All language subtitles for The.Ladykillers.2004.720p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

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(GOSPEL MUSIC PLAYING)

(SEAGULLS CAWING)

(CAWING)

(TUGBOAT TOOTING)

(SHERIFF SNORING)

(BEEPING)

(SNORING)

(DOOR SLAMS)
(GASPS)

Oh...

Afternoon, Mrs. Munson.
Afternoon, Sheriff.

You know the Funthes boy?

Um, Mackatee Funthes?

MRS. MUNSON: No, no,
not him. Weemack.

Mackatee's eldest.
Oh, yeah.

I believe I do. Mmm-hmm.
Well, he's a good boy
and all,

but he done gone down
to the Costco in Pascagoula
and got his self a blaster.

What?
And he been
playing that music.

Well, if you want,
you know, I could...
Loud.

Well, I could go talk
to him if you...
Left My Wallet in El Segundo.

He left his wallet?
Hippity-hop music.

You know, they calls it
hippity-hop music,

but it don't make me
want to go hippity-hop.
Mmm-mmm.

Mmm...

And Othar don't like
that music neither.

It's been disturbin'
Othar then, has it?

Well, how could it
help but do?

Left My Wallet
in El Segundo.

He left his...
Sheriff, do you know what

they call colored folks
in them songs?

Have you got any idea?

No, ma'am,
I don't think...
Niggas.

Ooh.

I don't even want to
say the word.

Now, I won't say
it twice,

I can tell you that.

I say it one time...
Yes, ma'am.

...in the course of
swearin' down my complaint.

Yes.
Niggas.

Mmm. Mmm-mmm.

Two thousand years
after Jesus.

Thirty years after
Martin Luther King.

The age of Montel.
Mmm.

Sweet Lord of mercy,
is that where we at?

Weemack down to Pascagoula

and gettin' his self
a big ol' thumpety stereo

so he can
listen to that trash.

Sheriff, you got to
help that boy.

You want me to help him?

Extend that helpin' hand.

Show an interest.

Well, we're here to help.
Well, God bless
you for that.

You don't want to be tried
and found wantin'.

No, ma'am.
No, many, many done

tunkalow parzen,
Sheriff.

Many, many done
tunkalow parzen.

Many what, ma'am?

You been tried
and found wantin'.

You don't want that
writin' on the wall.

Oh, no, ma'am.
Don't want that on the wall.

Feast of Balthasar.

Yeah, that sounds good.

The apostle John said,

"Behold, there's a stranger
in our midst,
come to destroy us."

Yes, ma'am.
Yes, ma'am.

(GOSPEL MUSIC PLAYING)

(BIRDS CHIRPING)

(BELL DINGING)

Aww...

You need somethin'
to eat, angel?

Othar, I went and complained
about Weemack today.

Don't know if it'll
do any good. Mmm.

That boy hangin'
by a thread.

Over the pit.

Fiery pit.

Left My Wallet
in El Segundo.

Oh! (CHUCKLES)

Sixty-seven
years of life.

Forty-six years
of marriage.

You mean to tell me
you never once
suffered from piles?

Well, it's the human
condition. (CHUCKLES)

Most humans, anyhow.

Like that ballplayer said,

"The world's got
two kind of folks.

"Them that's got the piles and
them that's goin' get 'em."

But you always was
healthy as an ox.

Passed on 'fore
you could get the piles.

Mmm-hmm.

Oh, thank the Lord
you never was sick.

Just want to pass away
nice and peaceful.

(CHUCKLES SOFTLY)

Go to sleep one night,
wake up in the glory land.
(EXCLAIMS)

(MEOWING)

(KNOCKING ON DOOR)

(CHAIR CREAKING)

(CAT MEOWING)
MRS. MUNSON: Pickles!

Go fetch Pickles!

Pickles?

Oh, he's up that tree again.
You'd better shimmy on up.

Well, I do apologize,
madam,

but won't the feline
eventually tire of his
lonely perch

and, pining for his
master's affection,

return on his
own initiative?

The point being,

must we actually
ascend the tree?

Look, I don't want
no doubletalk.

Now, if you not
goin' fetch him,

I guess I gotta
call the police.

Police?
And they not
goin' be happy.

Every time they have
to fetch him,

they swear they'll
never do it no more.

(INHALES) You don't need
to call the authorities,
madam.

I did this often
as a child.

I was a positive lemur.

Here, kitty.

Oh, don't upset him now.

I wouldn't
think of it, madam.

Harmless little
Felis domesticus.

(GRUNTS)

Here, kitty.

Come to G.H.
Come, come.

(MEOWS)
Here, kitty.
Here, kitty.

(GRUNTS) Come, come, come.
No, no, no.

That's not how
Sheriff Wyner do it.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Come, come, come.

(HISSING)

Come to the professor.

Yes.

(CREAKING)
(GRUNTS)

Ah...

Thank you, madam,
for your act of kindness.

Well, you let him out.

I certainly did and for that
I apologize no end.

Allow me to present
myself, um, formally.

Goldthwait Higginson Dorr,
Ph.D.

Like Elmer?

I beg your pardon,
ma'am?
Fudd.

No, no. Ph.D.

is a mark of academic
attainment bestowed,
in my case,

in recognition of my mastery
of the antique languages
of Latin and Greek.

I also hold a number of
other advanced degrees,

including the baccalaureate
from a school in Paris,
France,

called the Sorbonne.

Sore bone. (SCOFFS)

Well, that fits.

You ever study at
Bob Jones University?

I have not had
that privilege.

Oh, that's a Bible school.

Only the finest
in the country.

I send 'em $5
every month.
That is very generous...

I'm on the mailin' list.
I'm an angel.
Are you? Yes.

Oh, they list my name
in the newsletter every issue.

Do they?
Oh, I got the literature
right over here.

If you'd like to
examine it...
Perhaps when my head has

recovered
from its buffeting.

Mrs. Munson,
are you at all curious

as to why
I darkened your door,

as the expression
would have it,

on this lovely, lovely
camellia-scented morn?

Well, I was wonderin'
till you let Pickles out.

I quite understand.
Then in all
the excitement...

The fact is,
I saw the sign
in your window

advertising a room
to let?

And there are no other
such signs among the houses

on this charming,
charming street.

Yeah, I got a room,
$15 a week.

I'm lookin' for
a quiet tenant.

Madam, you are addressing
a man who is quiet...

And yet, not quiet.

If I may offer a riddle.

I am currently on sabbatical
from the institution
where I teach,

the University of Mississippi
at Hattiesburg.

I am takin' a year off
to indulge my passion,

and I do not believe
that is too strong a word,

for the music
of the Renaissance.
Mmm-hmm.

I perform in,
and have the honor
of directing,

a period-instrument
ensemble

that performs at
Renaissance fairs and
other cultural fora

throughout central
and southern Mississippi.

We perform on the instruments
for which the music
was originally composed.

Now, wait a minute.
You got some kind of band?

(CHUCKLES)

The word "band" would be,
in this context,
something of a misnomer.

Though we do play together,
hence the word "ensemble,"

the nature of the music
is such that,

well, one would hesitate
to apply the epithet "band"

with connotations of
janglin' rhythms...

So, y'all ain't playin'
no hippity-hop?

I Left My Wallet
in El Segundo.

Songs with the titles
spelled all funny?

(LAUGHS)
No, no, no.

We play music

that has been composed
to the greater glory of God.

Devotional music.
Church music.

Gospel music?

Well, inspired by
the gospel, certainly.

The vintage, of course,
is no more recent
than the Rococo.

Rococo, huh?

Well, I guess
that'd be okay.

But I don't propose to inflict
our rehearsals on you.

May I inquire,
do you have a root cellar?

(DOOR CREAKING)

DORR: Ah.

Yes.

Yes, yes.

This looks promising.

A little dank,
ain't it?

Indeed. That only
improves the acoustics.

(VOCALIZING)

Marvelous.

Yes.

Ah.

Oh, these earthen walls
are ideal for baffling
the higher registers

of the lute or sackbut.

(VOCALIZING)

That is why so much music
of the Cinquecento

was played in crypts
and catacombs.

This is ideal.

This is perfect. This is
more than perfect.

I can scarcely
contain my glee.

Oh, you containin' it okay.

