                         
</b>
<b>                         
</b>
<b>                         
</b>
<b>          5.
</b>          She is dressed in a paint-splattered, cream-colored,
          Victorian-style dress.

<b>                         INSERT:
</b>          A column in the newspaper with Fox's picture at the top of
          it. The caption reads: Fox about Town with Fantastic Mr. Fox.

<b>                         FOX
</b>          Does anybody actually read my column? Do
          your friends ever talk about it?

<b>          MRS. FOX
</b>
<b>                         (STILL STIRRING)
</b>          Of course. In fact, Rabbit's ex-
          girlfriend just said to me last week, "I
          should read Foxy's column," but they
          don't get the Gazette.
          (yelling into the next room)
          Ash! Let's get cracking!

<b>                         FOX
</b>          Why would they? It's a rag-sheet.

<b>                         (SIGHS)
</b>          I want to say I hate my job, but that
          would make it seem more important to me
          than I want people to think it is.
          Mrs. Fox puts down her bowl and starts slicing a loaf of
          bread. A small, narrow fox cub comes out of one of the
          bedrooms wearing white pants and no shirt. His hair is
          smashed all onto one side sticking up wrong. He is Ash.

<b>                         ASH
</b>          I'm sick.

<b>          MRS. FOX
</b>          You're not sick.

<b>                         ASH
</b>          I have a temperature.
          Mrs. Fox goes quickly over to Ash and puts her paw to his
          forehead.

<b>          MRS. FOX
</b>          You don't have a temperature.
          Ash turns away and says as he goes back into his bedroom:

<b>                         ASH
</b>          I don't want to go.                     

</pre>
            
          
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