Okay.
This one is kind of a Heaven and Hell story.
Uh, well...
It's more of a Hell story. It's all about this Quaker psychopath.
Out in the fields, one day, he comes upon his daughter.
She's been murdered brutally.
...the only ones guaranteed to go to Hell
are those who die by their own hand.
- Stop! - So he took out a...
...cut-throat... - Stop! Stop, stop, stop.
- What? - Yeah, what?
I just... I don't think that's a very nice story.
I wanna know what happens at the end.
Well...
So...
The killer took out a cut-throat razor and as he
cut his throat open, he whispered, "Now are you happy, old man?"
- And the last thing that... - The killer ever saw...
That the killer ever saw, yes, was the old man take out a razor of his own,
put it to his throat and...
And slice.
That's a very good story.
Did you make that up all by yourself?
Some of the details aren't exactly right, of course.
I wouldn't necessarily call myself a psychopath, you know,
and I didn't go to Hell, obviously.
I don't know if he did. Yet.
Our beautiful daughter was black.
I don't think you mentioned that.
And I was not on my own the whole time, following him.
You know, you can't do that kind of work all on your own.
But looking back on what's been wasted...
At the time, I thought it had to be done.
I'm not so sure anymore.
Course it had to be done. He killed your kid.
You had to fuck him over by any means necessary.
Well, as Gandhi said...
Oh, you two. If it ain't Gandhi, it's Jesus Christ.
"An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind."
I believe that wholeheartedly.
No, it doesn't. There'll be one guy left with one eye.
How's the last blind guy gonna take out the eye
of the last guy left who's still got one eye?
All that guy has to do is run away and hide behind a bush.
Gandhi was wrong.
It's just that nobody's got the balls to come right out and say it.
Hans, I'm trying to write something about
the kinds of things you're talking about.
Yeah. Would you like to help write it with me?
You said I could help write it with you.
Yeah, we can all help write it with me.
He doesn't even wanna help write it with you. His wife just died.
I don't mind helping, as long as it isn't gonna be too violent.
- Of course it's gonna be too violent. - That's the whole point.
I told you 20 times, Billy, I don't want it to be violent.
I want it to be life-affirming.
Life-affirming? Schmife-affirming!
- It's about seven fucking psychopaths! - Hey!
No, you know what I think the movie should be?
The first half should be a perfect setup
for an out-and-out revenge flick.
- Yeah. - Violence. Guns.
All the usual bullshit. And then...
I don't know, man, it's...
The lead characters should just walk away.
They should just drive off into the desert and pitch a tent somewhere
and just talk for the rest of
the frigging movie. No shoot-outs, no payoffs.
Just human beings talking.
What, are we making French movies now?
That sounds like the stupidest ending. No shoot-outs?
That sounds like the stupidest ending
to a movie I've ever fucking...
- No shoot-outs? - Mmm-hmm.
- No? - No!
Wow.
Now if we were gonna have a shoot-out, that'd be the perfect place.
I know we're not gonna have a shoot-out.
I'm just saying if we were gonna have a shoot-out.
Jesus. Gandhi. Joseph.
# And you cried all night
# Till you created a stream and it flows forever
# It's made of dreams
# That didn't come true
# And I'm sorry, there's nothing more
# That I can do
# When we get... #
Hey, ho.
Martin, I've been reading your movie.
Oh.
What do you think?
Your women characters are awful.
None of them have anything to say for themselves.
And most of them get either shot
or stabbed to death within five minutes.
And the ones that don't probably will later on.
Well...
It's a hard world for women. You know?
And I guess that's what I'm trying to say.
Yeah, it's a hard world for women,
but most of the ones I know can string a sentence together.
Didn't you like anything in it?
- You know who I'm intrigued by? - Who's that?
This Vietnamese guy with the hooker. Is it like a dream sequence?
No. The Vietnamese guy...
I just know his story ain't gonna end in nothing
but carnage and horror and...
So I didn't even wanna write it.
He's not even a priest.
I just like the image of a Vietnamese guy
in a priest's outfit with a snub-nosed.44.
Anyway, his story is...
He was in the Vietcong for many years.
A brilliant warrior but a sicko. A psycho.
