Fanboys

Synopsis: Star Wars fanatics take a cross-country trip to George Lucas' Skywalker Ranch so their dying friend can see a screening of Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace (1999) before its release.
Director(s): Kyle Newman
Production: The Weinstein Co.
 
IMDB:
6.6
Metacritic:
45
Rotten Tomatoes:
32%
PG-13
Year:
2009
90 min
$700,000
Website
580 Views


When we're winning

We'll be singing

I get knocked down

but I get up again

You're never gonna

keep me down

I get knocked down

but I get up again

You're never gonna

keep me down

I get knocked down

but I get up again

You're never gonna

keep me down

I get knocked down

Halloween just got awesome, b*tches!

Prepare for the entrance of Lord Vader.

Give yourself to the Dark Side.

It's the only way you can save-

You wore the same thing last year.

- You son of a b*tch.

- I'm sorry, guys. My codpiece is killing me.

It's totally restricting my junk.

You're gonna spill it or fill it, dude?

Zoe.

- Hi.

- Oh, my God. It's been a long time.

- Yeah.

- Yeah.

You are...

something with tampons.

I'm Picasso's Blue Period.

- Get it? Blue Period.

- Hmm.

And you are?

Corporate sleaze?

Car salesman.

I came straight from work, so this is-

- Weak as usual, Bottler.

- Thank you.

Are you here

for a reunion with the boys?

Nope. That's just a pleasant surprise.

Watch the cape, uh, uh-

Well, enter at your own risk.

Oh, my God.

You guys have both got to stop

perpetuating this myth...

that Boba Fett is some kind of bad-ass.

All right? He has a jet pack.

So did the Rocketeer.

- Really cool.

- Here we go.

When it comes time for battle, the man's

Michael Bay- all style, no substance.

If you diss the Fett again...

I will corn-hole you with a light saber!

Whoop, there it is

- Jesus. Is that Bottler?

- Whoop, there it is

- Hey, guys.

- Whoop, there it is

Whoop, there it is

You got a lot of nerve

showing your face around here.

Give Daddy a huggy.

- Yeah!

- Stop.

You little bastard, I missed you.

I hope that's just your blaster poking me.

- God, it's been parsecs.

- Yeah, it's good to see you too, man.

- Linus.

- Hmm.

- It's been, like, a year now, right?

- Three.

- You still drawing?

- No. I bailed on that sh*t after high school.

- How's life in the auto trade?

- Still second in command to the old man.

Um, you?

Comic book store's still afloat...

but the geeks aren't biting

like the old days.

- You?

- Get my money together so I can

start my detailing business.

I'm gonna call it the Hutch Touch.

That's funny. I could've sworn you were

delivering pizza and living in your mom's garage.

It's not a garage.

It's a carriage house.

Carriage house.

- How is your carriage?

Ah! Ah! Ah!

Hey, uh, have any of you guys

seen the phone jack?

Uh, no, but I have seen

the social retard...

who brought his Toughbook to a party.

- I promised Rogue Leader

I'd write her back tonight.

- Oh, God.

- She is my girlfriend.

- On-line girlfriend.

I met her in a Jedi chat room.

The woman is perfect.

She's intelligent and acerbic and, uh-

and a die-hard fan.

She's even got connections

inside the Lucas camp.

Who's also got

a man package and a goatee.

You guys are all just jealous

because she describes herself...

as a cross between

Sarah Michelle Gellar...

- and Janeane Garofalo.

Tell 'em how you described yourself.

I was perfectly honest with her.

- You said you looked like

a white Billy Dee Williams.

You called yourself white chocolate.

I am white chocolate.

Oh, oh! Windows, it's my turn.

- Give it to me.

- Midnight. Another day down.

Ah! Okay.

Official Episode I countdown...

is six months, 12 days,

eight hours and some change.

I would sell my soul to see

that movie right here right now.

Dude, I would sell my left nut.

And I only have the one nut.

- So you see how serious I am?

