All language subtitles for Seven.Psychopaths.2012.1080p.BluRa

Was it Dillinger
got shot through the eyeball

or am I thinking
of somebody else?

Moe Greene got shot through
the eyeball in The Godfather.

Yeah, I'm talking about
in real life. LARRY: Oh.

Somebody in real life
got shot through the eyeball.

Who was that?

Well, no, Larry,

many people in real life have
got shot through the eyeball.

I'm just saying I think
Dillinger was one of them.

That's really good aim.

No, that ain't really good aim.

How is that not
really good aim, Tommy?

That's 100 fucking cops shooting
1,000 bullets a minute.

One of them's bound to go through
somebody's fucking eyeball.

Oh.

Eyeball. Eyeball,
eyeball, eyeball.

You ever shoot
a guy in his eyeball?

I stabbed a guy
in his ear once,

ice pick,
right in his fucking ear.

Yeah, see, that'd be a different subject.
That'd be "ears."

What's the matter
with you, Tommy?

Nothing's the matter with me.

Are you nervous because
we're killing a chick?

Yeah, look at me, I'm shaking. I
got the chick-killing shakes.

The last thing
the boss says to me, he says,

"Tommy, the moment I first saw
Angela's eyes, I knew it."

"I knew it was love, I knew I was fucked.
And lo and behold, I was."

"So, Tommy, the moment
after you kill her,

please, shoot her fucking eyeballs
out." Those were his exact words.

I got one exact word for that.

"Overkill."

I got two exact words
for that, "Hear, hear."

I got three
exact words for that.

"You're damn
fucking straight."

In Cuba, the torturers used to have
a device, two thin metal spikes,

placed here,
that they adjusted,

and slowly, millimeter by millimeter,
pricked into the eyeballs.

You're kidding me? Those
Communist motherfuckers.

Well, no, Larry.
These are the ones

those Communist
motherfuckers kicked out.

What is it with
you today, Tommy?

First it's should
we or shouldn't we

shoot this chick
through the eyeballs,

and second,
it's you've gone soft...

Hey, Martin, it's your
agent calling again.

Just wondering when we're gonna
see that new screenplay of yours.

I'm not sure
what the holdup is,

but the old clock's
ticking, buddy,

so give me a call, okay?

Hiya, Kaya.

Martin's writing today, Billy.

Should I just stand
outside like a dick, then?

You doing yoga?

Was.
Can I watch?

What happened to you?

I got in a fight
at my audition.

Who with this time?

The director guy.

He broke his nose.

How are you ever
gonna get a job, Billy,

if you break the director guy's
nose before you even got the part?

I didn't mean
to break his nose.

His nose was just in the middle
of where I was punching.

I'm going to work.

Are you pissed at me
for something, baby?

Why would I be
pissed at you, Marty?

Because you're a cunt.
Billy!

I don't remember doing
anything to piss her off.

Don't worry about it.

She's probably pissed at you
not for anything specific,

more because
she's a fucking bitch.

She's not a fucking bitch, Billy.
She's just got issues.

Yeah, she's got issues. She's got
"being a fucking bitch" issues.

When are you gonna
get a girlfriend anyway?

Why do I have to do
all this shit on my own?

Maybe I've already
got a girlfriend.

A girlfriend I can't
tell you anything about

in the interests
of your own safety.

That just means you
haven't got a girlfriend.

Proof be if need proof...
Never mind.

Huh?

Proof be if need be.

And how's everything in the
dog-kidnapping business?

Dog- "borrowing" business. I
ain't talking about that shit neither.

Dog-borrowing business.

Oh!

Big boy.

His name's Abel.

Hi. Is this your dog?

Oh, my God!

I have to pay you.
No, please. I can't.

Take this. Thank you so much.
Are you serious?

Hey, hey. So where
do you wanna go, Hans,

now that we're back
in the money?

The cancer ward,
Billy, if you don't mind.