(HIP-HOP MUSIC PLAYING)

You gotta peel
this shit out, man.

Sometimes it stick
to the bottom.

Man, this shit
smells like rot.

You wouldn't even
believe this, man.

Even out here
on the casino floor,

you gonna find goddamn
mercy pads, Tucks.

I don't know what the fuck
people be doin' here
while they gamblin'.

Man, I ain't peelin'
no funky shit with
my human hands.

That ain't nothin'
but a prescription for
diseases and viruses

and shit attackin'
your fuckin' insides.

Oh, well, shit,
you gotta do it 'cause
Mr. Gudge checks everything.

Now, this tunnel leads
back onto the land

for all the people
that work for Mannex.

Mannex Corporation.
They own the Bandit Queen,
three other boats.

Now, this is where they think
all their corporate shit,
Gudge and them.

I mean, the light's
as ugly as all hell,

but, shit,
ain't as many Tucks.

(KNOCKING)

Let me in,
motherfucker.

MAN: What's the password?

Kiss my ass.

(DOOR CLANGS)

(LAUGHING)

Now, this is where
they count the dough.

Now, if you try to
take any of it,

Elron over there'll
shoot yo' ass.

God damn.
(LAUGHING)

Dawg, this is a motherfuckin'
pigsty, man.

You are a squeakyass,
motherfuckin' pig.

Man, look at your ass.
You got Cocoa Krispies
on your uniform.

Got breakfast there,
and you still eatin'
goddamn lunch, man.

I swear to God,
if that ass was nickels,

you'd be a motherfuckin'
millionaire.

Spread out, boy.
Look at you.
You a disgraceful fucker.

You is a fat
motherfucker, man.
I swear...

Hey, Mr. Gudge.

How you doin'
this mornin'?
I'm doin' fine.

All right.
So, how's the new man?

Oh, shit, he a cleanin'
motherfucker, man.

Is that a fact?

What's up, my nigga?

(EXPLOSIONS)

DIRECTOR: Cut!
Cut, cut, cut.

God damn it,
his canteen fell off.
Props!

(SIGHS)

The goddamn thing's
canteen fell off.

PANCAKE: Okay,
we're prepared for that.

Mountain, put Otto
into the apparatus.

(DOG PANTING)

What the hell is this?

World War I
vintage gas mask.

It's authentic.
Strapped on, of course,
so it can't fall off.

Now, the animal is free
to be as active as he wants.

It doesn't inhibit his
movement in any way,

and I think it really sells
the whole doughboy thing.

(STUTTERS) It looks
like a fucking joke.

Uh, you're absolutely right.

The gas mask is
a whimsical concept.

How the hell does it eat
when it gets to the Nibbles
Ready-to-Eat?

Well, you're absolutely right.

Don't let
the clients see this.
Or that Humane fucker.

PANCAKE: No, of course not.

They'll just shut
the fuckin' spot down,
Pancake.

They'll shut the fuckin'
spot down, okay?

Put the goddamn canteen
back on the dog.

That says he's a soldier.

Dented tin canteen.

All right? Strap it
to his fucking collar.

Easiest thing in the world.

I just thought...
What?

But you're right,
a canteen's much better.

Good concept.
Let's go with that.

(DOG GASPING)

What's he doing?
PANCAKE: Well, he's...

Just breathe normally,
Otto.

The fucking dog
can't breathe.

Oh, no, he can breathe.
That thing is...

Just breathe normally, Otto.
The fuckin' dog can't breathe.

The fuckin' dog
cannot breathe.

Okay? Get the...
Get that fuckin'
thing off of him.

Of course,
easiest thing
in the world.

I don't have
my Leatherman.

Mountain, give me your
Leatherman. Chop, chop.

Chitra, make sure that
Humane fucker doesn't
come over here, okay?

Distract him. He'll shit
if he sees this.
There we go.

Mountain, have electric
run me a stinger.

Don't give up on me, Otto.

Mountain, I need two
live leads.

But, Garth, the gennie's
100 yards away.
God damn it.

Otto's gonna have
irreversible brain damage
in about 30 seconds.

Here we go.
Okay, kiss of life.

Otto is fuckin' dead.

What the fuck
are you doing?

Otto is fuckin' dead!

PLAYER: Set.
320. 320. Hut.

(GRUNTING)

(BREATHING HEAVILY)

(GRUNTING)
(GROANING)

I-left. 90-tiger, X-slant.
On one. Ready?

Break.

Hut.

(GRUNTING)

Split left.
68, Z-go.

You the man.

Hey, butthead.
LUMP: Huh?

You the man.
LUMP: Me the man?

On one. Ready?
ALL: Break.

PLAYER: 390. 390. Hut.
(CROWD CHEERING)

(GRUNTING)

(CLINK)

(GRUNTING)

(WHISTLE BLOWING)

LUMP: Oh, no.

Hudson, get your
ass off the field!

Get your ass
off the field!

God damn it.

Hudson, get your ass
out of my game!

You couldn't
catch a cold.

(HIP-HOP MUSIC PLAYING)

(DOOR BEEPS)

(GUNS COCKING)

A'ight, dragon lady,
we want that fuckin' money.

We want that donut money.

(SPEAKING CANTONESE)

Okay, papa-san,
we want that donut money.

We ain't fuckin' around,
Mr. Hi-Ho.

Look, this fuckin' thing,
it ain't that complicated.

You give us
all the fuckin' money,

you won't get
shot in the head.

A'ight? You got
three seconds.

You... You got three
fucking seconds, a'ight?

One, two, three.
You understand?

We want that
donut money.

I'm gonna count uno,
and two and...

(CHOKING)
(GRUNTS)

His fingers are way
the fuck up my nose.

Get your fingers
out my man's nose!

(SPEAKS CANTONESE)
(DOOR BEEPS)

Coffee?

(GLASS SHATTERS)
(GROANING)

(CRYING)

♪ Let it shine on
♪ All night

♪ Let it shine on
♪ Come on, now, let your

♪ Light from the lighthouse

♪ Let it shine on me
♪ Shine on me

♪ Oh, let it
♪ Shine on

♪ All night, let it
♪ Shine on

♪ I need you to let your
light from the lighthouse

♪ Let it shine on me

♪ Let it shine on me
♪ Shine on

♪ Let it shine on me
♪ Shine on

♪ Let it shine on me
♪ Shine on

♪ You got to let it
Shine on me
♪ Shine on

♪ When you're
walkin' in darkness
♪ Shine on

♪ You gotta let it shine
♪ Shine on

♪ If you want
to see the light
You gotta let it shine

♪ You've got to
Let it shine

♪ You've got to
Let it shine

♪ Come on, shine, yes
Come on, shine

♪ Come on, shine

♪ You've got to come on
And let it shine

♪ Yeah, help me
Let it shine

♪ Let it shine

♪ Shine

♪ Oh, yeah

♪ Hey, let it shine
♪ Shine on

♪ Let it shine
♪ Shine on

♪ Let it shine
♪ Shine on

♪ Let the light
From the lighthouse

♪ Shine

♪ On

♪ Me

♪ Let it shine on me

♪ Yeah ♪

(APPLAUSE)

(APPLAUSE AND CHEERING)

I know you all remember

that when Moses
came down the mountain

carrying the word of God.

Come down that Sinai peak,

he caught them
Israelites red-handed.

ALL: Yes.

What'd he
catch 'em doin'?

He caught 'em worshippin'

a golden calf.

He caught 'em worshippin'
a false god.

He caught them
Israelites in decline.

In decline.

What did Moses do
when he saw those

declinin', backslidin',
never-mindin' sinners?

What did he do?
What did he do?

Moses smote those sinners
in his wrath. Yes, he did.

Y'all know
what "smote" is?

(MUTTERING)

I smite, you smite,
he smites, we done smote.

(ALL EXCLAIM)

To smite is to go
upside the head.

Because sometimes,
brothers and sisters,
that's the only way.

The only way.

To smite is to remind
we got to stop that decline

and scramble back up
to the face
of the Almighty God.

Amen.

Instead of worshippin'
that golden calf,

that earthly trash on
that garbage island.

That garbage island
in the shadowland.

(VOCALIZING) Way...
(ALL CHEER)

Way outside
the kingdom of God.

