Grosse Pointe Blank (1997)
Martin Q. Blank: Don't you think that maybe you're just upset because I told you what I do for a living, and you got upset and *you're* letting it interfere with *our* dynamic?
Dr. Oatman: Whoa. Martin. You didn't tell me what you did for a living...
Martin Q. Blank: Yes, I did!
Dr. Oatman: You didn't tell me what you did for a living for *four* sessions. *Then* you told me. And I said, "I don't want to work with you any more." And yet, you come back each week at the same time. That's a difficulty for me. On top of that, if you've committed a crime or you're thinking about committing a crime, I have to tell the authorities.
Martin Q. Blank: I know the law, okay? But I don't want to be withholding; I'm very serious about this process.
Martin Q. Blank: And I know where you live.
Dr. Oatman: Oh, now see? That wasn't a nice thing to say; that wasn't designed to make me feel good. That's a... kind of a... not too subtle intimidation, and I, uh, get filled with anxiety when you talk about something like that.
Martin Q. Blank: Come on, come on. I was just kidding, all right? The thought never crossed my mind.
Dr. Oatman: You did think of it, Martin! You thought it, and then you said it. And now, I'm left with the aftermath of that, thinking I gotta be creative in a really interesting way or Martin's gonna blow my brains out! You're holding me hostage. That's not right.
Mr. Newberry: What have you been doing with your life?
Marty: Uh... professional killer.
Mr. Newberry: Oh! Good for you, it's a... growth industry.
[Talking to his psychiatrist about going to his high school reunion]
Marty: They all have husbands and wives and children and houses and dogs, and, you know, they've all made themselves a part of something and they can talk about what they do. What am I gonna say? "I killed the president of Paraguay with a fork. How've you been?"
Dr. Oatman: Don't kill anybody for a few days. See what it feels like.
Martin Q. Blank: Alright, I'll give it a shot.
Dr. Oatman: No, don't give it a shot! Don't shoot anything!
Marty: A thousand innocent people get killed every day! But a millionaire's pet gets detonated, and you're marked for life.
Debi: So, is there a Mrs. Mysterio?
Martin Q. Blank: No, but I do have a very nice cat?
Debi: Not the same.
Martin Q. Blank: Well, you don't know my cat, it's very demanding.
Debi: It? You don't know if it's a boy or girl?
Martin Q. Blank: I respect its privacy.
Marty: Debi's house.
Paul: Kinda crept up on you, didn't it?
Marty: No, you drove us here.
Paul: [pause] Yep.
Waitress: What do you want in your omelette, sir?
Marty: Nothing in the omelette, nothing at all.
Waitress: Well, that's not technically an omelette.
Marty: Look, I don't want to get into a semantic argument, I just want the protein.
Marty: [at the end of a running gun battle] You don't need to answer right now, but Debi, will you marry me?
Mr. Newberry: [pokes his head up from the bathtub] You got my blessing!
Debi: You know what you need?
Marty: You wanna tell me what that means?
Debi: It's a swift, spiritual kick to the head that alters your reality forever.
Marty: Oh, that'd be good. I think.
Mr. Newberry: Did I have you figured wrong?
Marty: I don't know - I mean, I hope so.
Mr. Newberry: I visualised you in a haze as one of those slackster, flannel-wearing, coffee-house misanthropes I've been seeing in Newsweek.
Marty: No no no, I went the other road. Six figures, doing business with leadpipe cruelty, mercenary sensibility. You know... sports, sex, no real relationships with anyone. How about you, how have the years been treating you?
Mr. Newberry: Well, you know me, Martin. Still the same old sell-out, exploiting the oppressed...
Mr. Newberry: "Ah, what a piece of work is man, how noble..." ah, fuck it. Let's have a drink and forget the whole damn thing.
[practicing in a mirror before his high school reunion]
Marty: Hi. I'm, uh, I'm a pet psychiatrist. I sell couch insurance. Mm-hmm, and I - and I test-market positive thinking. I lead a weekend men's group, we specialize in ritual killings. Yeah, you look great! God, yeah! Hi, how are you? Hi, how are you? Hi, I'm Martin Blank, you remember me? I'm not married, I don't have any kids, but I'd blow your head off if someone paid me enough.