One cancer ward
coming right up.

Five hundred bucks, baby. A blonde
lady with a big fat basset hound.

When you gonna get a job that ain't
just stealing from folks, Hans?

I'm a 63-year-old,
ain't worked in 20 years.

Myra, where am I
gonna get a job?

Government.

Government?

"A job that ain't just
stealing from folks"?

Government?

Psst! Eh?

Government.

Eh?

Five hundred bucks for a dog.

Come on.
I'm gonna put it here,

and you can take it
if you want.

So how's the Seven
Psychopaths coming along, Marty?

Slow, slow.

I got the title.

Just haven't been able to come
up with all the psychopaths yet.

How many you got?
One.

And he ain't really
much of a psychopath.

He's more of a,
kind of a Buddhist.

A Buddhist?

Yeah. See, I'm sick of
all these stereotypical

Hollywood murderous
scumbag-type psychopath movies.

I don't want it
to be one more film

about guys with
guns in their hands.

I want it, overall,
to be about love and peace.

But it still has to be about
these seven psychopaths,

so this Buddhist psychopath,

he doesn't believe in violence.

I don't know what the fuck
he's gonna do in the movie.

Maybe he could
karate chop somebody.

You know?

So what happens to the seven
psychopaths at the end?

I don't know what happens
to them at the start.

Oops!

Yeah, it'll be all right.

Hey. Shit in my pants,

I got a psychopath
fool you can write about.

Did you see this thing
in the paper the other day

about those two Mafia guys
who got whacked?

How about this?

There's a serial killer
going around, a major whacko.

However, he ain't like your
usual limp-ass serial killer,

tie up a freckle-headed
hitchhiker on a highway.

No, this guy, he's got a
little bit more integrity.

This serial killer will only kill
mid-to high-ranking members

of the Italian-American
organized crime syndicate.

Or the Yakuza.

That's a great
fucking psychopath, Billy.

Do you think?

A serial killer
who will only kill

mid-to high-ranking members of the
Italian organized crime syndicate.

Or the Yakuza.
Yakuza.

I'll keep with the Mafia,
saves doing Jap dialogue.

Good idea.

That's a great fucking psychopath, Billy.
Can I keep him?

You can if you let me
help write the movie with you.

You can keep him, Marty,
I'm just kidding you.

The daughter of
a Quaker went missing.

And when she was discovered,
the slit in her throat

turned out to be the least
of the damage done to her.

Her killer, whose name
shall not be noted,

could not bear the guilt
and the horror, he said,

and a year to the day
of her death,

he walked into a police
station and gave himself up.

And though he asked for execution,
the judge gave him life,

and the killer was sent off to Sing
Sing to serve out his sentence.

Seventeen long years went by.

The killer found religion.

And was sincere about it.
He had changed.

And if he had ever been a psychopath,
he was not one any more.

This story isn't about him.

Many more years went by

and the authorities finally
realized that it wasn't a scam,

that he did truly mean it.
That he had truly repented.

And they decided
to set him free.

And he found himself
a place to stay

and he determined
to live a simple,

joyous life in the years
now left to him.

A simple, joyous life
was not what was left to him.

This went on for
11 fucking years,

till finally
the killer went mad.

And one winter night, while recalling
a Catholic tract he'd read,

which stated that the only people
guaranteed a place in Hell

were not murderers,
were not rapists,

but were those who had
died by their own hand.

The killer accepted
such an idea as beautiful,

for he knew that at least in Hell
the Quaker would not be there.

So he cut his own throat open,

and the last thing
that the killer ever saw

was the old man take out
a cut-throat razor of his own,

put it to his throat,

and slice.

Where were you
walking him, Sharice?

The La Brea Tar Pits.

Mr. Costello,
please don't hurt me.

I promise,
I didn't mean to lose Bonny.

I just turned
around and he was gone.

