Monologues to die for

[flawedplan]

Obligatory Network Post:


You are television incarnate, Diana, indifferent to suffering, insensitive to joy. All of life is reduced to the common rubble of banality. War, murder, death are all the same to you as bottles of beer. The daily business of life is a corrupt comedy. You even shatter the sensations of time and space into split-seconds and instant replays. You are madness, Diana, virulent madness, and everything you touch dies with you. Well, not me! Not while I can still feel pleasure and pain and love!

And it's a happy ending, Diana. Wayward husband comes to his senses, returns to his wife with whom he has built a long and sustaining love. Heartless young woman left alone in her arctic desolation. Music up with a swell. Final commercial. And here are a few scenes from next week's show.

[flawedplan]

Walter Matthau in The Odd Couple:

I can't take it anymore, Felix, I'm cracking up. Everything you do irritates me. And when you're not here, the things I know you're gonna do when you come in irritate me. You leave me little notes on my pillow. Told you 158 times I can't stand little notes on my pillow. "We're all out of cornflakes. F.U." Took me three hours to figure out F.U. was Felix Unger!

[flawedplan]

Jack Lipnick in Barton Fink:

We're only interested in one thing, Bart. Can you tell a story? Can you make us laugh? Can you make us cry? Can you make us want to break out in joyous song? Is that more than one thing? Okay!

[GammaWaif]

Kevin Costner, From Bull Durham:

I believe in the soul, the cock,
the pussy, the small of a woman's
back, the hanging curve ball,
high fiber, good scotch, long
foreplay, show tunes, and that
the novels of Thomas Pynchon are
self-indulgent, overrated crap.
I believe that Lee Harvey Oswald
acted alone, I believe that there
oughtta be a constitutional
amendment outlawing astro-turf
and the designated hitter, I
believe in the "sweet spot", voting
every election, soft core
pornography, chocolate chip
cookies, opening your presents on
Christmas morning rather than
Christmas eve, and I believe in
long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses
that last for 7 days.

:1clap4:

[flawedplan]

John Milton (Satan) in Devil's Advocate:

Let me give you a little inside information about God. God likes to watch. He's a prankster. Think about it. He gives man instincts. He gives you this extraordinary gift, and then what does He do, I swear for His own amusement, his own private, cosmic gag reel, He sets the rules in opposition. It's the goof of all time. Look but don't touch. Touch, but don't taste. Taste, don't swallow. Ahaha. And while you're jumpin' from one foot to the next, what is he doing? He's laughin' His sick, fuckin' ass off. He's a tight-ass. He's a sadist. He's an absentee landlord. Worship that? Never.

Who, in their right mind Kevin, could possibly deny the twentieth century was entirely mine?

I'm here on the ground with my nose in it since the whole thing began. I've nurtured every sensation man's been inspired to have. I cared about what he wanted and I never judged him. Why? Because I never rejected him, in spite of all his imperfections. I'm a fan of man. I'm a humanist. Maybe the last humanist.

[rossshow]

Jules, from Pulp Fiction

The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.

[rossshow]

Then Jules monologues about his monolog


There's a passage I got memorized. Ezekiel 25:17. The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.
I been sayin' that shit for years. And if you ever heard it, it meant your ass.

I never really questioned what it meant. I thought it was just a cold-blooded thing to say to a motherfucker before you popped a cap in his ass.

But I saw some shit this mornin' made me think twice. Now I'm thinkin': it could mean you're the evil man. And I'm the righteous man. And Mr. 9mm here, he's the shepherd protecting my righteous ass in the valley of darkness. Or it could be you're the righteous man and I'm the shepherd and it's the world that's evil and selfish.

I'd like that.

But that shit ain't the truth.

The truth is you're the weak. And I'm the tyranny of evil men. But I'm tryin', Ringo.

I'm tryin' real hard to be a shepherd.

