Willem Dafoe Monologues

They exited out the front door. They had no idea what they were in for. Now they're staring at six men with guns drawn. It was a fucking ambush.

This was a fucking bomb dropping on Beaver Cleaverville. For a few seconds, this place was Armageddon!

There was a firefight!

So you're telling me it was one guy with six guns, and he was a senior frigging citizen?

Television. Television is the explanation for this - you see this in bad television. Little assault guys creeping through the vents, coming in through the ceiling - that James Bond shit never happens in real life! Professionals don't do that!

These burns indicate that they used silencers. Look at these entry and exit wounds. They're almost identical. The two bullets went in here, through the top of the skull, criss-crossed, and exited through the eyeballs. This one clue tells us three distinct facts. Number one, Duffy?

Stay with me, boys! What did they do to make two such identical wounds. Two men, of similar height, drop this guy down, each puts some iron to his head, and boom, that's all she freakin' wrote.

Eh, possible, but unlikely. The angles are too extreme. A guy holding two guns to the back of your noodle is gonna shoot straight ahead. He wouldn't cock out his elbows, it makes no sense. Besides, are you telling me *one guy* came in here and killed eight men with eight extremely well-aimed shots in just a few seconds? No way. Had to be at least two.

Now, you Irish cops are perking up. That's two sound theories in one day, neither of which deal with abnormally sized men. Kind of makes me feel like Riverdancing.

Oh, isn't that beautiful? All the lowlifes in quiet city Boston start dropping dead and *you* think it's unrelated! Greenly, the day I want the Boston Police to do my thinking for me, I will have a fucking tag on my toe!

Symbology? Now that Duffy has relinquished his "King Bonehead" crown, I see we have an heir to the throne! I'm sure the word you were looking for was "symbolism." What is the ssss-himbolism there?

First of all, I'd like to thank whichever one of you donut-munching, barrel-assed, pud-pulling sissies leaked this to the press. That's just what we need now: some sensational story in the papers making these boys out to be superheroes, triumphing over evil. Let me squash the rumors now. These two are not heroes. They're just two ordinary men who were put in an extraordinary situation and they just happened to come out on top. Yes, nothing from our far-reaching computer system has turned up diddly on these two. All we know is what we found out from the neighbors, and the general consensus is, they're angels. But angels don't kill. And we got two bodies in the morgue that look like they've been "serial-crushed by some huge friggin' guy".

It looks like we've got us a cowboy.

Oh really! I might just be wanting a bagel with my coffee.

The historical facts are known by everyone. All of Lawford, all of New Hampshire, some of Massachusetts. Facts do not make history. Our stories, Wade's and mine, describe the lives of the boys and men for thousands of years: boys who were beaten by their fathers, whose capacity for love and trust was crippled almost at birth, men whose best hope for connection with other human beings lay in detachment, as if life were over. It's how we keep from destroying in turn our own children and terrorizing the women who have the misfortune to love us; how we absent ourselves from the tradition of male violence; how we decline the seduction of revenge. Jack's truck turned up three days later in a shopping mall in Toronto. Wade killed Jack, just as surely as Jack did not kill Evan Twombley, even accidentally. The link between Jack and Twombley, LaRiviere and Mel Gordon existed only in Wade's wild imaginings. And briefly, I admit, in mine as well. LaRiviere and Mel Gordon were indeed in business. The Parker Mountain Ski Resort is now advertised across the country. The community of Lawford, as such, no longer exists. It is an economic zone between Littleton and Catamount. The house is still in Wade's name, and I keep paying taxes on it. It remains empty. Now and then, I drive out there and sit in my car, and wonder, why not let it go? Why not let LaRiviere buy it and build the condominiums he wants there? We want to believe Wade died that same November, froze to death on a bench or a sidewalk. You cannot understand how a man, a normal man, a man like you and me, could do such a terrible thing. Unless the police happen to arrest a vagrant who turns out to be Wade Whitehouse, there will be no more mention of him. Or his friend, Jack Hewitt. Or our father. The story will be over, except that I continue.

You will say that I should have known terrible things were about to happen. You will say that I was responsible. But even so, what could I have done by then? Wade lived on the edge of his emotions. He was always first to receive the brunt of our father's anger. He had no perspective to retreat to, even in a crisis.This is the story of my older brother's strange criminal behaviour and disappearance. We who loved him no longer speak of Wade. It's as if he never existed.

This is the story of my older brother's strange criminal behaviour and disappearance. We who loved him no longer speak of Wade. It's as if he never existed.

I was always careful around Pop. I was a careful child. And I'm a careful adult. But at least I was never afflicted with that man's anger.

Pop was okay but out of it. Worse than usual, maybe, but no drunker than usual.

