Marlon Brando: Paul

Last Tango in Paris

Paul

[alone at his dead wife's bedside during her wake]
Paul: Our marriage was nothing more than a foxhole for you. And all it took for you to get out was a 35-cent razor and a tub full of water. You cheap goddamn fucking godforsaken whore, I hope you rot in hell. You're worse than the dirtiest street pig anybody could ever find anywhere, and you know why? You know why? Because you lied. You lied to me and I trusted you.
[gradually starts losing his composure]
Paul: You lied and you knew you were lying. Go on, tell me you didn't lie. Haven't you got anything to say about that? You can think up something, can't you? Go on, tell me something! Go on, smile, you cunt!
[starts crying noticeably]
Paul: Go on, tell me... tell me something sweet. Smile at me and say I just misunderstood. Go on, tell me. You pig-fucker... you goddamn, fucking, pig-fucking liar.

Paul: No, you're alone. You're all alone. And you won't be able to be free of that feeling of being alone until you look death right in the face. I mean that sounds like bullshit. Some romantic crap. Until you go right up into the ass of death. Right up in his ass. 'Til you find the womb of fear.

Jeanne: You know, you're old! And you're getting fat.
Paul: Fat, is it? How unkind.
Jeanne: Half of your hair is out and the other half is - almost white.
Paul: You know, in ten years, you're going to be playing soccer with your tits. What do you think of that?

Jeanne: You want to know what - why you don't want to know anything about me? Because you hate woman.
Paul: Oh, really?
Jeanne: What have they ever done to you?
Paul: Well, either they always pretend to know who I am or they pretend I don't know who they are and that's very boring.

Paul: You ran through Africa and Asia and Indonesia, and now I found you - and I love you. I want to know your name.
Jeanne: Jeanne.

Jeanne: Let's drink a toast to our life in the hotel.
Paul: No fuck all that! Hey listen! Let's drink a toast to our life in the country.
Jeanne: You're a nature lover? You didn't tell me that.
Paul: Oh, for christ sake... I'm nature boy. Can't you see me with the cows and the chickenshit all over me? Huh?
Jeanne: Oh, that's right. To the cows!
Paul: Cow.
Jeanne: I will be your cow too.
Paul: I get to milk you twice a day. How about that?

Paul: It's me again.
Jeanne: It's over.
Paul: That's right. It's over and then it begins again.
Jeanne: What begins again? I don't understand anything anymore.
Paul: There's nothing to understand. We left the apartment, and now we begin and love all the rest of it.
Jeanne: The rest of it?
Paul: Yeah, listen. I'm 45. I'm a widower. I own a little hotel. It's kind of a dump, but not completely a flop house. Then I used to live on my luck and I got married, and my wife killed herself.

Jeanne: What am I doing in this apartment with you? Love?
Paul: Well, let's say we're just taking a flying - a flying fuck at a rolling donut.

[alone at his dead wife's bedside during her wake]
Paul: [sobbing] Rosa... I'm sorry, I... I just - I can't stand it to see these goddamn things on your face!
[peels off her fake eyelashes]
Paul: You never wore make-up... this fucking shit.
[wipes off her lipstick with a flower petal]
Paul: I'm gonna take this off your mouth, this - this lipstick...
[falls over her, sobbing uncontrollably]
Paul: Rosa - oh GOD! I'm sorry! I - I don't know why you did it! I'd do it too, if I knew how... I just *don't know how*... I have to... have to find a way...

[first lines]
Paul: [with his hands over his ears at the overwhelming sound of a passing train] Fucking GOD!

Paul: Anyway, to make a long, dull story even duller, I come from a time when a guy like me used to come into a joint like this and pick up a young chick like you and... call her a 'bimbo'.

Paul: I'm awfully sorry to intrude, but I was so... struck with your beauty that I thought perhaps I could offer you a glass of champagne. Is this seat taken?
Jeanne: No.

Paul: What about that? Can I open that? Huh? Wait a minute. Maybe there's jewels in it. Maybe there's gold.
[unbuttoning Jeanne's jeans]
Paul: Are you afraid?
Jeanne: No.
Paul: No? You're always afraid.
[turns Jeanne over on her stomach]
Jeanne: No, but, maybe there is some family secrets inside.
Paul: Family secrets?
[pulls down her jeans]
Paul: I'll tell you about family secrets.
[grabs the butter]
Jeanne: What are you doing?
Paul: I'm gonna tell you about the family. That holy institution - meant to breed virtue in savages.

Marcel: [In French, lifting himself on a pole] This is my secret. 30 times every morning.
Paul: [in English, starting to leave] Really, Marcello, I really don't know what she saw in you.

Paul: [drunkenly] Beauty of mine, sit before me. Let me peruse you and remember you always like this. Garçon! Champagne! If music be the food of love, play on.

Paul: [as a frustrated Jeanne reaches down his pants in the dance hall] Listen, that's not a subway strap, that's me cock!