Frenzy Quotes

[last lines]

Chief Inspector Oxford: Mr. Rusk, you're not wearing your tie.

[Robert Rusk is speechless for a moment]

Robert Rusk: I...

[he drops the trunk that he has just dragged into the room]

[a politician, being pulled away after the discovery of a woman's body with a necktie around her throat]

Sir George: I say, that's not my club tie, is it?

Monica Barling: What can I do for you, sir?

Richard Blaney: You can inform Mrs. Blaney that one of her less successful exercises in matrimony has come to see her.

Monica Barling: And who shall I say is calling?

Richard Blaney: Mr. Blaney. O,r if you preferred it, ex-Squadron Leader Blaney, late of the RAF and Mrs Blaney's matrimonial bed.

[to publican Felix Forsythe]

Chief Inspector Oxford: I expect she'll turn up sooner or later. These days, ladies abandon their honor far more readily than their clothes.

[to his wife]

Chief Inspector Oxford: No, discretion is not traditionally the strong suit of the psychopath, dear. Believe me, that's what we're dealing with. You ought to read his wife's divorce petition.

Solicitor in Pub: We were just talking about the tie murderer, Maisie. You'd better watch out.

Maisie - Barmaid: [salaciously] He *rapes* them first, doesn't he?

Solicitor in Pub: Yes, I believe he does.

Doctor in Pub: Well, I suppose it's nice to know that every cloud has a silver lining.

Maisie - Barmaid: Oh!

[smiles, walks away]

[discussing the tie murders]

Solicitor in Pub: Let's hope he slips up soon.

Doctor in Pub: In one way I rather hope he doesn't. We haven't had a good juicy series of sex murders since Christie. And they're so good for the tourist trade. Foreigners somehow expect the squares of London to be fog-wreathed, full of hansom cabs and *littered* with ripped whores, don't you think?

Robert Rusk: You - bitch! Women! They're all the same. They are. I'll show you.

Brenda Blaney: My God, the tie!

[screams]

Brenda Blaney: [as Robert Rusk wraps the tie around her throat] Dear Jesus, help me. Help me!

Richard Blaney: [having missed betting on a horse that won at 20-to-1 odds] Twenty-to-one. Twenty-to-bloody-one! Christ, damn it to hell!

[throws down a box of grapes and stomps on them]

Robert Rusk: Hey, Dick! What about "Coming Up" then?

Richard Blaney: No, I'm afraid I haven't any time. Thanks all the same.

Robert Rusk: No, "Coming Up", the horse. He won by a mile. Twenty to one. What did I tell you?

Neville Salt: [about his fiancée's deceased spouse] Oh, a neat man was he, then?

Mrs. Davison: He liked a tidy place. So do I, come to that.

[hits his shoulder with a glove]

Mrs. Davison: Dandruff. We'll have to get you something for that.

[repeated line]

Robert Rusk: You're my type of woman.

Richard Blaney: [entering hotel room with Babs] The "Cupid Room", I think she called it.

Hotel Porter: Mmm, love's little arrows have struck quite a few hearts in there, sir, I can tell you.

Richard Blaney: Oh yeah?

Hotel Porter: [confidentially] Can I get you anything from the pharmacy, sir?

Richard Blaney: No thank you.

Richard Blaney: [handing his clothes to the bellboy] Tell them I want them sprayed.

Hotel Porter: Sprayed, sir? With what?

Richard Blaney: With DDT, my good man, what else?

Hotel Porter: Sir?

Richard Blaney: Death to the lurking roach, porter, confusion to the insidious louse! Get them cleaned and pressed, eh?

Babs Milligan: If Brenda gave you money at dinner, why'd you sleep in the duff house? You could've afforded a hotel!

Richard Blaney: I didn't realize I had it! She slipped it into the pocket of my raincoat.

Babs Milligan: Oh, go on, Dick! Why don't you pull the other one? It's got bells on it!

Robert Rusk: You can stay at my place 'til you get something sorted out, if you want. I won't be in your way; I'm going up north for a few days.

Babs Milligan: No strings?

Robert Rusk: Now, do I look like that sort of a bloke?

Babs Milligan: All blokes are that sort of bloke.

Richard Blaney: You've got to believe me. I haven't murdered anyone. This whole business is insane. I mean, you know me. I wouldn't get involved in anything like this!

Robert Rusk: Of course you wouldn't, Dick. No, the police - as usual - have got the whole thing ass about face. I mean these sort of killings always boggle the mind. That man must be a sexual maniac. Mind you, there are some women who ask for everything they get. But you? Don't make me laugh. You're not the type. Now don't worry, you've done the right thing coming to your Uncle Bob.

[first lines]

Sir George: When I was a lad, a journey on the rivers of England was a truly blithe experience. "Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive," as Wordsworth has it. Brook lime and flag iris, plantain and marsh marigolds rioted on the banks. And kingfishers swooped and darted about, their shadows racing over the brown trout. Well, ladies and gentlemen, l'm happy to be able to tell you that these ravishing sights will be restored to us again in the near future, thanks to the diligent efforts of your government and your local authority, *all* the water above this point will soon be clear. Clear of industrial effluent. Clear of detergents. Clear of the waste products of our society, with which for so long we have poisoned our rivers and canals. Let us rejoice that pollution will soon be banished from the waters of this river.

Babs Milligan: He always pays.

Felix Forsythe: How would you know?

Babs Milligan: I work with him, don't I?

Felix Forsythe: And what else?

Babs Milligan: What's that supposed to mean?

Felix Forsythe: A thief or a boozer, it's all the same to me. I don't need either one as a barman, Quite a part from the fact that half the time he's pulling your tits instead of pulling pints.

