The Department of Alien Affairs ... We try to engage. District 9 ***** 2009 starring Sharlto Copley & Jason Cope & David James & Venessa Haywood & Mandla Gaduka & Kenneth Nkosi & Eugene Khumbanyiwa & Louis Minaar & William Allen Young & Nathalie Boltt et al, director Neill Blomkamp, Wikus opening scene in the department
There was a million of them. So what was a temporary holding zone soon became fenced, soon became militarized, and before we knew it it was a slum. ibid. sociologist
For Use By Humans Only. ibid. sign
Locals Demand Removal Of All Extra-terrestrials. ibid. television news
Don’t point your fucking tentacles at me! ibid. Wikus to alien
I love watching prawns die. ibid. rozzer
Trust no-one, Jim. Especially not in the mainstream. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy ***** 2011 starring Gary Oldman & Colin Firth & Tom Hardy & Mark Strong & Ciaran Hinds & Benedict Cumberbatch & David Dencik & Stephen Graham & Simon McBurney & Toby Jones & John Hurt & Kathy Burke et al, director Tomas Alfredson, Hurd opening scene
Treasure: he has the name of the mole the Russians have planted in the British Intelligence service, right at the top of the Circus. There’s a rotten apple, Jim. ibid.
Too many secrets are blowing around here. Too much failure. Too many scandals. Too little solid intelligence. ibid. Percy
Nothing is genuine any more. ibid. Hurt to Oldman
The fanatic is always concealing a secret doubt. ibid. George
I had to pick a side, George. It was an aesthetic choice as much as a moral one. ibid.
You can call me Shane. Shane ***** 1953 starring Alan Ladd & Jean Arthur & Van Heflin & Brandon de Wilde & Jack Palance & Ben Johnson & Edgar Buchanan & Emile Meyer & Elisha Cook junior & Douglas Spencer et al, director George Stevens
Could you whip him, pa? Could you whip Shane? ibid. Joey to father
Bet you can shoot, can’t ya? ibid.
I wish they’d give me some bullets for this gun. ibid. Joey
Shane: A gun is a tool, Marian. No better or worse than any other tool. An ax, a shovel or anything. A gun is as good or as bad as the man using it. Remember that.
Marion: We’d all be better off if there wasn’t a single gun left in this valley including yours. ibid.
I’m transferring you to Major Dalby’s outfit. The Ipcress File 1965 ***** starring Michael Caine & Guy Doleman & Nigel Green & Sue Lloyd & Gordon Jackson & Aubrey Richards & Frank Gatliff & Thomas Baptiste & Oliver MacGreevy & Freda Bamford & Pauline Winter et al, director Sidney J Furie, Ross to Palmer
For some time now we’ve had a section investigating the brain drain. ibid.
We are left with Eric Ashley Grantby, codenamed Blue Jay, born Albania 1918. ibid. Dalby to Section
He’s not a bad bloke really. ibid. Jock to Palmer, re Dalby
Palmer: What is form L101?
Jock: Field report. ibid.
You’ll soon find out this job’s nearly all legwork. ibid. Jock to Palmer
It’s got IPCRESS written on it. ibid. Dalby
You’re quite a gourmet, aren’t you, Palmer? ibid. Ross in supermarket
Courtney: Do you always wear your glasses?
Palmer: Yes, except in bed. ibid.
If you’re not clean, I’m going to kill you. ibid. American bloke to Palmer
Induction of Psychoneuroses by Conditioned Reflex Under Stress. ibid. Jock’s book
My name is Harry Palmer. ibid. Harry tortured
One of you is a double agent. ibid. Palmer to Ross & Dalby
Listen to me – shoot Ross. Shoot the traitor now. ibid. Dalby to Palmer
Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compacts disc-players and electrical tin-openers. Choose god health. Low cholesterol. And dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments ... Choose life. But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin. Trainspotting ***** 1996 starring Ewan McGregor & Ewen Bremner & Robert Carlyle & Kevin McKidd & Kelly MacDonald & Peter Mullan & Keith Allen & James Cosmo et al, director Danny Boyle
People think it’s all about misery and desperation and death and all that shite, which is not to be ignored. But what they forget is the pleasure of it. Otherwise we wouldn’t do it. After all, we’re not fucking stupid. At least, were not that fucking stupid. Take the best orgasm you ever had, multiply it by a thousand and you’re still nowhere near it. When you’re on junk you have only one worry: scoring. When you’re off it you are suddenly obliged to worry about all sorts of other shite. Got no money: can’t get pissed. Got money: drinking too much. Can’t get a bird: no chance of a ride. Got a bird: too much hassle. You have to worry about bills, about food, about some football team that never fucking wins, about human relationships and all the things that really don’t matter when you’ve got a sincere and truthful junk habit. ibid.
And one bottle of Valium which I have already procured from my mother who is, in her own domestic and socially acceptable way, also a drug addict. ibid.
The heroin makes you constipated. ibid.
The worst toilet in Scotland. ibid.
[explaining the gaps in his employment history] Yes, I can. The truth – well, the truth is that I’ve had a long-standing problem with heroin addiction. I’ve been known to sniff it, smoke it, swallow it, stick it up my arse and inject it into my veins. I’ve been trying to combat this addiction, but unless you count social security scams and shoplifting, I haven’t had a regular job in years. I feel it’s important to mention this. ibid.
The downside of coming off junk was I knew I would need to mix with my friends again in a state of full consciousness. It was awful. They reminded me so much of myself, I could hardly bear to look at them. Take Sick Boy, for instance. He came off junk at the same time as me – not because he wanted to, you understand, but just to annoy me. Just to show me how easily he could do it, thereby downgrading my own struggle. Sneaky fucker, don’t you think? ibid.
At or around the time Spud, Sickboy and I made a healthy, informed, democratic decision to get back on heroin as soon as possible. It took about twelve hours. ibid.
The streets are awash with drugs you can have for unhappiness and pain. And we took them all. ibid.
The good times couldn’t last for ever. ibid.
To take the pain away. So I cooked up. And she got a hit. ibid.
I don’t feel the sickness yet, but it’s in the post, that’s for sure. I’m in the junky limbo at the moment. Too ill to sleep, too tired to stay awake. But the sickness is on its way. Sweat, chills, nausea, pain and craving. ibid.
I need one more fucking hit! ibid.
It seems, however, that I really am the luckiest guy in the world. Several years of addiction right in the middle of an epidemic, surrounded by the living dead. But not me. I’m negative. It’s official. And once the pain goes away that’s when the real battle starts. Depression. Boredom. You feel so low you want to top yourself. ibid.
I quite enjoyed the sound of it all: profit, loss, margins, takeovers, lettings, lendings, lettings, sub-letting. Cheating. Scamming. There was no such thing as society. ibid.
This was to be my final hit. But let’s be clear about this. There are final hits and there are final hits. What kind was this to be? ibid.
The truth is that I’m a bad person. But that’s going to change. I’m going to change. This is the last of that sort of thing. I’m cleaning up and moving on, going straight and choosing Life. I’m looking forward to it already. I’m going to be just like you. ibid.