Indian Ocean. Present Day

The Backwards Man

Morning, Scott.
Morning, Wells.
Ghost Rider this is Strike, we have an unknown aircraft. Inbound vector 090 for bogey.

Will there ever be a better intro?

The Sidewards Man

Ok Hun?

The Backwards Man

The Sidewards Man wrote: »

Ok Hun?

Aesthetics man, I'm talking about fcuking aesthetics! Simpson and Bruckheimer were the kings of aesthetics!

Did you think I was away mad or something?

drunkmonkey

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a ****ing big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed- interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of ****ing fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing sprit- crushing game shows, stuffing ****ing junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing you last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, ****ed-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that?


RENTON: I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who need reasons when you've got heroin?

The Sidewards Man

The Backwards Man wrote: »

Aesthetics man, I'm talking about fcuking aesthetics! Simpson and Bruckheimer were the kings of aesthetics!

Did you think I was away mad or something?

Have another beer mate.

hairyprincess

The Backwards Man wrote: »

Aesthetics man, I'm talking about fcuking aesthetics! Simpson and Bruckheimer were the kings of aesthetics!

Did you think I was away mad or something?

Why on earth would anyone think that?!!

qo2cj1dsne8y4k

drunkmonkey wrote: »

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a ****ing big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed- interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of ****ing fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing sprit- crushing game shows, stuffing ****ing junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing you last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, ****ed-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that?


RENTON: I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who need reasons when you've got heroin?

We start off with high hopes, then we bottle it. We realise that we’re all going to die, without really finding out the big answers. We develop all those long-winded ideas which just interpret the reality of our lives in different ways, without really extending our body of worthwhile knowledge, about the big things, the real things. Basically, we live a short disappointing life; and then we die. We fill up our lives with ****e, things like careers and relationships to delude ourselves that it isn’t all totally pointless.

The_Valeyard

No one would have believed, in the last years of the nineteenth century that human affairs were being watched from the timeless worlds of space. No one could have dreamed that we were being scrutinized, as someone with a microscope studies creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. Few men even considered the possibility of life on other planets and yet, across the gulf of space, minds immeasurably superior to ours regarded this Earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely, they drew their plans against us.

bodice ripper

Better intro

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0jMPI_pUec

fryup

The Backwards Man wrote: »

Morning, Scott.
Morning, Wells.
Ghost Rider this is Strike, we have an unknown aircraft. Inbound vector 090 for bogey.

will we ever get over Macho Grande ??

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JswFF2dKiLM

Akrasia

Opening scene of Saving Private Ryan is pretty damn epic

Shame about the rest of the movie

MadsL

Rosebud

cowboyBuilder

The Backwards Man wrote: »

Morning, Scott.
Morning, Wells.
Ghost Rider this is Strike, we have an unknown aircraft. Inbound vector 090 for bogey.

Will there ever be a better intro?

Its a smashing film, the bluRay is a really nice clean print too, thanks you put me in the mood to re watch

TheDriver

After the game is before the game...

Excellent movie-3 times

duchalla

"You are not your job, you're not how much money you have in the bank. You are not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You are not your fcuking khakis. You are all singing, all dancing crap of the world."

conorhal

The Backwards Man wrote: »

Aesthetics man, I'm talking about fcuking aesthetics! Simpson and Bruckheimer were the kings of aesthetics!

Did you think I was away mad or something?

You want testosterone fueled opening credit aesthetics?

"Saigon, s***. I'm still only in Saigon. Every time I think I'm going to
wake up back in the jungle. When I was home after my first tour,
it was worse. I'd wake up and there'd be nothing...
I hardly said a word to my wife until I said yes to a divorce.
When I was here I wanted to be there. When I was there, all I
could think of was getting back into the jungle.
I've been here a week now. Waiting for a mission, getting
softer. Every minute I stay in this room I get weaker. And every minute
Charlie squats in the bush he gets stronger.
Each time I look around the walls move in a little tighter.

Everyone gets everything he wants. I wanted a mission, and for my sins
they gave me one. Brought it up to me like room service. "

Thud

Three billion human lives ended on August 29th, 1997. The survivors of the nuclear fire called the war Judgment Day. They lived only to face a new nightmare: the war against the machines