If it was a genuine error,
Sharice,

if it wasn't your fault
and he just run off,

why did you run off,

have us piss away 12 hours
just to find your fat ass?

You love your dog
so much, Mr. Costello,

and you're such
an angry-type person,

I didn't think you'd listen to anything
I had to say about losing Bonny.

You'd just think
it was my fault

and drag me back here
and tie me up and kill me.

Well, yeah,
that was a pretty good...

Yeah.
Oh.

Yeah.

You should get a new one, boss.

I know, but I like
the handle, the blue.

I'm sorry about this, Sharice.
What it is, I don't oil it.

Please, Mr. Costello, I always loved
Bonny like he was my own child.

One, I do not want
that image in my head.

Two, you shouldn't
take advantage

just because my gun
got stuck by accident.

Because that's low.

There's been a bunch
of dog disappearances

down by the La Brea
Tar Pits, I heard.

This Norwegian chick I was
banging, she got her dog back.

Been missing a couple of days.

Gave the guy a big reward,

then she started to think there
was something fishy about it.

She asked around.

Same thing happened
to three people down there.

And, I'm sorry, Dennis, when
were you gonna mention this?

I'd have mentioned it
straight off

if I hadn't been looking
for fat-ass all night.

Dennis,

could you go make
some inquiries?

Get my fucking dog back for me.

Sure, boss.

What about fatso?

She still lost my
fucking dog, man.

Just kidding, Sharice.
You can go.

You think I'm gonna
see Wendy again when I go?

We'll both see her again, baby,
but not anytime too soon.

You ever worry we was
wrong all those years,

and there ain't no Heaven
and there ain't no nothing?

Of course I worry, but God loves us.
I know He does.

He's just got a funny way
of showing it sometimes.

Sometimes I think
God's gone crazy sometimes.

Stuff He does,
stuff He don't do.

Well, He's had a lot to contend
with in his time, too, you know.

Bastards killed His kid, too.

Don't say "bastards," honey.

It's just a word, Myra.

It's just a word, you know.

"Bastards."

You're gonna have a nice
time tonight, Billy. Relax.

He's your best friend,
ain't he?

Kaya ain't so bad. it ain't her
fault she's a fucking bitch.

Must be hard coming all the
way here from Australia.

Or New Zealand. Or wherever
the fuck she came from.

Hey, I'm Billy.
Billy Bickie.

What's your name?
I didn't catch your name.

Hey. Come again?

Dimitri, I like that.
Where you from?

Hey, happy birthday.

Hey, Bonny.

We'll get you back to your
daddy in a day or two.

Don't be sad.

That's good. You're not sad.
Oh, you're happy!

Paw.

Paw.

No paw. That's okay, too.

And the last thing
that the killer ever saw

was the Quaker take out
a cut-throat razor,

put it to his own throat,
and slice.

MANI Ah.

Wow.

What's up, Bickie?
Don't you get it?

On, I get it.

You don't look like you get it.

Maybe it ain't clear enough.

Maybe I should have
had you write it with me.

Maybe you just
drink too much, Marty.

What did you just say?

You're a dog kidnapper, Billy.

I'm taking advice on drinking
from a dog kidnapper.

I ain't a dog kidnapper, Marty.

Stop it, Martin.

Don't you fucking start.

Yeah, don't you fucking start.

Don't talk to her like that!

You started it.
Oh.

Shut up!

Kaya, that Quaker story,

I told Marty that story
in a bar two months ago.

A friend of mine
told that to me.

So there might be copyright
issues, at the very least.

What are youse looking at?

I'm gonna go, okay?

Um...

Thanks for... It was a nice party.
You look nice.

What you doing, honey? Ain't
you getting undressed?

If I could massacre every person
in this godforsaken country...

...that helped
tear apart mine, I would.

I must focus, however, on the
gruesome task I have in hand.

What are you talking,
baby? Chinese?

Vietnamese. Vietnamese.

