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  • Hey all, just changed over the backend after 15 years I figured time to give it a bit of an update, its probably gonna be a bit weird for most of you and i am sure there is a few bugs to work out but it should kinda work the same as before... hopefully :)

The Single Greatest MONOLOGUE Ever

David Quinn Carder said:
Monologues in movies are occasionally contrived and implausible, but I haven't found that to be the case most of the time. Why would one have to suspend disbelief?
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I didn't mean that I feel most, or even a large part of monologues are a problem. I was only trying to saying the same you did. They can sometimes feel contrived and implausible. Maybe I should have said "a little bit of a stigma" to be more on the safe side.

I think this small increase in the probability of getting thrown out by monologues might be because many feel the need to have at least one in every film. Maybe that is why "several" feel jammed in there. Maybe it is because there are more actors that not who hate or are intimidated by monologues. Maybe because they require more preparation and productions don't always manage to schedule properly. Maybe because those writers that are good at dialogue and work a lot are generally better at short dialogue... who knows. But I think that there is at least a very slight increase in the probability that a monologue will be a/the problem area in any given film. I would like to think that I am not projecting this by expecting it.

I was just saying that cause I got curious and wanted to ask Joe to post one he liked, but also wanted to show that I wasn't just putting him on the spot, but genuinely interested. I thought whichever monologue he might pick would probably be one that (to employ a Hitchcock term, perhaps with a slightly different purpose) "the plausibles" would approve of. And to clarify further, I don't mean to imply that being "a plausible" is a bad thing. I hope to satisfying them too!

Just thinking aloud here
0.02
 
Brad Webb said:
Hands down the best monologue of all time is Alec Baldwin scene from Glengarry Glen Ross.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y-AXTx4PcKI

ggr2.jpg
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AMEN...love this one!
 
Al Pacino:

Scent of a Woman - out of order?
Devil's Advocate - look but don't touch
Scarface - say good night to the bad guy
 
Peter Moretti said:
Harry Dean Stanton at the end of "Paris Texas" when he's talking to Natasha Kinski though the two-way mirror.
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Great one. I don't know. It's like choosing your favorite kid.

@Brad, I defaulted to the Alec Baldwin speech in Glengarry when I showed it first day in class to my film students. They got a kick out of it.

The monologue in Paris TX haunts me though... It may just be my favorite of all time.
 
The opening speech of There Will Be Blood is pretty good as well.
 
Joe G. said:
None of the aforementioned do much for me. Oh well. When I hear an actor break into a big monologue I think: Oh Jeez, Hollywood's going to pretend to care about something now, here we go. Nothing ever rings very true in a multi-million dollar production. Too much business, not enough heart. Call my cynical, call me jaded. Whatever.
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Sorry I don't buy that. Thats a bit of a blinkered view of cinema. I would hope that cinema to you stretches beyond the Hollywood studio system. A good monologue is always story or character driven. A good example is Lee J Cobb in Twelve Angry Men, (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s83RoxfwPFg&p=07A17D1AA10B7CBC&playnext=1&index=4) the monologue itself is the last turning point of the story and is fantastically acted. Or the Marlon Brando monologue in Apocalypse now is character driven.
 
Then there's the monologue that took on a life of it's own. Almost all of us have heard it, from a movie called "Home," that almost none of us have seen; Ted Perry's "Chief Seattle's Speech." His name was left off the credits as screenwriter, so his 1971 screenplay became attributed as Chief Seattle's "authentic" 1854 speech; even wrongly attributed by orators such as Al Gore and George W. Bush.

How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land? The idea is strange to us.

If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them?

Every part of this earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clearing and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people. The sap which courses through the trees carries the memories of the red man.

The white man's dead forget the country of their birth when they go to walk among the stars. Our dead never forget this beautiful earth, for it is the mother of the red man. We are part of the earth and it is part of us. The perfumed flowers are our sisters; the deer, the horse, the great eagle, these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the juices in the meadows, the body heat of the pony, and man --- all belong to the same family.

So, when the Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land, he asks much of us. The Great Chief sends word he will reserve us a place so that we can live comfortably to ourselves. He will be our father and we will be his children.

