Edward Norton Monologues

Yeah, fuck you, too. 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 the 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 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 Gekko 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! Worldcom! Fuck the Puerto Ricans. Twenty 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, 'cause they make the Puerto Ricans look good. Fuck the Bensonhurst Italians with their pomaded hair, their nylon warm-up suits, 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 Hermès 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 five 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 J.C.! 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, J.! Fuck Osama Bin Laden, al-Qaeda, 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-fuel fire in hell. You towel-headed camel jockeys can kiss my royal Irish ass! Fuck Jacob Elinsky. Whining malcontent. Fuck Francis Xavier Slaughtery my best friend, judging me while he stares at my girlfriend's ass. Fuck Naturelle Riviera, 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 sodas, selling whisky 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 fucking ash and then let the waters rise and submerge this whole rat-infested place.

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

Champagne for my real friends, and real pain for my sham friends.

Y'know, people think I was after the money... and I was in a way. I mean, let's face it, money gets you nice things. I like... Italian shoes and a fast car like anybody else, but I don't need 'em. It's not like I grew up poor. I wasn't chasing the money, I was chasing a feeling. What I hungered for... was *sway*.

Sway is locking eyes with an undercover cop on the subway. You know what he is, and he knows what you are, and you *wink* at him... because he drives a battered Buick and you drive a vintage muscle car, and he can. Not. Touch. You. That, my friends, is sway.

Come forward. I am glad to meet Godfrey's son. He was one of my greatest teachers. He was there when, playing with the other boys, my arm was cut. It was he, not my father's physicians, who noticed that I felt no pain. He wept when he gave my father the news... that I am a leper. The Saracens say that this disease is God's vengence against the vanity of our kingdom. As wretched as I am, these Arabs believe that the chastisement that awaits me in hell is far more severe and lasting. If that's true, I call it unfair. Come. Sit.

Do you play?

The whole world is in chess. Any move can be the death of you. Do anything except remain where you started, and you can't be sure of your end. Were you sure of your end once?

What was it?

And now?

When I was sixteen, I won a great victory. I felt in that moment I would live to be a hundred. Now I know I shall not see thirty. None of us know our end, really, or what hand will guide us there. A king may move a man, a father may claim a son, but that man can also move himself, and only then does that man truly begin his own game. Remember that howsoever you are played or by whom, your soul is in your keeping alone, even though those who presume to play you be kings or men of power. When you stand before God, you cannot say, "But I was told by others to do thus," or that virtue was not convenient at the time. This will not suffice. Remember that.

A King may move a man, a father may claim a son, but remember that even when those who move you be Kings, or men of power, your soul is in your keeping alone. When you stand before God, you cannot say, "But I was told by others to do thus." Or that, "Virtue was not convenient at the time." This will not suffice. Remember that.

Spare me your sermon. Go and prepare your people for the coronation of my nephew.

I shall confess to God when I see him... not to you. Now, leave me.

I pray you retire unharmed to Damascus. Reynald of Chatillon will be punished. I swear it. Withdraw or we will all die here.

On your knees… lower. I am… Jerusalem. And you, Reynald, will give me the kiss of peace.

My beautiful sister. So beautiful. I'm sorry if I've caused you any pain. Remember me as I was.

If you continue like this, I shall have to find some use for you. If God can spare you, that is.

I felt in that moment that I would live to be a hundred. Now I know I shall not see thirty.

From the moment we enter this life we are in the flow of it. We measure it and we mark it, but we cannot defy it. We cannot even speed it up or slow it down. Or can we? Have we not each experienced the sensation that a beautiful moment seemed to pass to quickly, and wished that we could make it linger? Or felt time slow on a dull day, and wished that we could speed things up a bit?

Everything you have seen here has been an illusion.

Everything you've seen is an illusion, it's a trick.

I was meant to return... I just... I kept thinking I'll find around the next corner...

A real mystery. I saw remarkable things but the only mystery I never solved was... why my heart couldn't let go of you.

I thought we might end this evening with a discussion of the soul. All of the greatest religions speak of the soul's endurance before the end of life. So what then does it mean to die?

My intention has only been to entertain, nothing more.

Larry, thousands of people petition the Supreme Court, OK? Thousands.