Debi: I should have worn a skirt.
Marty: I should have brought my gun.
Debi: What was that?
Marty: Should be fun!
Marty: If I show up at your door, chances are you did something to bring me there.
Martin Q. Blank: [Leaving a message on Dr. Oatman's machine] Dr. Oatman, please pick up, pick up! It's Martin Blank! I, I'm standing where my, uh, living room was and it's not here because my house is gone and it's an Ultimart! You can never go home again, Oatman... but I guess you can shop there.
Marty: [after shooting a guy three times and bashing his head in with a skillet] Debi, I'm in love with you! And I know we can make this relationship work.
Debi: You're a psychopath.
Marty: No, no. Psychopaths kill for no reason. I kill for *money*. It's a *job*. That didn't come out right.
Mr. Grocer: [singing] I'll be comin' around the mountain when I come / I'll be comin' around the mountain when I come / I'll be blowin' your fuckin' head off / I'll be blowin' your fuckin' head off / I'll be whackin' your fuckin' mind out when I come.
Kevin McCullers: Man, why don't we just do his job, so we can do our job and get the fuck out of here?
Steve: What do you mean, "do his job?" What am I, a cold-blooded killer? I'm not a cold-blooded killer.
Kevin McCullers: Now, wait a minute...
Steve: No, you wait a minute. You want to kill the good guy but not be the bad guy. Doesn't work like that. You have to wait until the bad guy kills the good guy, then when you kill the bad guy, you're the good guy.
Kevin McCullers: So - just to clarify - if we do his job we're the bad guys, and if we do our job we're the good guys.
Kevin McCullers: That's... great.
Marcella: You can take care of business and stop by Grosse Pointe for your reunion...
Marty: Look, Sgt. Pepper, I really need you to shut up about that.
Marcella: Sir, it's out of my hands. The gods want you to go back home and they want you to delete someone while you're there.
Debi: You're a fucking *psycho*.
Marty: Don't rush to judgment on something like that until all the facts are in.
Debi: How come you never learned that it was wrong? That there are certain things you do not do, you do not do in a civilized society?
Marty: Which civilizations are we talking about?
Debi: Oh, shut up!
Marty: I mean, history...
Debi: Shut up!
Marcella: Sir, they're very unhappy.
Martin Q. Blank: I'm very unhappy.
Marcella: It was supposed to look like a heart attack! He was supposed to die in his sleep!
Martin Q. Blank: Well, he moved.
Arlene: [about the nametags she's made for the reunion] I had the yearbook pictures put on so everybody knows who everybody was!
Martin Q. Blank: A special torture!
Debi: [about the man Martin killed at the reunion] He was trying to kill you, right?
Debi: It wasn't the other way around?
Debi: Is it something you've done?
Marty: It's something I do... professionally, for about five years now.
[He lifts the gun in his hand]
Debi: [gasps] You were joking! People joke all the time about the horrible things they do, they don't *do* them! It's absurd!
Marty: When I left, I joined the Army, and when I took the service exam, my psych profile fit a certain... "moral flexibility" would be the best way to describe it. I was loaned out to a CIA-sponsored program - it's called "mechanical operations" - and we sort of found each other.
Marcella: [Marcella dances around the office, pouring gasoline all over everything, pounding on computers with a hammer, throwing bits of equipment across the room, all the while humming cheerfully to herself. The phone rings]
Marty: Are we out of business yet?
Marcella: [sing-song] I am taking down the office now.
Marcella: [Carrying on multiple conversations over the phone] Okay, got it.
Marty: Bye bye
[the other line beeps]
Marcella: Wait, hold on a second.
[switches to the other line]
Marcella: Pacific Trident Global. Janice?... Yeah, where the fuck is it? I ordered it three days ago... No, that doesn't work. That's, that's not right. Let me go over it again, alright? Let's see: 3,000 rounds of 9mm sub-sonic. You had that. I gave that to you on the fucking list!... Well I don't give a God-damn where it is, you get it here now!