Vietnamese. Yeah, didn't
we have like a big war

with you guys one time?

Yes.

It isn't over.

What am I doing at
your place, Billy?

Kaya threw you out.

What did Kaya throw me out for?

You don't remember?

For calling her a fucking bitch

in front of all of her friends.

I'd never do that.

At least not to her face.

Well, call her up and see.

Huh?

Well, call her up and see.

Huh?

Hello?

Honey, listen, I can't exactly
remember what happened last night.

Do the words, "My girlfriend's
a fucking bitch,"

mean anything to you?

Poodles always look
like they've been crying.

Maybe they've just got
dumped by their girlfriend

because they've got
a drinking problem, too.

I don't have a drinking problem.
I just like drinking.

Of course you do, Marty.

One, you're a writer.

Two, you're from Ireland.

It's part of your heritage.
You're fucked!

Fuck off now, Billy!
Seriously, just fuck off now!

I'm not in the fucking mood!

You were fucked from birth.

Spanish have got bullfighting.
The French got cheese.

And the Irish
have got alcoholism.

And what have
the Americans got?

Tolerance.

Oh. Shoot, you're reading
LA Weekly, are you? Huh?

On.

Shoot, you're reading
LA Weekly, are you?

No, no, no.

No, no, no.

No, no, no.

Shoot, did I leave
any water in Bonny's bowl?

I'd better go home and
do that, and while I do,

there's something I put in the LA
Weekly that you should maybe read.

'Cause it's possible
in the short term

that you might be
slightly mad at me.

What are you talking about?

Page 163.

Calling all psychopaths!

Are you mental or deranged?

Maybe you've recently
been hospitalized,

but are now okay.

Or maybe the world
just doesn't understand you.

Yeah, right!

Well, I'm writing a screenplay with my
friend called the Seven Psychopaths,

and if your story is crazy or quirky
enough, we might use it for our movie.

So please call Billy
Bickie at 310-555-01...

Fucking asshole dog-fucker.

Really? That's nice.

No, no, thank you.
Are you sure?

Please, really.

Thank you.

All right, old man, get in the car.
Whoa!

Get in the car.
Come on.

What? "What?"
Get in the car, man.

Don't make me repeat
myself, dog fucker.

Where do you keep the dogs?

What dogs?

To repeat,
where do you keep the dogs?

1228 Bayside.

Who are you?

I'm Billy's friend.

Well, just keep out of
our way, Billy's friend.

Al, check the cages.

He ain't here! Where
is he, old man?

Little shih tzu, name of Bonny.

Shih tzu? We ain't never
had a shih tzu in here.

You don't listen too good the
first time, do you, old man?

Tell me where Bonny is,
or else this guy gets it!

On.

I don't even know this guy.
What the hell do I care?

I know where the shih tzu is.
I know where the shih tzu is.

Where is he?

Kid, I don't know who you
are or why you're here,

and I don't know if you do
know where this shih tzu is

or if you don't know
where this shih tzu is,

but either way have
some pride in yourself.

Have some faith in
Jesus Christ as your Lord,

and don't tell these scum-sucking
motherfuckers nothing.

Don't! Don't, I'll tell you!
I'll tell you!

Billy! Billy! Billy.

Holy fuck!
What the hell happened?

Some punks jumped us.

Said they were looking
for a little shih tzu.

Then some other punk
killed those punks.

I've only been gone 10 fucking minutes.
Marty, are you okay?

You looked fucked.

I just didn't need this today.

He's okay. It's their blood.
It's his puke.

You wanna go to the bathroom,

- clean some of the blood and the puke off you?
- Yeah.

Marty's my writer friend
I was telling you about.

I could smell the booze.

Where did you get this
little shih tzu, Billy? Huh?

I got her off some fat black
chick down at The Elephants.

You think she's the one
that they're after?

I think there's a strong
possibility, Billy.

So are we gonna
give him his dog back?