Our case is better than most, you're missing my point, and that is they will never pick you. Because you're a nightmare. They're afraid if they let you in there, you're gonna wear a diaper, or throw oranges at the justices, and they should be, Larry, because in all the times you've gone to the court asking for help, you've never once demonstrated any respect for its institutions and procedures.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you have heard a lot today, and I'm not gonna go back over it, but you have to go into that room and make some decisions. But before you do, there's something you need to know. I am not trying to suggest that you should like what Larry Flynt does. I don't like what Larry Flynt does, but what I do like is the fact that I live in a country where you and I can make that decision for ourselves. I like the fact that I live in a country where I can pick up Hustler magazine and read it, or throw it in the garbage can if that's where I think it belongs.

At the heart of the First Amendment is the recognition of the fundamental importance of the free flow of ideas, freedom to speak one's mind is not only an aspect of an individual liberty but is essential to the quest for truth and the vitality of society as a whole, in the world of debate about public affairs many things done with motives that are less than admirable are none of the less protected by the first amendment.

Look, it's not just them, Larry, okay? It's me! It's me! I am not taking you! Lawyers dream about a case like this in front of the Supreme Court, they dream of it. And they would probably hear us, if you want the truth. But I am not going with you! I have been giving you my best since back when people were laughing at you. And every time I come in there now, you fuck me with this bullshit circus act! I won't do it again. I can't. I'm not gonna do it in front of the Supreme Court of the United States. Your sentimental speeches and your cornball patriotism, they don't work on me anymore, Larry, because I don't believe you. I don't believe you.

Mr. Chief Justice and, may it please the court one of the cherished ideas, that we hold in this country is that there should be uninhibited public debate and freedom of speech. Now, the question you have before you today is whether a public' figure's right to protection from emotional distress should outweigh the public interest in allowing every citizen of this country to freely express his views.

Okay. Also, and more importantly, it was a satire of a public figure, of Jerry Falwell. Who in this case, was really a prime candidate for such a satire, because he's such an unlikely person to appear in a liquor ad. This is a person we are used to seeing at the pulpit, Bible in hand, preaching with a famously beatific smile on his face

Yes. Yes, Your Honor, there is a public interest in making Jerry Falwell look ludicrous, insofar as there is a public interest in having Hustler magazine express the point of view, that Jerry Falwell is full of BS. And, Hustler magazine has every right to express this view! They have the right to say that somebody who has campaigned, actively against their magazine, who has told people not to buy it, who has publicly said it poisons the minds of Americans, who in addition has told people that sex out of wedlock is immoral, that they shouldn't drink. Hustler magazine has a First Amendment right, to publicly respond to these comments, by saying that Jerry Falwell is full of BS. It says let's deflate this stuffed shirt and bring him down to our level.Our level, in this case being, admittedly a lower level then most people would like to be brought to.

I apologize, I know I'm not supposed to joke, but that's sort of the point.

It's interesting you mentioned George Washington Justice Scalia because very recently I saw a political cartoon that's over two hundred years old it depicts George Washington riding on a donkey being led by a man and the caption suggests this man is leading an ass to Washington

No, Justice Scalia, I would say there is no line between two, because really what you're talking about is a matter of taste, and not law. As you yourself said, I believe in Pope vs. Illinois It's useless to argue about taste, and even more useless to litigate it, and that is the case here. The jury has already determined for us that this is a matter of taste and not a matter of law, because they've said that there is no libelous speech, that nobody could reasonably believe that Hustler was actually suggesting that Jerry Falwell had sex with his mother.

Hustler puts him and his mother together as an example of literary travesty, if you will.

Well, it serves the same public purpose as having Gary Trudeau say that Reagan has no brain, or that George Bush is a wimp. It let's us look at public figures a little bit differently. We have a long tradition in this country of satiric commentary. Now, if Jerry Falwell can sue, when there has been no libelous speech, purely on the grounds of emotional distress, then so can other public figures. And, imagine if you will, suits against people like Gary Trudeau, and Johnny Carson for what says on The Tonight Show tonight. Obviously, when people criticize public figure, they're going to experience emotional distress, we all know that. It's the easiest thing in the world to claim, and it's impossible to refute, and that's what makes it a meaningless standard. Really all it does is allow us to punish unpopular speech, and this country is founded, at least in part, on the firm belief that unpopular speech, is absolutely vital to the health of our nation.

I have giving you my best since back when people were laughing at you, and every time we come in there now, you fuck me with this bullshit circus act.