That garbage island,
where scavenger birds feast

on the bones of
the backslidin' damned.

And so, let us pray.

(MRS. MUNSON HUMMING)

(KNOCKING ON DOOR)

My dear lady,

I do so hope this is
not an inopportune time
for our first practice.

Somebody die?

DORR: I beg your pardon?

Oh! (LAUGHS)

No, no, no.
No, I'm not bereaved.

Though it is so kind
of you to inquire.

The hearse is
simply a vehicle

commodious enough to
accommodate all the members
of our ensemble.

And, of course,
our instruments,

contrived in an age
ignorant of miniaturization.

Allow me to
introduce my friends,
my colleagues,

these devoted and
passionate musicians...

Ain't no smokin'
in this house.

Oh?

Sorry.

(STRUMMING AND TOOTING)

(STRUMMING)

What do you think,
General?

Present any problems?

(BLOWING SACKBUT)

(SOFTLY) Good, then.

Gentlemen, why don't we
crowd around and
go over the plan?

(CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYING)

Gentlemen, this is
the Bandit Queen.

The gambling den.
Cash cow.

Sodom of the
Mississippi Delta

and the focus of our
little exercise.

Here is Orchard Street.

Here is the residence
of Marva Munson,

the charming lady whom
you all met moments ago.

Gentlemen, I'm sure
you're all aware

that the solons of the state
of Mississippi, to wit,
its legislature,

have decreed that no gaming
establishment shall be erected

within its borders
upon dry land.

They may, however,
legally float.

While the gambling activity

is restricted to
these riverboats,

no such restrictions apply
to the functions ancillary

to this cash-besotted
business.

The casino's offices,
locker rooms,

facilities to cook and clean,
and, most importantly,
its counting houses.

The reinforced, secret,
super-secure repositories
of the lucre

may all be
situated wherever.

(INHALES DEEPLY)

Gawain, where is
"wherever"?

Say what?

Where's the money?
Oh...

Okay, look.

At the end of every shift,

the pit boss brings
the cash down

to the hold of the ship
in a locked cashbox,

then once a day
all the cash is moved
down to the countin' room.

And where is
the counting room?

Well...

It be right there
in that square
where you pointin'.

And what,
to flog a horse
that if not dead

is at this point
in mortal danger
of expiring,

does this little
square represent?

Offices.
Underground.

Hah! Underground.

Mmm...

Underground.

During the casino's
hours of operation,

the door to this counting room
is fiercely guarded.

The door itself
is of redoubtable
Pittsburgh steel.

When the casino closes,

this entire underground
complex is locked up,

and the armed guard retreats
to the casino's main entrance.

There, then,
far from the guard,

reposes the money,

behind a five-inch-thick
steel portal, yes.

But the walls,
gentlemen,

the walls are but
humble masonry.

Behind which is only
the soft, loamy soil
deposited over centuries

by the old man,

the meanderin'
Mississippi,

as it fanned its way
back and forth

across the great
alluvial plain,
leaving earth.

This earth.

The General here,
whose curriculum vitae
comprehends

massive tunnelin' experience
through the soil of his native
French Indochina,

shall be directin' our little
old tunnelin' operation.

Garth Pancake,
though a master of none,

is a jack of all those trades
corollary to our aim.

He will be doin'
such fabricatin' and
demolition work

as our little caper
shall require.

Happy to be on board.

Gawain is our proverbial
"inside man."

He has managed to
secure himself

a berth on the custodial staff
of the Bandit Queen.

Damn, skippy.

And this brings us
to Lump.

To look at Lump,
you might wonder

what specialized expertise

could he possibly offer
our merry little old band
of miscreants.

Well, gentlemen,
in a project of such risks,
it is imperative

to enlist the services
of a hooligan, a goon,
an ape, a physical brute.

Someone who will be
our security,

our battering ram,
our blunt instrument.

And, on our behalf,
I wish him a warm
Mississippi welcome.

Fuckin' A.
Wassup, my nigga?

Well, gentlemen,
here you are.

Men of different backgrounds
and differing talents.

Men with, in fact,
but two things in common.

One, you all saw fit
to answer my advertisement
in the Memphis Scimitar,

and, two,
you're all going to be,
in consequence,

very, very,
incredibly rich.

(INHALES SHARPLY)
Let us revel in
our adventure, gentlemen.

(BREATHLESSLY) Let us make
beautiful music together,

and, by all means,
let us keep this
to ourselves.

What we say
in this root cellar,

let it stay
in this root cellar.

There's no "I" in "team."

(GRUNTS)

(HIP-HOP MUSIC PLAYING)

(KNOCKING ON DOOR)

(WHISTLES)

(DOOR CREAKING)

(MUSIC STOPS)

It's okay, don't stop
on account of me.
(CHUCKLES)

No. No, no, no, no.
Not at all, madam.

Not at all.
We were about to take
a break anyway.

The glissandi on this
particular piece

are technically very,
very demanding,

and I'm sure we would all
welcome a moment of R and R.

Well, I just thought
maybe you'd like to see...

What have you
gotten into, honey?

Why you sweatin'
like that?

Uh... Uh...

(STAMMERING)

(STUTTERS) 'Cause, 'cause...
That boy right there?

He plays one bitch barrel
full of a sackbut.

Ain't that right,
Lump?

I'm tellin' you,
he can tear it up.
Right, Lump?

Ain't nobody play the sackbut
like Lump right there.

He... (EXCLAIMS)

Don't be shy, Lump.
Don't be shy.

Lump, that boy,
he go at it like
it was some pussy.

Ah...

Oh, shit!
Mind your mouth.

This is a Christian
house, boy.

No hippity-hop
language in here.

Sometime it's the only way.

Now listen,
you ain't gonna hit me...

I'm tryin' to help you,
boy, better yourself.

(CLATTERING)

And so you should, madam.
So you should.

Gawain is so far
transported

by his love of the music of
the early Renaissance...

Don't make me no never mind,
he transported.

I understand.
You been smokin'?

Oh, certainly not, ma'am.
I understand your
indignation, ma'am.

And I was offering
an explanation,
not an excuse.

I myself am...
Hey, hey, hey,

don't be explainin' me, dawg.

You can't read my
motherfuckin' mind, man.

You might got yo' Ph.D.,
but I got my GED.

Yes.
Nigga.

A fiery lad.

But then,
youth is fiery.

A fact often remarked upon

by the poets
of the Romantic era.

My youth, I was in church.
I wasn't walkin' around fiery.

Youth ain't no
excuse for nothin'.

Anyhow, I just came
to show you the fife.

Othar's fife.

Burned his own.

I thought maybe,
you bein' a man of music,
you'd be interested.

Oh, indeed I am.

Cut it his self and
burned his holes.

Oh...
The Israelites
called it a khalil.

Yeah, you can read
all about it in the Bible.

Ain't nothin' new
under the sun.
(CHUCKLES)

Indeed not.

(SIGHS)

Gone these 20 years.

He was some kind of man.

Blowed the khalil.

I don't suppose Othar
ever turned his hand...

(LAUGHS)

Or turned his lip
to blowing the shofar?

The ceremonial ram's horn
sounded by the priests
of the Hebrews.

Now, I don't know
nothin' about that.

Othar never
blowed no shofar.

Of course not.
Not to the extent
of my knowledge.

The khalil was good enough
for my Othar.

He was some kind of man.

MRS. MUNSON:
Some kind of man.

(HIP-HOP MUSIC PLAYING)

GAWAIN: Oh, God damn.

Come on, girl, let me
get one little peek.

Don't be cruel. Come on,
just one butt cheek.

Pull that ass out
and make it clap.
(CHUCKLES)

Ah, just 'cause I'm dressed
like a janitor, don't mean
you gotta do me dirty.

This motherfucker's
the jackpot.

Come on, girl.

Come over here and
blow on these dice.

You know, I'm a seven
on the roll now,

but I'm a 10
the hard way,

and I ain't just
talkin' crap.

Mr. Gudge, she had a ass
that could pull a bus.

I mean, Gudge,
it was more than an ass,
it was literature.

Yeah, I don't care
how big her ass was,

MacSam, you're fired.

You say what?

There is no fraternizing
with customers on
the Bandit Queen.

Clean out your locker.
But, Mr. Gudge, I wasn't...

