Brassed Off (1996)
Phil: [as Mr. Chuckles] So God was creating man. And his little assistant came up to him and he said: "Hey, we've got all these bodies left, but we're right out of brains, we're right out of hearts and we're right out of vocal chords." And God said: "Fuck it! Sew 'em up anyway. Smack smiles on the faces and make them talk out of their arses." And lo, God created the Tory Party.
Danny: This band behind me'll tell you that that trophy means more to me than aught else in the whole world. But they'd be wrong! Truth is, I THOUGHT it mattered. I thought that MUSIC mattered. But does it? Bollocks! Not compared to how people matter. Us winning this trophy won't mean bugger-all to most people. But us refusing it - like what we're going to do now - well, then it becomes news, doesn't it?
[flurry of press camera shutters]
Danny: You see what I mean. That way, I'll not just be talking to myself, will I? Because over the last ten years, this bloody government has systematically destroyed an entire industry. OUR industry. And not just our industry - our communities, our homes, our lives. All in the name of "progress". And for a few lousy bob. I'll tell you something else you might not know, as well. A fortnight ago, this band's pit were closed - another thousand men lost their jobs. And that's not all they lost. Most of them lost the will to win a while ago. A few of them even lost the will to fight. But when it comes to losing the will to live, to breathe, the point is - if this lot were seals or whales, you'd all be up in bloody arms. But they're not, are they, no, no they're not. They're just ordinary common-or-garden honest, decent human beings. And not one of them with an ounce of bloody hope left. Oh aye, they can knock out a bloody good tune. But what the fuck does that matter?
[gasps emotionally, close to tears]
Danny: And now I'm going to take my boys out onto the town. Thank you.
Phil: [as Mr. Chuckles] What's He doing? He can take John Lennon. He can take those three young lads down at Ainsley Pit. He's even thinking of taking my old man. And Margaret bloody Thatcher lives! What's He sodding playing at, eh?
Andy: Sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll, hey ladies?
Vera: Aye, but we can do without the drugs and rock 'n' roll!
Gloria: Moving words...
Gloria: Back there - Danny.
Andy: Ah, aye, daft old codger. If it weren't for t'band ah reckon he'd pop his clogs. Listen, I wondered if you fancied some grub?
Andy: I dunno - go posh if ya want...
Mother 2: This isn't your main job, is it?
Phil: I'm a miner.
Mother 2: [incredulously] A miner?
Phil: You remember them, love? Dinosaurs, dodos, miners.
Phil: I love the band - we all do - but there's other things in life, you know, that's more important.
Danny: Not in mine there isn't.
Shane: I don't like seein' Dad sad, Mam, but I'd sooner see him sad than not see him at all.
Danny: The truth is, I thought it mattered - I thought that music mattered. But does it? Bollocks! Not compared to how people matter.
Andy: The only reason I get up in the morning is to see if my luck's changed. And it never bloody has.
[talking about Gloria]
Simmo: You had her. Behind the bus station.
Andy: No, I didn't.
Simmo: You told us you did.
Andy: No, it were top half only.
Danny: All right then, lads and lasses.
Danny: Land of Hope and bloody Glory, eh?
Women on picket line: [chanting] The miners, united, will never be defeated.
Andy: Poor old biddies. Don't they know they're pissing in the wind, like the rest of us?
Ernie: Can they do that, women?
Ernie: Piss in the wind.
Jim: No, Ernie. That's just the point.
Ernie: No, but on a nice day, you know, when there's no wind about. They can't - you know - get any direction on it.
Jim: All right, whatever it is that lasses do that's pointless.
Andy: Bloody hell. So much to choose from.
Phil: Fart in a force ten?
Jim: By god, Phil, you don't half know some funny women.
Harry: Steady lads. My missus does that.
Harry: You daft bastards. Women Against Closure? That is when she's not farting in a force ten!
[in the local shop]
Vera: Sorry, Sand, you're a bit short, love.
Sandra: How much?
Vera: One fifty? What's it to be?
[Sandra wonders what items to put back on the shelf]
Shane: What about them aeroplane things, mam?
[Shane points at Sandra's pack of sanitary towels]
Shane: Them things with wings on.
[the band have finished playing "Danny Boy" outside the hospital when the Ward Sister appears in the doorway]
Ward Sister: Message from Mr Ormanroyd!
Phil: He's awake?
Ward Sister: Yes. He says your Tenor Horn is too soft!
[Sandra is throwing plates after Phil and Danny]
Danny: She's a bit careless with the crockery, your Sandra!
[Andy discovers that Gloria is from the corporate office]
Andy: Oy, you're fucking management!
Gloria: No, that's what you're doing.
[at a rehearsal, the band finish playing The Helston Floral Dance, apparently flawlessly]
Danny: Crap! That's what that was! A load of bloody crap.