And when the war was ended, he returned to his little farming village
with all intentions of living a peaceful life with his wife and daughters.
But the little farming village he came from was called
My Lai.
And his wife wasn't there anymore.
And his daughters weren't there anymore.
And he ventured to the USA to track down
all the members of Charlie Company
who raped and butchered his whole entire family.
You see where I'm going with this, right?
Well, he'd already slaughtered six of them by the time he got to Phoenix,
where some kind of convention was about to be held
on the rights and wrongs of the Vietnam War.
And he's got a big bomb with him
that he's gonna strap to a hooker
and send her into the middle of this convention.
So this is the night that we meet him,
and the hooker's there in her panties.
And, like I said, there's no way
that story's ending but grimly.
That's a great fucking psychopath, Marty.
Yeah. But it's not what I wanna really be writing about anymore.
New idea. How about we change the title from the Seven Psychopaths
to the Seven Lesbians Who Are All Disabled
And Have Overcome All This Spazzy Shit
And Are Really Nice To Everybody And Two Of 'Em Are Black?
How about that?
# I come from a long line in history
# Of dreamers
# Each one more tired
# Than the one before...
I'm out here in the wilderness
trying to think about some ideas.
Anyway, the way I picture your screenplay,
especially with this Vietnamese guy who, of course, I'm fascinated by.
#...country dumb #
- Pressure. Pressure. - Huh?
I'm a little nervous.
Okay, everybody comfortable?
Cell phones off, right?
Okay, here we go.
Exterior.
Cemetery. Night.
The shoot-out. Yeah!
The Jack O' Diamonds is waiting there with Bonny,
and he's arranged to give him back and have this whole thing end
because all he really wants is peace. You know,
like Gandhi or Jesus or that other guy.
Anyway, he's waiting there for the Mafia boss,
who's agreed to show up alone and unarmed. But, yeah, guess what?
Wait, wait a minute.
Surely he knows that the Mafia boss is a psycho?
Why would he believe he'd show up alone and unarmed?
Hmm.
- You know? - Yeah.
Exactly!
Maybe the Jack O' Diamonds was expecting to get double-crossed
because he just happens to have
brought a couple of friends along.
Suddenly, from out of every fucking grave
burst the seven psychopaths, a gun in every hand.
Flamethrower! Who the fuck is that?
It's the Vietcong guy. He was hiding up a tree.
You! You're there,
but you're just there to observe, and that's all right.
Nobody thinks you're a pussy. But it's started raining now.
Lightning.
And oh, no, look who's wandered in like a fucking idiot.
It's Kaya. She's come to say sorry to you, and she loves you,
and that she didn't mean to be such a fucking bitch.
You scream out, "Kaya! Stay back!"
Too late, she's fucking mown down.
Fucking mown down!
Her head almost comes off.
Her head does come off.
You scream out her name, all sad, and she dies.
"Kaya! Kaya!"
You throw your notepad away. Art and peace and all that shit can wait!
Now's the time for men to be men!
"Fuck you, you cunts!"
It's really emotional.
And then... Hold on.
Yeah...
The black chick from the serial killer killers.
She fought good, but she's the next to croak.
Zachariah dies, too. He buys it.
Dies in her arms. And they die
and they're old and mental, and so much in love.
You know, it's really sad.
But his rabbit gets away, though,
because you can't let the animals die in a movie. Just the women.
Anyway, guns, guns, guns! Blam, blam, blam.
The Vietcong gets hit. Then he dies,
and he never even had a fucking name, and he's so good.
With his dying move, he throws his nunchakus
and he kills two of the bastards.
Nunchakus are Japanese.
So the only ones left are you
and Hans.
Peace is for queers. And now you're gonna die.
But the Jack O' Diamonds isn't dead at all.
He was just a bit injured and he had a fucking crossbow up his sleeve.
That's not enough, so he pulls out a shotgun.
Goodbye.
And as the Jack O' Diamonds dies in their arms, he whispers,
"We did good, we did good, didn't we, Marty?"
And through your tears, you say,
"Ah, bejesus, Jack,
"we did more than good. We did grand."
Jack says, "All I ever wanted was to be your friend.
"Marty, I'm your friend now, ain't I?"
