Fletcher: Play a game with me, Ray.

Raymond: No.

Fletcher: Oh, please.

Raymond: I said no.

Fletcher: Play a fucking game with me, Ray.

Raymond: ...right.
Mickey Pearson: There's only one rule in the jungle: when the lion's hungry, he eats!
Raymond: You're wrong, Fletcher. Micky doesn't work like that.
Coach: Shut the Phuc...
Raymond: [Watching the video of Big Dave and the pig] You really can't unsee it once you've seen it.
Raymond: Who are you talking about know?

Fletcher: I talk Raymondo of Dry Eye. Oh Dry Eye, what is he? Chinese, Japanese, Pekingese, get on your fucking knees. Dirty dragon filth. 'Yellow is the colour, gambling is the game'
Dry Eye: The young succeed the old!
Brown: What am I guilty of?

Ray: Being a cunt, Brown. Being a cunt.
Mickey Pearson: [as Mickey walks into the bar] Bobby.

Barman: Boss?

Mickey Pearson: I'll have a pint and a pickled egg.

Barman: Coming straigt up.
Fletcher: Enter our protagonist. He's good looking. He's gorgeous. He's golden age. He's a proper handsome cunt. His name is Mickey Pearson. Unique background has our Mickey. American born, Rhodes scholar. So he's born clever, but poor. Now that's quite a leap from a trailer park in Americana to the thousand year-old university in old Angleterre, where he studies the dark art of horticulture. But he never finished his education, never went home, because he found his vocation. A naughty vocation. He's a bad boy. He starts dealing the dirty wonder weed to his rich, British, upper-class uni pals, and realizes he's rather good at it. But now the plot begins to thicken. He has reached a crossroads in his life. The middle class and the middle age, they've got to him. They've corrupted his appetite for the horrors. He's gone soft. He wanted to cash in his chips, and get out of the game, and he seems to have found the perfect customer.
Rosalind Pearson: He's a fox, and foxes have a predictable nature. Trust this Jew about that Jew. If you let him in the henhouse, you can expect blood and feathers everywhere.
Matthew: How does anyone grow fifty tons of super skunk without letting anyone else know how they do it?

Mickey Pearson: I'm flattered to hear that from you, Matthew. I imagine that big brain of yours is sweating a stream of tears just trying to figure it out.

Matthew: Brilliance should be acknowledged
Mickey Pearson: I've gone to great lengths to make my operation as invisible as possible, Matthew. If you were standing on my bush, you wouldn't know it. As a matter of fact, you are standing on my bush.
Dry Eye: A gentleman's quote is a gentleman's word.
Fletcher: I think the time has come for me to introduce you to our queen. A Cockney Cleopatra to Mickey's cowboy Caesar. The only weak link, in his otherwise impregnable armor, is his devotion, his passion, some would say his obsession, with his beauteous lady wife.
Mickey Pearson: I like middle age. I like gentrification, private schools, fine wines, and a spoonful of caviar to help my medicine go down. But most importantly, I'm looking forward to spending more time with you.

Rosalind Pearson: Of course you are.
Ray: I should stab you with that fucking rolling pin!

Fletcher: Oh, don't be cunty. I was just hoping we could have a cozy little drink together. So, I've got a meeting on Saturday at your favorite newspaper. As the best private investigator in this smoky little town, good evening, ladies and gentlemen, they are ready to put a hundred and fifty grand in my pocket to give them some filth. Good for me, that, but in this case, it's bad for you.
Mickey Pearson: Making a splash with the gentry.

Matthew: Oh, I like to make a splash whenever possible.

Mickey Pearson: Well, you also seem to understand the significance of a proper attire.

Matthew: Indeed I do. I believe a sense of ownership is vital in every aspect of life, perhaps never more so than when it comes to wardrobe. For every look there is a season, and for every season a strategy.

