Locke Monologues

Ivan Locke, a dedicated family man and successful construction manager, receives a phone call on the eve of the biggest challenge of his career that sets in motion a series of events that threaten his carefully cultivated existence.

Well hear this, Gareth. When I left the site just over two hours ago, I had a job, a wife, a home. And now I have none of those things. I have none of those things left. I just have myself and the car that I'm in. And I'm just driving and that's it.

I want to know that I'm not driving in one direction.

You make one mistake, Donal, one little fucking mistake, and the whole world comes crashing down around you.

Do it for the piece of sky we are stealing with our building. You do it for the air that will be displaced, and most of all, you do it for the fucking concrete. Because it is delicate as blood.

What the fuck are you looking at? Laughing, aren't you? Laughing at my predicament! Familiar predicament to a man like you, isn't it dad? There he is, look! Like father, like son! There's the man I made. What is it they say,"the apple doesn't fall far from the tree"? Well, that's where you're wrong! Listen to me, you fucking piece of worthless shit: I want you to watch. Do you know, infact, I would like to take a fucking shovel and dig you up out of the fucking ground and make you watch me tonight. I would pull open your eyes and kick the mud and worms and shit out of your fucking ears just for the duration of this journey, because it's me driving. Me! Not you. And unlike you, I will drive straight to the place where I should be, and I will be there to take care of my... to take care of my fuck-up.

Look. Look and fucking learn. I drove in this direction and there will be a new person when I get there. Yes, because of that night. Constructed out of two bottles of wine and somebody feeling lonely. How could you ever beat that for a construction?

And because the baby was caused by me. That is the decision I have made. I have not behaved in the right way with this woman. At all. I have behaved in a way that isn't like me. But now I am going to do the right thing.

And when the baby is born, when he's seven or when she's seven, it'll say it's okay. And the name will be Locke. Oh, Locke is okay. We do okay. Because... Because I straightened the name out. The Lockes were a long line of shit, but I straightened the name out.

Stefan is a good man. He will fix the pit and check the others. All 12 pumps will work. The stop-go will run. The north, south, east and west gates will all take their quarter of concrete. The baby will be born. And Katrina will be okay. In the morning she will be okay. That is how it can be. That is my prayer.

You think this is all fake, don't you dad? Your dirty fucking finger prints all over me. It was bound to happen because of the little seeds that you planted? Okay, well let me educate you. Even no matter what the situation is, you can make it good. Like with plaster and brick. You never knew that because you never lifted a finger, you fucking lazy cunt. But you know what? You can take a situation and you can draw a circle around it and find a way to work something out. You don't just drive away from it. No! Or sit in the corner of some greasy little fucking pub somewhere like you're the fucking happy little maverick. I could come for you with a pick and a shovel, I really could. Dig you up. And it would be a happy day in hell because they would be rid of you for a bit.

I'll explain when I'm not driving and when I'm with you and Eddie together, you know? I, uh, I've only just explained it to myself.

I could have easily let the concrete go to hell, but I didn't. You know, dad, when you came creeping back saying you were sorry, it was even worse than staying away. Yes, I'm serious! I could have broken your fucking back for that, but I didn't, and the fact that I could have done it was worse than anything. Because you were so fucking weak! That was the first thing I noticed. So weak. All the things I fucking despise inside one fucking stupid green shirt. You look pathetic. My fucking dad. And what were they, they were trainers, some sort of fucking trainers that teenagers wear. Your hair was all over the place. You don't drink anymore, you don't fucking smoke dope. What, we're all supposed to celebrate, is that it? Celebrate what, exactly?

You know what? I could just drive around the M-25 into Dover or some-fucking-where and not face it, couldn't I? And just earn good money, cash in hand, working on the cross rail. They make five hundred a day just shoveling shit. Shoveling shit about like you. No, I'm going to drive straight to the worst place for me - the worst place on earth for me to be, even though this… woman is like, she's sad and lonely, hardly bothered with life at all. I felt sorry for her, you know? I felt sorry for her. So how can that be the difference between good and bad?