[flawedplan]

Hurlyburly:

Dialogue, amazing some of my favorite lines ever:

Eddie: Just because you're Jewish, doesn't mean you're fuckin' Freud.
Artie: Just because you're whatever the fuck you are, doesn't mean you're whatever the fuck you think you are.
Mickey: You don't know what you're saying. You don't.
Eddie: I do.
Mickey: No. I know you think you know what you're saying, but you're not saying it.
Eddie: No, I know what I'm saying. I don't know what I mean, but I know what I'm saying. Is that what you mean?
Mickey: Yeah.
Eddie: Right. But it's not like anybody knows what anything means, right? It's not like anybody knows that. So at least I know I don't know what I mean, which is better than most people. They probably think they know what they mean, not just what they think they mean.
Bonnie: If your manner of speech is any indication of the workings of your mind, then it's a wonder you can even tie your shoes.
Phil: Hey, if my karma's to whack people when they do some fuckin' irrelevant thing... fuck it!
Mickey: Absolutely right Phil, fuck destiny, fate, all metaphysical stuff. Fuck it!
Mickey: What kind of tone is that?
Eddie: What kind of tone is that? That's my tone.
Mickey: Yeah, but what does it mean?
Eddie: My tone? What does my tone mean? I don't have to interpret my fucking tone for you, Mickey. I don't know what it means.

Eddie: In the Middle Ages everyone really had to worry about witches and goblins, but what we have is stuff eating at us. We've got stuff we don't even... I mean, why do you think that all the warlords of the world are so anxious to get their own personal little stash of chemical weapons. They call them weapons of mass destruction, but they're not. They're very very selective about what they destroy. They annihilate people and preserve things. They love things. You and I would be dead, gas... puke... gone. Whereas, you know, other earlier older people - the ancients - could look to the heavens, which in their minds was inhabited by this thoughtful, meditative, you know, maybe a trifle unpredictable and wrathful, but nevertheless up there - this divine onlooker. We've got anchorpurses and talking heads. We've got politicians who decide life and death issues on the basis of their media conceitedness. That's what we've got.
Darlene: I don't care.
Eddie: What do you mean, you don't care?
Darlene: It doesn't matter to me anymore.
Eddie: No, it matters, and you care. What you mean is it doesn't make any difference!
Darlene: UGH! I cannot stand this semantic insanity ANYMORE! I can't be that specific about my feelings! I can't!
Eddie: I've gotta cool off. But not tonight. Not tonight! I've got a history lesson in progress, man, the lobes are humming! I'm picking up the trans-atlantic signals, man. And Phil... is sending me messages. He's got some complaints, man. About the afterlife.

[rossshow]

Natural Born Killers....

[after shooting a man she'd been having sex with]
Mallory: That the worst fuckin' head I ever got in my life! Next time don't be so fuckin' eager

[after beating the hell out of the guy at the diner]
Mallory: How sexy am I now, huh? Flirty boy! How sexy am I now?

[flawedplan]

It had a good soundtrack.


American Beauty:


Lester Burnham: Remember those posters that said, "Today is the first day of the rest of your life"? Well, that's true of every day but one - the day you die.

[rossshow]

Magnificent Seven

Calvera: Last month we were in San Juan. Rich town. Sit down. Rich town, much blessed by God. Big church. Not like here - little church, priest comes twice a year. BIG one. You'd think we'd find gold candlesticks. Poor box filled to overflowing. Do you know what we found? Brass candlesticks. Almost nothing in the poor box.

Sidekick: But we took it anyway.

Calvera: I KNOW we took it anyway. I'm trying to show him how little religion some people now have.

[flawedplan]

I dated a guy who saw this astonishing film 27 times and flew to Berlin just to walk around the setting.


Wings Of Desire:


The angel Damiel: [placing his hands on the Dying Man's head] As I came up the mountain, out of the misty valley into the sun. The fire on the cattle range, the potatoes in the ashes, the boathouse floating in the lake. The Southern Cross.
The dying man slowly begins to speak Damiel's thoughts out loud.
They speak together at first. Then, Damiel walks away, and only the
Dying Man speaks: The Far East. The Great North. The Wild West. The Great Bear Lake. Tristan da Cunha. The Mississippi Delta. Stromboli. The old houses of Charlottenburg. Albert Camus. The morning light. The child's eyes. The swim in the waterfall. The spots of the first drops of rain. The sun. The bread and wine. Hopping. Easter. The veins of leaves. The blowing grass. The color of stones. The pebbles on the stream's bed. The white tablecloth outdoors. The dream of the house in the house. The dear one asleep in the next room. The peaceful Sundays. The horizon. The light from the room in the garden. The night flight. Riding a bicycle with no hands. The beautiful stranger. My father. My mother. My wife. My child.

[flawedplan]

Fuck.

I'm gonna cry.

[flawedplan]

A little something to lighten the mood.

Brando:

I've seen horrors... horrors that you've seen. But you have no right to call me a murderer. You have a right to kill me. You have a right to do that... but you have no right to judge me. It's impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means. Horror. Horror has a face... and you must make a friend of horror. Horror and moral terror are your friends. If they are not then they are enemies to be feared. They are truly enemies. I remember when I was with Special Forces. Seems a thousand centuries ago. We went into a camp to inoculate the children. We left the camp after we had inoculated the children for Polio, and this old man came running after us and he was crying. He couldn't see. We went back there and they had come and hacked off every inoculated arm. There they were in a pile. A pile of little arms. And I remember... I... I... I cried. I wept like some grandmother. I wanted to tear my teeth out. I didn't know what I wanted to do. And I want to remember it. I never want to forget it. I never want to forget. And then I realized... like I was shot... like I was shot with a diamond... a diamond bullet right through my forehead. And I thought: My God... the genius of that. The genius. The will to do that. Perfect, genuine, complete, crystalline, pure. And then I realized they were stronger than we. Because they could stand that these were not monsters. These were men... trained cadres. These men who fought with their hearts, who had families, who had children, who were filled with love... but they had the strength... the strength... to do that. If I had ten divisions of those men our troubles here would be over very quickly. You have to have men who are moral... and at the same time who are able to utilize their primordial instincts to kill without feeling... without passion... without judgment... without judgment. Because it's judgment that defeats us.

[newslady]

Monty Brogan (Ed Norton) ~ The 25th Hour

Monty staring in the bathroom mirror: Yeah, fuck you, too.

Monty's Reflection: Fuck me? Fuck you! Fuck you and this whole city and everyone in it.

Fuck the panhandlers, grubbing for money, and smiling at me behind my back.

Fuck squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car. Get a fucking job!

Fuck the Sikhs and the Pakistanis bombing down the avenues in decrepit cabs, curry steaming out their pores and stinking up my day. Terrorists in fucking training. Slow the fuck down!

Fuck the Chelsea boys with their waxed chests and pumped up biceps. Going down on each other in my parks and on my piers, jingling their dicks on my Channel 35.

Fuck the Korean grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in the country, still no speaky English?

Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobster thugs sitting in cafés, sipping tea in little glasses, sugar cubes between their teeth. Wheelin' and dealin' and schemin'. Go back where you fucking came from!

Fuck the black-hatted Chassidim, strolling up and down 47th street in their dirty gabardine with their dandruff. Selling South African apartheid diamonds!

Fuck the Wall Street brokers. Self-styled masters of the universe. Michael Douglas, Gordon Gecko wannabe mother fuckers, figuring out new ways to rob hard working people blind. Send those Enron assholes to jail for fucking life! You think Bush and Cheney didn't know about that shit? Give me a fucking break! Tyco! Imclone! Adelphia! Worldcom!

Fuck the Puerto Ricans. 20 to a car, swelling up the welfare rolls, worst fuckin' parade in the city. And don't even get me started on the Dom-in-i-cans, because they make the Puerto Ricans look good.

Fuck the Bensonhurst Italians with their pomaded hair, their nylon warm-up suits, and their St. Anthony medallions. Swinging their, Jason Giambi, Louisville slugger, baseball bats, trying to audition for the Sopranos.

Fuck the Upper East Side wives with their Hermés scarves and their fifty-dollar Balducci artichokes. Overfed faces getting pulled and lifted and stretched, all taut and shiny. You're not fooling anybody, sweetheart!

Fuck the uptown brothers. They never pass the ball, they don't want to play defense, they take fives steps on every lay-up to the hoop. And then they want to turn around and blame everything on the white man. Slavery ended one hundred and thirty seven years ago. Move the fuck on!

