Full Metal Jacket part 1

Full Metal Jacket (1987) movie script by Stanley Kubrick, Michael Herr and Gustav Hasford. Based on the novel "The Short Timers" by Gustav Hasford. FADE IN: 1 INT. BARBERSHOP--PARRIS ISLAND MARINE BASE--DAY Marine recruits having their heads shaved with electric clippers. The hair piles up on the floor. 2 INT. BARRACKS--DAY Marine recruits stand at attention in front of their bunks. Master Gunnery Sergeant HARTMAN walks along the line of blank-faced recruits. HARTMAN: I am Gunnery Sergeant Hartman, your Senior Drill Instructor. From now on, you will speak only when spoken to, and the first and last words out of your filthy sewers will be "Sir!" Do you maggots understand that? RECRUITS (in unison): Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: Bullshit! I can't hear you. Sound off like you got a pair. RECRUITS (louder): Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: If you ladies leave my island, if you survive recruit training ... you will be a weapon, you will be a minister of death, praying for war. But until that day you are pukes! You're the lowest form of life on Earth. You are not even human fucking beings! You are nothing but unorganized grabasstic pieces of amphibian shit! Because I am hard, you will not like me. But the more you hate me, the more you will learn. I am hard, but I am fair! There is no racial bigotry here! I do not look down on niggers, kikes, wops or greasers. Here you are all equally worthless! And my orders are to weed out all non-hackers who do not pack the gear to serve in my beloved Corps! Do you maggots understand that? RECRUITS (in unison): Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: Bullshit! I can't hear you! RECRUITS (louder): Sir, yes, sir! [Sergeant HARTMAN stops in front of a black recruit, Private SNOWBALL.] HARTMAN: What's your name, scumbag? SNOWBALL (shouting): Sir, Private Brown, sir! HARTMAN: Bullshit! From now on you're Private Snowball! Do you like that name? SNOWBALL (shouting): Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: Well, there's one thing that you won't like, Private Snowball! They don't serve fried chicken and watermelon on a daily basis in my mess hall! SNOWBALL: Sir, yes, sir! JOKER (whispering): Is that you, John Wayne? Is this me? HARTMAN: Who said that? Who the fuck said that? Who's the slimy little communist shit twinkle-toed cocksucker down here, who just signed his own death warrant? Nobody, huh?! The fairy fucking godmother said it! Out-fucking-standing! I will P.T. you all until you fucking die! I'll P.T. you until your assholes are sucking buttermilk. [Sergeant HARTMAN grabs cowboy by the shirt.] HARTMAN: Was it you, you scroungy little fuck, huh?! COWBOY: Sir, no, sir! HARTMAN: You little piece of shit! You look like a fucking worm! I'll bet it was you! COWBOY: Sir, no, sir! JOKER: Sir, I said it, sir! [Sergeant HARTMAN steps up to JOKER.] HARTMAN: Well ...no shit. What have we got here, a fucking comedian? Private Joker? I admire your honesty. Hell, I like you. You can come over to my house and fuck my sister. Sergeant HARTMAN punches JOKER in the stomach. JOKER sags to his knees. HARTMAN: You little scumbag! I've got your name! I've got your ass! You will not laugh! You will not cry! You will learn by the numbers. I will teach you. Now get up! Get on your feet! You had best unfuck yourself or I will unscrew your head and shit down your neck! JOKER: Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: Private Joker, why did you join my beloved Corps? JOKER: Sir, to kill, sir! HARTMAN: So you're a killer! JOKER: Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: Let me see your war face! JOKER: Sir? HARTMAN: You've got a war face? Aaaaaaaagh! That's a war face. Now let me see your war face! JOKER: Aaaaaaaagh! HARTMAN: Bullshit! You didn't convince me! Let me see your real war face! JOKER: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! HARTMAN: You didn't scare me! Work on it! JOKER: Sir, yes, sir! Sergeant HARTMAN speaks into cowboy's face. HARTMAN: What's your excuse? COWBOY: Sir, excuse for what, sir? HARTMAN: I'm asking the fucking questions here, Private. Do you understand?! COWBOY: Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: Well thank you very much! Can I be in charge for a while? COWBOY: Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: Are you shook up? Are you nervous? COWBOY: Sir, I am, sir! HARTMAN: Do I make you nervous? COWBOY: Sir! HARTMAN: Sir, what? Were you about to call me an asshole?! COWBOY: Sir, no, sir! HARTMAN: How tall are you, Private? COWBOY: Sir, five foot nine, sir! HARTMAN: Five foot nine? I didn't know they stacked shit that high! You trying to squeeze an inch in on me somewhere, huh? COWBOY: Sir, no, sir. HARTMAN: Bullshit! It looks to me like the best part of you ran down the crack of your mama's ass and ended up as a brown stain on the mattress! I think you've been cheated! HARTMAN: Where in hell are you from anyway, Private? COWBOY: Sir, Texas, sir! HARTMAN: Holy dogshit! Texas! Only steers and queers come from Texas, Private Cowboy! And you don't look much like a steer to me, so that kinda narrows it down! Do you suck dicks? COWBOY: Sir, no, sir! HARTMAN: Are you a peter-puffer? COWBOY: Sir, no, sir! HARTMAN: I'll bet you're the kind of guy that would fuck a person in the ass and not even have the goddam common courtesy to give him a reach-around! I'll be watching you! [Sergeant HARTMAN walks down the line to another recruit, a tall, overweight boy.] HARTMAN: Did your parents have any children that lived? PYLE: Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: I'll bet they regret that! You're so ugly you could be a modern art masterpiece! What's your name, fatbody? PYLE: Sir, Leonard Lawrence, sir! HARTMAN: Lawrence? Lawrence, what, of Arabia? PYLE: Sir, no, sir! HARTMAN: That name sounds like royalty! Are you royalty? PYLE: Sir, no, sir! HARTMAN: Do you suck dicks? PYLE: Sir, no, sir! HARTMAN: Bullshit! I'll bet you could suck a golf ball through a garden hose! PYLE: Sir, no, sir! HARTMAN: I don't like the name Lawrence! Only faggots and sailors are called Lawrence! From now on you're Gomer Pyle! PYLE: Sir, yes, sir! PYLE has the trace of a strange smile on his face. HARTMAN: Do you think I'm cute, Private Pyle? Do you think I'm funny? PYLE: Sir, no, sir! HARTMAN: Then wipe that disgusting grin off your face! PYLE: Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: Well, any fucking time, sweetheart! PYLE: Sir, I'm trying, sir. HARTMAN: Private Pyle, I'm gonna give you three seconds--exactly three fucking seconds--to wipe that stupid-looking grin off your face, or I will gouge out your eyeballs and skull-fuck you! One! Two! Three! [PYLE purses his lips but continues to smile involuntarily.] PYLE: Sir, I can't help it, sir! HARTMAN: Bullshit! Get on your knees, scumbag! [PYLE gets down on his knees.] HARTMAN: Now choke yourself! [PYLE places his hands around his throat as if to choke himself.] HARTMAN: Goddamn it, with my hand, numbnuts!! [PYLE reaches for HARTMAN's hand. HARTMAN jerks it away.] HARTMAN: Don't pull my fucking hand over there! I said choke yourself! Now lean forward and choke yourself! [PYLE leans forward so that his neck rests in HARTMAN's open hand.] [HARTMAN chokes PYLE.] [PYLE gags and starts to turn red in the face.] HARTMAN: Are you through grinning? PYLE (barely able to speak): Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: Bullshit! I can't hear you! PYLE (gasping): Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: Bullshit! I still can't hear you! Sound off like you got a pair! PYLE (gagging): Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: That's enough! Get on your feet! [HARTMAN releases PYLE's throat. PYLE gets to his feet, breathing heavily.] HARTMAN: Private Pyle, you had best square your ass away and start shitting me Tiffany cuff links... or I will definitely fuck you up! PYLE: Sir, yes, sir! 3 EXT. PARRIS ISLAND--DAY [The training platoon is double-timing in formation. HARTMAN is calling cadence.] HARTMAN: ...right, left, right, left! Left, right, left, right, left! Left, right, left, right, left! JOKER (narration): Parris Island, South Carolina.... the United States Marine Corps Recruit Depot. An eight-week college for the phony-tough and the crazy-brave. HARTMAN: Mama and Papa were laying in bed. RECRUITS (chanting in cadence): Mama and Papa were laying in bed. HARTMAN: Mama rolled over, this is what she said... RECRUITS: Mama rolled over, this is what she said... HARTMAN: Ah, gimme some... RECRUITS: Ah, gimme some... HARTMAN: Ah, gimme some... RECRUITS: Ah, gimme some... HARTMAN: P.T.... RECRUITs: P.T.... HARTMAN: P.T.... RECRUITs: P.T.... HARTMAN: Good for you! RECRUITS: Good for you! HARTMAN: And good for me! RECRUITS: And good for me! HARTMAN: Mmm, good. RECRUITS: Mmm, good. HARTMAN: Up in the morning to the rising sun. RECRUITS: Up in the morning to the rising sun. HARTMAN: Gotta run all day... 4 EXT. PRACTICE FIELD--SUNSET Recruits, silhouetted against the sun, climbing ropes, nets and ladders. HARTMAN: ...till the running's done! RECRUITS: Gotta run all day till the running's done! HARTMAN: Ho Chi Minh is a son-of-a-bitch! RECRUITS: Ho Chi Minh is a son-of-a-bitch! HARTMAN: Got the blueballs, crabs and the seven-year-itch! RECRUITS: Got the blueballs, crabs and the seven-year-itch! DISSOLVE TO: 5 EXT. PARADE DECK--DAY [HARTMAN marches the platoon across a wide expanse of asphalt. The recruits carry rifles.] HARTMAN: Left, right, left, right, left! To your left shoulder... hut! Left, right, left! Port...hut! HARTMAN: Left, right! Platoon... halt! Left shoulder... hut! [PYLE momentarily places his rifle on the wrong shoulder and immediately corrects himself] [HARTMAN spots this and walks up to him.] HARTMAN: Private Pyle, what are you trying to do to my beloved Corps? PYLE: Sir, I don't know, sir! HARTMAN: You are dumb, Private Pyle, but do you expect me to believe that you don't know left from