Olishi4

As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster. To me, being a gangster was better than being President of the United States. Even before I first wandered into the cabstand for an afterschool job I knew I wanted to be a part of them. It was there that I knew that I belonged. To me, it meant being somebody in the neighborhood that was full of nobodies. They weren’t like anybody else. I mean, they did whatever they wanted. They double parked in front of a hydrant and nobody ever game them a ticket. In the summer when they played cards all night, nobody ever called the cops. Tuddy Cicero. Tuddy. Tuddy ran the cabstand in La Bella Vista Pizzeria and a few other places for his brother Paul who was the boss over everybody in the neighborhood. Paulie might have moved slow, but it was only because he didn’t have to move for anybody.
At first, my parents loved that I found a job across the street. My father, who was Irish, was sent to work at the age of eleven, and he liked that I got myself a job. He always said American kids were spoiled lazy.And my mother was happy after she found out that the Varios came from the same part of Sicily as she did. To my mother, it was the answer to her prayers.
I was the luckiest kid in the world. I could go anywhere. I could do anything. I knew everybody and everybody knew me. But it wasn’t too long before my parents changed their minds. For them, the cabstand was supposed to be a part-time job, but for me, it was full-time. People like my father could never understand, but I was a part of something. I belonged. I was treated like a grown-up. Every day I was learning to score. My father was always pissed off. He was pissed that he had to work so hard. He was pissed that he made such lousy money. Be was pissed that there were seven of us living in a tiny house. But after a while, he was mostly pissed that I hung around the cabstand. He said they were bums and that I was a bum. He said I was going to get into trouble. I used to say I was only running errands after school, but he knew better. He knew what went on at the cabstand and, every once in a while, usually after he got his load on, I had to take a beating. But by then, I didn’t care. No matter how many beatings I took, I wouldn’t listen to what he said. I don’t think I even heard him. The way I saw it, everybody has to take a beating some time.
That was it. No more letters from truant officers. No more letters from school. In fact, no more letters from anybody. How could I go back to school after that and pledge allegiance to the flag and sit through good government bull****.
Hundreds of guys depended on Paulie and he got a piece of everything they made. It was tribute, just like the old country, except they were doing it in America. All they got from Paulie was protection from other guys looking to rip them off. That’s what it’s all about. That’s what the FBI can never understand, that what Paulie and the organization does is offer protection for people who can’t go to the cops. They’re like the police department for wiseguys.
People looked at me differently. They knew I was with somebody. I didn’t have to wait on line at the bakery on Sunday morning anymore for fresh bread. The owner knew who I was with, and he’d come from around the counter, no matter how many people were waiting. I was taken care of first. Our neighbors didn’t park in our driveway anymore, even though we didn’t have a car. At thirteen, I was making more money than most of the grownups in the neighborhood. I had more money than I could spend. I had it all. One day some of the kids from the neighborhood carried my mother’s groceries all the way home for her. It was out of respect.

SEPT 23 1989

What's your name again?

Chrissie!

Where are we going?

Swimming!

valoren

"I believe in America. America has made my fortune...."

Olishi4

"Everybody be cool, this is a robbery...."

duchalla

Olishi4 wrote: »

"Everybody be cool, this is a robbery...."

Not being pedantic or anything, but "I love you Pumpkin. I love you Hunnybunny" came before that line, in fact, they had a whole conversation bout the merits of robbing a bank over a coffee shop before that....

just saying like..

Olishi4

duchalla wrote: »

Not being pedantic or anything, but "I love you Pumpkin. I love you Hunnybunny" came before that line, in fact, they had a whole conversation bout the merits of robbing a bank over a coffee shop before that....

just saying like..

Oh I know duchalla

I just meant the whole opening scene in general. I didn't want to copy and paste a whole wall of text again after the last post I put in here and just posted that famous part as the gist of it.

Ruu

That's Tommy, he tells people that he was named after a gun but I know he was really named after a 19th century ballet dancer.

Ah, this is not going to be a very good show tonight. And I think you should change the channel. Change the channel, go on, right now... or better yet, turn off the TV, okay? No, I know it seems like this is supposed to be funny, but tomorrow you’re gonna find out that it wasn’t and by that time I’ll have been fired. No, this is… this is not… this is not a sketch. This show used to be cutting edge political and social satire, but it’s gotten lobotomized by a candy-ass broadcast network hell-bent on doing nothing that might challenge their audience. We’re about to do a sketch that you’ve seen already about 500 times. Yeah, no one’s gonna confuse George Bush with George Plimpton. Yeah, we get it. We’re all being lobotomized by this country’s most influential industry that’s just throwing in the towel on any endeavor to do anything that doesn’t include the courting of 12 year old boys. And not even the smart 12 year olds. The stupid ones. The idiots. Which there are plenty, thanks in no small measure to this network, so why don’t you just change the channel? Turn off your TVs, do it right now, go ahead.... A struggle between art and commerce. Well, there’s always been a struggle between art and commerce. And now I’m telling you art is getting its ass kicked. And it’s making us mean, and it’s making us bitchy. It’s making us cheap punks. That’s not who we are! People are having contests to see how much they can be like Donald Trump?... We’re eating worms for money. Who wants to screw my sister? Guys are getting killed in a war that’s got theme music and a logo? That remote in your hand is a crack pipe. [monitors] Oh yeah, every once in a while we pretend to be appalled.... Pornographers! It’s not even good pornography. They’re just this side of snuff films. And friends, that’s what’s next because that’s all that’s left. And the two things that make them scared gutless are the FCC and every psycho religious cult that gets positively horny at the very mention of a boycott. These are the people they’re afraid of – this prissy, feckless, off-the-charts, greed-filled whorehouse of a network. And you’re watching this thoroughly unpatriotic Mother-