Okay. It's likely there are people in the union who don't want Twombley to testify. That probably includes his son-in-law, who's vice president, and will probably be the next president.

want to know who my God is? Fear. You look inside me and that's all you'll find.

Lucifer is inside me. He says to me, "You're not the Son of King David. You're not a man. You're the Son of Man. And more, the Son of God. And more than that, God." Do you want to ask me anything else?

Father, will you listen to me? Are you still there? Will you listen to a selfish, unfaithful son? I fought you when you called, I resisted! I thought of no more. I didn't want to be your son! Can you forgive me?

Brothers, my old friends! Listen to me! It's me the prophets preached about. God talked to me in the desert; he gave me a secret and told me to bring it to you. Didn't you hear me coming? I ran here to Nazareth, where I grew up, to bring you the news. The word of God is here now.

The Messiah doesn't need miracles. He is the miracle. Now he's here. Are you ready for me? I'm here to tear down everything around you, and you know what I'm going to replace it with? Something new: God. The World of God. So take your bread and give it to the poor. What difference does it matter what you own? You have gold and silver? It's going to rot, and that rot is going to eat away your heart. All of you! There will be a flood, and there will be a fire. Everything will be destroyed. But there will be a new ark riding on that fire, and I hold the keys and I open the door, and I decide who goes in and who doesn't. You're my brothers from Nazareth, and you're the first I invite on the ark. Don't wait. Don't waste your life. Come with me.

Judas, my brother, I have something to tell you. I have a terrible secret from God. You know why I came to Jerusalem?

Last night, Isaiah came to me. He had a prophecy, I saw it written. It said, "He has borne our faults; he was wounded for our transgressions, yet he opened now his mouth. Despised and rejected by all, he went forward without resisting, like a lamb led to the slaughter."

Now I finally understand! All my life-all my life, I've been followed by voices, by footsteps, by shadows. And do you know what that shadow is? The cross. I have to die on the cross, and I have to die willingly. We have to go back to the temple.

If I could touch every stone, if I could breathe on every branch, they'd get up and follow me. So what's wrong with you?

The feeling begins. Very tender, very loving. Then the pain starts. Claws slip underneath the skin and tear their way up. Just before they reach my eyes, they dig in. And I remember. First I fasted for three months. I even whipped myself before I went to sleep. At first it worked. Then the pain came back. And the voices. They call me by name. Jesus.

I didn't say death! I said love! I said love!

The pain begins. It slides up my back and just before it gets to my eyes, it digs in its claws.

Who has never sinned? Who? Which one of you people has never sinned? Whoever that is, come up here! And throw these!

In the desert, the baptist warned us, God is coming. Well, I'm telling you it's too late! He's already here. I'm here! And I'm going to baptize everybody… with fire!

Do you think that God belongs only to you? He doesn't: God's an immortal spirit who belongs to everybody! To the whole world! You think, you are special? God is not an Israelite!

God is inside every one of us. The Devil is outside of us all around us in the World. In the sick and the rich.

You think it's a blessing to know what God wants? I'll tell you what he wants! He wants to push me over!

Father, will you listen to me? Are you still there? Will you listen to a selfish, unfaithful son? I fought you when you called, I resisted! I thought of no more. I didn't want to be your son! Can you forgive me? I didn't fight hard enough. Father, give me Your hand. I want to bring salvation! Father, take me back! Make a feast! Welcome me home! I want to be Your son! I want to pay the price! I want to be crucified and rise again! I WANT TO BE THE MESSIAH!

I'm not inviting you to a celebration. I'm inviting you to a war.

This is my heart. Take it. God is inside of us. The devil is outside us, in the world all around us. We'll pick up an axe, and cut the devil's throat. We'll fight him wherever he is. In the sick… in the rich… even in the temple. I'll lead you. If you have sheep, give them away. If you have a family, leave them. I believed in love.

Now I believe in this! Who's with me?

You're thirsty for justice! For people to treat you fairly, for people to treat you with respect. What I'm telling you is, whoever's hungry for justice, they are the ones who'll be blessed. They'll be filled with bread. They'll never be hungry again. They'll have the real value, the value of love. To love, share and comfort. They'll have the courage to do the good. And you, you're mourning. Mourners will be blessed. You'll have God to comfort you. You won't need men to do it. And the meek. They're the ones who'll be blessed. And the suffering, they'll be blessed, too. And the peacemakers and the merciful and the sick, and the poor, and the outcasts, you'll all be blessed because heaven is yours! And believe me, believe me, those who are laughing now, will be crying later.