I said get outta here.
You're fired.

You can't fire me.
I'll sue your ass.

Sue me? For what?

For fuckin' punitive
damages, man.

Punitive damages.
Yeah.

Punitive damages.
You goddamn skippy.

(CHUCKLES) Punitive damages.
Yeah, I see why
you firin' me, Mr. Gudge.

Yeah, it's simple
and plain.

You firin' me
'cause I'm black.

MacSam, everybody
on the custodial staff
is black.

Your replacement
is gonna be black.

His replacement, no doubt,
will be black.

Well, the fuckin' judge
is goin' be black,
motherfucker.

And you?
You gonna stand tall
before the man.

Oh?
And your replacement's
gonna be black.

Motherfucker.
Thank you.

DORR: Oh, my.

Oh, my, my,
my, my, my.

This is a severe setback.
I am distraught.

I'm more than distraught.

I am devastated.

I'm beside myself.

I'm at a positive
loss for words.

You still talkin'
okay, though.

Have you all decided?

Madam, we must
have waffles.

We must all have
waffles forthwith.

We must all think.
We must all have waffles

and think,
each and every one of us,

to the very best
of his ability.

Perhaps if you apologized
to the man and gave
him flowers.

Or perhaps a fruit basket

with a card depicting
a misty seascape and
inscribed with a sentiment.

I ain't apologizing
to that motherfucker.

He fired me
'cause I'm black.

He can't do that.
You could sue him.
Open and shut case.

Fuckin' A.
Surely, a chocolate
assortment

has been known to
melt the heart of even
the hardest misanthrope.

That man ain't rollin' over
for no fucking candy bar.

Uh, we've had a bit
of a setback on
the tunneling front, too.

We've run into
a pretty large rock.

GENERAL: Rock.

Very bad.
Very bad.

Oh, my.

Seems that
the poet was right.

Troubles never
singly come.

Oh, no, we can
get through the rock.
No worries there.

Easiest thing in the world.
Why, we just blow
right through it.

I got a pyro license.

Just bore a hole
in the rock

and pack in
a little plastique.

Igneous blows
pretty good.

And then we just...
Hello, Garth.

Am I ordering
the primer cord?
PANCAKE: Yes, Mountain.

We were just
talking about that,
and some plastique.

What the fuck is this?

Oh, this is Mountain Girl.

Mountain is my right hand.
She helps me out
with ordnance.

Helps me with
damn near everything.
Hey.

You brought yo' bitch
to the Waffle Hut?

(DORR CLEARS THROAT)

I must confess myself
to be puzzled as well.

I thought it was understood
that when it came to
our little enterprise,

"mum" was the word.

Of course, I understand that,
but this is Mountain Girl.

I don't keep secrets
from Mountain.

That's not how you
maintain a loving,
caring relationship.

You brought your bitch
to the Waffle Hut.

The man brought his bitch
to the Waffle Hut.

All right, look, you,
I will thank you

to stop referring
to Mountain that way.

She is the other
half of my life.

Everybody lookin' at me
like I'm some kind of fuck-up

for losin'
a sorry-ass job,

and this motherfucker
brings his bitch

to the motherfucking
Waffle Hut.

Son of a bitch punk.
Shut your goddamn mouth.

You better raise
the fuck up, fucker.
(MOUNTAIN SCREAMS)

Gentlemen, please.
Back the fuck up.

You gonna back that
shit the fuck up.

DORR: Gentlemen, please.
What? What?

Please, gentlemen,
this behavior does you

no credit in the eyes
of your colleagues,

nor in those of the other
patrons of this Waffle Hut.

PANCAKE: Punk.

Oh, look at this.
I got blueberry syrup
on my safari jacket.

Gentlemen, I propose
that we consider
the matter of this woman,

Mountain Water...
Mountain Girl.

I'm so very sorry.

I propose that we consider
this matter closed.

And we shall
choose to trust her

since we have no choice,

and since she shall share
only in Mr. Pancake's
portion of the booty.

Of course.
Wouldn't have it
any other way.

Yeah, you damn right
you won't.

Up yours, punk.
Oh, fuck you and
the Swiss Miss.

The matter of disposing

of our igneous impediment
is also...
Coach... Coach...

Coach, I...
Closed. Settled.

That leaves us only
with the question of Gawain
retrieving his job.

Coach, I...
Yes, Lump?

Couldn't we just
bribe the guy?

(SLOW MUSIC PLAYING)

You are a readin' fool,
aren't you, Mr. Dorr?

Yes, I must confess.

I often find myself
more at home in these
ancient volumes

than I do
in the hustle-bustle
of the modern world.

To me, paradoxically,

the literature
of the so-called
"dead tongues"

holds more currency
than this morning's
newspaper.

In these books,
in these volumes,

there is the accumulated
wisdom of mankind,
which succors me

when the day is hard and
the night lonely and long.

Hmm.

The wisdom of
mankind, huh?

What about the wisdom
of the Lord?

Oh, yes, yes,
the good book, mmm.

I have found
reward in its pages.

But, to me,
there are other
good books as well.

Heavy volumes of antiquity
freighted with the insights
of man's glorious age.

And then, of course,

I just love, love, love
the works of
Mr. Edgar Allan Poe.

Oh, I know who he was,
kind of spooky.

No, madam, no, no.

Not of this world,
it's true.

He... (EXHALES)
He lived in a dream.

An ancient dream.

"Helen

"thy beauty is to me

"Like those Nicean
barks of yore

"That gently, o'er
a perfumed sea

"The weary wayworn
wanderer bore

"To his own
native shore."

Who was Helen?

Some kind of whore
of Babylon?

One doesn't know
who Helen was.

But I picture her
as being very, very...

Extremely

pale.

Mrs. Munson,
I have been trying

to figure out some way
of expressin' my gratitude
to you

for takin' in this (LAUGHS)
weary, wayworn wanderer.

It's just a little
old present.

Why, it's hardly
anything at all.

Oh, why, Mr. Dorr.
You are a gallant man.

Oh, madam, I blush,
I melt. No.

I just happened to hear
of this gospel concert
tomorrow night,

the Mighty,
Mighty Clouds of Joy,

and I thought you and a friend
from church perhaps would...

Yes, I have
a widow lady friend.

The concert is
up in Memphis,

so I have arranged
a car service to
transport you thither.

(KNOCKING ON DOOR)
Ah...

MRS. MUNSON:
Why, Sheriff Wyner.
How you doin'?

Good evenin',
Mrs. Munson.

I just stopped by here
to let you know

I did have a talk
with Weemack,

and he told me
he's gonna comply
with your request

in keepin' that music
down and neighborly.

So, you just go and have
yourself a pleasant evenin'.

Wait a minute.
I got somebody that
I want you to meet.

Ma'am, you know what?
I'm a little pressed for time.

(CHUCKLES) You got a gang of
bank robbers you're chasin'?

Come on in here
and say hello.

Yeah, we were havin'
tea and...

Bussed his own dishes.
You can always
tell a gentleman.

Somebody was in here,
ma'am?

Yeah, with me
and Othar.

Well, you know what?
Maybe I'll catch him
the next time.

Uh, come on up to his room
with me and say hello.

Mrs. Munson, I got a family.
My wife got dinner
on the table.

I really have to
be goin'.

(DOOR CREAKING)

Oh, my, he is neat.

Yes, ma'am,
he very neat.

He probably went
down to the cellar
to play with his friends.

Ma'am, I really
got to be goin' now.

What...
Ma'am, I really need
to be gettin' back.

Mrs. Munson, don't...
You don't have to...

Mrs. Munson?
(LAUGHS)

Why, Professor.

What in the world
are you doin' havin'
tea down there?

SHERIFF: Mrs. Munson?
Oh, Lord Jesus.

Mrs. Munson?
Land of Goshen, child.

Come on out
from under there.

Mrs. Munson,
my pager just went off.
I got to go.

I'll meet you and
your friend later.

That was refreshing.

SHERIFF: Y'all have
a good evenin' now.

As you know,
we academics are inordinately
fond of wedgin' ourselves

into confined spaces.

At Yale, the students

will see how many
of their number

they can enclose in
a telephone booth.

At Harvard,
a broom closet.

Hope I didn't
spill my tea.

Well, what the hell
is this?

