Imelda Staunton: Bunty

Chicken Run

Bunty

Rocky: Easy, pops. Cockfighting's illegal where I come from.
Bunty: And where is that exactly?
Rocky: Just a little place I call the land of the free and the home of the brave.
Mac: Scotland!
Rocky: No! America.

[Ginger has given a speech about the the advantages of a life free from the Tweedys]
Bunty: In all my life I've never heard such a fantastic... load of tripe! Oh, face the facts, ducks. The chances of us gettin' out of here are a million to one.
Ginger: Then there's still a chance.

[on finding out Rocky can't fly. Inside joke, see Trivia]
Bunty: I knew he was fake all along. In fact, I'm not even certain he was American.

[after Rocky leaves]
Babs: Perhaps he just went on holiday.
Bunty: [grabbing Babs' knitting, throwing it on the ground, and stomping on it] Perhaps he just went to get away from your infernal knitting!
Mac: Well, you were the one that was always hitting him. Let's see how you like it.
[shoves Bunty]
Bunty: Don't push me, four-eyes.
[other chickens start fighting]

Fowler: Dissension in the ranks. Precisely what Jerry would have wanted. The old divide and conquer A proper squadron work together, just like we did in my RAF days. Jocko at the stick, Flappy at the map... and old Whizzbang at the tail-end Charlie. WingCo would give the call, hop in the old crate, chocks away! Wizard show it was. That's how you get medals.
Bunty: Will you shut up about your stupid blooming medals!
[slaps the medal from Fowler's hand, sending it into the mud]
Fowler: How dare you!
[conks Bunty on the head and she groans]
Fowler: Madam, forgive me. A-As an officer, I offer my most--
[Bunty punches him in the face]

Ginger: You know what the problem is? The fences aren't just round the farm. They're up here, in you heads. There's a better place out there, somewhere beyond that hill, and it has wide open places, and lots of trees... and grass. Can you imagine that? Cool, green grass.
Hen: Who feeds us?
Ginger: We feed ourselves.
Hen: Where's the farm?
Ginger: There is no farm.
Babs: Then, where does the farmer live?
Ginger: There is no farmer, Babs.
Babs: Is he on holiday?
Ginger: He isn't anywhere! Don't you get it? There's no morning head count, no farmers, no dogs and coops and keys, and no fences.
Bunty: In all my life I've never heard such a fantastic... load of tripe! Oh, face the facts, ducks: the chances of us getting out of here are a million to one.

[Fowler is hesitant about piloting the Crate]
Ginger: Fowler, you *have* to fly it. You're always talking about "back in your day"; well, *today* is your day.
[extends to Fowler his medal]
Bunty: You can do it, you old sausage.
Fowler: [stares at the medal for a moment, takes it, and salutes Ginger] Wing Commander T.I. Fowler, reporting for duty.

Ginger: [shows the poster of Rocky to the chickens] This is our way out of here.
Babs: We'll make posters?
Ginger: What's on the poster, Babs? What's *on* the poster? We'll fly out!
Babs: He must be very important to have his picture taken. What do you suppose he does?
Bunty: Isn't it obvious? He's a professional flying rooster. He flies from farm to farm giving demonstrations.
Babs: Do you suppose?
Bunty: Oh, absolutely.

Fowler: [walks into the chickens dancing] Now, see here! I don't recall authorizing a hop.
Bunty: Oh, shut up and dance!
[pulls him into the group]