Martin McDonagh

Hey new idea how 'bout we change the title from The Seven Psychopaths to The Seven Lesbians Who Are All Disabled And Have Overcome All Their Spazzy Shit And Are Really Nice to Everybody And Two of Them Are Black. How 'bout that?

No it doesn't. There'll be one guy left with one eye. Hows the last blind guy gonna take out the eye of the last guy left, who's still got one eye! All that guy has to do is run away and hide behind a bush. Gandhi was wrong, it's just that nobody's got the balls to come right out and say it.

Of course you do, Marty. One: You're a writer. Two: You're from Ireland. It's part of your heritage. You're fucked!

You can't let the animals die in a movie… only the women.

Okay, here we go. Exterior. Cemetery. Night. The shoot-out. Yeah! The Jack O' Diamonds is waiting there with Bonny, and he's arranged to give him back and have this whole thing end because all he really wants is peace. You know, like Gandhi or Jesus or that other guy. Anyway, he's waiting there for the Mafia boss, who's agreed to show up alone and unarmed. But, yeah, guess what?

Yeah. Exactly! Maybe the Jack O' Diamonds was expecting to get double-crossed because he just happens to have brought a couple of friends along. Suddenly, from out of every fucking grave burst the seven psychopaths, a gun in every hand. Flamethrower! Who the fuck is that? It's the Vietcong guy. He was hiding up a tree. You!

You're there, but you're just there to observe, and that's all right. Nobody thinks you're a pussy. But it's started raining now. Lightning. And oh, no, look who's wandered in like a fucking idiot. It's Kaya. She's come to say sorry to you, and she loves you, and that she didn't mean to be such a fucking bitch. You scream out, "Kaya! Stay back!" Too late, she's fucking mown down. Fucking mown down! Her head almost comes off. Her head does come off. You scream out her name, all sad, and she dies. You throw your notepad away. Art and peace and all that shit can wait! Now's the time for men to be men! "Fuck you, you cunts!" It's really emotional. And then… Hold on. Yeah… The black chick from the serial killer killers. She fought good, but she's the next to croak. Zachariah dies, too. He buys it. Dies in her arms. And they die and they're old and mental, and so much in love. You know, it's really sad. But his rabbit gets away, though, because you can't let the animals die in a movie. Just the women. Anyway, guns, guns, guns! Blam, blam, blam. The Vietcong gets hit. Then he dies, and he never even had a fucking name, and he's so good. With his dying move, he throws his nunchakus and he kills two of the bastards.

So the only ones left are you and Hans. Peace is for queers. And now you're gonna die. But the Jack O' Diamonds isn't dead at all. He was just a bit injured and he had a fucking crossbow up his sleeve. That's not enough, so he pulls out a shotgun. Goodbye. And as the Jack O' Diamonds dies in their arms, he whispers, "We did good, we did good, didn't we, Marty?" And through your tears, you say, "Ah, bejesus, Jack, "we did more than good. We did grand." Jack says, "All I ever wanted was to be your friend. Marty, I'm your friend now, ain't I?" And you say, "Ah, bejesus, sure, you're me best friend, Jack. "You're me best friend." And then the Jack O' Diamonds dies. And as his soul leaves his body to go dance with the angels, we pan up over the blood-strewn cemetery and off into the pretty blue skies of dawn. Skies blue enough to suggest that maybe there can be peace one day in this troubled but beautiful world. Maybe there can be peace because that would be good!

Monday the 14th. Sat watching the shadow of the neighbor's flagpole across my lawn again from 7:00 in the morning to 7:00 in the evening. That's 11 hours. They've got a right to y a flag, don't they? Note to self, do not set fire to the neighbor's flag.

I'll give you a clue. Come on in. So, yeah, I just called up old Charlie Costello and I told him where we were and to come down and get his dog back and said if he had any trouble finding us, just look for a Buick on fire. But I did tell him to promise to come alone and unarmed, and he said he would. And he'll be here in a couple of hours, depending on traffic.

This is kind of like that window of time when you're waiting in the waiting room of the VD clinic, isn't it? For the door to open and the doctor to come out and say, "Billy, you're good to go." Or, "Billy, you've got VD." Or chlamydia or whatever.

Now I've labeled these guns up for you, but you don't have to use them and I won't think that you are pussies, but I am gonna hang on to mine. I think we've done enough of this talking about peace in the desert type stuff. Don't you? I do. This movie ends my way.

It's a kidnapped dog. You don't just give back a kidnapped dog. Defeats the entire object of the kidnapping. They didn't just give Patty Hearst back, did they? No, this dog is my Patty Hearst. Except I ain't gonna keep it in a closet and make it rob a bank. No, I'm gonna hold on to it until your asshole boyfriend starts behaving like a decent human being and gives me a bunch of money.

