Geweldige monologen in films...

Kol. Kurtz op het einde:

" 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 terrorare 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 innoculate the children. We left the camp after we had innoculated the children for Polio, and this old man came running after us and he was crying. He couldn't see. We wentback there and they had come and hacked off every innoculated 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 primordal instincts to kill without feeling...without passion... without judgement...without judgement. Because it's judgement that defeats us. "

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Op maandag 26 mei 2003 12:40 schreef Frggl het volgende:
Quentin Tarantoni = briljant

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Het is Tarantino maar verder heb je groot gelijk

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Op maandag 26 mei 2003 13:02 schreef HeyFreak het volgende:

[..]

Tarantoni

Het is Tarantino maar verder heb je groot gelijk

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uit Taxi Driver

Mystery Man: We've met before, haven't we.

Fred Madison: I don't think so. Where was it you think we met?
Mystery Man: At your house. Don't you remember?
Fred Madison: No. No, I don't. Are you sure?
Mystery Man: Of course. As a matter of fact, I'm there right now.
Fred Madison: What do you mean? You're where right now?
Mystery Man: At your house.
Fred Madison: That's fucking crazy, man.
Mystery Man: Call me. Dial your number. Go ahead.
Mystery Man: Call Me. Dial your number. Go ahead.
Mystery Man: [over the phone] I told you I was here.
Fred Madison: [amused] How'd you do that?
Mystery Man: Ask me.
Fred Madison: How did you get inside my house?
Mystery Man: You invited me. It is not my custom to go where I am not wanted.
Fred Madison: (into the phone) Who are you?
Mystery Man: Give me back my phone.
Mystery Man: It's been a pleasure talking to you.

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Op maandag 26 mei 2003 13:23 schreef Chooselife het volgende:
Lost Highway:

Mystery Man: We've met before, haven't we.
-knip-

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Op maandag 26 mei 2003 12:18 schreef Philosocles het volgende:
Pulp Fiction

Christopher Walken geeft een horloge aan zijn zoontje en vertelt wat over de geschiedenis van het uurwerkje:

"The way your dad looked at it, this watch was your birthright. He'd be damned if any of the slopes were gonna get their greasy yellow hands on his boy's birthright. So he hid it in the one place he knew he could hide something: his ass. Five long years, he wore this watch up his ass. Then when he died of dysentery, he gave me the watch. I hid this uncomfortable piece of metal up my ass for two years. Then, after seven years, I was sent home to my family. And now, little man, I give the watch to you."

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Op maandag 26 mei 2003 13:47 schreef ChrisJX het volgende:

[..]

Is dit ook uit Pulp Fiction?
Maar geeft die Christopher Walken het dan niet aan zijn stiefzoontje oid?

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Fuck Martha Stewart. Martha's polishes on the brass of the Titanic. It's all going down, man! So fuck off, with your sofa units and your green stripe patterns. I say never be complete. I say stop being perfect. I say let's evolve and let the chips fall where they may. But that's me, I could be wrong, maybe it's a terrible tragedy.

Well, I got to tell ya...I'd be very, very careful who I talked to about this. Because the person who wrote that...is dangerous. And this button-down oxford cloth psycho, might just snap at any moment, stalking from office to office with an Armatile AR-10 Carbine-Gas semiautomatic weapon, bitterly pumping round after round into colleagues and co-workers. Might be someone you've known for years...someone very, very close to you.

[Dit bericht is gewijzigd door Slarioux op 26-05-2003 13:58]

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Op maandag 26 mei 2003 13:51 schreef Slarioux het volgende:
Jack and Tyler each stir a boiling pot.
-edit-

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Op maandag 26 mei 2003 13:53 schreef brazen het volgende:

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Dat is toch geen monoloog?

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Ik las net weer iets anders... ik speciaal zoeken naar gesprekken ipv monologen

Zal zo editten

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Op maandag 26 mei 2003 13:45 schreef sweek het volgende:

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Dat is een dialoog, geen monoloog...