I guess it's just
my way of sayin'...

Well, God damn it,
Mr. Gudge.

Look here, I...

I don't know what it's like
walkin' in your shoes.

You know, with you bein'
a tight-ass and all.

And I'm pretty sure
you don't know what it's like
walkin' in my shoes.

See, Mr. Gudge,
there's the custodian,
right?

And then there's the man
inside the custodian.

And that's the motherfucker
we got a problem with.

See, 'cause that man,
he got needs, Mr. Gudge,

and normally those needs
gotta do with women
with big asses.

I guess my point
bein' is, uh,

I realize I'm
a bunkie junkie.

But if you would've seen
the kettle drums on this
girl, Mr. Gudge... Ohh.

Well, we're all human.

This apology buys you
a one-week probationary
period.

Thank you, Mr. Gudge.

Stay away from
the customers, MacSam.

(CHUCKLES)

(DRILLING)

(GRUNTS)

This drill bit's
getting awfully hot.

Gawain, maybe you could
fill a Hudson sprayer

and spritz it down
while I drill.

Fuck you. I ain't your
motherfuckin' house nigga.

I'm the inside man.

All right, look,
are you gonna have
a bug up your ass

for the rest of the time
we work together?

I'll get the sprayer.
Oh, no, no. No.

Me and this gentleman here
have to get square.

Let me tell you
somethin', MacSam.

I'm gonna tell you
about how I came down
to Mississippi.

I wasn't born here,
you know.

I'm from Scranton,
Pennsylvania.

What the fuck?

Scranton, Pennsylvania.

Came down here in 1964,
Greyhound bus.

With the Freedom Riders.

Do you know who
the Freedom Riders were,
MacSam?

No, and I don't
give a fuck.

Just tell me when the fuck
they gonna leave, damn.

The Freedom Riders,
my fine young man,

were a group of concerned
liberals from up north,

all working together,
just like we are here.

Involved citizens
who came down here

so that local black folk could
have their civil liberties.

So, that people like you
could have the vote.

You know what, man?

What, brother?

I don't vote.
So, fuck you.

You little fuckin'
ingrate.

And the bus you
rode in on, jackass.

Let's step outside,
MacSam.

Fuck the outside,
come on. What?

(KNOCKING)

(DOOR CREAKING)

My friend
Mrs. Funthes is here,

so I'm about to go out.

Just thought I'd leave y'all
with some cinnamon cookies.

Why, that is lovely.

Ooh, y'all sound good.

Maybe you could come by
the church one Sunday.

Give us a recital.
Why, how kind of you.

Our music, however, is...
Well, how shall I put this?

A bit Roman
in its outlook.

Many of our pieces
were commissioned
by the Holy See.

Oh, I see, all right,

but we don't make
no big whoop-dee-do
about denomination.

Everybody welcome
at our church.

Yeah, we had
a Methodist come in.

Episcopalian.

Back in the '60s,
we had a Jew come in.
(LAUGHS)

Yeah, he had a guitar.
A Jew with a guitar.

Well, if you will excuse me
one moment, madam,
I shall see you out.

If you gentlemen
can labor harmoniously
in the course of my absence,

perhaps upon my return
we shall be prepared
to explode

that vexing old piece
of igneous.

Oh, Professor,
this is Mrs. Funthes.

Enchante, Mrs. Funthes.
Ravi.

Rosalie, this is Professor
G.H. Dorr, Ph.D.

Oh, my. That's an awful
lot of letters.

(CHUCKLES) Well, now...

Of course, in my youth,
I was known simply
as Goldthwait.

Uh-huh.

All right, safety meeting.

Let's listen up.
General, can you hand
me the primer cord?

Before we set the charge,

we will run through
our procedure.

I have earplugs for
whoever wants them.

Just wedge those
right in your ears.

Now, here we have...
Not yet, Lump.

Now, primer cord.

Gelatinite.

C-4.

Time comes, we pack the hole
in the rock with the C-4

and insert two leads,
A and B.

I remember my father
sayin' to me,

and it's one of the few
memories I retain of the man

from one of his visits home,
and how I do cherish it...

He said to me,
"Goldthwait,

"you are not formed
as other boys."

He a man of learnin'?

This is the same procedure
we will be using

when we collapse
the tunnel

after entering
the casino vault

and returning to
the root cellar.

He was a self-educated man.

Didn't have
a career as such,

but the government did
recognize the breadth
of his readin'

by makin' him librarian
of the state nervous
hospital in Meridian,

where he was
a distinguished inmate.

Once these materials
are combined

only the professionals
may handle them.

That means me
or the General.

Separately they are harmless,
completely inert.

Why, you could light
this stuff on fire,
hit it with a...

(EXPLOSION)

(ALARMS BLARING
IN THE DISTANCE)

What in the name
of heavens was that?

Well, I'm quite certain
there's absolutely
no reason to be alarmed.

Why, I'm not even
absolutely certain

I heard anything
at all.

Didn't hear nothin'?

Well, something perhaps.

Nothing that need
discompose us was the sense
I was tryin' to convey.

Now, Mrs. Munson,
I will not have you missin'
your musical recital.

Off you go.

I shall call the gas company,
or the water company.

Whatever subterranean utility
is implicated in this
contretemps.

I shall see
to the matter,

as only a highly educated
classicist could.

Blood. Blood,
Professor, blood.

Blood, blood, blood.
(YELLING INDISTNCTLY)

PANCAKE: It's nothin'
to make a fuss about.
It's perfectly all right.

Jackass, you better get
yo' ass back down there
and find that shit, dipshit.

Really, I'm perfectly
all right.
Perfectly all right?

Jackass, you just blew
your goddamn finger off.

The motherfucker's down there
flappin' the fuck around.

You better get yo' ass
back down there and find it.

I'm tellin' you
right now, nubbie,

I ain't pickin' up your
goddamn finger.

I gather there was
a premature detonation.

Would you tell
this motherfucker

he can sew this
shit back on?

It's like that dude whose
wife cut his dick off,
threw it on the freeway?

She just called AAA,

they towed the dick
and sewed the motherfucker
back on.

Listen up. Jackass,
I saw the motherfucker
in a porno.

The thang still worked.
(MUMBLING)

It looked like
a chewed-up frank,

but that little motherfucker
be workin' that motherfucker.

It's mangly, but he be fuckin'
the bitch all kind of ways
with a twisted dick.

Oh, your fuckin'
finger just moved.

The motherfucker
movin' slow now.

I'm not gettin' that shit.
Fuck that.

You're on your own there.

They usin' the house
to practice music
of the Rococo.

Mmm-hmm.

I propose we get our fallen
comrade to the hospital.

The General will follow
when he manages to recover
the severed digit.

PANCAKE: No, no, really,
I'm perfectly all right.

I don't know what
all the fuss is about.

Good news. Good news.
Pickles. Go catch him.

The house is in
apple-pie order,

though we do have to get
medical attention
for Mr. Pancake,

who, durin' the disturbance,
pinched his finger
in the valve of his sackbut.

You let the cat out.

The General is even now
exercisin' every effort
in retrievin'

your mischievous little
Pickles. Please, go on.

Go on and enjoy
the concert.

Driver.
Au revoir, mes dames!

DORR: Despite our setback,
we find ourselves on schedule

to penetrate the vault here
this afternoon,

while Mrs. Munson
is at church,

havin' blasted that little
old rock to pieces

durin' Mrs. Munson's
choir practice.

Garth, can you run us
through the game plan

for what remains
of our tunnel?

Of course. Why,
it's child's play now.

Easiest thing
in the world.

Only a couple of feet
separate us from the vault.

Just the usual spadework
until we get to the masonry
of the vault,

and then we just
drill through.

And will you be able to
wield the drill with your
maimed extremity?

Oh, well, yeah,
I should think so.

Yeah, it's only
one finger.

Inhibits me in doing
finer work of course.

I'll always have to
live with that.

(CLEARS THROAT)

Maybe, um, I'm just
thinkin' out loud here.

Maybe, since as you say,
there will be problems later.

Maybe... And I actually
mentioned this
to Mountain Girl,

she agrees with me,

so, it's not just one
person's opinion.

Maybe, uh...

I should get a little extra
compensation for the accident.

Somewhat larger share.