And you say, "Ah, bejesus, sure, you're me best friend, Jack.
"You're me best friend."
And then the Jack O' Diamonds dies.
And as his soul leaves his body to go dance with the angels,
we pan up over the blood-strewn cemetery
and off into the pretty blue skies of dawn.
Skies blue enough to suggest that maybe there can be peace
one day in this troubled but beautiful world.
Maybe there can be peace because that would be good!
That's the end?
Yeah!
Oh.
So, opinions?
Well...
It's very...
- I like it. - You like it? Hey!
All right.
- It's got layers, you know. - Layers?
Like a pie. Like a cake.
It's got... It's got many layers.
This is an important demographic.
Mmm-hmm.
So, what do you think?
I think it's very, it's very, you know...
- Very... - Moving. Moving. Moving.
I was paying attention, I'll tell you that.
You were... Moving.
It's impossible
for someone's head to actually explode, isn't it? When it gets shot.
No, no, it's possible.
If the person's head was made out of explosives, it's possible.
Yeah. I like that.
Hans.
Billy's a psychopath, Hans.
I guess he's made it into your movie, then?
Hi, Hans. Hi, Mart.
Marty, is that what I think it is?
If you think it's a bottle of bourbon, then yeah.
Do you want some?
- Wow. - Wow?
Wow.
Hans. Are you not gonna say something?
Where's the peyote, Billy?
Oh, are we gonna have a peyote party?
Why not?
I think
I'd have made a great Pope.
I'd have been very lenient.
You'd have made an awesome Pope, Hans.
Huh?
Hans,
isn't one of us gonna address the elephant in the room?
The what?
Yeah, who's on the fucking peyote around here, Marty?
Paw.
I'm sorry if I haven't been a very good friend to you, Billy.
Paw.
You've been a good friend to me, Marty. What are you talking about?
Why did you kill all those people?
Huh?
Why did you kill all those people?
Like I told you at Kaya's party,
I killed all those people to spur you on a little bit
and give you something to write about
and get you to finish your screenplay.
You told me...
When?
I can't believe you told me about this at the party, man!
Maybe I am an alcoholic if I could forget something like that.
Maybe I am an alcoholic.
Okay, listen. I didn't tell you about it at the party.
I was just kidding about that because you surprised me,
and it would have been ridiculous telling you at the party.
You might have told somebody, got me in trouble.
Then why did you just tell me that you told me?
To make you think a little bit
about your alcohol issues. How about that?
Billy, you kill women!
I killed a woman. Take it easy.
You shot her in the stomach, Billy.
That's better than the head, ain't it?
Not really, no.
I said I was sorry, didn't I?
Yeah, well...
I don't hang out with people who kill women, Billy,
and I certainly don't write screenplays with them.
What are you talking about, Marty?
You'd best pack the tent up, Billy.
It's over.
It's over?
Now what...
Where's this other fucking nutcase?
Hans!
Hans.
Hans. We're leaving.
My wife is sitting on a chair someplace. Some gray place.
I thought she'd be in Heaven, but she's sitting on a chair
with a bullet in her head.
I thought they'd have cleaned that kind of stuff up.
Maybe you've just eaten
too many hallucinogenic cactuses tonight, Hans.
Nothing to do with the hallucinogens.
But you've just seen Myra
on a chair with a bullet through her head.
In some gray place.
England?
It seemed a lot worse than that.
Wow.
Listen, Hans, what say we talk about this on the drive home?
I mean, we may find some perfectly reasonable...
Jesus.
Billy.
Billy?
In the tent, dumbo.
What?
Now don't get mad.
What the hell did you do?
I set the car on fire.
How the hell are we supposed to get home?
We're in the middle of the fucking desert, Billy.
Yeah, that's the least of our worries.
What else did you do?
I'll give you a clue.
Come on in.
So, yeah, I just called up old Charlie Costello
and I told him where we were and to come down and get his dog back
and said if he had any trouble finding us, just look for a Buick on fire.
But I did tell him to promise to come alone
and unarmed, and he said he would.
And he'll be here in a couple of hours, depending on traffic.
Now, I've labeled these guns for you,
but you totally don't have to use them.
I won't think you're pussies, but I'm gonna hang on to mine.