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This is where the hungry come to feed. From mine it's a generation that's circles the globe and searches something we haven't tried before. So never refuse an invitation, never resist the unfamiliar, never fail to be polite and never outstay the welcome. Just keep your mind and suck in the experience. And if it hurts, it's probably worth it.
And me, I still believe in paradise. But now at least I know its not some place you can look for, cause its not where you go. Its how you feel for a moment in your life when your apart of something, and if you find that moment... it lasts forever...

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Op maandag 26 mei 2003 13:53 schreef brazen het volgende:

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Dat is toch geen monoloog?

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Jawel dat is wel een monoloog

\SPOILER

The Usual Suspects
"The Tale of Keyser Soze"

Verbal Kint: He's supposed to be Turkish. Some say his father was German. Nobody ever believed he was real. Nobody ever knew him or saw anybody that ever worked directly for him. But to hear Kobayashi tell it, anybody could have worked for Soze. You never knew; that was his power. The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.
One story the guys told me, the story I believe, was from his days in Turkey. There was a gang of Hungarians that wanted their own mob. They realized that to be in power, you didn't need guns or money or even numbers. You just needed the will to do what the other guy wouldn't. After a while, they come into power and then they come after Soze. He was small-time then, just running dope, they say. (We see all of this in flashback) They come to his home in the afternoon, looking for his business. They find his wife and kids in the house and decide to wait for Soze. He comes home to find his wife raped and children screaming. The Hungarians knew Soze was tough, not to be trifled with, so they let him know they meant business. They tell him they want his territory, all his business. Soze looks over the faces of his family. Then he showed these men of will what will really was.
(Soze shoots two Hungarians, then shoots his children and his wife as the last Hungarian watches in surprised horror)
He tells him he would rather see his family dead than live another day after this. He lets the last Hungarian go, waits until his wife and kids are in the ground, and then he goes after the rest of the mob. He kills their kids. He kills their wives. He kills their parents and their parents' friends. He burns down the houses they live in, the stores they work in. He kills people that owe them money. And like that, he's gone. Underground. Nobody's ever seen him since. He becomes a myth, a spook story that criminals tell their kids at night. "Rat on your pop and Keyser Soze will get you." But no one ever really believes.
Agent Kujon: Do you believe in him, Verbal?
Verbal Kint: Keaton always said, "I don't believe in God, but I'm afraid of him." Well, I believe in God -- and the only thing that scares me is Keyser Soze.

Blake: You call yourself a salesman, you son of a bitch?
Moss: I don't have to listen to this shit.
Blake: You certainly don't pal. 'Cause the good news is -- you're fired. The bad news is you've got, all you got, just one week to regain your jobs, starting tonight. Starting with tonights sit. Oh, have I got your attention now? Good. 'Cause we're adding a little something to this months sales contest. As you all know, first prize is a Cadillac Eldorado. Anyone want to see second prize? Second prize's a set of steak knives. Third prize is you're fired. You get the picture? You're laughing now? You got leads. Mitch and Murray paid good money. Get their names to sell them! You can't close the leads you're given, you can't close shit, you ARE shit, hit the bricks pal and beat it 'cause you are going out!!!
Levene: The leads are weak.
Blake: 'The leads are weak.' Fucking leads are weak? You're weak. I've been in this business fifteen years.
Moss: What's your name?
Blake: FUCK YOU, that's my name!! You know why, Mister? 'Cause you drove a Hyundai to get here tonight, I drove a eighty thousand dollar BMW. That's my name!! (to Levene) And your name is "you're wanting." And you can't play in a man's game. You can't close them. (at a near whisper) And you go home and tell your wife your troubles. (to everyone again) Because only one thing counts in this life! Get them to sign on the line which is dotted! You hear me, you fucking faggots?
(Blake flips over a blackboard which has two sets of anagrams on it: ABC, and AIDA.)
Blake: A-B-C. A-always, B-be, C-closing. Always be closing! Always be closing!! A-I-D-A. Attention, interest, decision, action. Attention -- do I have your attention? Interest -- are you interested? I know you are because it's fuck or walk. You close or you hit the bricks! Decision -- have you made your decision for Christ?!! And action. A-I-D-A; get out there!! You got the prospects comin' in; you think they came in to get out of the rain? Guy doesn't walk on the lot unless he wants to buy. Sitting out there waiting to give you their money! Are you gonna take it? Are you man enough to take it? (to Moss) What's the problem pal? You. Moss.
Moss: You're such a hero, you're so rich. Why you coming down here and waste your time on a bunch of bums?
(Blake sits and takes off his gold watch)
Blake: You see this watch? You see this watch? That watch cost more than your car. I made $970,000 last year. How much you make? You see, pal, that's who I am. And you're nothing. Nice guy? I don't give a shit. Good father? Fuck you -- go home and play with your kids!! (to everyone) You wanna work here? Close!! (to Aaronow) You think this is abuse? You think this is abuse, you cocksucker? You can't take this -- how can you take the abuse you get on a sit?! You don't like it -- leave. I can go out there tonight with the materials you got, make myself fifteen thousand dollars! Tonight! In two hours! Can you? Can you? Go and do likewise! A-I-D-A!! Get mad! You sons of bitches! Get mad!! You know what it takes to sell real estate?
(He pulls something out of briefcase)
It takes brass balls to sell real estate.

