Sang yan mat gan ji che dut (2000) - full transcript

So, Hank.

- Meredith.

You're a writer.

- A great writer.

You know what the worst

thing is? You're not writing.

Are you familiar with Hell-A Magazine?

- Hell, no.

They would like

you to blog for them.

Do you have a gun?

You're out there sticking your dick

in anything that moves.

My name is Hank.

- I know.

Who did she go with?

- Bill's daughter.

I didn't know he had one.

How old is she?

- 16.

This is Mia, Bill's daughter.

And this is Hank.

You two know each other?

- No.

I need you, baby.

- No.

Hank, I'm getting married.

Don't marry him. Marry me.

I hate you.

What are you thinking about?

I'm thinking about how much

I absolutely fucking loathe this city.

Just as I was thinking about

how much I absolutely love it.

Meanwhile, I haven't written

a goddamn word since we got here.

You need to relax.

I just miss New York, honey.

You know, and I miss you,

because you're still there,

in that big, thick head of yours.

Come back to us, Hank.

Your girls miss you.

Who are you talking to?

Nobody.

Professional hazard.

- What do you do?

I'm a writer.

Non practicing.

I've got something you could read.

I think you have potential.

Hank.

- Bob.

Bill.

- Really?

Becca doesn't want to see you.

- You looking for a cock punch?

Let me talk to her.

- Trust me, as the father

of a teenage daughter,

just give her some space.

She'll come around.

You know something, Bill, is it?

- Yep. Still Bill.

Well, I appreciate the

parenting advice, but maybe,

just maybe, giving them too

much space is not such a good idea.

Maybe too much space is

actually the root of the problem.

Hank, please...

My daughter is 16,

and she's an angel.

Clearly I'm doing something right.

You poor bastard.

- Excuse me?

Homo says what?

- What?

Gotcha.

What the fuck is that?

You like it? I

could've bought a car instead.

I think you should still buy the car

and then run over

whoever created that turd.

Everything okay here, boys?

It's all good.

- It's all good?

That's kind of a hip lingo.

"It's all good.

"It's all good."

Yeah, that's what

they say, the kids.

I still hate you.

Naturally.

But I do want

to see your movie.

It's my book.

It's not my movie.

Not my problem.

I like your movie.

How is that even

possible, honey?

Because it proves you're not

the asshole they say you are.

Cursing will cost you.

Now who says I'm an asshole?

Can we swap nights this weekend?

We're having some

people over on Saturday,

and I want Becca to be there.

Uncle Charlie and aunt Marcy.

- Thank you, sweetie.

Dad should come.

- They're his friends, too.

And uncle Charlie's his agent.

Maybe he has an offer for him.

You're welcome

to come, Hank.

Absolutely. Bring a date.

Ear buds.

First of all,

you could not handle me hitting it off

with somebody right in front of you.

You're right. It

could be very painful.

But I think I'll get through it.

- Okay, so I take this

to mean the answer is no,

you're not going to marry me.

Hank, I'm standing right here.

Did you ever stop and

think that it might be nice

for Becca to see us all

get along for a change?

Yes, and it might be nice

if I could fellate myself

while farting the white album,

but I haven't been able

to quite master that yet.

So...

- Is he coming?

Absolutely.

What can I bring, Bob? Bill.

Whatever the fuck;

that's not a "fuck," Becca.

Your assistant makes me want

to touch myself in a bad place.

That's nice. My assistant

makes me want to hang myself.

While masturbating?

Are you retarded or something?

Funky back tat on the small of

the back. You know what that means.

She likes it in the pooper.

Really?

I have no idea. I just wanted

to say "pooper". I?ve found

that the back tat is a watermark

of the promiscuous, though.

Still, she's the world's

worst assistant.

She drops calls,

she loses manuscripts,

she can't even get

my fucking macchiato right.

But she does seem

to have a nipple ring.

Quite possibly two. There is something

very cool going on in that area.

Enough about my assistant's nipples.

You want to talk some business?

How's the new book coming?

- Now, that's a hostile question.

You have owed your publisher

a book since Becca was breast-feeding.

I remember because I used to like

to watch Karen do that.

Kiss my black ass.

You need a fucking job.

What? Okay. What do you got?

Listen.

You hear that?

- What?

That's the sound of my phone

not ringing for you.

You have burned every bridge

I built for you

with my bare hands.

Except, of course Hell-A Magazine.

- No, don't say it....

They want you to blog for them.

Just take the fucking meeting already!

Let's ask Dani California.

Hell-A Magazine. Thoughts?

You'd be perfect for them.

Nipple ring? Two?

Anywhere else?

She's got a nose ring, too.

You know what that means.

- She likes it in the nose?

That is sick.

Look around. L.A. needs you.

Now more than ever.

Your voice is a shotgun blast

to all the pretentious fucks

who pollute this

once-great city of yours.

Just so you know, it's

not and never will be my city.

Use the blog, Hank.

Channel your rage.

You're a dying breed.

You're a real writer, a real man.