I think we've done enough of this
"talking about peace in the desert" type stuff.
Don't you?
I do. This movie ends my way.
Well, that's just fucking great! Oh, great!
You know what that is? Do you know what that is?
- Great? - That's just fucking great!
How far is the walk to the Welcome Center?
We can't leave him.
You ain't gonna fight.
Of course I ain't gonna fight, but I ain't gonna run.
- What are you gonna do, then? - I guess I'm gonna die.
Friends don't make their friends die, Hans.
Psychopathic friends do.
You're the one who thought psychopaths were so interesting.
They get kind of tiresome after a while, don't you think?
Is that a guinea pig? It's a gerbil, isn't it? That's enormous.
Hey, Marty, we just seen some kind of giant gerbil.
Oh.
Marty, you alcoholic fucking bastard.
You might wanna stop drinking, Martin,
if this is the way you're gonna behave.
If this is the way I'm gonna...
This guy just telephoned a psycho-killer
to come down and psycho-kill us.
And this guy's doubting a lifelong belief in the afterlife
because of a psychedelic cactus he just ate.
- And you motherfuckers are telling me to behave? - Whoa! Whoa!
Time out. What's all this about doubting
a lifelong belief in the afterlife
because of a psychedelic cactus you just ate?
- Hans, what the heck? - I met Myra.
On the ridge. She had some things to say.
About the afterlife being non-existent or something?
That was the gist.
No, no, it might have sounded like Myra.
But you know why?
Now don't get mad, but you know
I can do Myra's voice pretty good.
Yeah, I snuck up there a little while ago and I pretended to be her.
I started saying all kinds of crazy stuff.
But what specifically did you say?
About the place
you were in. The place Myra was in.
Huh?
How did you describe it, specifically?
- You mean specifically? - Yeah.
I just kind of said it was all kind of...
I just kind of said it was all kind of
gray and shit.
No.
Oh, great, now I have to kill everybody all on my own.
Sorry for hitting you in the face so hard.
That's all right. It was a pretty good punch for a pacifist.
I love you, man.
I love you, too.
Listen, if you're not gonna be really doing any shooting,
maybe you should just go with Hans, see he gets back all right.
Huh?
I think I'll see how this plays out. Sure I'm drunk now anyway.
Yeah.
Seriously, Marty, you gotta do something about your drinking
because, I swear to God, it's gonna wind up killing you.
This is kind of like that window of time
when you're waiting in the waiting room
of the VD clinic, isn't it?
For the door to open and the doctor to come out and say,
"Billy, you're good to go."
Or, "Billy, you've got VD."
Or chlamydia or whatever.
He's all alone.
What the hell's he all alone for?
Turn around again.
And lift up your jacket.
You shot him in the back.
Of course I shot him in the back.
I was going for his spine.
But he was unarmed.
My ass, he was fucking unarmed.
Where's your guns?
You said don't bring none,
so I didn't bring none.
Hey, Bonny baby.
You didn't bring a gun to the final shoot-out? Bullshit.
And don't talk to my dog!
He said don't bring none, so I didn't bring none.
- Who are you? - Just Billy's friend.
Found it, motherfucker.
Your friend's a fucking nut.
My ass, you was fucking unarmed. I found it, motherfucker.
It's a flare gun, Billy.
You could do a lot of damage with a flare gun.
- Think I'm gonna die. - What?
- I think I'm gonna die. - Well, don't keep going on about it!
You fucking cunt.
Fucking ruined everything now.
Will you let me give him a couple of kisses and a couple of scratches?
No, I ain't gonna let you give him
a couple of kisses and a couple of scratches!
Billy, we gotta get him to a hospital.
Are you out of your alcoholic fucking mind?
You don't take the chief fucking villain to a fucking hospital.
Put your hands up.
No.
- What? - I said no.
- Why not? - I don't want to.
- But I've got a gun. - I don't care.
But...
It doesn't make any sense.
Too bad.
Well...
Where are your friends?
I don't know.
- Yes, you do know. - No, I don't know.
You do know.
Shoot me, then.
Fucking dick-bags.
This is just un-fucking-believable, man.
We can't just let him bleed to death.
We totally can.
We totally can let him bleed to death. That's totally what we can do.
