Antz Page #14

FORMICA:

Okay, son.

He pats Weaver on the shoulder.

FORMICA:

We know what makes an ant colony

strong, don't we? We know that no

ant can be an individual. No single

ant matters, right?

WEAVER:

(enthusiastically)

That's correct, sir!

FORMICA:

(points at a guard)

Not that one.

(another guard)

Or that one.

WEAVER:

No, sir!

Formica nods at Carpenter, who smiles and opens a door. Two

soldiers walk in, holding Azteca. The color drains from

Weaver's face.

FORMICA:

(calmly, with

satisfaction)

Or that one? Her life doesn't

matter, does it?

AZTECA:

Don't tell that tightass anything,

Weaver!

Weaver starts to get up, but the guards behind him hold him

down.

WEAVER:

Wait! Just let her go! Z's long

gone anyway, following some golden

egg to Insectopia! You'll never

catch him!

Formica's face lights up.

FORMICA:

Insectopia, hunh?...See why

individuality is so dangerous? It

can always be used against you.

(to the guards)

If this sissy here wants to dig,

he'll dig. Send them both back to

the tunnel project. Double their

workload.

The guards exit with Weaver and Azteca.

FORMICA:

What do we have on this "Insectopia"?

CARPENTER:

Scattered reports, sir. Rumors.

Nothing reliable.

FORMICA:

Desperate times call for desperate

measures. Get me Ant Team Six.

CARPENTER:

(frightened)

Ant Team Six...

EXT. GRASS JUNGLE - DAY

Z and Bala are lost, wandering through the grass

BALA:

(looking hopeless)

I swear, we've passed this blade of

grass three times.

Z keeps marching on.

BALA:

Face it, Z, we're lost! We must have

walked halfway across the world by

now! How did I get into this mess...

Z:

(too shy to look at

her)

Come on...tell me there wasn't just

a little...something between us that

first night at the bar. The night we

danced.

BALA:

(sadly)

What difference does it make...we're

both going to starve to death, or get

squished, or set on fire...

But Z is just gawking. The shot expands to show that they

have stumbled onto...

Z:

...The land of red and white...

EXT. FALSE INSECTOPIA - DAY

A PICNICGROUNDS...A red and white picnic blanket, which to

the ants looks like a vast, undulating pavilion, stretches

before them. They gaze up at two obelisks: a salt and pepper

shaker.

Behind that is a gigantic tupperware jar full of potato

salad, and sandwiches stacked high. It all looks perfect,

with the clean lines and monumental proportions of fascist

architecture. In fact, it looks a little too perfect.

Z:

We've found it! Insectopia! Look at

all this food'

BALA:

(amazed)

You were right...you were right!

(smiling happily)

Z, it's beautiful!

Z:

Let's dig in!

Z goes over to a gigantic sandwich, but -- BOOIIING! -- he's

prevented from getting at it by the saran wrap covering it.

Z:

There's - there's some kind of force

field!

Bala joins him, laboring against the saran wrap. Then both

of them hear laughter from above.

MALE WASP (O.S.)

(lockjawed accent)

Muffy, look, party-crashers.

FEMALE WASP (O.S.)

(laughing)

They're simply too much, Chip!

Bala and Z look up to see two large, yellow WASPS hovering in

the air above them. The husband and wife wasps have

lockjawed, William F. Buckleyesque accents.

MALE WASP:

(to Z and Bala)

You down there, haven't you ever been

to a picnic?

Z:

Hunh?

FEMALE WASP:

Habla Ingles?

(to Male Wasp)

Well I really don't know who they are.

Z:

We're ants!

The Male Wasp zooms in closer.

MALE WASP:

Poopsie, we know some ants, don't we?

(to Z)

Are you related to the Fifth Avenue

ants?

FEMALE WASP:

Darling, do you have to talk to any

insect from off the street?

MALE WASP:

Just being friendly, Poopsie.

BALA:

Hello? I'm not just "any insect".

My mother is the Queen.

(momentously)

I'm Princess Bala!

MALE WASP:

(under his breath)

They're Eurotrash, dear.

We hear a loud RUMBLING noise -- the family is about to sit

down for their picnic lunch. Gigantic hands reach down and

pull away the "force fields".

MALE WASP:

Lunch!

(to Z)

A little piece of advice, sport --

bob and weave! Bob and weave!

BALA:

What do you mean?

MALE WASP:

Well -- like my father used to say --

there's no such thing as a free meal!

The wasps dive in to the picnic, darting in for a bite, and

then dashing away again...

THE WASPS:

Excuse me -- I'll have some potato

salad -- thank-you! -- don't mind if

I do! After you! (etc.)

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes