A monologue from the screenplay written by Mike Myers
Dr. Evil
The details of my life are quite inconsequential. Very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery.
My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark.
Some times he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy, the sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament.
My childhood was typical, summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we’d make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds, pretty standard really.
At the age of 12 I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my t*sticles. There really is nothing like a shorn scr*tum, it’s breathtaking, I suggest you try it.
This afternoon, I couldn’t decide between a tamale and a tuna melt, but my life made sense. And now, I know exactly what I want, and my life doesn’t make any sense.
And I was doing fine this afternoon, I was doing great! That was me then. But I don’t know, somewhere between the tuna melt and your aunt’s tamales… and they were really great.
I was afraid that I had already met the woman of my dreams at the dry cleaner’s or something and I was just too busy to notice. But now I’m here and I see that that’s not true because.. it’s you. Isabel, you’re the one!
You are everything I never knew I always wanted. I’m not even sure what that means exactly, but I think it has something to do with the rest of my life! And I think we should get married. Right now!
A monologue from the screenplay written by Quentin Tarantino
Mr. Brown
Let me tell you what “Like a Virgin’” is about. It’s all about a girl who digs a guy with a big d*ck. The entire song, it’s a metaphor for big d*cks. Like a Virgin’s not about some sensitive girl who meets a nice fella.
That’s what True Blue’s about. Now, granted, no argument about that…Let me tell you what Like a Virgin’s about. It’s all about this cooze who’s a regular f***machine.
I’m talkin’ morning, day, night, afternoon, d*ck, d*ck, d*ck, d*ck, d*ck, d*ck, d*ck, d*ck, d*ck… Then one day, she meets this John Holmes motherf***er, and it’s like, whoa baby. I mean, this cat is like Charles Bronson in “The Great Escape”.
He’s digging tunnels. She’s getting this serious d*ck action and she’s feelin’ something she ain’t felt since forever. Pain. Pain. It hurts. It hurts her. It shouldn’t hurt her. You know, her pu**y should be Bubble Yum by now, but when this cat f***s her, it hurts.
It hurts just like it did the first time. You see, the pain is reminding a f*** machine what it was once like to be a virgin. Hence … Like a Virgin.
A monologue from the Broadway musical written by Mel Brooks
Max
I’m drowning! I’m drowning here! I’m going down for the last time! I…I see my whole life flashing before my eyes! I see a weathered old farm house. And I white picket fence…
I’m running through fields of alfalfa with my collie, Rex — Rex, stop it! — I see my mother, standing in the back porch in a worn but clean gingham gown. And she’s calling out to me…
“Alvin! Don’t forget your chores! The wood needs a-cordin’ and the cows need a-milkin’! Alvin! Alvin! Al–” Wait a minute, my name’s not Alvin.
That’s not my life! I’m not a hillbilly, I grew up in the Bronx! Leo’s taken everything, even my past!
Listen to me. Dale, look, when I was a kid…when I was a little boy, I always wanted to be a dinosaur. I wanted to be a Tyrannosaurus rex more than anything in the world.
I made my arms short and I roamed the backyard…and I chased the neighborhood cats, and I growled and I roared. Everybody knew me and was afraid of me.
And then one day, my dad said, “Bobby, you’re 17. It’s time to throw childish things aside.” And I said, “Okay, Pop.” But he didn’t really say that, he said, “Stop being a f***ing dinosaur and get a job.”
But, you know, I thought to myself, “I’ll go to medical school…l’ll practice for a little while, and then I’ll come back to it. […] But I forgot how to do it. […] Hey, I lost it.
Son, I wanted to talk to you about what I think you were trying to do the other day. Now, you may have tried it in the shower, or maybe in bed at night, and not even known what you were doing.
Or perhaps you’ve heard your friends talking about it in the locker room. Sure you know, son, but I think you’ve been having a little problem with it. It’s okay, though.
What you’re doing is perfectly normal. It’s like practice. Like when you play tennis against a wall. Someday, there’ll be a partner returning the ball.
You do want a partner, don’t you son? Now remember, it’s okay to play with yourself. Or, as I always called it — (elbows Jim) “Stroke the salami!” (chuckles) Ho-ho, Jim.
There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Hell, I’m fifty-two, and I still enjoy masturbating. Uncle Mort m*sturbates. We all m*sturbate.
A monologue from the screenplay by Babaloo Mandel and Lowell Ganz
Mitch
‘Value this time in your life kids, because this is the time in your life when you still have your choices, and it goes by so quickly. When you’re a teenager you think you can do anything, and you do.
Your twenties are a blur. Your thirties, you raise your family, you make a little money and you think to yourself, “What happened to my twenties?” In your forties, you grow a little pot belly you grow another chin.
The music starts to get too loud and one of your old girlfriends from high school becomes a grandmother. Your fifties you have a minor surgery. You’ll call it a procedure, but it’s a surgery.
Your sixties you have a major surgery, the music is still loud but it doesn’t matter because you can’t hear it anyway. The seventies, you and the wife retire to Fort Lauderdale, you start eating dinner at two, lunch around ten, breakfast the night before.
And you spend most of your time wandering around malls looking for the ultimate in soft yogurt and muttering “how come the kids don’t call?”
By your eighties, you’ve had a major stroke, and you end up babbling to some Jamaican nurse who your wife can’t stand but who you call mama. Any questions?’
A monologue from the screen play by David Sheffield
Reverend Brown
But you know, when I look at these contestants! For the Miss Black Awareness Pageant, I feel good! I feel good, because I know there’s a God somewhere! There’s a God somewhere!
Turn around ladies for me please! You know there’s a God who sits on high and looks down low! Man cannot make it like this! Larry Flynt! Hugh Hefner! They can take the picture, but you can’t make it!
Only God above, the Hugh Hefner on high, can make it for ya! … Do you love Him? Do you feel joy? Say “Joy”! Joy! Can I get an “Ahe-men”? Don’t be ashamed to call His name! …
Only God can give that woman the kind of joy she has right there! Make a joyful noise unto the Lord! … Amen! Yes, sir! Can I get an “Amen”?
Ha! Ha! I don’t know what you come to do, but I come to praise the name! Lord, Lord!
Whose boons? Your boons? Utterly deceptive twaddle-speak, says I. (Pause) Cuttlefish. Aye. Let us not, dear friends, forget our dear friends, the cuttlefish.
Flipping glorious little sausages. Pen them up together, they’ll devour each other without a second thought. Human nature, isn’t it? Or…. fish nature.
So, yes, we could hole up here well-provisioned and well-armed. Half of us would be dead within the month. Which seems quite grim to me, any way you slice it…
Or… uh…. as my learned colleague so naively suggests, we can release Calypso, and we can pray that she will be merciful…
I rather doubt it. Can we pretend she’s anything other than a woman scorned like which fury hell hath no? We cannot. Res ipsa loquitur, tabula in naufragio.
We are left with but one option. I agree with, and I cannot believe the words are coming out of me mouth… Captain Swann. We must fight.
A monologue from the screenplay by Michael Diliberti and Matthew Sullivan
DWAYNE
I remember the summer after my mother passed was the first year they had the Monopoly game at McDonald’s. I musta come here three times a day trying to collect all the game pieces.
Packed on 20 pounds, got acne from all the grease. The Major said I was the fattest, ugliest 13-year-old he ever laid eyes on. But I didn’t care, I just wanted to win the money and get the f— out of there.
So, one night, I followed this skinny register kid home, jumped him. I kept whaling on him, asking him where they were hiding the Park Place piece. The million dollar prize.
But he didn’t know s—. A year later, The Major won the lotto. I asked him for a Sega Genesis. He bought me one of those paddles with the ball attached.
I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve gone through some dark times since then. Depression. Addiction to a variety of s—, which I won’t go into.
I know you must think that’s pretty silly, especially since you manage to get through the day and you don’t got s— going on as compared to me. But that’s just the way it is. That’s life.
Outta order? I’ll show you outta order! You don’t know what outta order is, Mr. Trask! I’d show you but I’m too old;
I’m too tired; I’m too f***in’ blind. If I were the man I was five years ago I’d take a FLAME-THROWER to this place!
Outta order. Who the hell you think you’re talkin’ to? I’ve been around, you know? There was a time I could see.
And I have seen boys like these, younger than these, their arms torn out, their legs ripped off. But there isn’t nothin’ like the sight of an amputated spirit; there is no prosthetic for that.
You think you’re merely sendin’ this splendid foot-soldier back home to Oregon with his tail between his legs, but I say you are executin’ his SOUL!!
And why?! Because he’s not a Baird man! Baird men, ya hurt this boy, you’re going to be Baird Bums, the lot of ya.
And Harry, Jimmy, Trent, wherever you are out there, F*** YOU, too!
Slade – 2
I’m not finished! As I came in here, I heard those words, “cradle of leadership.” Well, when the bough breaks, the cradle will fall.
And it has fallen here; it has fallen. Makers of men; creators of leaders; be careful what kind of leaders you’re producin’ here.
I don’t know if Charlie’s silence here today is right or wrong. I’m not a judge or jury. But I can tell you this: he won’t sell anybody out to buy his future!!
And that, my friends, is called integrity! That’s called courage! Now that’s the stuff leaders should be made of.
Now I have come to the crossroads in my life. I always knew what the right path was. Without exception, I knew.
But I never took it. You know why? It was too damn hard. Now here’s Charlie. He’s come to the crossroads.
He has chosen a path. It’s the right path. It’s a path made of principle — that leads to character. Let him continue on his journey.
You hold this boy’s future in your hands, committee. It’s a valuable future. Believe me. Don’t destroy it! Protect it.
Embrace it. It’s gonna make ya proud one day — I promise you.
A monologue from the screenplay by Frank Darabont and Stephen King
Redding
Rehabilitated? Well, now, let me see. You know, I don’t have any idea what that means. — I know what you think it means, sonny.
To me, it’s just a made up word, a politician’s word, so that young fellas like yourself can wear a suit and a tie and have a job.
What do you really wanna know? Am I sorry for what I did? here’s not a day goes by I don’t feel regret. Not because I’m in here, or because you think I should.
I look back on the way I was then, a young, stupid kid who committed that terrible crime. I wanna talk to him.
I wanna try to talk some sense to him — tell him the way things are. But I can’t. That kid’s long gone and this old man is all that’s left.
I gotta live with that. Rehabilitated? It’s just a bullsh*t word. So you go on and stamp your form, sonny, and stop wasting my time.
Because to tell you the truth, I don’t give a sh*t.
A monologue from the screenplay by Lily Wachowski, Lana Wachowski, and Tom Tykwer
Isaac Sachs
Belief, like fear or love, is a force to be understood as we understand the Theory of Relativity and Principles of Uncertainty: phenomenon that determine the course of our lives.
Yesterday, my life was headed in one direction. Today, it is headed in another. Yesterday I believed that I would never have done what I did today.
These forces that often remake time and space, that can shape and alter who we imagine ourselves to be, begin long before we are born and continue after we perish.
Our lives and our choices, like quantum trajectories, are understood moment to moment. At each point of intersection, each encounter suggests a new potential direction.
Proposition: I’ve fallen in love with Luisa Rey. Is this possible? I just met her, and yet…I feel like something important has happened to me.
A monologue from the screenplay by Frances Goodrich and Albert Hackett
Bailey
Just a minute – just a minute. Now, hold on, Mr. Potter. Just a minute. Now, you’re right when you say my father was no business man.
I know that. Why he ever started this cheap, penny-ante Building and Loan, I’ll never know.