Marcella: Amelia? I'm sorry... Yeah, no... No, I, it's not going to be a boring soup! It just, that's just the base! You put the chicken in, you gotta add other flavors. Carrots and celery are just a base of a soup!
Marty: You should read the files on some of the fuckers. I mean, it reads like a demon's resume.
Debi: Some people say forgive and forget. Nah, I don't know. I say forget about forgiving and just accept. And... get the hell out of town.
[to her son]
Mary Blank: You're a handsome devil. What's your name?
Martin Q. Blank: You must've done some *naughty* shit there, Bart.
[flips dossier over to him]
Martin Q. Blank: There's a contract out on your life. Believe me. I was hired to kill you, but I'm not going to do it. It's either because I'm in love with your daughter or because I have a newfound respect for life.
Mr. Grocer: [following in van] That punk is either in love with that guy's daughter or he has a newfound respect for life.
Mr. Newberry: [after reading contract/dossier] My whole life!
Martin Q. Blank: Hopefully not.
Martin Q. Blank: Oh, the reason I called... Could you find out who else is in town? I've made two spooks and a ghoul already, so if they've double-booked the job, and/or they're going to kill me, I'd like to know. If you could find that out, that'd be great.
Marty: Why are you so interested in me going to my high school reunion?
Marcella: I just find it amusing that you came from somewhere.
[after Marty tells Debi he kills people for a living]
Debi: You don't get it! You don't get to have me!
Marty: You're overreacting!
Victim: Whatever I'm doing you don't like... I'll stop doing it.
Marty: It's not me.
Mr. Grocer: [Martin and Grocer have just killed Agents Lardner and McCullers] Workers of the world, UNITE!
[point their empty guns at each other]
Mr. Grocer: Look at that: Empty!
Mr. Grocer: [Grocer pulls a fresh pistol as he hears Martin releasing the slide on his empty pistol] Solidarity baby! You out?
Mr. Grocer: So, what are you gonna do? You gonna THROW that gun at me?
Mr. Grocer: How 'bout this? How 'bout I sell you a piece for a hundred Gs?
Marty: OK! Front me?
Mr. Grocer: Deal!
[throws the gun out, waiting to off Martin]
[slams TV on Grocer's head, killing him]
Debi: Where are all the good men dead, in the heart or in the head?
Mr. Grocer: Here's the new stuff, kid. Durazac 15. Makes Prozac seem like a decaf latte. Want a couple? I've got jars.
Marty: I don't do that stuff anymore.
Mr. Grocer: No wonder you got the shakes. And don't say "do it," because I don't "do it." I *ingest* it, on orders from my neurophysiologist. It's legal. In five years they'll be putting it in the water for the citizens, like fluoride.
Marcella: Sir, I'm really beginning to worry about your safety.
Marty: Look, I got to go.
Marcella: Yeah, we all got to go sometime, sir, but we can choose when.
Marty: No one chooses when.
Marty: I was sitting there alone on prom night, in a goddamn rented tuxedo, and my whole life flashed before my eyes. And I realized finally, and for the first time, that I wanted to kill somebody. So I figured since I loved you so much, it'd be a good idea if I didn't see you anymore.
[We hear a car pulling in]
Marty: They're right behind us. So I was in the Gulf last year, I was doing this thing anyway. And I came up over this dune, and I saw the ocean... and it was on fire. The whole thing, on fire, and it was beautiful. So I just sat there and watched it, and that's when I realized there might be a meaning to life, you know, like an organic power that connects all living things, God, Yahweh, I dunno.
[Marty shoots two rounds through the door, taking out the thug behind it]
Debi: Everybody's coming back to take stock of their lives. You know what I say? Leave your livestock alone.
Ken McCullard: I do divorce mainly, some property, some personal injury.
Marty: They all seem kinda related.
Mr. Grocer: Hey, if you're lookin' for a father figure I'll give you a spankin'!
Debi: Okay. So. You're back... a decade late, and... you're on some sort of therapeutic assignment, and you want to sort things out with me. So the question now becomes, do I allow you access to me or... do I call security?