You've got heart,

balls, and swagger.

Either way.

Come over to the

dark side, Hank.

Join us at

Hell-A Magazine.

I appreciate the

enthusiasm. I do.

But I don't have much to say.

- Think about it.

Where you going? I

thought I was the real deal.

It's a shame I'm

in a relationship.

Write me something, Hank.

Good night.

- Good night.

The airplane.

So, what do you think?

- Very little of substance.

My tits.

Seriously.

They seem pretty

fucking groovy to me.

Think they're too small?

- Too small for what?

I want to make them bigger.

They're absolutely almost perfect,

in every conceivable titty way.

What about my lips?

Highly kissable.

Not those lips.

These.

What about them?

Do you think they're too floppy?

What?

- Floppy?

I think of getting them fixed.

Vaginal rejuvenation.

You heard about it?

Get them trimmed up a little.

That way they don't look like

day-old deli meat.

I think I just lost my manhood.

And got hungry at the same time.

I can help you find that.

You can try.

Hey, this is you.

- I thought you recognized me.

I'm not a big

porn guy, actually.

And who might that be?

My daughter.

Do you need to

go... see to her?

It's okay. She'll quiet down.

Don't worry about it.

Go be with your daughter.

I'm gonna have to confiscate

this thing for further study.

Piece of shit!

Hell-A Magazine blog number one.

Hank hates you all.

A few things I've

learned in my travels

through this crazy

little thing called life.

One: a morning of awkwardness is

far better than a night of loneliness.

Two: I probably

won't go down in history,

but I will go

down on your sister.

And three:

while I'm down there,

it might be nice

to see a hint of pubis.

I'm not talking about

a huge'70s playboy bush or anything,

just something that reminds me

that I'm performing

cunnilingus on an adult.

But I guess the

larger question is,

why is the city

of angels so hell-bent

on destroying

its female population?

Jesus H. Christ.

Nope.

Just little old me.

Are you okay?

You look a little pale.

Are you gonna

have a heart attack?

You are getting on in years.

Just because I'm older than you

doesn't necessarily make me old.

Well, I am 16, you know.

So I've been told.

- What's the word for that again?

It's statutory rape.

That's two words.

Hi, daddy.

Honey, put some clothes

on, okay? We have company.

I'm sure it's nothing

he hasn't seen before.

Thanks for coming.

- Thanks for having me.

It's my pleasure.

The pleasure is all mine.

I think this is...

an important first step

we're taking here.

Really? What step is that?

The one where I

sit back and watch

as you try to steal my family

out from under me?

It's not gonna happen.

Game on, broheme.

Hey. You didn't

have to do that.

Well, I didn't. It's for me.

Sorry about that.

Hank, Sonja.

Sonja, Hank.

- Hi.

Uh, I love your writing.

And I love you.

I read your adaptation way back

when Soderbergh was gonna do it.

I fucking loved it.

- Hey, my salad days.

You and I are gonna

get along just fine.

I'm sorry. Honey?

Can I borrow the missus for a moment?

- Yeah.

Can I talk to you?

What the fuck

are you doing?

What do you mean?

You're trying to set me up

with this woman.

I thought it'd be nice for you to have

a play date with someone your own age.

And if we get

along swimmingly?

Hankie.

I had to leave

you, remember?

I'm not holding a torch here.

And you need to get on

with your life.

And you need to get in touch

with your emotions, woman.

He says he's not used to dating.

Nobody likes you.

You're ugly and your

mother dresses you funny.

Now smile, you

fucking douche.

Dad?

Dad?

- Yes.

Can I get a dog?

- Absolutely.

Yes. As long as it poops here.

We'll talk about it.

I'm sorry, Hank.

My apologies.

- That's fine, Bill.

She's very sweet.

Well, I'd like

to propose a toast.

To friends...

family...

a new beginning...

And a happy ending!

Well said, honey.

I'll drink to that.

- Cheers, cheers!

So, how did you and Bill meet?

I don't think this is

the right setting for that...

I think this is the

perfect setting for that story.

Bill hired Karen to redo

his place...

This place.

And along the way, they talked

Zen and the art of the mid-life crisis

and... eventually

fell head over

heels in love.

In Karen's case,

heels over head.

And Bill got another trophy

for his mantel, and...

Karen got to move into

her own Barbie dream house.

Talk about being the architect

of your very own...

Happy ending!

Got it.

- That's a bit of an oversimplification.

But I'm not surprised.

- Floor is all yours, Bill.

I'll pass.

- That doesn't surprise me.

How did you and Karen meet?

Some other time, sweetie.

- Mia, I don't think...

What? I'm curious.

Come on!

Karen's not a big fan

of memory lane.

I'll tell it.

- Rebecca.

Mom was going to art school and playing

bass in this downtown noise band.

Dad had just published his first novel.

They met cute at...

What was it called again?

CBGB's.

- Right.

He thought she

was pretentious,

and she thought he was way

too pleased with himself.

But they had sex anyway.