right? PYLE: Sir, no, sir! HARTMAN: Then you did that on purpose! You want to be different! PYLE: Sir, no, sir. HARTMAN slaps PYLE hard across the left cheek. HARTMAN: What side was that, Private Pyle?! PYLE: Sir, left side, sir! HARTMAN: Are you sure, Private Pyle? PYLE: Sir, yes, sir! [HARTMAN Slaps Pyle hard across the right cheek, knocking his cap off] HARTMAN: What side was that, Private Pyle? PYLE: Sir, right side, sir. HARTMAN: Don't fuck with me again, Pyle! Pick up your fucking cover! PYLE: Sir, yes, sir! DISSOLVE TO: 6 EXT. PARADE DECK--DAY HARTMAN marching the platoon. Bringing up the rear is PYLE, his fatigue pants down around his ankles; he is sucking his thumb and he carries his rifle muzzle down. 7 INT. BARRACKS--NIGHT [HARTMAN walks along the line of recruits in skivvies holding their rifles and standing at attention in front of their bunks.] HARTMAN: Tonight... you pukes will sleep with your rifles! You will give your rifle a girl's name! Because this is the only pussy you people are going to get! Your days of finger-banging old Mary Jane Rottencrotch through her pretty pink panties are over! You're married to this piece, this weapon of iron and wood! And you will be faithful! Port ... hut! Prepare to mount! Mount! [On HARTMAN's command the platoon mount their bunks with their rifles and lie on their backs at attention.] HARTMAN: Port... hut! [The recruits snap their rifles to the port arms position over their chests.] HARTMAN: Pray! RECRUITS (in unison): This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it, as I must master my life. Without me my rifle is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will. Before God I swear this creed. My rifle and myself are defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviours of my life. So be it... until there is no enemy but peace. Amen. HARTMAN: Order... hut! [The recruits snap their rifles down to their sides.] HARTMAN: At ease! [HARTMAN turns off the barracks lights.] HARTMAN: Good night, ladies. RECRUITS (in unison): Good night, sir! HARTMAN (to duty guard): Hit it, sweetheart! DUTY GUARD: Sir, aye-aye, sir! 8 EXT. PARADE FIELD--DAWN [HARTMAN drills the platoon.] HARTMAN: Right shoulder ... hut! This is not your daddy's shotgun, Cowboy. Left shoulder ...hut! Move your rifle around your head, not your head around your rifle. Port ... hut! Four inches from your chest, Pyle! Four inches! 9 INT. BARRACKS--NIGHT [HARTMAN marches the recruits through the squad bay. Their rifles are at shoulder arms and their left hands clutch their genitals.] HARTMAN: This is my rifle! This is my gun! RECRUITS: This is for fighting! This is for fun! HARTMAN: This is my rifle! This is my gun! RECRUITS: This is my rifle! This is my gun! [They repeat this over and over again as they march up and down the squad bay.] DISSOLVE TO: 10 EXT. PARADE DECK--DAY [HARTMAN marching the platoon, calling cadence.] 11 EXT. "ARMSTRETCHER" OBSTACLE--DAY [Hand over hand the recruits swing along the "Armstretcher."] HARTMAN: Ten fucking seconds! It should take you no more than ten fucking seconds to negotiate this obstacle! Quickly, move it out! There ain't one swinging dick private in this platoon's gonna graduate until they can get this obstacle down to less than ten fucking seconds! 12 EXT. "TOUGH ONE" OBSTACLE--DAY [HARTMAN watches as the recruits climb ropes and ladders to a high wooden tower above the platform] 13 EXT. PUGIL-STICK CIRCLE--DAY [PYLE and another recruit, wearing football-style helmets, batter each other with pugil sticks.] [The recruits are formed up around them in a circle. They cheer as PYLE is beaten, to the ground.] 14. EXT. "DIRTY NAME" OBSTACLE--DAY [RECRUITS waiting in two lines for their turn.] HARTMAN: Next two privates! Quickly! [The next two recruits struggle over the obstacle.] HARTMAN: Get over that goddamn obstacle! Move it! Next two privates! Quickly! Hurry up! Get up there! [JOKER and another recruit go over easily.] HARTMAN: Private Joker, are you a killer? JOKER: Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: Let me hear your war cry! JOKER: Aaaaaaaaaaaaagh! HARTMAN: Next two privates, go! [PYLE and another recruit. PYLE is hopeless.] HARTMAN: Quickly! Get your fat ass over there, Private Pyle! Oh, that's right, Private Pyle ... don't make any fucking effort to get to the top of the fucking obstacle! If God wanted you up there He would have miracled your ass up here by now, wouldn't He? PYLE: Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: Get your fat ass up there, Pyle! PYLE: Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: What the hell is the matter with you anyway? I'll bet you if there was some pussy up there on top of that obstacle you could get up there! Couldn't you?! PYLE: Sir, yes, sir! [PYLE drops heavily to the ground] HARTMAN: Your ass looks like about a hundred and fifty pounds of chewed bubble gum, Pyle. Do you know that? PYLE: Sir, yes, sir! 15 EXT. CHINNING BAR--DAY [Recruits are doing pull-ups. HARTMAN watches JOKER finishing many, many of them.] HARTMAN: One for the Corps! Get up there! Pull! [JOKER finally drops to the ground.] HARTMAN: I guess the Corps don't get theirs. Get up there, Pyle! [PYLE tries to do a pull-up but can't get to the top of the bar.] HARTMAN: Pull! Pull, Pyle, pull! One pull-up, Pyle! Come on, pull! You gotta be shitting me, Pyle! Get your ass up there! Do you mean to tell me that you cannot do one single pull-up? [PYLE, exhausted from his efforts, drops to the ground.] HARTMAN: You are a worthless piece of shit, Pyle!! Get out of my face! Get up there, Snowball! 