Marty: I don't think that'd be a good idea.
Marcella: Don't hang up! Wait! Did ya' read yesterday's offer?
Marty: Hold on a minute.
Marcella: It's in French. It's a Greenpeace boat. It'd be so easy.
Marty: No way! I have scruples.
Debi: If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it's, well, broken.
Mr. Grocer: [Marty and Grocer are shooting eachother] Comrade! Comrade!
Mr. Grocer: Why don't you just join the union, we'll go upstairs together and cap daddy!
Marty: This union, there's gonna be meetings?
Mr. Grocer: Of course!
Marty: No meetings.
[They continue shooting]
Paul: [after Jenny Slater has been dismissive towards him] I was just trying to get a little validation for my life. I guess I came up a bit SHORT!
Debi: What is this I'm feeling? Is it pain? Panic? Hunger? Am I hungry? Who's hungry?
Mr. Newberry: Design Division wants me dead over a leaky sunroof and you want to kill me because of *that*?
Martin Q. Blank: It's *not* me! Why does everyone always think it's personal?
Martin Q. Blank: What about you? Joined the force, huh?
Terry Rostand: Oh no, I'm not a peace officer. Yeah, this badge isn't a meaningful symbol. We don't enforce the law, we just execute company policy for homeowners.
Martin Q. Blank: Oh, right... you mind talking a little shop?
Terry Rostand: Sure.
Martin Q. Blank: When are you authorized to use deadly force?
Terry Rostand: Oh well, you know, taxes provide your basic services, you know, police and whatnot, but our customers, they need a little bit more than that, so we catch you on the property, we do what we have to do.
Martin Q. Blank: So, if I just look suspicious on your customers' property - under those, you know, "heightened circumstances" - you have the authority to shoot me?
Terry Rostand: Correct.
Martin Q. Blank: Wow, all right. How'd you get the gig?
Terry Rostand: Oh, well, they were hiring. And it was only a two-week course.
Marty: Some of these guys need some kind of ethical philosophy to justify it, some guys like "live free or die," but that's all bullshit, I know that now, that's all bullshit. You do it because you were trained to do it, because you were encouraged to do it, and because, eventually, you, you know... get to like it.
[Debi stares at him, horrified]
Marty: I know that sounds bad...
Marty: Take care of yourself, Ken. Thank you for the pen.
Mr. Grocer: Smells like a wedding. You're breaking my heart down here Blank, I can't aim through the tears.
Marty: What are you doing here?
Ultimart Carl: I'm doing a double shift. What does it look like?
Marty: How long have you worked here?
Ultimart Carl: A couple months.
Marty: Is the manager here? Do you have a supervisor?
Ultimart Carl: No. They...
Marty: [Interrupting] How long have they worked here?
Ultimart Carl: I'm not tellin' you.
Marty: Yeah? Where do you live?
Ultimart Carl: I'm not tellin' you that, either.
Marty: Where does your manager live? Who - I used to - Where - W-what are you doing here?
Ultimart Carl: I work here.
Marty: What are you doing here?
Ultimart Carl: I work here.
Marty: And how long have you worked here?
Ultimart Carl: Only a couple months.
Marty: All right, all right. What's done is done. Just forget about the whole thing.
Marcella: You know, when you started getting invited to your ten year high school reunion, time is catching up.
Martin Q. Blank: Are you talking about a sense of my own mortality or a fear of death?
Marcella: Well, I never really thought about it quite like that.
Martin Q. Blank: Did you go to yours?
Marcella: Yes, I did. It was just as if everyone had swelled.
Mr. Grocer: After we do your job, we're gonna do another job.
Marty: Tell me about it.
Mr. Grocer: Like I'm gonna put a bullet hole in your fuckin' forehead, and I'm gonna fuck the brain hole!
McCullers: You got any ideas how you wanna wax this guy?
Steve: Can't you just say 'kill'? Ya always gotta romanticize it.
Dr. Oatman: Martin, I'm emotionally involved with you.
Marty: How are you emotionally involved with me?
