A Hitchcockian black comedy in the spirit of 'Rope' and Agatha Christie's 'Ten Little Indians' that begs the question can murder, if done we...更多>
Garrett: Your overeducated, undermotivated, scrawny little toothpick ass shows up at my site, [In Jamaican accent] Garrett: I'll be damned if I be given it a job. Terry: You know, security's tight these days, Republican White House and all. Nick: You look like one man who could use a drink. Hal Evans: You have no idea. Nick: [To the other guests, about Hal] Don't let the poor schlep's appearance fool you, though, he actually is quite harmless. Nick: What exactly is the object of this game? Hal Evans: Where's Jim? Nick: He's not here yet. Hal Evans: No, stupid, that's the object of the game. Hal Evans: Bandiero. Skyles: What the fuck are you, Irish or Spanish? Hal Evans: Now, I could be famous by sunrise if I really wanted to. Jordan: Oh really? And how's that? Hal Evans: I'd kill everyone in this room. Skyles: What is the correlation here between this freak and death? Hal Evans: A, I readily concede that I am a freak, right, and B, death is just this particular freak's hobby and occupation. Hal Evans: [To Nick] Ten people dead without anyone sayin' a word. I mean, it's downright impressive. I imagine I'll be teaching it real soon. So don't get me wrong pal when I say that you're a crazy mother fucker and they're going to fry your ass. Hal Evans: [To Jordan] In case you haven't noticed, that crazy fuck out there's got a gun, and I... we DON'T! Just look around for a weapon. [Jordan holds the base of a lamp] Hal Evans: . A REAL WEAPON! [Nick is pointing the gun at Hal and Jordan] Hal: You know, for a big brain Nick, you're awfully fucking stupid. Nick: Smart enough to beat you. Hal: *Beat?* Hah! Shit, boy! Did you ever stop for fucking one goddamn minute and take a good arm's length look at the fucking situation, eh? You're nothin' but a show, my friend - a little experiment that I've privately undertaken, that I readily admit's gone a *wee* bit wrong. Right, question: how much bullshit do I have to fill an overly-intelligent, but fucking emotionally retarded kid's head with before he steps, or in Nick's case *leaps*, with both feet *and* a kitchen sink, over the edge? Jordan: Evidentally, not fucking much! Hal:
Just whispered fucking sweet nothings about murder and mayhem into his ear and three semesters later, he's got his best friend stuffed into a box, man. Jesus, kid, wake the fuck up! You're not in control here, I am, always have been!
Terry: I'm a modern-day alchemist, baby. Ain't nothing gonna bring me down.