But neither you nor anybody else can say anything against his character, because his whole life was —
Why, in the twenty-five years since he and Uncle Billy started this thing, he never once thought of himself.
Isn’t that right, Uncle Billy? He didn’t save enough money to send Harry to school, let alone me. But he did help a few people get outta your slums, Mr. Potter.
And what’s wrong with that? Why — here, you’re all businessmen here. Don’t it make them better citizens?
Doesn’t it make them better customers? You, you said that they — What’d you say just a minute ago?
They had to wait and save their money before they even thought of a decent home. Wait? Wait for what?! Until their children grow up and leave them?
Until they’re so old and broken-down that — You know how long it takes a workin’ man to save five thousand dollars?
Just remember this, Mr. Potter, that this rabble you’re talking about, they do most of the working and paying and living and dying in this community.
Well, is it too much to have them work and pay and live and die in a couple of decent rooms and a bath?
Anyway, my father didn’t think so. People were human beings to him, but to you, a warped, frustrated old man, they’re cattle.
Well, in my book he died a much richer man than you’ll ever be.
A monologue from the screenplay by William Broyles Jr. and Al Reinert
Jim Lovell
Uh well, I’ll tell ya, I remember this one time – I’m in a Banshee at night in combat conditions, so there’s no running lights on the carrier.
It was the Shrangri-La, and we were in the Sea of Japan and my radar had jammed, and my homing signal was gone… because somebody in Japan was actually using the same frequency.
And so it was – it was leading me away from where I was supposed to be. And I’m lookin’ down at a big, black ocean,
so I flip on my map light, and then suddenly: zap. Everything shorts out right there in my cockpit.
All my instruments are gone. My lights are gone. And I can’t even tell now what my altitude is. I know I’m running out of fuel, so I’m thinking about ditching in the ocean.
And I, I look down there, and then in the darkness there’s this uh, there’s this green trail. It’s like a long carpet that’s just laid out right beneath me.
And it was the algae, right? It was that phosphorescent stuff that gets churned up in the wake of a big ship.
And it was – it was – it was leading me home. You know? If my cockpit lights hadn’t shorted out, there’s no way I’d ever been able to see that.
So uh, you, uh, never know… what… what events are to transpire to get you home.
A monologue from the screenplay by Lily andLana Wachowski
Agent Smith
Why, Mr. Anderson? Why? Why do you do it? Why? Why get up? Why keep fighting? Do you believe you’re fighting for something?
Something more than your survival? Can you tell me what it is? Do you even know? Is it freedom or truth? Perhaps peace? Could it be for love?
Illusions, Mr. Anderson. Vagaries of perception. Temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence that is without meaning or purpose.
And all of them as artificial as the Matrix itself, although, only a human mind could invent something as insipid as love.
You must be able to see it Mr. Anderson. You must know it by now. You can’t win. It’s pointless to keep fighting.
A monologue from the screenplay by Steven Zaillian, Kenneth Lonergan, Jay C.
Bill “The Butcher” Cutting
I’m forty-seven. Forty-seven years old. You know how I stayed alive this long? All these years? Fear. The spectacle of fearsome acts.
Somebody steals from me, I cut off his hands. He offends me, I cut out his tongue.
He rises against me, I cut off his head, stick it on a pike, raise it high up so all on the streets can see. That’s what preserves the order of things.
Fear. That one tonight, who was he? A nobody. A coward. What an ignominious end that would have been.
I killed the last honorable man fifteen years ago. Since then, it’s… You seen his portrait downstairs? (pause)
Is your mouth all glued up with cunny juice? I asked you a question…. (laughs) Oh, you got a murderous rage in you, and I like it.
It’s life, boiling up inside of you. It’s good. The Priest and me, we lived by the same principles. It was only faith divided us.
He gave me this, you know. That was the finest beating I ever took. My face was pulp, my guts was pierced, and my ribs was all mashed up.
And when he came to finish me, I couldn’t look him in the eye. He spared me because he wanted me to live in shame.
