The Boxtrolls Page #2

In pairs and in gangs, these BOXTROLLS -- so called for the

cardboard boxes they wear -- emerge from the sewers and

scurry through the streets of the besieged town. Their long,

forboding SHADOWS creep across walls plastered with posters

that read:
“CHEESEBRIDGE: A GOUDA PLACE TO LIVE”, “REDHATS -

BOXTROLL EXTERMINATORS”.

We watch them scurry through streets and alleyways, gurgling

quiet directions to each other. They move swiftly and travel

in packs. We see a lone boxtroll jump and pull himself in to

his box as a DOG BARKS. He pops back out of his box and moves

along quickly.

CLOSE ON:
what appears to be a LARGE BOXTROLL MONSTER peering

around the corner of a moonlight street. Its glowing eyes

turn toward the camera as it sways slowly. Five more pairs of

eyes light up within the large, boxy shadow and SIX BOXTROLLS

separate from the mass, popping off to run their errands

while the coast is clear.

BIRDS EYE VIEW:
Groups of two and three boxtrolls snake their

way down streets, skirting carefully around areas lit by

street lamps.

In a small lane, groups of boxtrolls stop to collect

mechanical stuff. They work together, using their boxes as

tools and props.

SIX BOXTROLLS stack up in the background to steal a SHOP

SIGN, while THREE BOXTROLLS cooperatively steal the WHEEL

from a WOODEN CART.

7.

One boxtroll uses his box to prop up a corner while the other

two release the wheel from the axle. A LONE BOXTROLL crosses

the frame to see what treasures he may find in a trash bin;

as he knocks it over with a CLANG, TWO BOXTROLLS scurry past

and stack together, stealing the HOUSE NUMBER from the front

of a brownstone.

CLOSE ON:
the boxtrolls’ booty - the shiny brass number ‘2’,

the shop sign for ‘TIMELESS TIMEPIECES’, the wheel that rolls

along between two boxtrolls.

Six other boxtrolls on the hunt stack together against a

fence. We watch as one boxtroll makes it over the top,

cooperatively pulling the others into the alley behind him.

(0200 BXT) BOXTROLL EXTERMINATORS

EXT. CHASE ALLEY - NIGHT

CLOSE ON:
The inside of a trash can as the lid is removed.

Two BOXTROLL HANDS wriggle into view over the rubbish, fill

of NEWSPAPER CLIPPINGS, an APPLE CORE, a BANANA PEEL, and a

FISH CARCASS. The boxtroll gurgles “EWW” and “BLECH” sounds

as he moves these unwanted items aside. He gurgles with joy

when a bit of brass is revealed.

FISH, a nervous 4-foot tall, wonky-toothed, pointy-eared,

gangly-limbed boxtroll, pulls an old broken ALARM CLOCK from

the trash barrel. He is in a large alley, filled with old

boxes, crates, broken items and tarps strewn about.

Fish stares curiously at the object, turning it over in his

hands and holding it to his ear, listening. He shakes the

clock and hears loose gears RATTLE.

FISH:

Hmm...

Fish opens the clock face and gurgles, intently toying with

the mechanical interior. After a moment, the clock begins to

TICK with activity. Fish gurgles excitedly and closes the

clock face, holding it to his ear to listen to the rhythmic

ticking.

FISH (CONT’D)

(GURGLES) Oh yeah...

Fish’s eyes go wide as the clock’s alarm RINGS, attracting

the attention of an uglier, 2-foot-2 boxtroll.

SHOE:

Huh?

8.

As Fish stands proudly admiring the sound of his ringing

alarm clock, SHOE bounces around his feet.

SHOE (CONT’D)

(GURGLES) Gimme that!

Shoe, short and feisty, grabs the alarm clock from Fish and

scampers away with it. Fish watches as Shoe climbs a stack of

crates and hisses back at him, sniffing at his new prize.

Fish scowls at Shoe and returns to the rubbish pile, shaking

his head and muttering.

Behind him a half-dozen boxtrolls methodically pick through

an assortment of trash barrels and old boxes. It’s like a

troop of monkeys at the dump. They find mechanical stuff,

inspect it, and then either drop it into their box to keep or

toss it back into the trash.

A filthy TEDDY BEAR WITH A MUSICAL KEY is discarded by

another boxtroll, landing with a THUNK and A FEW TINNY

MUSICAL NOTES. Fish turns excitedly.

FISH:

(curious)

Ohhhh...

He picks up the teddy bear and cranks a key in its back as

Shoe toys with the stolen alarm clock. The teddy bear plays

MUSIC. Fish gurgles along to the tune and bobs his head,

enjoying the moment.

Again, Shoe notices Fish has found something interesting. He

shoves the alarm clock into his box, stealthily sneaks up on

Fish and makes a grab for the teddy bear! Fish refuses to let

go and they squabble over it. Suddenly all the boxtrolls snap

to attention, their ears alert--

EXT. CHASE ALLEY

The creepy RATTLING SOUNDS of the Redhats’ truck returns.

All the boxtrolls hide in their boxes. The “camouflage”

works. Their boxes fit in perfectly with the trash barrels

and packing crates.

The rattling comes closer... closer... then STOPS.

BAM! HEADLIGHTS light up the alley.

Three men dismount from the truck and cast long shadows

across the alley and all of the boxes: the giant MR. TROUT,

the beanpole thin MR. PICKLES, and the short, pit bull MR.

GRISTLE.

9.

The boxtrolls don’t run -- they just KEEP HIDING IN THEIR

BOXES.

SNATCHER (O.S.)

GENTLEMEN!

Snatcher spreads his arms theatrically and wades into the

garbage-strewn alley.

SNATCHER (CONT’D)

Look at all these boxes left lying

about. How curious, how peculiar. I

do believe... evil is afoot.

Gristle chuckles and breaks into a psychotic grin.

MR. GRISTLE

(cold blooded)

HAHAHA. FOOT.

MR. PICKLES

Huh.

Fish peeks out of his box momentarily, then retreats when he

sees the Redhats advancing into the alley.

Mr. Trout and Mr. Pickles absentmindedly check boxes for

boxtrolls, but Mr. Gristle methodically stomps and smashes

every box he can. When he finds a box with a boxtroll, he

uses a CRICKET BAT to WHACK it back to the others to load

onto the truck.

MR. PICKLES (CONT’D)

You ever seen someone’s foot be

evil, Mr. Trout?

MR. TROUT

I believe the boss meant evil is

nearby, Mr. Pickles.

MR. PICKLES

My foot had a pretty nasty bunion

once. I wouldn’t say the foot

itself was evil.

MR. TROUT

No, it’s just a fancy-man’s word

for vicinity.

MR. PICKLES

Wrinkly ol’ bunion looked like my

grandmum. Had to saw her off. The

bunion, not my grandmum.

10.

Mr. Gristle spots a shivering box and positions himself over

it, cricket bat in hand.

MR. GRISTLE

Ah, yes. FOOT!

WHACK! Gristle kicks the box, and it flies toward Mr. Pickles

and Mr. Trout.

MR. TROUT

There’s one!

Mr. Pickles scoops it up in a dog catcher’s net.

MR. PICKLES

Come on, ya squirmy monster. Your

days of evil-doin’ are over.

Mr. Gristle finds another shivering box. He swings his bat.

MR. GRISTLE

BOOM!

WHACK! A box slides over to Trout. A dizzy boxtroll pops out

for a moment, groaning. Trout taps its head and the boxtroll

retreats.

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