I'm sorry, but, the easiest way to make myself clear is to tell you a story. A farmer was planting in his field. Some seed fell on the ground and the birds ate it. Some seed fell on rocks and dried up. But some seed. Some seed fell on rich soil and grew into enough wheat to feed a whole nation. Can you hear me?

Let me explain something to you. What do you think heaven's like? It's like a wedding. God's the bridegroom and man's spirit's the bride. The wedding takes place in heaven and everyone's invited. God's world is big enough for everyone.

I'm the end of the old law and the beginning of the new one.

I'm throwing away the law. I have a new law and a new hope.

Father in heaven. Father on earth. The world that you've created, that we can see, is beautiful. But the world that you've created, that we can't see, is beautiful, too. I don't know. I'm sorry, Father. I don't know which is more beautiful.

Oh, please, Father. I've been with you for so long. I never asked you to choose me. I always did as you said. You made many miracles for others. You opened the Red Sea for Moses. You saved Noah. You took Elijah to heaven in a fiery chariot and now you're asking me to be crucified. Can I ask you - one last time? Do I have to die? Is there any other way? You're offering me a cup and I don't want to drink what's in it. Please, take it away. Please, stop. Please, Father. Father. Please.

Listen to me. Take this bread. Share it together. This bread is my body. Now drink this wine. Pass the cup. This wine is my blood. Do this to remember me.

Yer fond of me lobster aint' ye? I seen it - yer fond of me lobster! Say it! Say it. Say it!

Damn ye! Let Neptune strike ye dead Winslow! HAAARK!

Hark Triton, hark! Bellow, bid our father the Sea King rise from the depths full foul in his fury! Black waves teeming with salt foam to smother this young mouth with pungent slime, to choke ye, engorging your organs til' ye turn blue and bloated with bilge and brine and can scream no more - only when he, crowned in cockle shells with slitherin' tentacle tail and steaming beard take up his fell be-finned arm, his coral-tine trident screeches banshee-like in the tempest and plunges right through yer gullet, bursting ye - a bulging bladder no more, but a blasted bloody film now and nothing for the harpies and the souls of dead sailors to peck and claw and feed upon only to be lapped up and swallowed by the infinite waters of the Dread Emperor himself - forgotten to any man, to any time, forgotten to any god or devil, forgotten even to the sea, for any stuff for part of Winslow, even any scantling of your soul is Winslow no more, but is now itself the sea!

Should pale death, with treble dread, make the ocean caves our bed, God who hears the surges roll deign to save our suppliant soul.

Since we're gettin' too friendly, Ephraim Winslow, ell me, what's a timberman want with being a wicky?… Not enough quiet for ye up north? Sawdust itchin' yer nethers? Foreman found ye too high tempered for carryin' an axe?

And if I tells ye to yank out every single nail from every molderin' nail-hole and suck off every speck of rust till all them nails sparkle like a sperm whale's pecker, and then carpenter the whole light station back together from scrap, and then do it all over again, you'll do it! And by God and by golly, you'll do it smilin', lad, 'cause you'll like it. You'll like it 'cause I says you will! Contradict me again, and I'll dock your wages.

And I'm damn-well wedded to this here light, and she's been a finer, truer, quieter wife than any alive-blooded woman.

Should pale death with treble dread / make the ocean caves our bed, / God who hear'st the surges roll, / deign to save our suppliant soul.

O what Protean forms swim up from men's minds, and melt in hot Promethean plunder, scorching eyes, with divine shames and horror... And casting them down to Davy Jones. The others, still blind, yet in it see all the divine graces and to Fiddler's Green sent,where no man is suffered to want or toil,but is... Ancient... Mutable and unchanging as the she who girdles 'round the globe. Them's truth.

Doldrums. Doldrums. Eviler than the Devil. Boredom makes men to villains, and the water goes quick, lad, vanished. The only med'cine is drink. Keeps them sailors happy, keeps 'em agreeable, keeps 'em calm..

Look at ye, handsome lad with eyes bright as a lady. Come to this rock, playin' the tough. Ye make me laugh with yer false grum. Ye pretended to some mystery in yer quietudes, but... there ain't no mystery. Yer an open book. A picture, says I. A painted actress screamin' in the footlights, a bitch what wants to be coveted for nothin' but bein' born, cryin' 'bout the silver spoon what shoulda been yers! Now look at ye, cryin'. "Boo... boo..." What ye gonna do? Will ye kill me? Will ye? Will ye kill me like ye done that gull?

LIAR! Ye murd'rin' dog! 'Twas ye what changed the wind on us! 'Twas ye what damned us, dog, 'twas ye! Will ye do what ye wished ye'd done to ol' Winslow? Will ye best me then? For Winslow were right, Thomas! Yer a dog! A filthy dog! A DOG!