This was a great man. A great man. So I cut out the eye that looked away. Sent it to him wrapped in blue paper.
I would have cut ’em both out if I could have fought him blind. Then I rose back up again with a full heart and buried him in his own blood…
He was the only man I ever killed worth remembering.
A monologue from the screenplay by Quentin Tarantino
SS Colonel Hans Landa
Monsieur LaPadite, are you aware of the nickname the people of France have given me? … But you are aware of what they call me. …
What are you aware of? … [“The Jew Hunter.” ]… Precisely. I understand your trepidation in repeating it.
Heydrich apparently hates the moniker the good people of Prague have bestowed on him. Actually, why he would hate the name “the Hangman” is baffling to me.
It would appear he has done everything in his power to earn it. Now I, on the other hand, love my unofficial title precisely because I’ve earned it.
The feature that makes me such an effective hunter of the Jews is, as opposed to most German soldiers, I can think like a Jew where they can only think like a German.
More precisely, a German soldier. Now, if one were to determine what attribute the German people share with a beast, it would be the cunning and the predatory instinct of a hawk.
But if one were to determine what attributes the Jews share with a beast, it would be that of the rat.
The Fuhrer and Goebbels’ propaganda have said pretty much the same thing. But where our conclusions differ, is I don’t consider the comparison an insult.
Consider for a moment the world a rat lives in. It’s a hostile world, indeed. If a rat were to scamper through your front door, right now, would you greet it with hostility? …
Has a rat ever done anything to you to create this animosity you feel toward them?
Rats were the cause of the bubonic plague, but that’s some time ago. I propose to you any disease a rat could spread, a squirrel could equally carry.
Would you agree? Yet, I assume you don’t share the same animosity with squirrels that you do with rats, do you?
Yet, they’re both rodents, are they not? And except for the tail, they even rather look alike, don’t they?
However interesting as the thought may be, it makes not one bit of difference to how you feel. If a rat were to walk in here, right now, as I’m talking would you greet it with a saucer of your delicious milk?
I didn’t think so. You don’t like them. You don’t really know why you don’t like them. All you know is you find them repulsive.
Consequently, a German soldier conducts a search of a house suspected of hiding Jews. Where does the hawk look?
He looks in the barn, he looks in the attic, he looks in the cellar, he looks everywhere he would hide. But there are so many places it would never occur to a hawk to hide.
However, the reason the Fuhrer has brought me off my Alps in Austria and placed me in French cow country today is because it does occur to me.
Because I’m aware what tremendous feats human beings are capable of once they abandon dignity. May I smoke my pipe as well? …
Now, my job dictates that I must have my men enter your home and conduct a thorough search before I can officially cross your family’s name off my list.
And if there are any irregularities to be found, rest assured they will be. That is unless you have something to tell me that makes the conducting of a search unnecessary.
I might add, also, that any information that makes the performance of my duty easier will not be met with punishment.
Actually, quite the contrary. It will be met with reward.
And that reward will be, your family will cease to be harassed in any way by the German military during the rest of our occupation of your country.
You’re sheltering enemies of the state, are you not?
The clocks stopped at 1:17. There was a long shear of bright light, then a series of low concussions.
Within a year there were fires on the ridges and deranged chanting. By day, the dead impaled on spikes along the road.
I think it’s October but I can’t be sure. I haven’t kept a calendar for years. Each day is more gray than the one before.
It’s cold and growing colder as the world slowly dies. No animals have survived, and all the crops are long gone.
Soon all the trees in the world will fall. The roads are peopled by refugees stealing cars and gangs carrying weapons.
Looking for fuel and food. Within a year there were fires on the ridges and deranged chanting. There has been cannibalism, cannibalism is the great fear.
Mostly I’m worried about food, always food. Food and the cold and our shoes.
Sometimes I tell the boy old stories of courage and justice, difficult as they are to remember. All I know is the child is my warrant.
And if he’s not the word of God, then God never spoke.