I'm not leaving without my dog.
Listen up, you bald-headed fag. It's you or your fucking dog!
I gotta pick me, don't I?
'Cause if I'm dead, I ain't gonna have a dog anyway.
That's very good. That's very brainy.
And if I'm alive, I can always come back here and get my dog
and blow your goddamn head off, can't I?
That's exactly right. With your faggy little flare gun.
You cunt.
Can I have my flare gun back?
No, you can't have your flare gun back.
What, is he drinking and driving?
I'll be back for you.
That was the worst final shoot-out I've ever fucking seen, man.
Why would he only bring a flare gun to the big final...
Oh, I get it.
Motherfucker.
You got a gun?
You don't got a gun, do you, Quaker?
You better keep out of the way now, all right, old man? I like you.
Hey.
Stop! Police!
It isn't gray
at all.
Shit!
Should've brought that gun along, buddy.
Don't believe in them.
In guns? You don't believe in guns?
They ain't fucking leprechauns,
you dumb Mick. What are you talking about?
I was trying to save your life, man.
It's a flesh wound, you fucking idiot.
Give me my gun.
Cops are coming, Charlie.
We had to whack that Quaker guy.
Don't you wish you had a gun now?
No.
I don't.
So why don't you go fuck yourself.
Where's the other guy, Charlie?
Down the road a-ways with my dog.
What are we gonna do?
We're gonna go get my dog.
What's with your sour fucking puss?
I could've just killed you now, couldn't I?
You've had your friend killed,
and you're just about to have your other friend killed,
but that still only makes two friends killed.
I've had four of my guys killed, and also my girlfriend killed,
who I didn't like much, but that's still five friends killed.
That's three more friends killed
than you've had friends killed,
so don't give me that moany fucking face, okay?
What? What do you see?
Oh, nothing. Just the perfect place for a final shoot-out.
Get away from the car! Get away from the car!
Throw your guns down, or the alcoholic gets it!
Don't throw down shit, Billy!
No, no. This is working out perfect.
Here's my guns, mister.
And the other one!
I only had two.
Man, I saw you with three!
All right, all right, you're one smart cheese!
Now get down here with my fucking dog!
Are you gonna let Marty go if I do?
Yes, I'm gonna let Marty go if you do.
He didn't have anything to do with any of this.
He was just writing a movie.
- Are you? - Yeah.
What's it called?
Seven Psychopaths.
I'm coming down.
I was just trying to buy
some time because I had to
reload something.
Forgot about the flare gun, you fucking idiot.
Bonny.
Yeah, Bonny, I know.
And I like this dog.
Please. Bonny's not part of the gang. That's not fair.
You gonna cry?
Marty, get going.
They killed Hans, Billy.
Ah, man.
I didn't kill him. He killed him.
Don't kill my dog.
Marty, get going. Write it up.
Come with me, Billy. Please.
I told you, didn't I, Marty?
Told me what, Billy?
This movie ends my way.
Oh, fuck.
What's the matter with your fucking gun?
Gets jammed sometimes.
At the fucking standoff?
- Paolo, shoot him. - At the fucking standoff?
Paolo, shoot him while he's not looking.
- I am looking. Clearly, I'm looking. - And I ain't shooting.
What do you mean, you ain't shooting? He's gonna shoot my dog.
Yeah, well, fuck your dog.
Fuck my dog?
Hey, mongoloid, fix your fucking gun,
or your little gay dog's little gay head's gonna fucking explode.
- He doesn't have a gay head. - Five.
- He has a normal head. - Four.
- Three. - Can you go back to five?
I ain't going back to five, man.
I ain't going back to five.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
Drop your gun! Let me see your hands!
Hands, move!
Come here, baby. Come to Daddy.
Paw.
He's my friend.
To Martin, I...
Well, I ain't any kind of a screenwriter as you know,
but I've been kind of trying to come up with some sort of solution
to your Vietcong psychopath conundrum
and, goldarnit, I think I may have found one.
So, there's this
Vietnamese guy, and he's in this hotel room in Phoenix,
and he's sweating. He's sweating like hell. He's burning up.
He takes out from his pocket a.44. He checks it's loaded.
I don't know why he checks it's loaded.