That jerk's forfeited all right

to having a nice dog like this.
Mmm-hmm.

Miss?

Well, what are we gonna do?

I think we should try and find
this Jack O' Diamonds guy

and get him to
join forces with us.

And then we could take on all the
bad guys, like maybe in the desert.

And what do you think
we should do in real life?

Well, we could sober up, Marty.
How's that grab you?

I think we should
go to the cops.

Fuck the cops!
Fuck them!

Fuck them. All right.
Jesus Christ.

There are some
nice cops, aren't there?

He's from Ireland.

I'm gonna head to the hospital.

I said I'd be with Myra
when her results come in.

No fucking cops.

No cops.

Who's Myra?
His wife.

She's just had
surgery for cancer.

And you think
you've got problems.

He ain't here,
and now we don't know

where this guy is or what
the hell he looks like.

Yeah, can we get Dennis
to a hospital now, Charlie?

Yeah, let's get him
to a hospital.

And let's get on to the ASPCA

and have 'em take care
of these poor bastards.

Maybe we should go to the
hospital with him, Charlie.

You know I don't
like hospitals.

Yeah, but it's where
the guy's wife is.

You know, Marty, the way
you're feeling today,

all depressed and
alcoholic and shit?

You know what you should do?
Put it into your writing, man.

Use it. Mad idea?

Thanks, Billy,
that's what I'll do.

I'll put the way I'm feeling
today into my writing.

And then I'll go blow
my fucking brains out.

Come on, man.

You know your writing
helps alleviate

your suicidal
self-loathing and shit.

I don't have suicidal
self-loathing and shit.

Yeah, right.
Hey, who's this chump?

Hey, are you waiting
for somebody, old guy?

Are you Billy Bickie?

Uh...

No.

Well, my name
is Zachariah Rigby.

I left a message
on Billy's telephone

in answer to the advertisement.

For fuck's sake!

Well, I tell you, Zachariah.

If you sounded like a nut,
I probably just deleted you.

I don't think
I sounded like a nut.

Were you screaming about
eating my heart off a tray

and then shitting on it?

No. No, I wouldn't do that.

Okay, you seem normal.
Come on in.

We gotta get this
dog off the street

because it's kidnapped
from a maniac.

Dandy.

Testing, one-two.
Testing. Okay.

Zach, unfortunately I gotta go play
tennis with my girlfriend now,

but it's Marty who'll be
doing the writing anyway.

You ain't leaving me
with this nut, Billy.

And you ain't got a girlfriend.
He ain't got a girlfriend.

Tennis?

But it's voice-activated, so just
start telling your kooky stuff, Zach,

and see you guys soon, okay?

Zach?
Yeah.

All right, listen. Why don't you just
tell me whatever you wanna tell me,

and I'll go make us a coffee.
How about that?

Tea.
Huh?

Tea.

Tea? Why not?

Well, I guess

it all began
back when I was 17.

I...

The distant mists of time.

I was a little wet behind the ears back then.
I don't mind admitting it.

I was burglarizing the house of
this judge down in Delacroix.

Let me tell you something,
don't never burglarize

the house of no judge
down in Delacroix.

Because when I went down
into his basement,

you know what
I found down there?

I found the corpses of
two negro girls down there.

And then I found a half-alive
'nother negro girl

chained right along with them.

Well,

the girl's name was Maggie.

She told me all about the judge

and she told me what
a terrible man he was,

and I think I fell in love with
Maggie right then and there.

And I think she did
a little with me, too.

Then the judge came home.

Yeah, and he was awful angry.

We just didn't know what to do.

And what did you do?

Well, we hung him from his
neck until he was dead,

and that's when Maggie and
me got this idea, see?

What idea?

Well, the idea that we'd go
around the country killing people

who go around the
country killing people.

Like serial killer killing.

I guess that's what
you'd call it nowadays.

Uh-huh.

Get in the house.

Get in the house!

Maggie!