16 EXT. "CONFIDENCE CLIMB"--DAY [PYLE climbs a high obstacle.] HARTMAN: Get up here, fatboy! Quickly! Move it up! Move it up, Pyle! Move it up! You climb obstacles like old people fuck. Do you know that, Private Pyle? Get up here! You're too slow! Move it, move it! Private Pyle, whatever you do, don't fall down! That would break my fucking heart! Quickly! [PYLE freezes at the top.] HARTMAN: Up and over! Up and over! Well, what in the fuck are you waiting for, Private Pyle? Get up and over! Move it, move it, move it! Are you quitting on me? Well, are you! Then quit you slimy fucking walrus-looking piece of shit! Get the fuck off my obstacle! Get the fuck down off of my obstacle! Now! [PYLE climbs back down his side of the obstacle.] HARTMAN: Move it! I'm gonna rip your balls off so you cannot contaminate the rest of the world! I will motivate you, Private Pyle, if it shortdicks every cannibal on the Congo! 17 EXT. ROAD--DAY [The platoon is irregularly strung out on a road nearing the end of a rapid, forced march.] [PYLE is at the end of the line ready to drop. Supported by JOKER, PYLE Staggers along as HARTMAN bellows at him.] HARTMAN: Pick'em up and set'em down, Pyle! Quickly! Move it up! Were you born a fat slimy scumbag, you piece of shit, Private Pyle? Or did you have to work on it? Move it up! Quickly! Hustle up! The fucking war will be over by the time we get out there, won't it, Private Pyle? [HARTMAN gives PYLE a shove.] HARTMAN: Move it! [PYLE gasps for breath.] HARTMAN: Are you going to fucking die, Pyle? Are you going to die on me!! Do it now! Move it up! Hustle it up! Quickly, quickly, quickly! Do you feel dizzy? Do you feel faint? Jesus H. Christ, I think you've got a hard-on! 18 EXT. MUD OBSTACLE--DAY [The platoon tries to run, through the mud. PYLE half carried by JOKER and COWBOY falls taking JOKER down with him.] HARTMAN: Quickly ladies! Assholes and elbows! Move it out! Get up there! Move it! Move it, move it, move it! 19 INT. BARRACKS--PRE-DAWN [HARTMAN and two Junior Drill Instructors stride into the Squad Bay. The lights go on. HARTMAN bangs loudly on an empty metal garbage can which he carries into the room.] HARTMAN: Reveille! Reveille! Reveille! Drop your cocks and grab your socks! Today is Sunday! Divine worship at zero-eight-hundred! Get your bunks made and get your uniforms on. Police call will commence in two minutes! [HARTMAN stops in front of JOKER's bunk.] HARTMAN: Private Cowboy! Private Joker! COWBOY: Sir, yes, sir! JOKER: Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN; As soon as you finish your bunks, I want you two turds to clean the head. JOKER & COWBOY (in unison): Sir, aye-aye, sir! HARTMAN: I want that head so sanitary and squared away that the Virgin Mary herself would be proud to go in there and take a dump! JOKER & COWBOY (in unison): Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: Private Joker, do you believe in the Virgin Mary? JOKER: Sir, no, sir! [HARTMAN throws down the garbage can with a loud bang.] HARTMAN: Private Joker, I don't believe I heard you correctly! JOKER: Sir, the private said "No, sir," sir! HARTMAN: Why, you little maggot! You make me want to vomit! [HARTMAN slaps JOKER, hard, across the cheek.] HARTMAN: You goddam communist heathen, you had best sound off that you love the Virgin Mary or I'm gonna stomp your guts out! Now you do love the Virgin Mary, don't you?! JOKER: Sir, negative, sir!! HARTMAN: Private Joker, are you trying to offend me?! JOKER: Sir, negative, sir!!! Sir, the private believes that any answer he gives will be wrong! And the Senior Drill Instructor will beat him harder if he reverses himself, sir! HARTMAN: Who's your squad leader, scumbag? JOKER: Sir, the private's squad leader is Private Snowball, sir!!! HARTMAN: Private Snowball! [SNOWBALL double-times up to HARTMAN.] SNOWBALL: Sir, Private Snowball reporting as ordered, sir! HARTMAN: Private Snowball, you're fired! Private Joker is promoted to squad leader! SNOWBALL: Sir, aye-aye, sir! HARTMAN: Private Pyle! PYLE: Private Pyle reporting as ordered, sir! HARTMAN: Private Pyle, from now on Private Joker is your new squad leader, and you will bunk with him! He'll teach you everything. He'll teach you how to pee. PYLE: Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: Private Joker is silly and he's ignorant, but he's got guts, and guts is enough. Now, you ladies carry on. JOKER, COWBOY & PYLE (in unison): Sir, aye-aye, sir! 20 EXT. TRAINING FIELD--DAY [JOKER patiently explains the disassembly of an M-14 rifle to PYLE.] JOKER: The bolt. The bolt goes in the receiver. Operating rod handle. Operating rod guide. 