Why, if this was any
other line of work,
I'd be getting workman's comp.

Wouldn't I?

Might even have
a pretty good lawsuit.

Wait, so you gonna
sue yourself

for blowing your own
goddamn finger off?

Well, now that is
simply asinine.

Yes, but you see, Garth,

this is not what
you just called

"some other line of work."

Yeah, no, no, no,
but if it were...

This is a criminal enterprise,
not to put too
fine a point on it,

entailing any manner of risk
not involved in honest labor.

Governmental regulations
and civic safeguards

cannot be assumed to apply
to antisocial pursuits.

Yeah, but he lost
his finger.

We don't give a fuck.

That fool could blow his
goddamn dick off,

it don't make no
never mind to us.

We not payin' this jackass
for goin' around blowin' off
goddamn body parts.

Get yo' fuckin' head
out yo' ass, man.

Look, you,
there is no call for...
(ALL CHATTERING)

No extra share.

Okay. Majority rules.

Like I say, it was
just a trial balloon.

Hand's not
so bad, really.

I even get some
phantom feeling.

Yeah, you pull on your prick,
you get some phantom feelin'.

Fuck you.
Fuck you.

Fuck you.
Fuck you, nubbie.

Well, now that that
matter is settled,

why don't we synchronize
our watches before
Gawain reports to work.

In 20 seconds,
it will be exactly 12:16.

Fifteen...
What, it'll be 12.15?

No, 15 seconds.
Well, 11 seconds now,
it'll be 12.16.

Eight, seven...
Professor?

...six...
Professor?

...five.
Yes, Lump.

I don't have a watch.

♪ There'll be no more
Weepin' and wailin'

♪ No more weepin' and wailin'

♪ No more weepin' and wailin'

♪ Home to live with God

♪ Soon I will be done

♪ With the troubles
Of this world

♪ Troubles of this world
Troubles of this world

♪ Soon I will be done
With the troubles
Of this world

♪ I'm goin' home
to live with God

♪ Soon I will be done
With the troubles
Of this world

♪ Troubles of this world
Troubles of this world

♪ Troubles of this world

♪ Soon I will be done
With the troubles
Of this world

♪ I'm goin' home
To live with God

♪ Well, soon I will be done
With the troubles
Of this world

♪ Troubles of this world
♪ Troubles of this...
Great God

♪ Soon I will be done
With the troubles
Of this world

♪ I'm goin' home
To live with God

♪ Well, I'm goin' up to see
King Jesus
Hey, hey, yeah

♪ I'm gonna shake
His loving hand

♪ I'm gonna tell Him
All about my trouble

♪ As I'm travellin'
Through this land

♪ Soon I will be done

♪ Troubles of this world

♪ Yeah, soon I will be done

♪ I'm goin' home
To live with God

♪ Yeah, soon I will be done
With the troubles
Of this world

♪ Soon I will be done, yeah

♪ Troubles of this world

♪ Yeah, soon I will be done
With the troubles, yeah

♪ I'm goin' home
To live with God ♪

Woo-hoo!

GAWAIN: Ain't that somethin'.

(GRUNTING)

IBS.
You be what?

Irritable Bowel Syndrome.

Is there a men's room
down here?

Oh, come on,
you shouldn't be usin'
the men's room now.

Or a ladies' room,
quickly, IBS.

Man, if you knew you had
the runs, why didn't you
shit back at the house?

Quickly.

We don't want Elron
finding your stinkin' ass
on the crapper.

No choice,
it's a medical condition.

Quickly.

You one disgustin' individual,
you know that?

Come on, follow me.

Ah!

I feel 30 pounds lighter.

Come the fuck on
with your stinkass.

Thank you for being
so understanding.

Not everyone is, of course,
which is why the biggest
challenge of IBS

is educating the public.

Afflicts over two
million people,

yet most of us have
never heard of it.

And it strikes without regard
to age, gender or race.

Fuck, man,
I don't wanna hear
about this shit.

Well, that's exactly
the kind of attitude
we're fighting.

I guess I never told you
that's how Mountain Girl
and I met.

They had an IBS weekend
at Grossinger's,

up in the Catskills.
(SNIFFLES)

Of course,
the tourist business
there has suffered

with the demise
of the Borscht Belt,

so they have
various promotions,
mixers, so on.

This was a weekend
for Irritable Bowel singles
to meet, support each other,

share stories.
Man, look here,

I don't want to hear
a single one of them
stories, okay?

Now, some of them
are very moving.
Not one fucking story.

Look, I didn't choose
to have IBS.

Man, shut the fuck up.

There's no cure,
you know.

Only control.
Lifelong condition.

Yeah, you know what?
Bein' an asshole's
a lifelong condition, too.

Just drop the fuckin' tools.

I'm not complaining.
I did meet Mountain Girl.

Man, get back
in the fuckin' hole.

Oh! (LAUGHS)

Marvelous! This way.
This way, gentlemen.

Oh!

Excellent. Excellent.
Flawless, flawless.

Thumbs up.

Can't stop shittin'.

Can't stop talkin'
about shittin'.

DORR: Gentlemen, to we few.

We who have shared
each other's company,

each other's cares,
each other's joys,

and who shall now
reap the fruits
of our communal efforts,

shoulder to shoulder,
from each according
to his abilities,

so forth and whatnot.

We have had our little
differences along the way,

but I'd like to think
that they've only made us

value one another
all the more.

Each of us coming
to understand
and appreciate

the other's unique qualities
and potencies and,
yes, foibles.

I suggest that we shall
look back upon this
little caper one day,

one distant day,

grandchildren dandled
upon our knee,

and perhaps a tear
will form

and we shall say,

well, with wit and grit
and no small amount
of courage,

we accomplished something
on that day.

A feat of derring-do,
an enterprise not ignoble.

We merry band, unbound by
the constraints of society

and the prejudices
of the common ruck.

We happy few.

(GASPS)

Gentlemen, to us.

(GLASSES CLINK)
ALL: To us.

(PANCAKE LAUGHING)

(GASPING, LAUGHING)

Charge should've
gone off already.

(GRUNTS)
I do beg your pardon?

The charge to
collapse the tunnel.

I set it for eight minutes.

Well, that much time and more
has certainly elapsed.

I need not remind you,
it is of the essence
of this plan

that the money should
appear to have simply
vanished without a trace,

spirited away, as it were,
by ghosts.
Of course.

The conundrum
of the undisturbed,
yet empty vault.

The unsolvable riddle
of the sealed yet
violated sanctum,

is of the utmost importance,

not only to make
our caper more
intellectually satisfying.

It is exigent as a matter
of practical fact.

I remind you that if
any tunnel is ever found
leading to this house,

the owner knows

all your names.

(WHIRRING)

(HIP-HOP MUSIC PLAYING)

(VAULT DOOR CREAKING)

(GRUNTING)
(STOMACH GURGLING)

(SIGHS)

(BEEPING)

(PANTING)

(EXPLOSION)
(GRUNTS)

You just fart?

(BOTH LAUGH)

PANCAKE: Nope, nope, I'm fine.

Perfectly all right.
Not a problem.

LUMP: There's no hole left.

MRS. MUNSON: Professor!

I'm surprised.

Well, properly
speaking, madam,

we are surprised,
you are taken aback.

Though I do acknowledge
that the sense that
you intend

is gaining increasing
currency through its use,
yes.

You have returned from
your devotions betimes.

I had to make tea.

I want to talk to you,
Professor,

so don't you be leavin'.

And you.
(INHALES SHARPLY)

I told you I don't want
any smokin' in this house.

(DOORBELL RINGS)

(CHEERING)
Come on in.
How you doin'?

Tea ladies.

Now, I don't know
what you boys been up to,

but I know mischief
when I see it.

Now, I want an explanation,
but first,

I want you to get your
fannies up here

with all y'all's
period instruments.

Now, I been tellin'
the ladies about
your music,

and they want to
hear you play.

LUMP: Professor?
Yes, Lump?

I can't really play
the butt sack.

Madam, or rather,
mesdames,

you must accept our apologies
for not bein' able to perform,

for, as you see,
we are shorthanded.

Gawain is still at work,

and we could no more play
with one part tacit

than a horse could
canter shy one leg.

Perhaps I could offer,

as a poor but
ready substitute,

a brief poetic recital.