1975 it was,
she burned that hippie.

I've been looking
for her ever since.

There is something I'd like
you to do for me, Martin.

When you use
my story in your movie,

I'd like you to put a little
message up there at the end.

I want you to tell
her that I miss her.

And I love her.

And I should have helped
her kill that hippie.

And I'm sorry.

And to call.

You think you could
do that for me, Martin?

I'd be glad to, Zach.

Promise?

I promise on my life.

Wow.

That's a big promise.

Can I help you?
Oh.

Uh... Yeah.

I'm looking for a Polish lady.

A Mrs. Kieslowski.

She's having an operation.

How long's that gonna take?

I don't know.

What do you want
Mrs. Kieslowski for?

Her husband's got
something belongs to me.

Oh.

You gonna shoot her?

No. No, "shoot her"?

No, no, I'm just gonna
scare her so she tells me

where her husband's at
and where my dog's at.

And what if she don't know?

Well, then I'm gonna get mad.

Can I go use the bathroom?

I think you'd better wait
around here for a while.

Maybe do it in
a pan or something.

I can wait.

I don't use no pans.

Suit yourself.

What's your dog's name?

Bonny.

That's a nice name.

I'm sure Mr. Kieslowski will
take good care of your dog

and get it back to you safe.

He always seems like a sweet
man when he comes in.

He come visit her a lot?

Every day.

What kind of times every day?

Oh.

Different times, you know.

And not every day. He
misses a day now and then.

Oh, yeah?

He been in today?

Yeah.

Uh...

He came in earlier this
morning, about 10:00 or so.

So the Polack
married a nigger, huh?

Yeah.

The Polack married a nigger.

Where is he now?

I don't know.

Where's my dog?

You figure it out,
dumb-ass.

Goodbye, Mrs. Kieslowski.

Goodbye, Hans.

We should get out of here.
I ain't leaving.

I'm gonna wait down there till
that dog-thief motherfucker

comes in screaming.

You looking at something?

No. Nothing at all.

Are you hurt?

A little.

What's that?

A cravat.

It's nice. It's very...

Of a bygone era.

You have it.

No, really.

Please.

I want you to have it.

Have it.

I don't want your cravat, man.

What's wrong, honey?

I don't think
I can keep it up, Ang.

Nope.

Look at that
limp piece of shit.

Jeez, I hate these
frigging condoms.

Then take it off,
baby, I trust you.

You trust me? But you're still
screwing that Mafia guy.

God knows what shit
that prick's given you.

Get the fuck off me, Billy.

I didn't mean AIDS
or nothing, honey.

Honey, I meant like
chlamydia or something.

Honey, I meant like
chlamydia or something.

Three weeks I haven't seen you,

and that's the way
you talk to me?

I've been busy, baby.

I've been busy trying to help
you out, if you must know.

What are you talking about?

Well, you know you said your
asshole boyfriend loves his dog

more than anything
in the world, right?

You haven't?

I have!

Billy! Billy,
you've gotta give it back.

Give it back? I ain't gonna give
back shit, let alone my shih tzu.

Oh, my God.
Oh, my God!

Oh.

"Give it back." It's kidnapped.
Oh, my God!

It's a kidnapped dog. You don't
just give back a kidnapped dog.

Defeats the entire
object of the kidnapping.

They didn't just give
Patty Hearst back, did they?

No, this dog
is my Patty Hearst.

Except I ain't gonna keep it in a
closet and make it rob a bank.

No, I'm gonna hold on to it
until your asshole boyfriend

starts behaving like a decent human
being and gives me a bunch of money.

The guy's a psychopath, Billy!

Well, did you ever ask yourself

what you're doing screwing a
psychopath in the first place?

Screwing two psychopaths
is what the question is.

What? Who's the second?
Oh. Who, me?

I'm gonna call him,
clear this entire thing up.

- No, you ain't either.
- Shit.

Hello?
Charlie?