So, we will consider your offer to buy our land. But it will not be easy. For this land is sacred to us. This shining water that moves in the streams and rivers is not just water but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you the land, you must remember that it is sacred, and you must teach your children that it is sacred and that each ghostly reflection in the clear water of the lakes tells of events and memories in the life of my people. The water's murmur is the voice of my father's father.

The rivers are our brothers, they quench our thirst. The rivers carry our canoes, and feed our children. If we sell you our land, you must remember, and teach your children, that the rivers are our brothers and yours, and you must henceforth give the rivers the kindness you would give any brother.

We know that the white man does not understand our ways. One portion of land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs. The earth is not his brother, but his enemy, and when he has conquered it, he moves on. He leaves his father's grave behind, and he does not care. He kidnaps the earth from his children, and he does not care. His father's grave, and his children's birthright are forgotten. He treats his mother, the earth, and his brother, the sky, as things to be bought, plundered, sold like sheep or bright beads. His appetite will devour the earth and leave behind only a desert.

I do not know. Our ways are different than your ways. The sight of your cities pains the eyes of the red man. There is no quiet place in the white man's cities. No place to hear the unfurling of leaves in spring or the rustle of the insect's wings. The clatter only seems to insult the ears. And what is there to life if a man cannot hear the lonely cry of the whippoorwill or the arguments of the frogs around the pond at night? I am a red man and do not understand. The Indian prefers the soft sound of the wind darting over the face of a pond and the smell of the wind itself, cleaned by a midday rain, or scented with pinon pine.

The air is precious to the red man for all things share the same breath, the beast, the tree, the man, they all share the same breath. The white man does not seem to notice the air he breathes. Like a man dying for many days he is numb to the stench. But if we sell you our land, you must remember that the air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports.

The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also receives his last sigh. And if we sell you our land, you must keep it apart and sacred as a place where even the white man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow's flowers.

So we will consider your offer to buy our land. If we decide to accept, I will make one condition - the white man must treat the beasts of this land as his brothers.

I am a savage and do not understand any other way. I have seen a thousand rotting buffaloes on the prairie, left by the white man who shot them from a passing train. I am a savage and do not understand how the smoking iron horse can be made more important than the buffalo that we kill only to stay alive.

What is man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, man would die from a great loneliness of the spirit. For whatever happens to the beasts, soon happens to man. All things are connected.

You must teach your children that the ground beneath their feet is the ashes of our grandfathers. So that they will respect the land, tell your children that the earth is rich with the lives of our kin. Teach your children that we have taught our children that the earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of earth. If men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves.

This we know; the earth does not belong to man; man belongs to the earth. This we know. All things are connected like the blood which unites one family. All things are connected.

Even the white man, whose God walks and talks with him as friend to friend, cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We shall see. One thing we know which the white man may one day discover; our God is the same God.

You may think now that you own Him as you wish to own our land; but you cannot. He is the God of man, and His compassion is equal for the red man and the white. The earth is precious to Him, and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its creator. The whites too shall pass; perhaps sooner than all other tribes. Contaminate your bed and you will one night suffocate in your own waste.

But in your perishing you will shine brightly fired by the strength of the God who brought you to this land and for some special purpose gave you dominion over this land and over the red man.

That destiny is a mystery to us, for we do not understand when the buffalo are all slaughtered, the wild horses are tamed, the secret corners of the forest heavy with the scent of many men and the view of the ripe hills blotted by talking wires.

Where is the thicket? Gone. Where is the eagle? Gone.

The end of living and the beginning of survival.
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Of course the original subject heading doesn't say MOVIE monologue. I can think of a lot of nice Shakespeare ...
 
"Twelve Angry Men, ... Or the Marlon Brando monologue in Apocalypse now is character driven."

I don't believe they were part of the aforementioned I referred to.

I like monologues that don't jump out as monologues. Obviously a trial deliberation is a place to make an argument. Brando's speech was intended to justify his insanity.

Countless movie monologues fall flat, sorry to say. I try to avoid them.