In the morning,

he made her breakfast,

and she talked about her plan

to move to Seattle

so she could stalk and marry...

Chris Cornell.

Right.

But then she read dad's writing.

And that was it.

Nine months later, I was born.

They never got

married, of course.

But they stayed

together a long time.

A lot longer than most people do.

Oh, my boyfriend's here.

I got to go. Bye, daddy.

Good night!

Bye, honey. So long.

- I wish I could tell

an interesting

story about me and my ex,

but it's really just

L.A. clich? number 4b.

He was sleeping

with his assistant.

Oh, shit. That happens.

His name was Ted.

- Your husband?

His assistant.

Could be worse.

- Really? How so?

Well, instead of finding out

that your husband was gay,

you could've found out

that he was a...

scientologist or

something like that.

I'm a scientologist, Hank.

Or a Nazi.

Or Al Qaeda.

Keep trying.

- See, this is what I love

about L.A. is the diversity.

- My bet you do.

The Eagles!

Eagles of Death Metal.

Cool. Right on.

I liked having

you here tonight.

Well, I liked

being here tonight.

Bullshit.

Oh, it's a pleasure

doing business with you.

I hate to burst your

bubble, sweetie, but...

that movie has nothing to do

with your old man.

Of course it does. Your novel,

while very much

an exercise in nihilism,

is firmly rooted in romanticism.

You read the novel?

Jesus fuck.

You shouldn't take

the Lord's name in vain.

Where'd you get that old chestnut?

- Bill.

I was wearing my

Cradle of Filth t-shirt.

The one with "Jesus

was a C-word" on the back.

That's my girl.

But I do pray sometimes.

Sort of.

What do you pray for?

That you and mom work out your shit

and we move back to New York.

No, honey. You don't owe me

anything for that one.

Dad?

Are you okay?

But I'm working on it.

Can I get a dog?

Oh, you're good.

You're good.

Son-ja.

Hey, look, I'm

sorry about before...

What I said. I don't know what the fuck

I'm talking about half the time.

Ask anybody. They'll tell you.

- No worries. No worries.

You want to...

You want to get fucked up?

Why are you so smiley?

There's nothing quite like

getting stoned on the very bed

that your ex-domestic partner

shares with her fianc??

It's the little things.

Could you do me a favor?

Absolutely.

Tell me what you think.

Honestly?

Yeah. Honestly.

I'm, forty-something years old.

I don't have time to play games.

I need to know the truth.

Your breasts are obviously real.

And, um, you have...

an abundance of pubic hair,

which is really nice.

And, um...

there's no evidence

of vaginal rejuvenation.

I'd say aside from the fact

that you worship a space alien,

you just might be the most beautiful

woman I've seen in a long long time...

Thank you.

It's my pleasure.

Would you do mean other favor?

Would you fuck me?

My husband recently left me

for a guy named Ted,

and right now all I wanna do

is get fucked stupid

by a guy who actually likes women.

If that's okay with you.

I'd be lying if I said

I never wondered

what it might be like

to violate a scientologist.

You must be looking like

Art Garfunkel down there lately.

Oh, my god. You're obsessed.

You haven't been in

for a wax in months.

So either you're taking

your lady business elsewhere

or you're sporting

a ginormous hippie bush.

You know what? I hate that shit.

I just came to keep you in business.

And I just want you to

be happy and hair-free.

Well, I am happy.

Thank you very much.

Are you sure you're not making

a deal with the devil

that your ass can't cash?

What does that even mean?

What?

What?

Are you totally serious

about marrying this guy?

Yes. Why?

I love him. He loves me.

He's great with Becca.

I mean, what else is there?

What about Hank?

What about him?

He loves you. He's

trying to get his shit together.

He has been trying

to get his shit together

since the day

we first met.

And the sex with Bill?

Is it good?

Yeah. It's different, you know?

Come on.

I want to show you my house.

Oh, my God.

My house is my art.

I don't think Tom and Katie would

approve of what we're doing right now.

Oh, God. Shut up

and fuck me already.

Are you clear yet?

Shut up and fuck me.

You are one kinky thetan.

Are you okay?

Right.

Oh, god.

My painting.

- It's all good.

We got it under control.

It's all good.

Okay. We're so high!

I don't know what happened.

You look like ass.

Did we just have sex?

What do you want from me?

Isn't it obvious?

What happened the other night

will never, ever happen again.

And why is that?

Because it's sick and wrong.

Well, maybe I'm in

the minority here,

but I just don't think

there's anything sick

and wrong about a little fucking

and punching between consenting adults.

You're not an

adult, for one.

You dirty old man.

Well, I guess

I'll just have to...

get out my vibrator

and read your blog.

That's cool. Then it won't be

a total waste of time.

I thought it was cool.

I was like, "Hey...

"I totally fucked that guy."

Must be weird, though.

- What?

Becoming the employee of a man

you so clearly hate.

What are you talking about?

My father...

He owns Hell-A Magazine.

Mia, is that you?

Coming, daddy.

Always a pleasure.