Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975)
Marion: A surprising number of human beings are without purpose, though it is probable that they are performing some function unknown to themselves.
Miranda: What we see and what we seem are but a dream, a dream within a dream.
Miranda: Everything begins and ends at the exactly right time and place.
Miss McCraw: This we do for pleasure, so that we may shortly be at the mercy of venomous snakes and poisonous ants. How foolish can human creatures be.
Mlle. de Poitiers: Ah! Now I know.
Miss McCraw: What do you know?
Mlle. de Poitiers: I know that Miranda is a Botticelli angel.
Miranda: Look! Not down at the ground, Edith. Way up there in the sky.
Edith: Except for those people down there, we might be the only living creatures in the whole world.
Sara: Miranda knows lots of things other people don't know. Secrets. She knew she wouldn't come back.
Edith: Blanche says Sara writes poetry- in the dunny! She found one there on the floor, all about Miranda.
Rosamund: What do you think? Miranda, somebody had the nerve to send Miss McCraw a card on squared paper covered with tiny sums.
Ben Hussey: Well Ma'am, the strength of it is this. Three of your young ladies and uh - Miss McCraw are missing - on the rock.
Mrs. Appleyard: What happened?
Ben Hussey: Well now, Mrs. Appleyard, that's just the trouble. Nobody knows what happened.
Miss McCraw: It stopped at twelve. It never stopped before. Must be something magnetic.
Albert Crundall: I thought the little fat one was gonna take a bath. Some of them are real lookers! Have a look at the shape of the dark one with the curls. Built like an hourglass. And have a guard the last one, the blonde. Oh, she'd have a decent pair of legs- all the way up to her bum.
Michael Fitzhubert: I'd rather you didn't say crude things like that, Albert.
Albert Crundall: I say the crude things; you just think them.
Irma: Sara reminds me of a little deer Papa brought home once. I looked after it, but it died. Mama always said it was doomed.
Mr. Whitehead: There's some questions got answers and some haven't.
Miss McCraw: Only a million years ago. Quite a recent eruption really. The rocks all round - Mount Macedon itself - must be all of 350 million years old. Siliceous lava, forced up from deep down below. Soda trachytes extruded in a highly viscous state, building the steep sided mamelons we see in Hanging Rock. And quite young geologically speaking. Barely a million years.
Ben Hussey: Ah, you wouldn't have the time, I suppose, Miss?
Mlle. de Poitiers: Ah, Miranda- your pretty little diamond watch?
Miranda: Don't wear it anymore. Can't stand the ticking above my heart.
Irma: If it were mine, I'd wear it always- even in the bath. Would you Mr. Hussey?
Mlle. de Poitiers: [to Mrs. Appleyard] Madam, something terrible has happened.
Minnie: I feel sorry for them kids.
Tom: The ones on the rock, you mean?
Minnie: Yeah, them too. I was thinking of them other poor little devils. Here at the college.
Tom: Damn! They're all right. Rolling in cash, most of them. Or at least their mothers and fathers are.
Minnie: Some of them are orphans, or wards, and you know.
Sgt. Bumpher: Why didn't you tell us you followed the four girls.
Michael Fitzhubert: Because... I didn't exactly follow them. I just jumped across the creek and walked towards the rock a little way. I was curious. In England young ladies like that wouldn't be allowed to go walking in the forest. Not alone anyway. They were gone by the time I got out of the creek, so I turned back.
Michael Fitzhubert: I wake up every night in a cold sweat just wondering if they're still alive.
Albert Crundall: Yeah, well the way I look at it is this: if the bloody cop, and the bloody Abo tracker, and the bloody dog can't find them, well no one bloody can.
Albert Crundall: We'll have to be going soon. It'll be dark before we get back.
Michael Fitzhubert: I'm staying here.
Albert Crundall: You're what?
Michael Fitzhubert: I'm staying here.
Albert Crundall: Here? on the rock?
Michael Fitzhubert: Yes.
Sara: [to Minnie] She was afraid I'd run away, so she shaved my head. I bit her arm - it bled. So she painted my head with gentian violet.
