The Wicker Man (1973)
Sergeant Howie: Your lordship seems strangely... unconcerned.
Lord Summerisle: Well I'm confident your suspicions are wrong, Sergeant. We don't commit murder here. We're a deeply religious people.
Sergeant Howie: Religious? With ruined churches, no ministers, no priests... and children dancing naked!
Lord Summerisle: They do love their divinity lessons.
Sergeant Howie: [outraged] But they are... are *naked*!
Lord Summerisle: Naturally! It's much too dangerous to jump through the fire with your clothes on!
Sergeant Howie: Don't you see that killing me is not going to bring back your apples?
Lord Summerisle: Do sit down, Sergeant. Shocks are so much better absorbed with the knees bent.
Lord Summerisle: I think I could turn and live with animals. They are so placid and self-contained. They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins. They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God. Not one of them kneels to another or to his own kind that lived thousands of years ago. Not one of them is respectable or unhappy, all over the earth.
Lord Summerisle: Come. It is time to keep your appointment with the Wicker Man.
Sergeant Howie: What religion can they possibly be learning jumping over bonfires?
Lord Summerisle: Parthenogenesis.
Sergeant Howie: What?
Lord Summerisle: Literally, as Miss Rose would doubtless say in her assiduous way, reproduction without sexual union.
Sergeant Howie: Oh, what is all this? I mean, you've got fake biology, fake religion... Sir, have these children never heard of Jesus?
Lord Summerisle: Himself the son of a virgin, impregnated, I believe, by a ghost...
Lord Summerisle: [singing] Summer is icumen in, loudly sing cuckoo. Grows the seed and blows the mead, and springs the wood anew. Sing, cuckoo! Ewe bleats harshly after lamb, cows after calves make moo.
Lord Summerisle: [referring to sacrifices] Animals are fine, but their acceptability is limited. A little child is even better, but not *nearly* as effective as the right kind of adult.
Sergeant Howie: And what of the TRUE God? Whose glory, churches and monasteries have been built on these islands for generations past? Now sir, what of him?
Lord Summerisle: He's dead. Can't complain, had his chance and in modern parlance, blew it.
Willow: Some things in their natural state have the most VIVID colors.
May Morrison: You'll simply never understand the true nature of sacrifice.
Harbor Master: Much has been said of the strumpets of yore / Of wenches and bawdy house queens by the score / But I sing of a baggage that we all adore / The landlord's daughter!
[song continues sung by islanders drinking at the Green Man Inn pub... ]
Miss Rose: The building attached to the ground in which the body lies is no longer used for CHRISTIAN worship, so whether it is still a CHURCHYARD is debatable.
May Morrison: Can I do anything for you, Sergeant?
Sergeant Howie: No, I doubt it, seeing you're all raving mad!
Sergeant Howie: I believe in the life eternal, as promised to us by our Lord, Jesus Christ.
Lord Summerisle: That is good. For believing what you do, we confer upon you a rare gift, these days - a martyr's death.
[outside, several young girls are dancing naked over a fire]
Lord Summerisle: Good afternoon, Sergeant Howie. I trust the sight of the young people refreshes you.
Sergeant Howie: No sir, it does NOT refresh me.
Sergeant Howie: [upon seeing the Wicker Man for the first time] O, God! O, Jesus Christ!
Willow: A man who would come here of his own free will.
Librarian: A man who has come here with the power of a king. By representing the law...
Willow: A man who would come here as a virgin...
Librarian: A man who has come here as a fool!
Daisy Pringle: The little old beetle goes 'round and 'round. Always the same way, y'see, until it ends up right up tight to the nail. Poor old thing!
Sergeant Howie: 'Poor old thing'? Then why in God's name do you do it, girl?
Lord Summerisle: [Irritably, to Howie who is disguised as a jester and holding a "bladder" or balloon] Cut some capers, man! Use your bladder!
Sergeant Howie: If the crops fail, Summerisle, next year your people will kill you on May Day.
Lord Summerisle: [Shaken] They will not fail!