Here's a montage that showcases just how cheesy and ridiculous most of them truly are:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6wRkzCW5qI&feature=player_embedded#!

Monologues I actually liked include Christian's revelation in The Celebration (Festen), Tim Robbin's revelation in The Player ("Larry Levy loved it. ...Because he's an asshole.") And also Gore Vidal's tired, worn out senator in Bob Roberts.

Often the monologues in mainstream films are so on the nose, simplistic, backed by blaringly stupid music and aimed at five year olds that I can't believe they actually end up in the final cut.
 
Can you please post a link to the Twelve Angry Men monologue?

I see what you mean on the Apocalypse monologue. He is trying to convince Sheen to get what he wants, so he needs to explain himself to reach his goal. It is also great writing, a very strong subject, and great delivery.

Do the shadows, the mostly static shots of Sheen and cut-aways play a major role for you? We get to create and customize most of Brando's delivery in our minds.

Not focusing on Marlon Brando, trying too hard is a natural reaction to feeling intimidated. Do you think over-emoting plays a large role in those monologues that fall flat for you?
 
Roberto Lequeux said:
Can you please post a link to the Twelve Angry Men monologue?

I see what you mean on the Apocalypse monologue. He is trying to convince Sheen to get what he wants, so he needs to explain himself to reach his goal. It is also great writing, a very strong subject, and great delivery.

Do the shadows, the mostly static shots of Sheen and cut-aways play a major role for you? We get to create and customize most of Brando's delivery in our minds.

Not focusing on Marlon Brando, trying too hard is a natural reaction to feeling intimidated. Do you think over-emoting plays a large role in those monologues that fall flat for you?
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Neither Storaro or Coppola do things like this for kicks do they. The play with the shadow is as much a point of character as the dialogue, both internally from Brando, and externally from Sheen. The whole scene is so phenomenally played out.

Here's the link to 12Angry men: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s83RoxfwPFg&p=07A17D1AA10B7CBC&playnext=1&index=4
 
Tim Hole said:
Neither Storaro or Coppola do things like this for kicks do they. The play with the shadow is as much a point of character as the dialogue, both internally from Brando, and externally from Sheen. The whole scene is so phenomenally played out.

Here's the link to 12Angry men: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s83RoxfwPFg&p=07A17D1AA10B7CBC&playnext=1&index=4
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Of course. I agree. I am just trying to find out what concerns Joe the most about those monologues he doesn't like enough. Just because I am curious, and it never hurts to discuss and try to rationalize everything as an exercise.

Thanks for the link. I have to confess... I have not seen Twelve Angry Men, yet.
 
I'm also in with Kurtz' "Horror" monologue in APOCALYPSE NOW.
I also like the MAGNOLIA one and to the discussion I want to add (as funny as I found the YouTube mashup of Hollywood Speeches) that there are SPEECHES and there are MONOLOGUEs. Both things you can fnd; and I can't believe that it wasn't mentioned yet, in the end of HITCHCOCKs PSYCHO. First there is the everything explaining speech of the psychiatrist and then there is Bates' monologue with the Voice of his mother in his head that always makes my blood freeze no matter how often I watch it.
Here it comes:

PSYCHO -Alfred Hitchcock

DOCTOR RICHMOND
Like I said--the mother... (Richmond gives the following account to the whole group in the style of a lecture.) Now to understand it the way I understood it, hearing it from the mother--that is, from the mother half of Norman's mind--you have to go back ten years, to the time when Norman murdered his mother and her lover.

Now he was already dangerously disturbed--had been ever since his father died. His mother was a clinging, demanding woman, and for years the two of them lived as if there was no one else in the world. Then she met a man--and it seemed to Norman that she threw him over for this man. Now that pushed him over the line and he killed them both.

Matricide is probably the most unbearable crime of all--most unbearable to the son who commits it. So he had to erase the crime, at least in his own mind. He stole her corpse. A weighted coffin was buried. He hid the body in the fruit cellar. Even treated it to keep it as well as it would keep. And that still wasn't enough. She was there, but she was a corpse.