Narrator: The body of Mrs. Arthur Appleyard, Principal of Appleyard College, was found at the base of Hanging Rock on Friday 27 March 1900. Although the exact circumstances of her death are not known, it is believed she fell while attempting to climb the rock. The search for the missing school girls and their governess continued spasmodically for the next few years without success. To this day their disappearance remains a mystery.
Edith: Why can't we just sit on this log, and look at the ugly old rock from here? It's nasty here. I never thought it would be so nasty, or I wouldn't have come!
Miranda: You must learn to love someone else, apart from me, Sara. I won't be here much longer.
Miss Lumley: I believe Mrs. Appleyard's decided you're not to go to the picnic, Sara. That makes two of us.
Edith: I think I must be doomed. I don't feel at all well.
Marion: I do wish you'd stop talking for once.
Miss McCraw: The mountain comes to Muhammad, and Hanging Rock comes to Mr. Hussey.
Edith: May I come, too, please?
Marion: So long as you don't complain.
Edith: I won't, I promise.
Miranda: And don't worry about us Mademoiselle. We shall only be gone a little while.
Mrs. Appleyard: She hadn't been molested?
Doc. McKenzie: No, no, nothing like that. I have examined her and it's quite intact.
Mrs. Appleyard: Good morning, girls.
Girls: Good morning, Mrs. Appleyard.
Mrs. Appleyard: Well young ladies, we are indeed fortunate in the weather for our picnic to Hanging Rock. I have instructed Mademoiselle that the day is likely to be warm, you may remove your gloves once the drag has passed through Wood End. We will partake a luncheon at the picnic grounds near the rock. Once again let me remind you the rock itself is extremely dangerous, you are therefore forbidden of any tomboy foolishness in the matter of exploration, even on the lowest slopes. I also wish to remind you, the vicinity is reknowned for its venomous snakes and poisonous ants of various species. It is, however, a geological marvel.
Mrs. Appleyard: [to Miss Lumley] This tragedy is little more than a week old and already three, three mark you, sets of parents have written advising me that their daughters will not be here next term. Now the newspapers have something further to sensationalise about. Newspapers all over the world have headlined our morbid affair Miss Lumley. I mean, you realise that I suppose.
Edith: Miranda. Miranda. Miranda, don't go up there! Come back!
Michael Fitzhubert: Miranda! Miranda! Miranda! Help me!
Mlle. de Poitiers: [to Irma] I thought you had gone for ever.
Edith: Tell us!
Pupil #1: Yes Irma, tell us!
Pupil #2: Tell us, Irma!
Mlle. de Poitiers: Au revoir mes enfants. Au revoir. Au revoir.
Mrs. Fitzhubert: Don't go too far - and be careful! There could be snakes.
Albert Crundall: Jeez, I haven't thought of that bloody place in donkey's years.
Michael Fitzhubert: [Repeated line] I think I'll just - eh - stretch my legs a bit.
Albert Crundall: The old man hired me to look after the horses. I'm buggered if I'm gonna be likin' a bloody garden party.
Albert Crundall: As far as I'm concerned, that's the stone end of it.
Michael Fitzhubert: Well, that's not the end of it as far as I'm concerned. They may be out there - dying of thirst on - on that infernal rock and - you and I sitting here drinking cold and bloody beer!
Albert Crundall: That's were you and me's different. If you want my advice, the sooner you forget the whole thing, the better.
Michael Fitzhubert: But I can't forget it! And I never will.
Michael Fitzhubert: Albert, I want to go back to the rock - and to look for them. Will you come with me?
Albert Crundall: Beautiful birds them swans. A week in the bush - they'd be dead by now.
Michael Fitzhubert: Then, I'll go alone.
Mrs. Fitzhubert's Maid: Well, ma'am, it's Miss Irma.
Mrs. Fitzhubert: Yes?
Mrs. Fitzhubert's Maid: Well, it's about her clothing.
Mrs. Fitzhubert: What is it, my dear?
Mrs. Fitzhubert's Maid: Well, I didn't know whether the Sergeant should be told. There's - there's no corset. Miss Irma's corset - it's missing!
Mrs. Fitzhubert: Well, you did right, my dear. It can't possibly be of any interest.
Irma: I remember - nothing! Nothing! I remember nothing!