Charlie...
Hi, Hans. Angela?

How are you?
We were a little worried,

you were late home is all.

Yeah, I know. I just got
held up at the library.

Hey, did Myra get
her results back?

The results came in.
She got the all-clear.

Oh, my God, Hans,

I'm so happy for you.

Well, no, that gangster guy
whose dog we got,

he come down and he killed her.

He what?

I guess he must have found
out the connection somehow.

He came down, he shot her in the
head in the hospital there,

so she's dead now,
unfortunately.

I'll be home in 20 minutes.

Charlie, I know,

I know we've been going
through some tough times,

but it's all gonna work
out fine, I promise you.

Hi. Can you send an ambulance
to 2618 Mountain Drive?

Gunshot wound to the stomach.

So don't say I never
do nothing for you. Okay?

Monday the 14th.

Sat watching the shadow of the
neighbor's flagpole across my lawn again

from 7:00 in the morning
to 7:00 in the evening.

That's 11 hours.

They've got a right to
fly a flag, don't they?

Note to self, do not set
fire to the neighbor's flag.

Work out more ways of being
a better friend to people.

Kaya, for instance.
She is the girl Marty loves.

Deep down,
she is possibly not a cunt.

Marty. Do everything
to keep his mind

on track about
the Seven Psychopaths.

He is the best writer of his generation,
but he needs to stay focused.

But do not bother him any more about
writing his screenplay with him.

If he wants your help,
he will ask for it.

Hey, hey. Let's go,
let's go, let's go.

Hans!

First thing you
gotta do, Charlie,

you gotta pull
yourself together.

I gotta pull
myself together, I know.

I have no idea
where my dog is now.

Right, second thing,
we simply speak to Angela,

see what else she knows about this
guy, where he might have got to.

What if she
don't know much more?

All right,
then we bide our time,

wait until they
get in touch with us.

Bonny ain't gonna be
no value to them dead.

Don't say "Bonny" and "dead" in
the same thing, Paulo, please.

I'm finding it
hard enough to cope.

You're not pulling yourself
together, are you?

I am, lam.

My dog's gonna end up killed.

There's something
else, Charlie.

The guy's got about a hundred
packs of playing cards,

and all the Jacks
of Diamonds are gone.

The guy's a fucking psychopath.

He's so calm.

Hmm.

Man, if I'd just had my wife
murdered, I think I'd be...

Angry.
Yeah.

That's Hans, man.
He's a proper Christian.

You know, proper old-time Christian.
Not like these Fox News fucks.

I feel bad, man. I kind of feel
like all this was my fault.

I kidnapped
the guy's dog and all.

Come on, Billy. How could you have
known it was that psycho's dog?

Do you wanna help me write
Seven Psychopaths, Billy?

Are you being serious?

I thought I could
bounce some ideas off you,

you could tinker
with some stuff.

I would love that, Marty.

I would really love that.

I think I'm gonna quit drinking
till the movie's done.

That, right there,
is a deal, man.

It's not a deal, no.

I'm just gonna stop drinking for a while.
There's no deal involved.

That, right there, is

not a deal.
Equally cool.

But if we go there,
we're gonna get lost.

You don't drink, Hans, no?

I take peyote, sometimes.

Billy has some peyote
I might take later.

I'm sorry about
your wife, Hans.

But I guess
she's in Heaven now.

You believe in Heaven?

I'm not sure what I
believe, you know.

I put a lot of Heaven and
Hell stuff in my stories,

but I'm not sure
what I believe.

Why don't you tell me one of your
Heaven and Hell stories, Martin?

Billy said he didn't
think you'd like it much.

I like stories.

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 any more.

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.

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 any more.

And his daughters
weren't there any more.

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 any more.

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'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.

- 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,
"Ka ya! 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.

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?

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...

on, 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.

Paw.

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 any more.

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" any more.

I think nowadays
they prefer "homos."

- 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.