Though I do not
pretend to any great
oratorical skills,

(LAUGHS)

I would be happy to present,
with your ladies' permission,

verse from
the unquiet mind

of Mr. Edgar Allan Poe.

Ladies,

"Thy beauty is to me

"Like those Nicean
barks of yore

"That gently,
o'er a perfumed sea

"The weary wayworn
wanderer bore

"To his own
native shore"

WOMAN: My, my, my.

"On desperate seas
long wont to roam

"Thy hyacinth hair
thy classic face

"Thy Naiad airs have
brought me home

"To the glory
that was Greece

"And the grandeur
that was Rome"

Glory hallelujah.
ALL: Amen.

(MUTTERING)

DORR: Bye-bye, ladies.
It was my pleasure.
(CLAMORING)

We have to do this again.
Yes, we do got to.

Thank you.

Such a pleasure.
Safe home. Safe home.

Now I want to know
what's goin' on.
Indeed, indeed.

The thirst for knowledge
is a very commendable thing.

Though I do believe that
when you hear the explanation
you shall laugh riotously,

slappin' your knee
and perhaps even
wipin' away a giddy tear,

relieved of your
former concern.

Lump here,
is an avid collector
of Indian arrowheads,

and having found one
simply lying on your
cellar floor...

A particularly rare artifact
of the Natchez tribe?

What?

He enlisted the entire
ensemble in an all-out effort

to sift through the subsoil

in search of others.

And apparently, in doing so,

we hit a mother lode
of natural gas.

I myself became acutely
aware of the smell
of "rotten eggs."

And it was just at this
inopportune moment

that the General here
violated the cardinal rule
of this house

and lit himself
a cigarette.

So sorry.

Well, what about
all that money?

The money.

Well, the money
is Mr. Pancake's.

(CLEARS THROAT)

That's right.
Who only just
remortgaged his home

in order to raise the money
for a surgical procedure

that will correct
the wandering eye

of his common-law wife,
Mountain Water,

who suffers from
astigma, strabismus

and a general curdling
of the vitreous jelly.

(CHUCKLES) Mr. Pancake,
is an ardent foe of
the Federal Reserve,

and is, in fact,
one of those eccentrics
one often reads about

hoardin' his entire
life savings,

in Mr. Pancake's case,
in a Hefty bag that is
his constant companion.

The Steel Sak.

Don't trust the banks.
Never have.

Mmm-mm. It don't smell
right to me.

I'm callin' Sheriff Wyner.
No. Madam.

Please, please.
Madam.

No, no, I beg of...
Yes. Yes.

It is a lie.
It is a fantastic tale.

You have us
dead to rights,

but, madam, please,
please, please,

allow me to tell you
the truth in private.

Madam...

Madam, we are not musicians
of the late Renaissance.

Nor of the early,
nor mid period.
Mmm-hmm.

We are, in fact,

criminals.

Desperate men,
Mrs. Munson.

We have

tunneled into the nearby
offices of the Bandit Queen
gambling emporium

and relieved it
of its treasure.

Lord have mercy.

It is true.

The Bandit Queen
is a den of iniquity.

A painted harlot
luring people into sin

by exciting
the vice of greed

with her promise of
easy winnings. Oh, yes.

Her gains are
ill-gotten.

But I offer no excuses.

Save one.

We men have each pledged

one half of our share
of the booty

to a charitable
institution.

In compensation for
the use of your home,

we had planned to
donate a full share

to Bob Jones University.

Without burdening you
with guilty knowledge
by informing you of same.

But now you have wrested
the information from me.

(LAUGHS)

There you have it.

It is on your table,
Mrs. Munson.

"The awful truth."

Stolen money.

But find the victim,
Mrs. Munson.

I challenge you.

Even the casino itself,
that riparian Gomorrah,

shall suffer no harm.

It has an insurance
company.

A financial behemoth that
will cheerfully replenish
its depleted vaults.

That is its function.

And that insurance company
has tens and tens of
thousands of policyholders.

So that we have done
the calculations,
Mrs. Munson.

So that at
the end of the day,

at the final reckoning,

each and every one of those
policyholders shall have
contributed one penny,

one, single,
solitary cent,

to the satisfaction
of this claim.

One penny?

One penny.
Think of it, Mrs. Munson.

One penny from those
thousands upon thousands
of people

so that Bob Jones University
can continue on its mission.

Why, I have no doubt that,
were those policy holders
made aware

of the existence of that
august institution.

Each and every one of them

would have volunteered
some token amount for
the furtherance of its aims.

Well, that's probably true.

Sadly,

the criminal stain
is upon my soul.

But the benefit
shall accrue to any
number of worthy causes

as long, that is,
as the secret stays with us.

Well,

I can't hardly see
the harm in it.

One penny?
(MOUTHING) One penny.

I'm sorry.
Excuse me?

No, I'm sorry,
it's wrong,

and don't you be leadin'
me into temptation.

No, no, madam,
I must strenuously...

I'm sorry,
it's just plain wrong.

Stealin'.
No, madam...

I know your intentions
was good.
No, they weren't.

And I won't call the police
if you give back the money

and y'all go to church
with me next Sunday.

And engage in
divine worship?

I've made up my mind.

Now, you can doubletalk
all you want.

It's church or
the county jail.

Think it over.
I gotta feed the cat.

(STRUMMING)

Motherfuck.
DORR: Yes.

Unfortunately,
Mrs. Munson has rather
complicated the situation.

Yeah, well, I know how to
de-complicate it.

You bust a cap in that
old bitch's head,
everything be simple.

Not easy to do.

Many reasons.

Practical ones,
quiet neighborhood,
sleepy town.

Reasons of moral repugnance,
a harmless woman,

a deed conceived and
executed in cold blood.

No, Gawain, would that
it were simple.

Well, fuck, man.
What we gonna do?

Give the money back
and go to church?

(STRUMS)

I shudder. I quake.

You, sir,
are a Buddhist.

Is there not
a "middle" way?

Must float like a leaf
on the river of life

and kill old lady.

Yes, yes, I suppose
you are right.

It is the active nature
of the crime, though,
that so abhors.

The squeezing of the trigger,
the plunging of the knife.

But let us
think a moment.

What other tools
do we have at hand?

We have the cellar.

We have the cavity.

We have masonry
and trowel.

Perhaps we could
simply immure her.

Sure, easiest thing
in the world.

I can whip up a little
mortar in a snow saucer.

Lay the bricks.
Anchor in some chains.

(SNORTS) Mountain Girl
could outsource the manacles.

Oh, gentlemen, gentlemen,
we delude ourselves.

No, shortest and
painless is best.

Gawain's gun, retort muffled
by a pillow, into the brain.

(CLAPS) The affair
of an instant.

The only question is,

who wields the weapon?

I believe it is traditional
in such circumstances

to draw straws.

Fair enough.
Here you go, Lump.

I'm thinkin', though,
that since I lost a finger,

I mean, literally lost it,
'cause of that fuckin' cat,

maybe I should be
excused from this thing.

Hard for me to squeeze
a trigger anyway.

You one whiny
motherfucker.

I'll come over there and
squeeze your fuckin' nutsack,

you keep that bullshit up.
Shut up, punk.

I'll kick your goddamn ass,
sweet-legs.
Gentlemen.

No special pleading.
No exceptions.

It is of the nature
of the situation we would
all prefer to be excused.

Well, okay, it was
just a trial balloon.

(GRUNTS)

Long straw.

You all see it.

All that fuss for
nothin', punk.

Fuck you.

Motherfuck.

(GOSPEL MUSIC PLAYING)

(COCKS GUN)

Would you like
a hot-cross bun?

No, just an explanation.

Coming up...

Weezy, I'll take some cocoa.
Hi, George.

What's goin' on?
George.

How did they get in here?

(LAUGHING)

What you got there,
Gawain?

Why, nothin', Mama.

Nothin', my ass,
you got a dog there.

No, Mama.

A filthy, noisy little
pest of a puppy dog

gonna shit
all over the house.

He won't shit
in the house, Mama.

I'm gonna train him,
I promise.
I'll train him real good.

I'm gonna train you
real good.

You wait till your
daddy get home.

He gonna
lay into you proper.

(CRYING) No, Mama.
Please, Mama. I love you.