Babs Milligan: No look here...

Felix Forsythe: He can't keep his hands off you! The customers are always talkin' about it.

Babs Milligan: And what about you? Always *fingering* me.

Felix Forsythe: This is Covent Garden, not the Garden of Love. How 'bout starting work?

Babs Milligan: Oh, get stuffed!

Robert Rusk: I was just coming over for a quick one. Why aren't you back there polishing the sausages or watering the gin or whatever it is you do there before opening time?

Richard Blaney: I have just been given the push.

Robert Rusk: What for? You weren't pissing in the beer again?

Robert Rusk: Give us your paper. Here you are. This will make you a fortune. This afternoon in the 3:00, "Coming Up". Never been out before, but very well-fancied at home. Now, this is a four-horse race and the other three have all won before. So, she'll start about twenty to one, maybe more.

Richard Blaney: Twenty to one?

Robert Rusk: Put your wad on. She can't lose. A little birdie told me and my little birdies are reliable.

Monica Barling: Is Mrs Blaney expecting you?

Richard Blaney: She must be. Everybody expects a bad penny to turn up sooner or later.

Brenda Blaney: We are bitter today. What's the matter?

Richard Blaney: Oh, I'm sorry. I had a bad day, that's all. I lost my job.

Brenda Blaney: How?

Richard Blaney: Well, I got fired, that's how. What do you think, I mislaid it?

Robert Rusk: I thought matrimonial agencies were supposed to bring people together?

Brenda Blaney: Not people like you. Somehow I don't think our clients would appreciate your conception of a loving relationship.

Robert Rusk: l like you. You're - my - type of woman.

Brenda Blaney: Don't be ridiculous.

Robert Rusk: l'm serious. I respect a woman like you and I know how to treat you as well. You know, in my trade we have a saying. We put it on the fruit. "Don't squeeze the goods 'til they're yours." Now, that's me. I would *never* do that. You know that, don't you?

Robert Rusk: That's a very frugal lunch you've got there. Frugal - and mean. Certainly not enough to support a lady with your opulent figure.

Brenda Blaney: Rather too opulent, I'm afraid, these days; hence the frugality.

Brenda Blaney: Please. T-take the money out of my bag, but please, leave me alone. In my bag, there's enough money to buy any woman you want. It's yours. Take it! Just take it!

Robert Rusk: I don't buy women. It's you who I want. You're my type. You are. Yes. You are my type of woman.

Brenda Blaney: Alright. Alright, I won't struggle.

Robert Rusk: But I like you to struggle. A lot of women like to struggle.

Gladys: If you'll just sign the register.

Richard Blaney: Yes, of course. Mr and Mrs Oscar Wilde.

Hotel Porter: He's the fellow the police are looking for. Don't you see? He's the necktie murderer. And we've got him upstairs at this very minute! Oh, dear! I only hope that girl isn't wearing a necktie at this very moment.

Gladys: Oh, I can't believe it! Not in the Cupid Room!

Hetty Porter: Old Dicko?

Gladys: Yes, Dicko, the chivalrous knight! He always treated her like a shit!

Chief Inspector Oxford: Sergeant, my wife is currently taking a course at the Continental School of Gourmet Cooking. Apparently, they've never heard of the principal to eat well in this country, one must have breakfast three times a day. And an English breakfast at that. I don't mean your café complet.

Sergeant Spearman: Beg pardon, sir?

Chief Inspector Oxford: It's a cup of coffee, half an inch deep, in floating bits of boiled milk, and a sweet bun full of air. That's what I had this morning.

Sergeant Spearman: I see what you mean, sir. I'm a - Quaker Oats man, myself.

Sergeant Spearman: I've never run into any of these jokers before, sir. What are they like?

Chief Inspector Oxford: Oh, they vary, but not a lot. The important thing to remember is they hate women and are mostly impotent.

Sergeant Spearman: Impotent?

Chief Inspector Oxford: Don't mistake rape for potency, Sergeant. In the latter stage of the disease, it's the strangling, not the sex, that brings them on. Above all, of course, they're sadists.

Babs Milligan: You can stuff your rotten job right up your jacksie!

Felix Forsythe: Come back, you!

Babs Milligan: Oh, balls!

Chief Inspector Oxford: It's delicious. But I find the - ingredients somewhat mystifying.

Mrs. Oxford: They're smelts, ling, conger eel, John Dory, pilchards and frog fish.

Mrs. Oxford: A 'crime de passion' after all that time? Look at us. We've only been married eight years, and you can *hardly* keep your eyes open at night.

Chief Inspector Oxford: Well, that's as may be, but I don't knock you about or make you do degrading things.

Monica Barling: You see, Inspector, he wanted us to find women for him who enjoyed, well - certain peculiarities.

Chief Inspector Oxford: You mean, who were sexual masochists? Who enjoyed being hurt? That sort of thing?

Monica Barling: Quite.

Chief Inspector Oxford: What does your intuition tell you I want for dinner tonight?

Mrs. Oxford: Steak and a baked potato. But you're getting: pied de porc la mode de Caens.

Chief Inspector Oxford: lt looks like a pig's foot!

Mrs. Oxford: That's what it is. I put it in the same sauce the French use for tripe.

Chief Inspector Oxford: That's comforting.

Mrs. Oxford: What do you think they held? A locket? A broach? A cross!

Chief Inspector Oxford: It had to be something that would incriminate him. Something that he missed when he put the body on the truck. A monogrammed handkerchief, perhaps.

Mrs. Oxford: Not a cross, I think.

Chief Inspector Oxford: Well, I don't see why not. Religious and sexual mania are - closely linked.