So he began to think and speak for her--give her half his life, so to speak. At times, he could be both personalities, carry on conversations. At other times, the mother half took over completely. Now he was never all Norman, but he was often only Mother.

And because he was so pathologically jealous of her, he assumed that she was as jealous of him. Therefore, if he felt a strong attraction to any other woman, the mother side of him would go wild. (to Lila:) When he met your sister, he was touched by her, aroused by her. He wanted her. That set off the jealous mother, and Mother killed the girl.

Now after the murder, Norman returned as if from a deep sleep. And like a dutiful son, covered up all traces of the crime he was convinced his mother had committed.

SAM:
Why was he--dressed like that?

DISTRICT ATTORNEY:
He's a transvestite.

DR. RICHMOND:
Ah--not exactly. A man who dresses in women's clothing in order to achieve a sexual change or satisfaction is a transvestite. But in Norman's case, he was simply doing everything possible to keep alive the illusion of his mother being alive. And when reality came too close--when danger or desire threatened that illusion--he dressed up, even to a cheap wig he bought. He'd walk about the house, sit in her chair, speak in her voice. He tried to be his mother! And, uh--now, he is.

Now that's what I meant when I said I got the story from the mother. You see, when the mind houses two personalities, there's always a conflict, a battle. In Norman's case, the battle is over--and the dominant personality has won.

SHERIFF:
And the forty thousand dollars--who got that?

DR. RICHMOND:
(taking out a cigarette) The swamp. These were crimes of passion, not profit.

A police guard enters carrying a wool blanket.

GUARD:
(to the Chief of Police) He feels a little chill. Can I bring him this blanket? (The Chief looks to the psychiatrist.)

DR. RICHMOND:
Oh, sure. (lighting up)

CHIEF OF POLICE:
All right.

We leave the office and follow the guard down the corridor past a newspaperman talking to an officer, and watch as another police guard standing by a door opens it, allowing the first guard to deliver the blanket. Just before he emerges, a frail "Thank you" comes from within. The other guard closes the door.

Scene:

Norman is sitting alone in a straight-backed chair against a bare wall, the blanket draped around his shoulders. We are drawn closer as we hear the voice of his mother, generated inside his head.

MOTHER'S VOICE:
It's sad when a mother has to speak the words that condemn her own son.

But I couldn't allow them to believe that I would commit murder. They'll put him away now as I should have years ago. He was always bad, and in the end he intended to tell them I killed those girls and that man.

As if I could do anything except just sit and stare--like one of his stuffed birds. Well, they know I can't move a finger. And I won't. I'll just sit here and be quiet, just in case they do suspect me.

They're probably watching me. Well, let them. Let them see what kind of person I am.

A fly has landed upon his hand, which rests in his lap.

I'm not even going to swat that fly. I hope they are watching. They'll see. They'll see, and they'll know, and they'll say... (as he slowly raises his eyes to meet ours, smirking) 'Why, she wouldn't even harm a fly!'

Is it our imagination, or does Norman's smile begin to morph into his mother's dead grin, as we fade to the final shot of Marion's car being hauled from the quicksand?
 
The Brando Apocalypse Now scene was infamously difficult to shoot. Coppola essentially threw away the material he was intending to shoot and instead improv workshopped the material on film. His wife documented the making of the film and it was turned into a fascinating doc called Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker's Apocalypse. highly recommended. My personal favorite outtake from the speech is when Brando says "I think I swallowed a bug." Another favorite moment capturing the runaway chaos of the production is when Coppola requests "a seltzer from the Seltzer Department" and everyone just ignores him.

Somewhere on the internet there's a transcript of a 40-minute take of this speech. I understand they had multiple cameras going all the time so they must have overlapped rollouts and reloaded those old Panastars pretty quick to get continuous coverage. There's also a 289-minute rough cut out there in bit-torrent land.
 
The 25th hour speech is a good one, but it is very reminiscent of FightClub. I can't make up my mind about Spike Lee. At times he just appears so overtly racist and other time is quite astute. Maybe its got something to do with my being British and not growing up in Brooklyn.
 
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