I can exercise my right and not buy Hustler Magazine I like that I have that right I care about it and you should care about it too because we live in a free country we say that a lot but sometimes I think we forget what that really means so listen to it again " we live in a free country" and that is a powerful idea that is a magnificent way to live but there is a price for that freedom which is sometimes we have to tolerate things we don't necessarily like, so go back into that room where you are free to think whatever you want to think about Larry Flynt and Hustler Magazine but then ask yourselves if you want to make that decision for the rest of us because the freedom that everyone in this room enjoys is in a very real way in your hands and if we start throwing up walls against where some of us think is obscene we may very well wake up one morning and realize that walls have been thrown up in all kinds of places we never expected and we can't see anything or do anything and that's not freedom, that is not freedom so be careful, thank you.

Twenty seven, Harvard law school, three years in the public defender's office obviously you can get whoever you want to represent you in this case let me say this: your pretty far out there even for the guys that do a lot of this stuff. I am interested in your case, the problem you've got is definitely what I know best and I am good at what I do.

No, I don't specialize in porn, I'll be perfectly honest I don't particularly like what you do, I specialize in civil liberties.

This case is bigger than just you and your magazine in your case what's a little more troubling is this "organized crime" charge

I've got to ask you this one time: do you have any connection to organized crime?

Then this is a completely bullshit charge but we have to take this seriously because you can conceivably looking at seven to twenty five years in prison.

Can we discuss the fate of Cousin Bobby later? I think we should take this very seriously

Where the hell do you think you're going?

Hey, you look at me when I'm talkin' to you, bitch!

Fuck you, lady! Come here!

You wanna play rough, let's play rough. Come on, lets play rough!

Yeah, keep comin' closer asshole! Don't think I won't break her fuckin' neck!

Fuck you, Marty! I'm walkin' outta slowly. Really slow.

Hell, he couldn't kick his own ass.

I got you. You the lawyer. Well, you sure fucked this one up, didn't you, counselor! Looks to me like they're gonna shoot ol' Aaron so full o' poison it's gonna come out his eyes!

If you lay that tough-man shit on Aaron again, I will kick your fuckin' ass to Sunday!

Mr. Vail?

Will you t-tell Miss Venable I'm sorry? Tell her I hope her neck is okay.

Well… good for you, Marty. I was going to let it go at that. You was looking so happy just now. I was thinking, hmmm God. But to tell you the truth, I'm glad you figured it out, because I have been dying to tell you. I just didn't know who you'd wanna hear it from, you know? Aaron or Roy… or Roy or Aaron. Well, I'll let you in on a little secret. A sort of a client-attorney-privilege type of a secret, you know what I mean? It don't matter who you hear it from. It's the same story.

I j-j-just… had to kill Linda, Mr. Vail.

That cunt just got what she deserved. But... cutting up that son of a bitch Rushman? That was just a fucking work of art.

Yeah. I did get caught, though, didn't I?

Jesus Christ, Marty. If that's what you think, I am disappointed in you, I don't mind telling you. There never was an Aaron... counselor! Come on, Marty! I thought you had it figured, there at the end. The way you put me on the stand like that? That was fucking brilliant, Marty! And that whole thing like "act-like-a-man"? Jesus, I knew exactly what you wanted from me. It was like we were dancing, Marty!

Oh come on, don't be like that, Marty. We did it, man. We fucking did it! We're a great team, you and me. You think I could've done this without you? You're just feeling a little angry here, because you started to care about old Aaron, I can understand that, but... you know, love hurts, Marty. What can I say? Hey, I'm just kidding, bud! I didn't mean to hurt your feelings! What else was I supposed to do? Hey, you're gonna thank me down the road, because this is gonna toughen you right up, Martin Vail! You hear me? That's a promise!

Popularity is the slutty little cousin of prestige.

A man becomes a critic when he cannot be an artist, the same way that a man becomes an informer when he cannot be a soldier.

I'm drunk? Yes, I'm drunk! I'm supposed to be drunk! Why aren't you drunk? This is Carver. He left a piece of his liver on the table every time he wrote a fucking page. If I need to be drinking gin, who the fuck are you to touch my gin, man? Listen, you fucked with the period, you fucked with the plot so you could have the best lines, you leave me the fucking tools that I need! Oh, come on people, don't be so pathetic. Stop looking at the world through your cellphone screens. Have a real experience! Does anybody give a shit about truth other than me? I mean the set is fake, the bananas are fake, there's fucking nothing in this milk carton, your performance is fake. The only thing that is real on this stage is this chicken. So, I'm gonna work with the chicken.