Dr. Oatman: I'm afraid of you.
Marty: You're afraid of me.
Dr. Oatman: And that constitutes an emotional involvement, and it would be unethical for me to work with you under those circumstances.
Paul: I've got to get something off my chest. Have you been home to see the old house?
Martin Q. Blank: Yeah. Torn down in the name of convenience.
Paul: Yeah, I brokered the deal
Martin Q. Blank: Oh, wow. Wow.
Paul: I tried to get a family there, but Ultimart made the best offer.
Martin Q. Blank: Well, thank you for profiting on my childhood.
[Talking to Marcella over the phone after shooting someone]
Marty: Don't tease me, you know what I do for a living.
Martin Q. Blank: Do you *really* believe that there's some stored up conflict that exists between us? There *is* no us. *We* don't exist. So who do you wanna hit, man? It's not me. Now whaddya wanna do here, man?
Bob: [Pulls out a folded up piece of paper]
Martin Q. Blank: I don't know what that is.
Bob: These are my words.
Martin Q. Blank: It's a poem? See, that's the problem... express yourself, Bob! Go for it.
Bob: "When I feel... quiet... when... I feel... blue..."
Martin Q. Blank: You know, I think that is *terrific*, what you have right there. Really, I liked it, a lot. I wouldn't sell the dealership or anything but, I'm tellin' ya... it's intense!
Bob: There's... more.
Martin Q. Blank: Okay, would ya mind, just skip to the end.
Bob: To... the very end? "For a while."
Martin Q. Blank: Whew. That's good man.
Bob: "For a while."
Martin Q. Blank: That's excellent!
Bob: You wanna do some blow?
Martin Q. Blank: No I don't.
Bob: [Hugs Martin]
[Grocer walks into the diner carrying a brown bag]
Mr. Grocer: Easy there, Chief. I don't see Hollow-Point Wound Care on the menu.
Marty: [whispering] Up, up...
[they lay their guns on the table]
Marty: Why are you in Detroit? Redwings need a new goon?
Steve: Tell you what, why don't I take the weekend off and *you* kill him, since you two are so close?
Marcella: As a graduate of the class of 1986, you are someone special. Remember, there's nowhere you can go that you haven't learned how to go in time. Whatever the hell that means.
[the Ultimart has just been blown up]
Martin Q. Blank: Are you all right?
Ultimart Carl: No, I'm not all right!
Martin Q. Blank: Take it easy.
Ultimart Carl: I'm hurt... I'm pissed... gotta find a new job!
[catching up, while Martin has been away for ten years]
Marty: How's your sister? Did she ever marry that guy Kenny?
Paul: [incredulous] Kenny?
Marty: Yeah, did that work out...?
Paul: Come on, man, he did three years at Joliet. They put one of those bracelets on him, like a LoJack, they know where he is at all times. I think he's at Pizza Hut now.
Marty: So let's not go there.
Mr. Grocer: Ya sure Oregon doesn't ring a bell? The Pacific Northwest, couple of months ago? Something about you doin' some wonderdog named Cujo...
Martin Q. Blank: Ah, *Budro*, yes, Budro, Jesus Christ! Yeah, I was out there tryin' to whack these junk bond fuckos and these idiots were flushing game with sticks of dynamite! And the dog that they borrowed, little Budro, was a retriever, get it? Budro was never a target, Budro was acting on instinct. I would never hurt an animal and I'm offended at the accusation...
Mr. Grocer: Whoa, whoa, whoa, Chatty Cathy! Clip yer string, I don't need to know! But, just for the record, here's what I heard: the marks borrowed your client's prize hunting pup. So, bad luck for Budro and bad luck for Blank. Poodle pumper. Hound hitter. Pooch puncher!
Martin Q. Blank: But listen, uh, if you wanna go, I can't think of any reason why we wouldn't go together.
Debi: I can.
Mr. Grocer: Kid, I'm putting together a little concern, which would enable those of us in our, uh, rarified profession to avoid embarrassing overlaps.
Martin Q. Blank: What, like a union?