Fletcher: [voice over] Now starts the alpha dance. They're not really talking about clothes, Raymond. Oh, f**king no. They're like a pair of old doggies sniffing round one another's intellectual a**holes. It's a good old-fashioned C**k-off, Raymond.
Fletcher: He wants to ruin him, but I am here to do you a favor. And it's not like you're not getting something for your money. You could even turn that script into a feature film, Raymond. We could make it together. We could be partners. I have learned off you lot. You got to look after number one, and now it's my turn. The sun is not going up for me, Ray. It's going down.
Mickey Pearson: It's the new gold rush. This is the thin end of a very fat wedge, sir.

Matthew: If it's such a fat wedge, why don't you keep it?

Mickey Pearson: You see, I've developed a reputation as a man who came up the hard way. You could say that there's blood on these pretty white hands. But in the new business, once legal and under the jurisdiction of the respectable umbrella of ministerial legitimacy, an enterprise like this will need a face with a clean past, which sadly I do not possess. Retirement doesn't sound so bad. Long walks in the countryside, pruning roses with my better half, raising some cubs. I've earned it.
Fletcher: He explodes on the scene like a millennial fucking firecracker. Bang, bang, bang, bang!

Ray: I'm going to have to stop you right there, Fletcher. That doesn't sound like the Dry Eye I know.

Fletcher: Just making sure you're paying attention, Raymond. So let's cut instead to a somewhat anticlimactic, but suave and debonair Dry Eye, like a Chinese James Bond.
Rosalind Pearson: Look, I don't want you knocking around here feeling all unemployed and lost with yourself.

Mickey Pearson: Well, fuck me. Most wives would beg their other halves to get out of this game, but not you.

Rosalind Pearson: That's because I know you, darling.
Rosalind Pearson: Look, you'll have to do this elegantly, love. If word spreads that you're getting out, that could read as weakness. And if you smell smoke, it's because there's a fire, and that could get expensive. So you're going to have to stamp that out without any gentrification. But not you, love. Don't you do anything messy. That's why you've got people, remember?

[grabs Mickey's crotch gently]

Mickey Pearson: I fucking love you, babe.

Rosalind Pearson: Of course you do.

Mickey Pearson: Any chance?

Rosalind Pearson: No, you can wait. I've got a red-hot Russki with her finger on the trigger. I got to deal with it.
Dry Eye: I understand you're getting out.

Mickey Pearson: Getting out. Getting out of what? Bed? My head? The closet? Don't flirt with me, Dry Eye. I'm a busy man.

Dry Eye: I hear you're getting out of the game. And I would like you to consider an offer.

Mickey Pearson: Look, I'm going to stop you right there, so you don't waste any more of your precious breath, young man. This is not a discussion for the two of us. Unlike the salt and pepper, it's not on the table. I am not for sale. And even if I was, you're several zeros short. Now, you may be able to buy your man's sausage for that, but to me it just looks rude at breakfast.

Dry Eye: You're out of touch. You're forgetting the laws of the jungle, looking down on me. Now, when the silverback's got more silver than back, he best move on before he gets moved on. It's not dignified. It's beneath you, Michael. Trying to do you a favor. This is a big fucking number.

[pause]

Mickey Pearson: And this? Well, this is a big fucking gun.

[shoots Dry Eye from under the table]

Mickey Pearson: Eyes not so dry now, are they? Hurts, does it? You looking for your balls, or a hole in the wall?

Dry Eye: [screaming and crawling away] Fuck!

Mickey Pearson: Where the fuck do you think you're going? Because you're not going out the way you came in, you deluded duck-eating cunt! Talking to me about the laws of the jungle. What was it? Something about being beneath me? Silver on back? There's only one rule in this fucking jungle! When the lion's hungry, he eats!

[shoots Dry Eye]
Ray: You're wrong, Fletcher. That's not how Michael works.

Fletcher: Yeah, I know. I know. I was just having a bit of fun. Every movie needs a bit of action, doesn't it? And it's not like Michael doesn't have a reputation.