- I cannot listen to this sh*t

for another six months.

Oh, shush your mouth, woman.

You know, we could see the movie.

- Oh, please, not this again.

- Oh, yes, please, this again.

"Tell us about

the rabbits, George. George."

Imagine.

Okay?

We drive across the country in one night.

We break into the Skywalker Ranch...

and steal ourselves a print.

- Yeah!

You guys have been talking about this

since the fifth grade, okay?

- It's not gonna happen.

- Why the hell not?

Well, first of all, it's 2,000 miles away.

Second of all, even if you could get there,

you'd be arrested.

It's been a blast, Bottler.

Way to douche up the party.

Nothing is impossible.

And I'll guarantee I'll find you a new

or used car, or my name isn't Big Chuck.

- Right, girls?

- Ooh-hoo!

Hoo!

Yeah!

All right!

Attaboy, Eric.

Now, see, that's some slick advertising.

Thanks, Pop.

Reminds me of, what, that

Terry Bruckheimer movies.

Yeah. Top Gun.

- Thanks.

- Hiya, Eric.

I'll handle this, Myron.

Thanks.

- Hey.

- We're in the market for some used droids.

I should start you guys off

with a new set of wheels first...

unless you're cool riding

around in the same rusted old sh*t box...

you've had since the 10th grade.

Hey, hey, hey!

She may not look like much,

but she's got it where it counts.

Uh, why are you guys here?

Do you wanna look around the lot a little bit,

drive something? What?

No. Uh, we came to talk about Linus.

Well, he just needs to realize

that people lose touch.

- That's just kind of the way things work.

- He's dying, Eric.

- What?

- He's got cancer, man.

He's tried everything to get better,

but nothing seems to work.

Odds say three, four months maybe.

And you guys are telling me this now?

We wanted to tell you

months ago, honestly...

but Linus made us promise

not to say anything.

The way we see it, you guys have been

best friends since, like, first grade.

So we figured you got the right to know.

You got the right to make your peace.

How am I supposed to make my peace

when the guy doesn't even want me to know?

With all due respect, Eric,

this isn't about you.

- I-You know what?

- Holy sh*t.

- Jesus Christ.

- If it ain't C-3Penis Face and R2-D*ckhead.

What did you just say, you giant bastard?

- Well, well put.

- Thank you.

- Still see you're driving the nerd-mobile.

- Chaz, you're an idiot.

Hey, you know what? While you're out here

sticking G.I. Joes up your butt...

I convinced Dad to let me

recut the commercial.

So suck it. Huh?

Aw, see, you flinched.

That's gonna be two, Princess Leia.

Nanu-nanu.

Get a haircut.

- We should have killed him

when we had the chance.

- Yeah.

Jackass. Linus is coming over

to the carriage house later. So are you.

Bye, Eric.

No lightning! No lightning!

- Aw, sh*t. I'm a midget.

- I'm gonna flatten your ass right now.

Ah!

Suck it, Count Fagula.

Wow!

- There's no teaming up.

That's a rule!

-

Owl Head cramp!

Don't kill me.

- Hey.

- Donkey balls.

You made it, man.

Your mom said clean up this sh*t-hole

or no grilled cheese for a week?

That's emotional blackmail,

and you know it!

- Screw you!

- I will sue you! Renter's rights!

- You don't pay rent!

- Damn. Damn!

- What the hell is he doing here, man?

- It was Hutch's idea.

Grab a controller.

We're ganging up on Windows in Mario Kart.

I can't.

I came to talk to Linus actually.

Can I talk to you alone, man?

Linus. Hey, stop walking.

Linus! Hold up, man.

- Stop. What the hell, man?

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Ernest Cline

Ernest Christy Cline (born March 29, 1972) is an American novelist, slam poet, and screenwriter. He is known for his novels Ready Player One and Armada; he also co-wrote the screenplay for the film adaptation of Ready Player One, directed by Steven Spielberg. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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    "Fanboys" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 2 Nov. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/fanboys_7991>.

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