Nothing quite like it. The feeling of film.
Every time out it’s a guess—and, if you’re lucky, an educated one. Why?
The story is dry. All we’ve got are pieces. We can’t seem to figure out what the puzzle is supposed to look like. No one knows anything.
But it’s so simple. All I have to do is divine from what I know.
Aaron Rodgers can’t want to get blown up again.
If you’re gonna do it, do it right. If you’re gonna hype it, hype it with the facts.
How many are following Marquez Valdes-Scantling?
All of ‘em.
Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!
The battle of wits has begun.
Motion pictures are for the people. Most of the people work for a living, and they don’t make much money doing it. It gives them pleasure to see officialdom and the upper classes getting a kick up the backside. Always has, and it always will.
I would sooner destroy a stained glass window than an artist like yourself. Please understand I hold you in the highest respect.
Ratfucking. In my day it was called the double-cross.
Gentlemen, this is a story that you shall tell your grandchildren, and mightily bored they’ll be. Speed is the vital factor. I don’t care for any inexactitudes or shallowness. And I hate trusting anybody.
It just so happens that Seattle here is only MOSTLY dead. There’s a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Mostly dead is slightly alive. With all dead, well, with all dead there’s usually only one thing you can do.
Go through their clothes and look for loose change.
I’m explaining to you because you look nervous. That doesn’t leave much time for dilly-dallying. I hope we win. Seattle could die slowly, cut into a thousand pieces. Or make the pwayoffs that dweam wifin a dweam. That, gentlemen, is the prize. The future’s all yours, you lousy bicycles. Now don’t fuck it up.
Words (except for obvious substitutions) by William Goldman.
Bad idea and sloppy execution by John Morgan.