My Darling Anne, There's a longer letter in the dresser drawer I've been writing for the last week or so, that one covers us, and my memories of us, and how much I've always loved you. This one just covers tonight, and more importantly, today. Tonight I have gone out to the horses to end it. I cannot say sorry for the act itself, although I know for a short time you will be angry at me, or even hate me for it. Please don't. This is not a case of, I came in this world alone and I'm goin' out of it alone, or anything dumb like that. I did not come in this world alone, my mom was there. And I am not goin' out of it alone, 'cause you were there, drunk on the couch, making Oscar Wilde cock jokes. No, this is a case, in some senses, of bravery. Not the bravery of facing a bullet down. The next few months of pain would be far harder than that small flash. No, it's the bravery of weighing up the next few months of still being with you, still waking up with you, of playing with the kids... Against the next few months of seeing in your eyes how much my pain is killing you. How my weakened body, as it ebbs away, and you tend to it, are your final and lasting memories of me. I won't have that. Your final memories of me will be us at the riverside, and that dumb fishing game, which I think they cheated at. And me inside of you, and you on top of me... And barely a fleeting thought, of the darkness yet to come. That was the best Anne. A whooole day of not thinking about it. Dwell on this day baby, 'cause it was the best day of my life. Kiss the girls for me, and know that I've always loved you... And maybe I'll see ya again if there's another place, and if there ain't... Well, it's been heaven knowing you. Your Boy, Bill

Dear Mildred, Dead Man Willoughby here. Firstly, I wanted to apologize for dyin' without catchin' your daughter's killer. It's a source of great pain to me and it would break my heart to think you thought I didn't care. 'Cause I did care. There are just some cases, where you never catch a break. Then 5 years down the line, some guy hears some other guy braggin' about it in a barroom or a jail cell. The whole thing is wrapped up through sheer stupidity. I hope that might be true for Angela, I really do. Second, I got to admit Mildred, the billboards were a great fucking idea. They were like a chess move. And although they had absolutely nothing to do with my dyin'... I will assume almost everyone in town will assume that they did. Which is why, for Willoughby's counter-move, I decided to pay the next month's rent on 'em. I thought it'd be funny, you having to defend them a whooole 'nother month after they've stuck me in the ground. The joke is on you Mildred. Ha ha, and I hope they do not kill you. So good luck with all that, and good luck with everything else too. I hope and I pray that you get him.

Jason, Willoughby here. I'm dead now, sorry about that. There's something I wanted to say to you that I never really said when I was alive. I think you've got the makings of being a really good cop, Jason, and you know why? Because, deep down, you're a decent man. I know you don't think I think that, but I do, dipshit. I do think you're too angry though, and I know it's all since your dad died and you had to go look after your mom and all, but as long as you hold on to so much hate, then I don't think you're ever going to become, what I know you want to become - a detective. 'Cause you know what you need to become a detective? And I know you're gonna wince when I say this, but what you need to become a detective is love.

Because through love comes calm, and through calm comes thought. And you need thought to detect stuff sometimes, Jason. It's kinda all you need. You don't even need a gun. And you definitely don't need hate. Hate never solved nothing, but calm did. And thought did. Try it. Try it just for a change. No one'll think you're gay. And if they do, arrest 'em for homophobia! Won't they be surprised! Good luck to you, Jason. You're a decent man, and yeah you've had a run of bad luck, but things are gonna change for you. I can feel it.

I'd do anything to catch the guy who did it, Mrs. Hayes, but when the DNA don't match no one who's ever been arrested, and when the DNA don't match any other crime nationwide, and there wasn't a single eyewitness from the time she left your house to the time we found her, well... right now there ain't too much more we could do.

If you got rid of every cop with vaguely racist leanings, then you'd have three cops left, and all o' them are gonna hate the fags, so what are ya gonna do, y'know?

Y'know what I was thinking about today? I was thinking 'bout those street gangs they had down in Los Angeles, those Crips and those Bloods? I was thinking about that buncha new laws they came up with, in the 1980's I think it was, to combat those street-gangs, those Crips and those Bloods. And, if I remember rightly, the gist of what those new laws were saying was if you join one of these gangs, and you're running with 'em, and down the block one night, unbeknownst to you, one of your fellow Crips, or your fellow Bloods, shoot up a place, or stab a guy, well then, even though you didn't know nothing about it, and even though you may've just been standing on a streetcorner minding your own business, what these new laws said was you're still culpable. You're still culpable, by the very act of joining those Crips, or those Bloods, in the first place. Which got me thinking, Father, that whole type of situation is kinda like your Church boys, ain't it? You've got your colors, you've got your clubhouse, you're, for want of a better word, a gang. And if you're upstairs smoking a pipe and reading a bible while one of your fellow gang members is downstairs fucking an altar boy then, Father, just like those Crips, and just like those Bloods, you're culpable. Cos you joined the gang, man. And I don't care if you never did shit or you never saw shit or you never heard shit. You joined the gang. You're culpable. And when a person is culpable to altar-boy-fucking, or any kinda boy-fucking, I know you guys didn't really narrow that down, then they kinda forfeit the right to come into my house and say anything about me, or my life, or my daughter, or my billboards. So, why don't you just finish your tea there, Father, and get the fuck outta my kitchen.

This didn't put an end to shit, you fucking retard; this is just the fucking start. Why don't you put that on your Good Morning Missouri fucking wake up broadcast, bitch?

If it was me, I'd start up a database, every male baby was born, stick 'em on it, and as soon as he done something wrong, cross reference it, make 100% certain it was a correct match, then kill him.

Hey baby... Yup, still no arrests. How come I wonder? 'Cause there ain't no God and the whole world's empty, and it doesn't matter what we do to each other? I hope not. How come you came up here out of nowhere lookin' so pretty? You ain't trynta make me believe in reincarnation or somethin' are ya? 'Cause you're pretty but you ain't her... She got killed. Now she's dead forever. I do thank you for comin' though. If I had some food I'd give it to ya. All I got is some Doritos, 'n' they might kill ya, they're kinda pointy... Then where would we be?

My daughter Angela was murdered 7 months ago, it seems to me the police department is too busy torturing black folk to solve actual crimes.

The time it took you to get out here whining like a bitch, Willoughby, some other poor girl's probably out there being butchered.