You've been hanging around here trying to make yourself invisible behind this fragile little fuck-up routine but you can't. You're anything but invisible. You're big. You're kind of a great mess. It's like a candle burning at both ends, but it's beautiful. No amount of booze or weed or attitude is going to hide that.

Okay, just stay with me. "I'm the wrong person to ask," he says, but what is that, what is the intention in that? Is he fed up with the subject so he's changing it, is he deflecting guilt over the marriage? And here's the thing, you've got four lines after that that all say the same thing. "I didn't even know the man, I only heard his name mentioned in passing, I wouldn't know, you'd have to know the particulars..." The point is, you don't know the guy, we f - king get it. Make it work with one line: "I didn't even know the man." Right?

Riggan, your gun is ridiculous. I can see the red plug in the barrel, so you look like a kid with a plastic toy when you point it at me. I don't feel threatened at all. Get a better one. Have some self respect, please.

I'm not. I'm lucky. I feel lucky because it's wrong, Danny. It's wrong and it was eating me up, it was going to kill me. And I kept asking myself all the time, how did I buy into this shit? It was because I was pissed off, and nothing I ever did ever took that feeling away. I killed two guys, Danny, I killed them. And it didn't make me feel any different. It just got me more lost and I'm tired of being pissed off, Danny. I'm just tired of it.

Well, this country is becoming a haven for criminals so what do you expect? You know, decent hard-working Americans like my dad are getting rubbed out by social parasites.

Yeah it's race related! Every problem in this country is race related not just crime. It's like… immigration, AIDS, welfare those are problems in them. The Black community, the Hispanic community, the Asian community, they're not White problems.

No. You know, no. They're not products of the environment either that's crap. Minorities don't give two shits about this country, they've come here to exploit it, not to embrace it.

I mean millions of white European Americans came here and flourished you know within a generation so what the fuck is the matter with these people going around shooting a... fireman?

Because my father was murdered doing his job! Putting out a fire in fucking Nigger neighborhood. He shouldn't be giving a shit about. He got shot by a fucking drug dealer who probably still collects a welfare check!

Right, my family. My family so you know what? I don't give two shits about you or anybody else or what you think. You're not a part of it and you never will be.

Oh it doesn't? You don't think I see what you're trying to do here? You think I'm gonna sit here and smile while some fuckin' kike tries to fuck my mother? It's never gonna happen Murray, fuckin' forget it, not on my watch, not while I'm in this family. I will fuckin' cut your Shylock nose off and stick it up your ass before I let that happen. Coming in here and poisoning my family's dinner with your Jewish, nigger-loving, hippie bullshit. Fuck you! Fuck you! Yeah, walk out, asshole, fuckin' Kabbalah reading motherfucker. Get the fuck out of my house.

Kay, how about this? How about I killed two fucking niggers who tried to jack my car? If I had my way, I wouldn't spend five minutes next to your fucking nigger ass. I'm going to see you folding clothes and dreaming about what I would do to you if I found you on the street at night. Just fold your fucking underwear, keep your mouth shut and we'll pass the time fine.

Nigger, you just fucked with the wrong bull! You should've learned your lesson on the fuckin' basketball court! But you fuckin' monkey's never get the message. My father gave me that truck motherfucker! You ever shoot at fireman? You come here and shoot at my family? I'm gonna teach you a real lesson now motherfucker. Put your fuckin' mouth on the curb.

Alright listen up, we need to open our eyes. There's over two million illegal immigrants bending down in this state tonight. This state spend three billion dollars last year on services, on people who had no right to be here in the first place. Three billion dollars. 400 million just to lock up a bunch of illegal immigrant criminals who only got in this country because the fucking INS decided it's not worth the effort to screen for convicted felons.

We're so hung up on this notion that we have some obligation to help the struggling black man, you know. Cut him some slack until he can overcome these historical injustices. It's crap. I mean, Christ, Lincoln freed the slaves, like, what? 130 years ago. How long does it take to get your act together?

All the wrong people knew who I was anyways, so I figured I'm just gonna put up a flag and hope a friend sees it.