21 INT. BARRACKS--NIGHT [JOKER and PYLE sitting on their footlockers. JOKER instructs PYLE in the correct method of lacing his combat boots.] JOKER: And the left one ... over the right. Right one over the left. Left one over the right. Right one over the left. 22 EXT. CONFIDENCE CLIMB--DAY On. top of the confidence climb, JOKER gently talks PYLE over the top. JOKER: Just throw your other leg over ... that'a boy. That's it. Now just pull the next one over and you're home free. Ready? Just throw it over. That'a boy. Just set it down. All right? [PYLE breathes heavily. He is scared but he manages to get over.] JOKER: There you go. Congratulations, Leonard. You did it. 23 INT. BARRACKS--NIGHT [JOKER instructs PYLE in the correct way of making his bed.] JOKER: You fold the blanket and the sheet back together. Make a four-inch fold. Okay? Got it? You do it. [PYLE looks down. uncertainly at the bed.] 24 EXT. PARADE DECK--DAY [JOKER works with PYLE on the Manual of Arms.] 25 EXT. OBSTACLE COURSE--DAY [COWBOY, JOKER and PYLE run up a ramp, grab the ropes and swing across a ditch. PYLE makes it without trouble.] 26 EXT. PARADE DECK--DAY [HARTMAN is drilling the squad, calling the cadence and watching PYLE who makes no mistakes.] DISSOLVE TO: 27 EXT. RIFLE RANGE--DAY [Targets are raised and lowered, red markers indicating hits. HARTMAN addresses the recruits.] HARTMAN: The deadliest weapon in the world is a marine and his rifle. It is your killer instinct which must be harnessed if you expect to survive in combat. Your rifle is only a tool. It is a hard heart that kills. If your killer instincts are not clean and strong you will hesitate at the moment of truth. You will not kill. You will become dead marines. And then you will be in a world of shit. Because marines are not allowed to die without permission! Do you maggots understand? RECRUITS: Sir, yes, sir! 28 EXT. PARRIS ISLAND STREET--DAY The recruits are double-timing to HARTMAN's cadences. HARTMAN (chanting in cadence): I love working for Uncle Sam! RECRUITS (chanting in cadence): I love working for Uncle Sam! HARTMAN: Lets me know just who I am! RECRUITS: Lets me know just who I am! HARTMAN: One, two, three, four! United States Marine Corps! RECRUITS: One, two, three, four! United States Marine Corps! HARTMAN: One, two, three, four! I love the Marine Corps! RECRUITS: One, two, three, four! I love the Marine Corps. HARTMAN: My Corps! RECRUITS: My Corps! HARTMAN: Your Corps! RECRUITS: Your Corps! HARTMAN: Our Corps! RECRUITS: Our Corps! HARTMAN: Marine Corps! RECRUITS: Marine Corps! HARTMAN: I don't know, but I've been told. RECRUITS: I don't know, but I've been told. HARTMAN: Eskimo pussy is mighty cold! RECRUITS: Eskimo pussy is mighty cold! HARTMAN: Mmm, good! RECRUITS: Mmm, good! HARTMAN: Feels good! RECRUITS: Feels good! HARTMAN: Is good! RECRUITS: Is good! HARTMAN: Real good! RECRUITS: Real good! HARTMAN: Tastes good! RECRUITS: Tastes good! HARTMAN: Mighty good! RECRUITS: Mighty good! HARTMAN: Good for you! RECRUITS: Good for you! HARTMAN: Good for me! RECRUITS: Good for me! 29 INT. BARRACKS--NIGHT The recruits in their skivvies stand at attention in two facing rows on top of their footlockers, arms outstretched, hands held rigidly in front of them, palms down, for inspection. HARTMAN moves along the row of men. He smacks a recruit's hand. HARTMAN: Trim 'em. HARTMAN points at the feet of another recruit. HARTMAN: Toejam! To another recruit. HARTMAN: Pop that blister! HARTMAN stops in front of PYLE and notices his foot-locker is unlocked. He picks up the lock and holds it up to PYLE. HARTMAN: Jesus H. Christ! Private Pyle, why is your footlocker unlocked? PYLE: Sir, I don't know, sir! HARTMAN: Private Pyle, if there is one thing in this world that I hate, it is an unlocked footlocker! You know that, don't you? PYLE: Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: If it wasn't for dickheads like you, there wouldn't be any thievery in this world, would there? PYLE: Sir, no, sir! HARTMAN: Get down! PYLE steps down, from the footlocker. HARTMAN flips open the lid with a bang and begins rummaging through the box. HARTMAN: Well, now .. . let's just see if there's anything missing! HARTMAN freezes. He reaches down and slowly picks up a jelly doughnut, holding it in disgust at arm's length with his fingertips. HARTMAN: Holy Jesus! What is that? What is that, Private Pyle?! PYLE: Sir, a jelly doughnut, sir! HARTMAN: A jelly doughnut?! PYLE: Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: How did it get here? PYLE: Sir, I took it from the mess hall, sir! HARTMAN: Is chow allowed in the barracks, Private Pyle? PYLE: Sir, no, sir! HARTMAN: Are you allowed to eat jelly doughnuts, Private Pyle? PYLE: Sir, no, sir! HARTMAN: And why not, Private Pyle? PYLE: Sir, because I'm too heavy, sir! HARTMAN: Because you are a disgusting fatbody, Private Pyle! PYLE: Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: Then why did you hide a jelly doughnut in your footlocker, Private Pyle? PYLE: Sir, because I was hungry, sir! HARTMAN: Because you were hungry? Holding out the jelly doughnut, HARTMAN walks down the row of recruits still standing with their arms outstretched. HARTMAN: Private Pyle has dishonored himself and dishonored the platoon! I have tried to help him, but I have failed! I have failed because you have not helped me! You people have not given Private Pyle the proper motivation! So, from now on, whenever Private Pyle fucks up, I will not punish him, I will punish all of you! And the way I see it, ladies, you owe me for one jelly doughnut! Now, get on your faces! HARTMAN (to PYLE): Open your mouth! He shoves the jelly doughnut into PYLE's mouth. HARTMAN: They're paying for it, you eat it! HARTMAN turns to the recruits. HARTMAN: Ready . . . exercise! The platoon does push-ups. RECRUITS (chanting in cadence) One, two, three, four! I love the Marine Corps! One, two, three, four! I love the Marine Corps! One, two, three, four! I love the Marine Corps! One, two, three, four . . . While the platoon does push-ups, PYLE swallows hard to get down bites of the doughnut. DISSOLVE TO: 30 INT. BARRACKS--DAWN JOKER checks PYLE's Uniform. JOKER (quietly): You really look like shit today, Leonard. PYLE: Joker? Everybody hates me now. Even you. JOKER: Nobody hates you, Leonard. You just keep making mistakes, getting everybody in trouble. PYLE: I can't do anything right. I need help. JOKER: I'm trying to help you, Leonard. I'm really trying. PYLE grins, trustingly. JOKER: Tuck your shirt in. DISSOLVE TO: 31 EXT. TRAINING FIELD--DAY The platoon does squat thrusts as PYLE sits, his cap on backwards, sucking his thumb. HARTMAN watches. RECRUITS (counting in unison) One, two, three... nineteen! One, two, three... twenty! One, two, three... twenty-one! One, two, three... twenty-two! One, two, three... twenty-three! One, two, three... twenty-four! One, two, three... twenty-five! One, two, three... twenty-six! One, two, three... twenty-seven! One, two, three... twenty-eight! One, two, three... twenty-nine! One, two, three... thirty! FADE TO BLACK 32 INT. BARRACKS--NIGHT We see a towel on a bed. A bar of soap is tossed on the towel. The towel is folded over the soap forming a weapon. A hand picks up the towel-weapon and bangs it on the mattress making a dull thud. PYLE is asleep in his bunk. The platoon silently slip out of their beds and form up around PYLE. A blanket is thrown over PYLE, each corner held down by a recruit, pinning PYLE to the bed. COWBOY shoves a gag in PYLE's mouth. PYLE is helpless. The platoon files past beating PYLE with the bars of soap wrapped in towels. PYLE's screams are muffled by the gag. JOKER is the last one. He stands back from the bed. COWBOY (to JOKER): Do it! Do it! [JOKER hesitates, then moves forward and hits PYLE hard several times. Then JOKER jumps into his bunk. The recruits yank the restraining blanket of PYLE and run back to their bunks.] COWBOY (removing gag): Remember, it's just a bad dream, fatboy. [PYLE sobs loudly and sits up, holding himself in pain. Lying in his bunk, JOKER covers his ears.] FADE IN: 33 EXT. PARADE DECK--DAY The platoon is lined up. HARTMAN: Port... hut! Left shoulder ... hut! Right shoulder ... hut! Port ... hut! Do we love our beloved Corps, ladies? RECRUITS (shouting in unison): Semper fi, do or die! Gung ho, gung ho, gung ho! [PYLE says nothing, just stares straight ahead.] HARTMAN: What makes the grass grow? RECRUITS: Blood, blood, blood! [PYLE stares. Does not join in the shouting.] HARTMAN: What do we do for a living, ladies? RECRUlTS: Kill, kill, kill! [PYLE remains silent.] HARTMAN: I can't hear you! RECRUITS: Kill, kill, kill! HARTMAN: Bullshit! I still can't hear you! RECRUITS: Kill, kill, kill! [PYLE continues to stare blankly ahead.] 34 EXT. BLEACHERS--DAY The platoon sits on bleachers facing HARTMAN. HARTMAN: Do any of you people know who Charles Whitman was? [No response.] HARTMAN: None of you dumbasses knows? [COWBOY raises his hand.] HARTMAN: Private Cowboy? COWBOY: Sir, he was that guy who shot all those people from that tower in Austin, Texas, sir! HARTMAN: That's affirmative. Charles Whitman killed twenty people from a twenty-eight-story observation tower at the University of Texas from distances up to four hundred yards. [HARTMAN looks around.] HARTMAN: Anybody know who Lee Harvey Oswald was? [Almost everybody raises his hand.] HARTMAN: Private Snowball? SNOWBALL: Sir, he shot Kennedy, sir! HARTMAN: That's right, and do you know how far away he was? SNOWBALL: Sir, it was pretty far! From that book suppository building, sir! [The recruits laugh at "suppository."] HARTMAN: All right, knock it off! Two hundred and fifty feet! He was two hundred and fifty feet away and shooting at a moving target. Oswald got off three rounds with an old Italian bolt action rifle in only six seconds and scored two hits, including a head shot! Do any of you people know where these individuals learned to shoot? [JOKER raises his hand.] HARTMAN: Private Joker? JOKER: Sir, in the Marines, sir! HARTMAN: In the Marines! Outstanding! Those individuals showed what one motivated marine and his rifle can do! And before you ladies leave my island, you will be able to do the same thing! [Camera slowly moves in on PYLE staring at HARTMAN.] 35 INT. BARRACKS--DAY Recruits standing at attention in two facing rows. HARTMAN walks between the rows, leading them in song. HARTMAN & RECRUITS: Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday, dear Jesus, Happy Birthday to you! HARTMAN: Today ... is Christmas! There will be a magic show at zero-nine-thirty! Chaplain Charlie will tell you about how the free world will conquer Communism with the aid of God and a few marines! God has a hard-on for marines because we kill everything we see! He plays His games, we play ours! To show our appreciation for so much power, we keep heaven packed with fresh souls! God was here before the Marine Corps! So you can give your heart to Jesus, but your ass belongs to the Corps! Do you ladies understand? RECRUITS: Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN: I can't hear you! RECRUITS: Sir, yes, sir! 36 INT. BARRACKS--NIGHT The recruits are seated on footlockers, cleaning their rifles. HARTMAN prowls among them, watching. PYLE talizs softly to his rifle. JOKER looks at him uneasily. PYLE (to his rifle): It's been swabbed.... and wiped. Everything is clean. Beautiful. So that it slides perfectly. Nice. Everything cleaned. Oiled. So that your action is beautiful. Smooth, Charlene. DISSOLVE TO: 37 INT. BARRACKS--NIGHT A few recruits, including PYLE, are mopping the floor. 38 INT. LATRINE--NIGHT In the latrine COWBOY and JOKER are also mopping the floor. JOKER stops, looks around to be sure they are alone, and turns to COWBOY. JOKER: Leonard talks to his rifle. COWBOY keeps mopping. COWBOY: Yeah! JOKER: I don't think Leonard can hack it anymore. I think Leonard's a Section Eight. Pause. COWBOY: It don't surprise me. They both go back to mopping. JOKER speaks again after some silence. JOKER: I want to slip my tubesteak into your sister. What'll you take in trade? COWBOY: What have you got? 39 EXT. FIRING RANGE--DAY HARTMAN kneels behind PYLE, looking on with approval. PYLE finishes a good group and reloads his M-14. HARTMAN: Outstanding, Private Pyle! I think we've finally found something that you do well! PYLE: Sir, yes, sir! 40 EXT. PARADE DECK--DAY HARTMAN inspects the recruits. HARTMAN (to JOKER): What's your sixth General Order? JOKER: Sir, the private's sixth general order is to receive and obey and to pass on to the sentry whorelieves me ... all orders ... Sir, the private's sixth ... Sir, the private has been instructed but he does not know, sir! HARTMAN: You slimy scumbag, get on your face and give me twenty-five! JOKER: Sir, aye-aye, sir! HARTMAN walks to PYLE. HARTMAN: How many counts in that movement you've just executed? PYLE: Sir, four counts, sir! HARTMAN: What's the idea of looking down in the chamber? PYLE: Sir, that is the guarantee that the private is not giving the inspecting officer a loaded weapon, sir! HARTMAN: What's your fifth general order? PYLE: Sir, the private's fifth general order is to quit my post only when properly relieved, sir! HARTMAN: What's this weapon's name, Private Pyle? PYLE: Sir, the private's weapon's name is Charlene, HARTMAN: Private Pyle, you are definitely born again hard! Hell, I may even allow you to serve as a rifleman in my beloved Corps. PYLE: Sir, yes, sir! 41 EXT. PARRIS ISLAND STREET--DAY HARTMAN double-timing the recruits, calling cadence. HARTMAN: I don't want no teenage queen. RECRUITS: I don't want no teenage queen. HARTMAN: I just want my M-14. RECRUITS" I just want my M-14. HARTMAN If I die in the combat zone. RECRUITS If I die in the combat zone. HARTMAN Box me up and ship me home. RECRUITS Box me up and ship me home. HARTMAN Pin my medals upon my chest. RECRUITS Pin my medals upon my chest. HARTMAN Tell my mom I've done my best. RECRUITS Tell my mom I've done my best. DISSOLVE TO: 42 EXT. FOREST--DAY Woods. For the first time the platoon marches in full combat gear carrying rifles. JOKER (narration) Graduation is only a few days away and the recruits of platoon thirty-ninety-two are salty. They are ready to eat their own guts and ask for seconds. 43 EXT. FIELD--DAY In full combat gear and with fixed bayonets, the recruits charge through green smoke. JOKER (narration) The drill instructors are proud to see that we are growing beyond their control. The Marine Corps does not want robots. The Marine Corps wants killers. The Marine Corps wants to build indestructible men, men without fear. 44 INT. BARRACKS--DAY HARTMAN talks to the recruits formed up in a school-circle. HARTMAN Today you people are no longer maggots. Today you are marines. You're part of a brotherhood. 45 EXT. PARADE GROUND--DAY Graduation. A marching band. Spectators. Hundreds of marines parade by in dress uniform. HARTMAN (voice over) From now on, until the day you die, wherever you are, every marine is your brother. Most of you will go to Vietnam. Some of you will not come back. But always remember this: marines die, that's what we're here for! But the Marine Corps lives forever. And that means you live forever! DISSOLVE TO: 46 INT. BARRACKS--DAY HARTMAN talks to the platoon, again in a school- circle. HARTMAN Pickett! PICKETT Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN O-three-hundred, Infantry. Toejam! TOEJAM Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN O-three-hundred, Infantry. Adams! ADAMS Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN Eighteen-hundred, Engineers. You go out and find mines. Cowboy! COWBOY Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN O-three-hundred, Infantry! Taylor! TAYLOR Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN O-three-hundred, Infantry. Joker! JOKER Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN Forty-two-twelve, Basic Military Journalism. You gotta be shitting me, Joker! You think you're Mickey Spillane? Do you think you're some kind of fucking writer? JOKER Sir, I wrote for my high school newspaper, sir! HARTMAN Jesus H. Christ, you're not a writer, you're a killer! JOKER A killer, yes, sir! HARTMAN Gomer Pyle! PYLE doesn't answer. HARTMAN Gomer Pyle! We see PYLE in close-up, now completely with- drawn, barely able to answer HARTMAN. PYLE Sir, yes, sir! HARTMAN You forget your fucking name? O-three- hundred, Infantry. You made it. Perkins! PERKINS Sir, yes, sir! 47 INT. BARRACKS--NIGHT The platoon sleeps. JOKER walks slowly down the squad bay with a flashlight. JOKER (Itarration) Our last night on the island. I draw fire watch. JOKER hears a muffled sound. He isn't sure where it comes from. He slowly enters the latrine. 48 INT. LATRINE--NIGHT Running his flashlight across the room JOKER Sees PYLE sitting on a toilet, loading a magazine for his M-14 rifle. PYLE looks up at JOKER and smiles. It is a frightening smile. PYLE (strange voice) Hi, Joker. JOKER stares at PYLE for a few seconds. PYLE has suite clearly snapped. JOKER Are those ... live rounds? PYLE Seven-six-two millimeter, full metal jacket. PYLE smiles grotesquely. JOKER Leonard .. . if Hartman comes in here and catches us, we'll both be in a world of shit. PYLE I am .. . in a world . . . of shit! PYLE gets to his feet, snaps his rifle to port arms, and starts executing the Manual ofArms. PYLE (shouting) Left shoulder ... hut! Right shoulder ... hut! Lock and load! Order ... hut! PYLE picks up the loaded magazine, inserts it into the rifle and smartly brings the rifle down to the order arms position. PYLE (shouting) This is my rifle! There are many like it, but this one is mine. 49 INT. BARRACKS HALLWAY--NIGHT By now the platoon is awake. HARTMAN bursts from his room, wearing his skivvies and D.I. hat. PYLE (offscreen) My rifle is my best friend! It is my life! HARTMAN Get back in your bunks! PYLE (o.s.) I must master it as I must master my life! Without me ... 50 INT. LATRINES--NIGHT HARTMAN Storms into the latrine. HARTMAN What is this Mickey Mouse shit? What in the name of Jesus H. Christ are you animals doing in my head? (to JOKER) Why is Private Pyle out of his bunk after lights out?! Why is Private Pyle holding that weapon? Why aren't you stomping Private Pyle's guts out? JOKER Sir, it is the private's duty to inform the Senior Drill Instructor that Private Pyie has a full magazine and has locked and loaded, sir! HARTMAN and PYLE look at each other. PYLE Smiles from the depths of his own hell. HARTMAN focuses all of his considerable powers of intimidation, into his best John- Wayne-on-Suribachi voice. HARTMAN Now you listen to me, Private Pyle, and,you listen good. I want that weapon, and I want it now! You will place that rifle on the deck at your feet and step back away from it. With a twisted smile on his face pyLE POintS his rifle at HARTMAN. HARTMAN look suddenly calm. His eyes, his manner are those of a wanderer who has found his home. HARTMAN What is your major malfunction, numbnuts?!! Didn't Mommy and Daddy show you enough attention when you were a child?!!! BANG! The round hits HARTMAN in the chest. He falls back dead. JOKER and PYLE stand looking at the body. Then PYLE looks at JoKER and slowly raises his rifle. JOKER (trembling) Easy, Leonard. Go easy, man. PYLE breathes heavily, and Keeps the rifle aimed at JOKER. JOKER is scared shitless. PYLE looks at JOKER for several seconds and slowly lowers the rifle. Then he stumbles back a few steps and sits down, heavily on the toilet. PYLE turns away from JOKER and stares into space, a strangely peaceful look transforming his face. He places the muzzle of the rifle in his mouth. JOKER No!!! BANG! PYLE pulls the trigger and blows the back of his head over the white tiled wall behind him. SCENE FADES TO BLACK