奇情空间 (1999) 5.2

Daisy Steiner: Do you rent downstairs? Brian: You mean am I gay? Daisy Steiner: WHAT? Brian: You mean am I gay? Daisy Steiner: No, I meant "Do you rent the downstairs flat?" Brian: Oh. Yep, sort of. Tim: Are you gay? Brian: Hmm? Tim: Are you gay? Brian: No. [On Daisy's party decorations] Brian: I see at as a tribute to Christo, the artist. Tim: I see it as a waste of Baco, the foil. Brian: I'll pop back later if you change your... shoes. Brian: That's chaos theory. The belief that the future is in fact a mathematically predictable preordained system. Daisy: So somewhere out there in the vastness of the unknown there's an... equation for predicting the future? Brian: An equation so complex as to utterly defy possibility of comprehension by even the most brilliant human mind, but an equation nonetheless. Tim: [in dawning realization] Oh my god... Brian: What? Daisy: What? Tim: I've got some F - -ing Jaffa Cakes in my coat pocket. Tim: [on the phone] What you doing playing army on a Sunday morning, you're missing "Grange Hill". Mike: [on the other end of the phone] The TA is no game, Tim. Tim: It isn't the TA, Mike, it's the Rough Ramblers. Mike: [grunts] You're a civilian... you don't understand, you're thinking, "It's Sunday I'd rather be in bed." Tim: And you're thinking, "It's Sunday, I'd rather be in 'Apocalypse Now'." [Tim and Duane are facing off with paintball guns] Duane: See Tim, that's the difference between you and I. Organization. Careful thinking. Forward planning. And that is why I sleep in the arms of a beautiful woman and you spend your evenings alone in your bedsit. With cheap porn. Tim:

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It's not a bedsit. It's a flat.

ffb

[Shoots Duane in the groin] Bilbo Bagshot: What about the Ewoks eh? They were rubbish. You don't complain about them. Tim: Yeah but Jar Jar Binks makes the Ewoks look like... fuckin'... Shaft. Daisy: What do you do Brian? Brian: I'm an artist. Tim: I'm an artist. Daisy: Oh, what kind of thing do you do? Brian: Anger. Pain. Fear. Aggression. Daisy: Watercolors or...? Brian: It's a bit more complex than that. Daisy: Tim does cartoons. Tim: It's a bit more complex than that. Tim: You can't dangle the bogus carrot of possible reconciliation in front of my face whilst riding some other donkey. Mike: Wanna go into your party? Tim: But they were playing 'The Timewarp'. I hate 'The Timewarp'. Mike: Daisy likes it. Tim: So what? I hate it. It's boil-in-the-bag perversion for sexually repressed accountants and first-year drama students with too many posters of Betty Blue, The Blues Brothers, Big Blue and Blue Velvet on their blue bloody walls. Daisy: Right, I'm going to the shops. D'you want anything? Tim: Porn. Daisy: Tim, I'm not going to buy you porn. You can get it from railway sidings like everybody else. Tim: I can't, I'm an adult. I'm supposed to leave it there. Bilbo Bagshot: I used to know this guy, Minty. He had a dog who he'd train to attack rich people. He was into the whole class-war thing. He called the dog Gramsci after an Italian Marxist. Rumor has it, it could smell wealth from up to 20 feet. The thing is, it all backfired. Minty won 100 grand on a scratchcard and Gramsci bit his knees off. Tim: That's terrible. Bilbo Bagshot: Not really. He used the money to buy new knees. Daisy: So who was this girl then? Tim: Her name was Cassandra, she was a psychic, she gave me her phone number... [hands Daisy a piece of paper] Daisy: That's OUR phone number. Tim: Man, she's good. Mike: They're not in the jungle. They ARE the jungle. Tim: No hard feelings. Duane: You shot me in the bollocks. Tim: Like I said, no hard feelings. Brian: I see my ex girlfriends. Well, not so much "see" as "watch"... Brian: Brian. Painter-loser. BIG FUCKING LOSER. Tyres: Mine's a pint of the black stuff. Mike: You can't drink a pint of Bovril. [Tim is being dumped by girlfriend Sarah] Tim: Just... give me a reason. You think I'm unemotional, don't you? I can *be* emotional. Jesus, I cried like a child at the end of Terminator 2. Daisy: Every morning I wake up and it's the same. I get up and I buy the paper, and I circle them all, and I phone them only to discover they've been taken by a bunch of fucking psychic house hunters. Daisy: You have a potentially fatal allergy to brazil nuts. Tim: Yes, I have no memory of Christmas 1979. Mind you, I've got no memory of Christmas 1994 either. Daisy: Why? Tim: I don't know. Tim: You're scared of mice and spiders, but oh-so-much greater is your fear that one day the two species will cross-breed to form an all-powerful race of mice-spiders who will immobilize human beings in giant webs in order to steal cheese. Daisy: Do you want another cup of tea? Tim: Ooh, no thanks, twelve's my limit. Tim: What is this? This is rubbish. We should be listening to firm young melodies, kicking tunes, thumping bass, God I sound so stupid. Twist Morgan: Daisy. Don't you look nice? Bit of a midriff show. Big's in this season. Good for you. Twist: Hi. Interesting outfit. Marsha Klien: Oh thanks. Thought I'd make an effort. Twist: Mm, yeah. I can really see what you tried to do. Daisy: You're up early. Tim: Oh, I haven't been to bed. Me and Mike met up with these two Scottish guys in the pub and they gave us all this cheap speed. Daisy: Oh Tim, that's so tacky. Tim: Yeah I know, but y'know they were so nice. I think if we'd said no they'd have got offended and beaten us to death with a pool cue. Vulva: Abstract expressionism is so mid-to-late eighties. Tim: You know when you said it went well? Well, when you said well, did you mean shite? [Daisy answers phone] Daisy: Oh hi Mike. Yeah, he's here, I'll just get him. [to Tim] Daisy: It's your boyfriend. Tim: He's not my boyfriend. [picks up phone] Tim: Hi babe. Mike Watt: Hello Timmy. Tim: Where are you? Mike: Err, Sheffield. Tim: What are you doing in Sheffield?

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Mike