Mr. Grocer: More like a club. You know, work less, make more.
Martin Q. Blank: Wow, sounds like a great idea, but... thank you, no.
Mr. Grocer: No? You remember Burma?
Martin Q. Blank: Yeah, I do.
Mr. Grocer: That nut, General Kwang? You were like a... colonel in that army, weren't you?
Martin Q. Blank: Yeah, yeah, he sold you all those tanks, you shipped 'em to Alabama...
Mr. Grocer: T-34s, I took a bath on that.
Martin Q. Blank: Yeah, that was fun.
Mr. Grocer: That's what I'm talking about, kid, we could be working together again, for God's sake! You know, making big money, killing important people!
Mr. Grocer: Look, I don't want to play against you! This thing is real.
Martin Q. Blank: How real?
Mr. Grocer: Maranga Brothers, them, uh, East German ex-Stasi guys...
Martin Q. Blank: Oh, I don't like those guys.
Mr. Grocer: Them butch Filipino ladies...
Martin Q. Blank: What, the dwarf, maid...
[makes stabbing motion]
Mr. Grocer: Stabbers! Queens of the hotel hit, you know.
Martin Q. Blank: You got a great crew.
Mr. Grocer: Everybody's in!
Martin Q. Blank: Yeah well, not me, so don't paw at me with your dirty little guild, okay?
Martin Q. Blank: Mrs K? Miss Kinetta. It's me, Martin
Mrs. Kinetta: Martin, my god, it's you!
Martin Q. Blank: Hey.
Mrs. Kinetta: You've been Detroit's most famous disappearing act since white flight.
Marty: [while making out with Debi] God, it's been so long, I've forgotten who gets tied up.
Paul: Hey Jenny Slater. Hey Jenny Slater. Hey Jenny Slater.
Amy: Where ya been these last ten years?
Debi: Yeah, where ya been, "Marv"?
Amy: Ya look great!
Martin Q. Blank: Thanks. I work at Kentucky Fried Chicken.
Amy: Ya do not!
Martin Q. Blank: I do! I sell biscuits and gravy all over the Southland.
Amy: You're so funny.
Debi: He's a funny guy.
Marty: Oatman? Don't hang up. Listen, I didn't kill anyone - except some guy tried to kill me, so if I see that guy again, I'm definitely gonna kill him, but I'm not going to kill anybody else. I'm on my way to the reunion now with Debi, but I'm just a little nervous, and I'd like to do a phoner.
Dr. Oatman: O.K., repeat after me. "I am at home with the me. I am rooted in the me who is on this adventure."
Marty: I am at home with the me, I am rooted in the me who is on this adventure.
Dr. Oatman: Good. Now take a deep breath, and realize that this is me breathing.
Marty: Wait, I'm confused. Do you want me to say it or do you want me to realize it?
Dr. Oatman: What?
Marty: About the breathing.
Dr. Oatman: Say it.
Marty: This is me breathing.
Dr. Oatman: Good, now keep doing that for about twenty minutes.
Marty: Listen, I got to go.
Dr. Oatman: O.K. Keep it up. Don't kill anybody.
Bob: Real smart. C'mon. Let's see how smart you are with my foot up your ass!
Debi: Next caller, you're on the air.
Nathaniel: Debbie? Man, it's Nathaniel. Uh, I don't hear any real remorse, dude, I mean, like, I don't think I'd let him back into your life. And dude, I'd make him wear that prom dress!
Paul: Okay, well, I'll see you at the "I've peaked and I'm kidding myself" party.
Marty: What about those two guys in a Caprice Classic outside? The word is you turned two Governments on me, you turncoat.
Mr. Grocer: Me?
Mr. Grocer: Go G?
Mr. Grocer: On you?
Mr. Grocer: Never.
[Felix enters the school gym]
Arlene: Welcome back, Pointer! It's Arlene Oslott-Joseph! And who might you be?
Felix La PuBelle: [glances at the badges on the table] It is I... Sidney Feldman.
Arlene: Oh, been overseas?
[looks at the badge before handing it to him]
Arlene: My... you *have* changed.