Attack the Block Page #4

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BREWIS:

OK... gotta go dad, I’m

driving...

He hangs up. Pockets the PHONE. His voice is suddenly a

bit less posh.

BREWIS:

I pressed it already. Taking

time...

Attack The Block - FINAL SCRIPT (Inc. Reshoots) 10.11.10 18

21 CONTINUED:
21

The GANG stare at him. PING! The lift arrives and, as

the GANG shove past, BREWIS gets a fleeting glimpse of

the carcass on PEST’S back.

BREWIS:

I’ll get the next one.

22 INT. LIFT - MOMENTS LATER 22

Pest DOUBLE-TAPS each lit button, cancelling them. Hits

NINETEEN. Folds his arms. Grins.

PEST:

Express elevator to the

penthouse suite.

23 INT. NINETEENTH FLOOR CORRIDOR - MOMENTS LATER 23

The LIFT DOOR OPENS and the GANG come swaggering out.

DENNIS HITS a TIMER SWITCH on the wall. Lights FLICKER

ON along the corridor as it starts to TICK DOWN. JEROME

casually pushes DOORBELLS as he walks.

DENNIS:

...it’s a massive universe,

there’s gotta be more than one

planet with life on it, innit...

JEROME:

That’s two GCSEs talkin’ right

there...

DENNIS:

I saw a documentary! They reckon

a meteorite hit the earth to

make us...

JEROME:

Maybe a meteorite hit your head,

made you chat rubbish...

An ITALIAN WOMAN opens her door to see who rang, but

the GANG are already disappearing.

The timer light CLICKS OFF, plunging the corridor into

DARKNESS. The ITALIAN WOMAN SHOUTS angrily after them:

ITALIAN WOMAN:

F*** you! I will call police!!

24 INT. RON’S STAIRWELL - MOMENTS LATER 24

Seen in FISH-EYE, through a spy-hole, the GANG ascend a

flight of steps and approach. PEST buzzes the BUZZER.

Attack The Block - FINAL SCRIPT (Inc. Reshoots) 10.11.10 19

24 CONTINUED:
24

PEST:

Yo Ron?

Heaving breathing and shuffling slippers as he shuffles

to the door and fiddles with the catch. The door opens

as far as the chain will allow and a big middle aged

man peers out.

Long lank hair. Dirty glasses. A gormless, absent look

on his face. This is RON.

RON:

Wotcha...

25 INT. RON’S FLAT. BATHROOM/FRONT ROOM - LATER 25

Close on the evil CARCASS, a belt strapped beneath its

arms, hanging from the SHOWER FITTING.

RON (O.S.)

No idea. Not a bloody clue.

Maybe there was a party at the

zoo and a monkey f***ed a fish.

RON crouches opposite the CARCASS. BREWIS crouches

beside RON. In the deep background, the GANG are

visible slouched around on tatty sofas.

RON:

Tell you what it does look like

though - Indonesian Sapajou, or

one of them Humanzee things.

It’s like a furry mega-chimp

with human eyes. Chilling.

BREWIS:

I saw them with it on the way

up. I thought it was something

they’d won at a fun fair.

RON:

Smells real though, doesn’t it?

Stinks like a dead sh*t.

They both stare at it a moment longer. Then:

RON:

Wanna buy some weed then?

BREWIS:

Yes please.

RON stands and shuffles through the living room, BREWIS

in tow. The flat’s furnished with a random selection of

found furniture. This isn’t a home, it’s a DEN.

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25 CONTINUED:
25

The GANG lounge and chat. BIGGZ, PEST and DENNIS pass a

joint between them. JEROME and MOSES abstain.

RON:

You discovered a species

hitherto unknown to science,

very possibly of non-

terrestrial origin, and kicked

it’s f***ing head in.

RON laughs at his own wit, then turns to BREWIS.

RON:

Make yourself at home. Back in a

tick...