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Op maandag 26 mei 2003 14:00 schreef InWonderland het volgende:

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SPOILER......

Jawel dat is wel een monoloog

\SPOILER

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Lester (voiceover):
My name is Lester Burnham. This is my street. This is my neighborhood. This is my life. I am 42 years old. In less than a year, I will be dead. Of course, I don't know that yet, and in a way, I'm dead already. Look at me, jerking off in the shower. This will be the highlight of my day. It's all downhill from here. That's my wife Carolyn. See the way the handle on those pruning shears match her gardening clogs? That's not an accident. That's our neighbor, Jim, and that's his lover, Jim. Man, Iget exhausted just watching her. She wasn't always like this. She used to be happy. We used to be happy. My daughter, Jane. Only child. Janie's a pretty typical teenager: angry, insecure, confused. I wish I could tell her that's all going to pass...but I don't want to lie to her. Both my wife and daughter think I'm this gigantic loser. And in a way, they're right. I have lost something. I'm not exactly sure what, but I know I didn't always feel this...sedated. But you know what? It's never too late to get it back.

(Agent Smith to Morpheus)

"Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact
that we had to sacrifice a whole
Saturday in detention for whatever
it was we did wrong. But we think
you're crazy to make an essay
telling you who we think we are.
You see us as you want to see us...
In the simplest terms, in the most
convenient definitions.
But what we found out is that each
one of us is a brain..."

Emilio Estevez (Andrew):

"...and an athlete..."

Ally Sheedy (Allison):

"...and a basket case..."

Molly Ringwald (Claire):

"...a princess..."

Judd Nelson (Bender):

"...and a criminal..."

Anthony Michael Hall (Brian):
Does that answer your question?
Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club.

"Son, we live in a world that has walls, and those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Lt. Weinburg? I have more responsibility here than you could possibly fathom.

You weep for Santiago, and you curse the marines. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That Santiago's death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And that my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives.

I know deep down in places you dont talk about at parties, you don't want me on that wall, you nééd me on that wall.

We use words like honor... code... loyalty.

We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom I provide, then question the manner in which I provide it. I prefer you said thank you, and went on your way, Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a weapon, and stand to post. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you are entitled to!"

Ik krijg er nog de kouwe rillingen van als ik er aan denk. Vooral de opbouw en de manier van uitdrukken die Jack Nicholson gebruikt is indrukwekkend.

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Op maandag 26 mei 2003 16:36 schreef Bombie het volgende:
Uit A Few Good Men:

...getyp en gepraat...

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