Ray: Had a reputation. He's been gentrified.
Mickey Pearson: No sooner do I entertain Matthew's offer to buy me out, and reject Dry Eye's offer, does one of my farms get raided.

Rosalind Pearson: First time ever.

Mickey Pearson: Doesn't feel like a coincidence, does it?

Rosalind Pearson: It isn't. There's fuckery afoot.

Mickey Pearson: How did they find it?

Ray: I don't know. I'm making inquiries.
Dry Eye: Ask no questions, hear no lies.
Michael Pearson: If you wish to be The King of the jungle, it's not enough to act like a king. You must be The King. And there can be no doubt. Because doubt causes chaos and one's own demise.
Michael Pearson: Any chance?
Michael Pearson: Fucks sake, Ray. You need to invest in some parachutes. There's a pattern emerging here.
Ray: Stop fuckin' around cunt! Gimme the phone... and take the money.
Michael Pearson: No sooner do I entertain Matthew's offer to buy me out and reject Dry Eye's offer does one of my farms get raided.

Rosalind Pearson: First time ever.

Michael Pearson: Doesn't feel like a coincidence, does it?

Rosalind Pearson: It isn't. There's fuckery afoot.
Ray: [Fletcher puts a cigar in his mouth] If you're thinking of smoking that in here... don't.

Fletcher: I find that confusing. Do you mean don't smoke or don't think?

[Clicks lighter and Ray jumps out of his seat]

Fletcher: Oh...

Fletcher: [Ray motions towards Fletcher] Oh, all right, all right, it's going out!
Ernie: Did he just call me a black cunt?

Coach: Yes, he did.

Ernie: He can't do that. That's racist.

Coach: But you are black and you are a cunt, Ernie. Those are the facts. I don't think Primetime cares what race you run in.

Ernie: The fact that I'm black has nothing to do with the fact I'm a cunt.

Coach: He didn't say black people were cunts, Ernie. He was being specific to you. One has nothing to do with the other. And I'd go a step further and say it was a term of affection.

Ernie: Primetime's a Gypsy. I wouldn't call him a pikey cunt.

Coach: Why not? He might be very understanding. Only if it comes from a place of love, of course.
Fletcher: Can I come with you?

Raymond: No, but you can go smoke the exhaust pipe in the back of your hearse.

Fletcher: I might come anyway. You'll just hear me scratching about in the dark, wanking into a hanky.
Raymond: I don't build a joint like the Americans in the new school. Back strapping, jock strap and coke wrapping all that bollocks. I like a good old fashioned 50/50 mix me that's how we used to play.

The Gentlemen Quotes

Extended Reading

The Gentlemen short comments

Harley 2021-10-20 19:02:51

The one named Charlie Hannum is too attractive...
Darrell 2022-04-24 07:01:03

The sly fox saw through the greed of the young dragon, and dared to talk in front of the jackal in a suit. The arrogant lion has insight into the gentleman's tricks, and can be polite behind the brutal and brutal killing. Be wary, the smiling gentlemen are often more shameless than they seem. Be careful, animals that stay silent are often sharper than they appear. A script that is revealed in advance can't sell for a good price, and a ruffian who sees profit and forgets his righteousness can't marry a beautiful wife. Guy Ritchie is still the same Guy Ritchie, and he is still familiar with the multi-view nested convolution, but it must be pointed out that twelve years have passed since the rock gangster became the jackal gentleman, and the homework and rock gangster after twelve years At the same level, it is really unacceptable. Tom's Mission Impossible is getting more and more courageous, but Guy Ritchie's mid-game is getting more and more cowardly, not to mention that the script-style deconstruction in the first half will bring the rhythm to pieces, and the biggest difficulty in the whole game. The injury is the flattening of the characters. Except for the slow and ruthless words, there are almost no characteristics. No matter how sophisticated the structure is, there is no way to make up for the roughness of the internal gears of the instrument. Ning Hao has already surpassed Guy Ritchie on this point.