RON turns and heads away, deeper into the flat, leaving

BREWIS hovering awkwardly as the GANG chatter.

PEST:

eBay fam.

BIGGZ:

Alert the media. Exclusive

rights to the highest bidder!

MOSES:

The Sun fam. The Sun believes

anything.

PEST:

DENNIS:

We’re gettin’ rich off that, cos

we discovered it.

The Sun’ll just dress it up like

one of them page three girls...

DENNIS:

You wanna call The Guardian. If

it’s a proper paper then people

will believe it.

JEROME:

Tabloids pay more money bruv.

BIGGZ:

You can’t call the paper. The

FBI will confiscate it off us.

DENNIS:

FBI? This is England fam, there

ain’t no FBI. It’s Section Six

or somethin’ innit...

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25 CONTINUED:
(2) 25

MOSES:

We need an expert to verify that

thing...

BIGGZ:

Look in the Yellow Pages and

look for them, like those

scientist people who know about

all them meteor things...

DENNIS:

Yellow Pages? What, under ‘A’

for Alien?!?

JEROME:

We need a lawyer boy. A manager

or something.

PEST:

They all collapse in GIGGLES.

BREWIS’ voice reveals his presence. The gang go SILENT.

Bell Simon Cowell. Alien’s got

talent.

BREWIS:

Jokes man, jokes!

BREWIS:

Actually, I’m doing a zoology

module at uni. Mammology,

primatology, all of that sh*t.

That thing ain’t down with any

taxon I’ve ever studied.

RON emerges again, stands beside BREWIS.

RON:

You met Brewis then? Very

reliable customer.

BREWIS:

Wagwan.

BREWIS outs his fist for the nearest YOUTH to bump. The

GANG collapse in GIGGLES again. MOSES turns to RON.

MOSES:

Yo Ron. Let me keep that thing

in your weed room. Just for

tonight.

RON:

Dunno about that Moses.

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25 CONTINUED:
(3) 25

MOSES:

Could be worth bare money, that

room’s the safest place in the

block...

RON:

Not really my decision mate. I

only work here. Maybe you should

come ask the boss.

A beat. MOSES is impressed.

MOSES:

Hi-Hatz is here?

RON:

Yeah. He’s in the weed room. He

wanted to have a word...

INT. RON’S FLAT. CORRIDOR - MOMENTS LATER

MOSES follows RON towards a BIG METAL DOOR. MOSES drags

the CARCASS behind him. Powerful SUB-BASS and a strange

PURPLE LIGHT emanate from inside. RON leads MOSES

inside, letting the door BOOM shut behind them.

INT. RON’S FLAT. WEED ROOM - NIGHT

RON leads MOSES into a room where the windows are

BOARDED UP with METAL GRATES and the walls are lined

with FOIL.

There are scores of CANNABIS PLANTS on folding tables.

A jerry-rigged SPRINKLER SYSTEM. HEATERS. The only

light is PURPLE UV. Loud HIP HOP BOOMS.

Two men, TONKS and HI-HATZ stand with their backs to

us, busying themselves at a table across the room.

Momentarily, we see that the back of MOSES’ hoodie is

splattered with a substance that GLOWS in the UV light.

Then, RON turns on the main lights. The glow vanishes.

RON:

(seeing Moses)

Hi-Hatz...

RON nods towards MOSES.

HI-HATZ turns around. He’s short but wears a baseball

cap on top of an elevated afro to compensate.

HI-HATZ

Yo Moses, hear my beats?

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27 CONTINUED:
27

MOSES:

Yeah.

HI-HATZ

That’s my new joint.

TONKS is HI-HATZ' henchman, a jolly ball of muscle. He

turns the music UP. HI-HATZ starts to rap along.

HI-HATZ

Get that snitch, get that strap,

don’t give a f***, blat, blat,

blat!

TONKS enthusiastically joins in with the ‘blat blat

blat’. RON, behind the weed bush, raises his hand to

join the gun salute ‘blat’.

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