Surely he's the one who loaded it?
Anyway, a hooker comes out of the bathroom in a beautiful red dress.
She says, "Would you like to make love,
"or should we have an intelligent conversation instead?
"I've been reading a lot of Noam Chomsky lately, I think he's a marvel. "
The Vietnamese guy, you know, he doesn't know what she's talking about.
He's Vietnamese. So, anyway,
you said you wanted some sex in it, so I guess they're having sex.
Desist, brother.
You know this will not help us.
He sniffs the air. He says the single word...
Gasoline.
The hooker, she studied Vietnamese at Yale.
I don't smell gas.
You will.
He drags her to the place
where the convention's being held.
She's got the dynamite tied to her.
He's got the gasoline he's just bought.
She backs away, petrified.
He pours the gas out onto the floor. It reaches her feet.
A little of it has splashed over himself. It doesn't matter.
He takes out a match. In perfect Vietnamese, the hooker whispers...
Desist, brother.
You know this will not help us.
He shuts his eyes. Then he opens them again.
He ain't in Phoenix anymore.
He's sitting in the middle of a street in Saigon circa 1963
in the orange robes of his Buddhist order,
and he's drenched himself in gasoline.
As he finally manages to push
the thoughts of anger and hate out of his gentle mind,
a fellow monk pleads with him one final time.
Desist, brother.
You know this will not help us.
And all angry thoughts finally dispelled.
The first monk ever to burn himself to death to protest the war whispers,
"It might."
It might.
"It might." And he lights the match.
So, you know, your Vietcong psycho story
becomes the final thoughts of a man who chose not the darkness,
but the light.
The light being, you know,
suicide by self-immolation.
But I think that's the best we're gonna get. And, you know...
I know you said
dream sequences are for fags, but I think it could work, don't you?
We all gotta dream,
don't we?
Not just fags.
Oh, by the way, I don't think they like being called "fags" anymore.
I think nowadays they prefer "homos."
# You and I travel to the beat of a different drum
# Oh, can't you tell by the way I run
# Every time you make eyes at me
# Whoa
# You cry and moan and say it will work out
# But, honey child, I've got my doubts #
- Hello? - Is this Martin?
Yeah, who's this?
It's Zachariah Rigby.
The guy you promised you'd put his number up at the end of your movie.
Well, I went to see your movie yesterday. Guess what?
Shit.
Now how's she ever gonna fucking find me?
- I didn't think you were... - Serious?
You didn't think I was serious just because I carry a rabbit around?
Listen, I'll get them to change the credits.
I'll get them to put your number up.
No, no, no.
You're miles too late, you know that, Martin.
And you promised on your life.
You know what that means, don't you?
I said, "You know what that means, don't you?"
I'm gonna be over to kill you on Tuesday.
That's good.
I'm not doing anything Tuesday.
You sound different.
You sound like you've been through a wringer.
A little.
I, well...
Tuesday doesn't really work for me.
Can I get back to you?
Sure.
I'll be right here.
I know.
Come on, Carrie.
Let's go home, baby.
# I would have given you all of my heart
# But there's someone who's torn it apart
# And he's taking almost all that I've got
# But if you want I'll try to love again
# Baby, I'll try to love again But I know
# The first cut is the deepest Baby, I know
# The first cut is the deepest
# 'Cause when it comes to being lucky, he's cursed
# When it comes to lovin' me, he's worse
# But when it comes to being loved, he's first
# That's how I know
# The first cut is the deepest Baby, I know
# The first cut is the deepest
# I still want you by my side
# Just to help me dry the tears that I've cried
# And I'm sure gonna give you a try
# And if you want I'll try to love again
# But, baby, I'll try to love again But I know
# Oh, yeah
# The first cut is the deepest Baby, I know
# The first cut is the deepest
# 'Cause when it comes to being lucky, he's cursed
# When it comes to lovin' me, he's worse
# But when it comes to being loved, he's first
# That's how I know
# The first cut is the deepest Baby, I know
# The first cut is the deepest
# Oh, yeah
# The first cut is the deepest
# Yes, it is
# But when it comes to being lucky, he's cursed
# When it comes to being loved, he's worse
# When it comes to lovin' me, he's first
# That's how I know #