Your daddy gonna
kick yo' ass.

Mama's whuppin'
Gawain's ass.

Ain't you gonna
use the strap, Mama?

I love you, Mama.
I'm sorry, Mama, I love you.

I swear I'll wash the dog's
ass and everything, Mama.

I'll train him to shit
in the toilet, Mama.

I'll wipe his ass and
everything, Mama.
What you doin'?

What you doin'
with my pillow?

Nothin', ma'am.
I just came down
to get a...

I'm displeased with you.

Yeah, but...
Fine colored boy
like you

fallin' in with that
trash downstairs.

Now, I know your mama
taught you better than that.

(GRUNTS)
(DOOR CLICKS)

I can't do it.
She remind me
of my mama.

Look, man...
Why, this is most irregular.

Y'all motherfuckers
just gonna have to
draw straws again.

Wait a minute, you've got to
accept your responsibilities,
young man,

and shoot that old lady.

Hey, man, fuck you
and your irritated bowel.

Must shoot.

Now, look here,
it's the easiest thing
in the world.

Just pretend her head's
a casaba melon and
the gun is a melon baller.

What the fuck are you
talkin' about?
A melon baller?

GAWAIN: Look,
man, you do it.

Oh, this is most irregular.

Now, look, with equal rights
comes equal responsibility.

I'm afraid Mr. Pancake
is correct.
We cannot draw straws again.

The exercise would
lose all credibility

if you show that the loser
can simply beg off.

Must shoot.

Hey, look, man,
she's just an old
colored lady to you.

Come on, man, you do it.

Why, you sniveling
little coward.

What did you say to me?

Sniveling little coward.

You whiny motherfucker.

I will come up yo' stankin',
irritated asshole
with this gun

and give you a lead colonic,
motherfucker.

You think you scare me,
you mewling punk?

You don't scare me.
Bull Connor and all his dogs
didn't scare me.

Now, be a man.

Fuck. You ain't
no fuckin' man.

Oh, my, this is
most distressin'.
Be a man.

You ain't no fuckin' man.

Fuckin' a 60-year-old
with pigtails.

Why, you bastard punk.
Mountain Girl is 53.

She could ride
your ass to jelly.
Yeah?

Gentlemen, please.
GAWAIN:
I seen Virginia hams

I'd rather stick my dick in
than that big ol' white chick.

(GUNSHOT)

Oh, my God.

Oh, no.

Oh, my.

I think he's hit.

LUMP: Oh, no.

I'll just check
the carotid artery.

That's a negative.

Is he dead, Professor?

Sure he's dead, Lump.

I just checked
his carotid artery.

DORR: Well,
this is most irregular.

We shall need
a Hefty bag.

She is in the kitchen.

You steal out
with the carcass

while I dazzle her
with conversation.

My dear, Mrs. Munson,

I have outlined your
position with my colleagues,

and I now return to you to
render our collective verdict.
Uh-huh?

There was much
spirited discussion

and an atmosphere of
frank give-and-take.

Some of our number
were initially appalled
at your proposal

that we simply
return the money,
some were more receptive.

I don't care if they
was receptive or not.

And that attitude, madam,
was a factor in our
discussions.

To a man, I must say

they were devastated
at the prospect

of not being able
to contribute to their
respective charities.

Well, that is a shame.
Indeed.

But at the end of the day,
your position prevailed.

So, we have decided
to return the money,
every last cent of it,

and attend Sunday services,

rather than spend
the remainder of our days

wastin' away in
the Mississippi Men's
Correctional Facility.

Though that was the original
preference of some.

You are not assistin'
with the cadaver.

Oh, no need.

Just chuck it off the bridge.
Easiest thing in the world.

I'm just cleanin' up here.

Oh, that's them,
back already.

I'll just go dump
these in the hearse.

Yeah, easiest thing
in the world.

General.

No extra share, huh?

(GRUNTING)
(STOMACH GURGLING)

(DOOR CREAKING)

Mountain?
Garth?

(CHOKING)

IBS, dear?

(GOSPEL MUSIC PLAYING)

(HORN TOOTING)

Get Garth.

Excellent.

I believe, at last, we have
the right man for the job.

(SNORING)

(DOOR CREAKING)

(CONTINUES SNORING)

(ALARM RINGING)

(GASPS)

(GRUNTS)

(CHOKING)

(CAT YOWLS)
(GRUNTS)

(GRUNTS)

(THUNDER RUMBLING)

DORR: The old woman

is a more formidable
antagonist than one
had imagined.

(TRAWLER TOOTING)

(GRUNTING)

Now, Lump,

it falls to you
to finish the job.

The comedy must end.
You know,

I've been doin' some
thinkin', Professor.

Oh, dear.
Maybe we should be
goin' to church.

Maybe she is right.
Oh, dear, Lump.

I feared those
would be your words.

Not that I don't appreciate
you giving the matter

the benefit of
your thought,

but recall, my dear boy,

our respective functions
in this enterprise.

I am a professor.

The professor, as you yourself
so often say. The thinker.

Trained, in fact,
in the arts of cogitation.

You, Lump, are the goon,
the hooligan, the dumb brute,

whose actions must be directed
by a higher intelligence.

Yeah, I know, but...

Uh-uh, no buts, dear boy.
Do not repeat
the error of thinkin'.

Now is the moment
of praxis.

Now, Lump, you must act.

Well, I can't do it,
Professor.

A nice old lady like that.

Think of the riches, Lump,
that you and I
alone shall divide.

(STUTTERS) Yeah,
I know, but...

And reflect also
that if you decline to act,
thus forcin' me to do so,

you shall no longer have
any entitlement to the money.

Your offices shall have
been nugatory.

You mean you're
gonna kill her?

Of course, yes.
My hand shall be forced.

I can't allow you
to do that, Professor.

(LAUGHS)

You...

Allow?

Mmm-hmm.

Not allow?

Mmm-hmm.

What presumption!

You stupid boy.

You very,

very, extremely
stupid boy.

Oh, yeah?

Who looks stupid now?

(GUN CLICKING)

(TRAWLER TOOTING)

No bullets?

(GUNSHOT)

Perhaps it had
to be thus.

"Lo! In yon
brilliant window-niche

"How statue-like
I see thee stand"

(GASPS) A raven.

(CAWING)

"The agate lamp
within thy hand!

"Ah! Psyche,
from the regions which

"Are Holy-land!"

(GRUNTS)

Huh?

MRS. MUNSON: Uh-huh.

Professor?

Mmm-mmm-mmm.

Couldn't face the music.

I appreciate that,
but we don't know what to do.

Tried that, too.

Oh...

Uh, Mrs. Munson...

Gotta make a statement,
Sheriff.

Ma'am, could it
possibly wait?

We're kinda busy
down here today.

Well, I suppose
it could wait,

but it's about that
casino money.

Let me call you back.
You know somethin' about it?

Somethin'? Everything.
I got it at home.

You got what at home?
The money.

$1.6 million.

It's down in my
root cellar.

How did it get
there, Marva?

Well, a bunch of
desperate men stole it
and put it there, that's how.

See, they was musicians
of the Renaissance period.

Turned out they
really couldn't play,

but they could recite poems
that'd break your heart.

The ringleader spoke
in dead tongues.
Does he now?

I tried to get you
to see him.

That night.
Yes, ma'am.

I had to holler at 'em
about stealin' all that money.
Mmm.

And I guess I made 'em
feel real bad,

'cause they just
picked up and left without
takin' the money.

And they let Pickles out.

(GRUNTS)

So, you want us to
come over and fetch him.

Oh, no, no, he's back.

What you want me to do
with the money?

You keep it.

Why don't you keep it?

Keep it?
Go on and keep it,
Miss Marva.

Well,

it is just a penny off
of everybody's policy.

I could...

You don't suppose I could...
Yes, ma'am?

Could I just give it all
to Bob Jones University?

Yeah, that'd be nice.

Give it all to 'em.
That's a good idea.

(CHUCKLES)

As long as
everybody knows.

(GOSPEL MUSIC PLAYING)

How you doin'?

(MRS. MUNSON GRUNTS)
(CAT MEOWS)

Pickles.
Oh, Lord, Pickles!

(GOSPEL MUSIC CONTINUES)