Fuck the corrupt cops with their anus violating plungers and their 41 shots, standing behind a blue wall of silence. You betray our trust!

Fuck the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants. Fuck the church that protects them, delivering us into evil. And while you're at it, fuck JC! He got off easy! A day on the cross, a weekend in hell, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity! Try seven years in fuckin Otisville, Jay!

Fuck Osama Bin Laden, Al-Queda, and backward-ass, cave-dwelling, fundamentalist assholes everywhere. On the names of innocent thousands murdered, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your seventy-two whores roasting in a jet-fueled fire in hell. You towel headed camel jockeys can kiss my royal, Irish ass!

Fuck Jacob Elinski, whining malcontent.

Fuck Francis Xavier Slaughtery, my best friend, judging me while he stares at my girlfriend's ass.

Fuck Naturell Rivera. I gave her my trust and she stabbed me in the back. Sold me up the river. Fucking bitch.

Fuck my father with his endless grief, standing behind that bar. Sipping on club soda, selling whiskey to firemen and cheering the Bronx Bombers.

Fuck this whole city and everyone in it. From the row houses of Astoria to the penthouses on Park Avenue. From the projects in the Bronx to the lofts in Soho. From the tenements in Alphabet City to the brownstones in Park slope to the split levels in Staten Island. Let an earthquake crumble it. Let the fires rage. Let it burn to fuckin ash then let the waters rise and submerge this whole, rat-infested place.

Monty: No. No, fuck you, Montgomery Brogan. You had it all and then you threw it away, you dumb fuck!

[newslady]

Cardinal Glick (George Carlin) ~ Dogma


Cardinal Glick announcing a new campaign from the Church: Thank you, Thank you. Now we all know how the majority and the media in this country view the catholic church. They think of us as a passe, archaic institution. People find the Bible obtuse, even hokey.

Now, in an effort to disprove all that the church has appointed this year as a time of renewal both of faith and of style. For example, the crucifix. While it has been a time-honored symbol of our faith, Holy Mother church has decided to retire this highly recognizable yet wholly depressing image of our Lord, crucified.

Christ didn't come to earth to give us the willies. He came to help us out. He was a booster, and its with that take on our Lord in mind that we've come up with a new, more inspiring Sigil.

So, it is with great pleasure that I present you with the first of many revamps the "Catholicism Wow!" campaign will unveil over the next year, I give you....The Buddy Christ. That's not the sanctioned term we're using for the symbol. Just something we've been kicking around the office. But look at it: Doesn't it pop? Buddy Christ.

[GammaWaif]

Monty Brogan (Ed Norton) ~ The 25th Hour



Damn! Thanks for posting that one, Newsy, it's a masterpiece.

:1clap2:

[rossshow]

Trainspotting

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton:

Relinquishing junk.

Stage one, preparation. For this you will need one room which you will not leave.

Soothing music. Tomato soup, ten tins of. Mushroom soup, eight tins of, for consumption cold. Ice cream, vanilla, one large tub of. Magnesia, milk of, one bottle.

Paracetamol, mouthwash, vitamins. Mineral water, Lucozade, pornography.

One mattress. One bucket for urine, one for feces and one for vomitus.

One television and one bottle of Valium. Which I've already procured from my mother. Who is, in her own domestic and socially acceptable way also a drug addict.

And now I'm ready.

All I need is one final hit to soothe the pain while the Valium takes effect.

[GammaWaif]

Bette Davis, in All About Eve


Let's not fumble for excuses, not
here and now with my hair down. At
best, let's say I've been
oversensitive to... well, to the
fact that she's so young - so
feminine and helpless. To so many
things I want to be for Bill...
funny business, a woman's career.
The things you drop on your way up
the ladder, so you can move faster.
You forget you'll need them again
when you go back to being a woman.
That's one career all females have
in common - whether we like it or
not - being a woman.
Sooner or later we've all got to
work at it, no matter what other
careers we've had or wanted... and,
in the last analysis, nothing is
any good unless you can look up
just before dinner or turns around
in bed - and there he is. Without
that, you're not woman. You're
something with a French provincial
office or a book full of clippings -
but you're not a woman...
... slow curtain. The end.

:1clap2: