Breakfast on Pluto Page #3

Synopsis: A young transwoman, Patrick "Kitten" Braden, comes of age in the 1970s. She leaves her Irish town, in part to look for her mother and in part because her transgender nature is beyond the town's understanding. She's taken in by a rock band, falls for the lead singer, has brushes with the IRA, is arrested by the London police, works in a peep show, and poses as a survey researcher for the phone company. Throughout, her nationality and her nature put her at great risk. In her search for her mother, she makes surprising discoveries of friendship and family. But, will she survive?
Genre: Comedy, Drama
Director(s): Neil Jordan
Production: Sony Pictures Classics
  Nominated for 1 Golden Globe. Another 6 wins & 16 nominations.
 
IMDB:
7.3
Metacritic:
59
Rotten Tomatoes:
56%
R
Year:
2005
128 min
£751,360
Website
1,850 Views


Sorry, Mammy, wherever you are.

Oh, stop it, Patrick, please!

Why won't you stop it

and let us get on with our lives?

I'm sorry, Caz. I never meant to hurt you.

-After all, we've both been through this--

-Get away!

Get your hands off me, you creature!

Oh, figgly boogles. What's the point?

That's it, I've tried my best. I'm off.

Are you going to Scotsfield, by any chance?

We'd better be. We're playing there tonight.

Get in the back.

Hello.

What do you think of this trouble up North?

-Oh, I think it's an absolute terror.

-Do you think so, yeah?

Oh, I do it.

A terror to the living world, so it is.

I don't think you care either way...

my good-Iooking young friend.

No, I know how serious it is.

They think they can break us, don't they?

Hang Paddy from the ceiling.

F*** him from a helicopter.

Give him a dose of white noise.

Shove electrodes up his arse.

-Now, really, Mr.--

-Hatchett. They call me Billy Hatchett.

Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hatchett.

You really don't know who I am, do you?

I haven't had the pleasure.

Do you hear that, lads? He's never heard

of Billy Hatchett and the Mohawks.

So, have you somewhere

to stay tonight, Paddy?

Or should I call you Patrick?

You can call me Kitten, darling.

Kitten?

After Saint Cettin.

He or she was an acolyte of Patrick,

Saint Patrick.

So you have somewhere to stay, then?

Mammy threw me out, I'm afraid.

Well, I could always put you up in the van.

-It's not much, but I could.

-Mr. Hatchett!

Thank you.

You're welcome, Kitten.

I'll be off to the hotel, then, Kitten.

I'd stay the night.

I'd stay the night, but the boys....

The boys might get the wrong idea.

No, I've gotta go.

-I've gotta go.

-Oh, please don't go just yet.

Oh, Kitten. I gotta go. I really have.

Billy! Billy, Billy.

It's Bobby Goldsboro.

Used to help me get to sleep.

His wife dies. You see,

she dies when he's away from home.

-Oh, Kitten, I've gotta go now.

-Billy.

I really have.

If you were away with the band...

and you came home

and you found me lying there...

like Bobby's wife....

What about it?

-Would you take me to the hospital?

-Oh, of course I would.

Of course I would, Kitten.

Oh, I wish that could happen.

I've seen it all now. I tell you,

I've f***ing well seen it all now.

Where the f***

do you think he disappeared to...

when we were in San Francisco?

I'd even bring you flowers.

-Roses?

-Roses.

Oh, Billy.

Oh, Kitten.

Billy.

For I ask you, Billy Bobby, nicest man...

what's an Indian band without a squaw?

"A squaw?"

-Name, please?

-Paddy Kitten. What's yours, darling?

I could tell you were a Paddy all right.

-What about Geronimo?

-What would I know? I'm just a Mick.

Thirteen of your lot shot in Derry.

What do you know about that?

Maybe you'd know about thirteen less

to deal with.

F*** off, mate.

F*** off.

Get off the f***ing stage, you stupid b*tch.

Patrick, I don't know how to say this to you.

It's the boys, the boys in the band.

They feel a squaw just isn't working out.

It could be they have a point.

They say it doesn't feel right.

I don't know,

they've been with me so long and....

I'm sorry.

But I have a little proposal.

-A ring, perhaps?

-Oh, Patrick, Patrick....

I told you not to call me that.

I'm sorry, Kitten.

Bobby Billy,

would you bring me sweeties, too?

You know I would.

-What kind would they be?

-Oh, for the love of Jesus.

-No. No, Quality Street.

-Quality Street?

It was my mother's.

She left it to me in her will.

Nobody stays here, and I need somebody

to look after it, Kitten.

-What do you reckon?

-House of dreams and longing.

I wouldn't exactly call it a house,

but tell us what you think.

Oh, to have a little house.

To own the hearth, stool and all.

So, Kitten, can I come and visit you

every now and again?

Of course you can,

you great, big, silly Bobby Goldsboro.

You don't even have to ask.

Well, goodness gracious, icky-oakie me.

-What?

-What's with Diana Ross?

Leave him be, he knows nothing.

-Keep it that way.

-No problem.

If I volunteer, Irwin,

could I have pink glasses, please?

Can't you take anything serious?

Oh, serious, serious, serious.

You might have to soon enough.

So f***ing what, Charlie?

I sell Republican News.

A few f***ing papers, big deal.

What are you, my f***ing wife?

Don't you lie to me, Irwin.

I don't believe your stories.

I'm involved in nothing! I sell their paper,

for all the difference it makes in this kip.

Nobody gives a f***!

Soon enough they f***ing will.

If I find out you're lying to me,

I'll finish with you, I swear!

Yeah, well, finish it with me,

see if I f***ing care!

Come on, move off the road.

There's a vehicle coming through.

Get back. It's for your own safety.

Get these people off the street!

I want everyone to move away

from the red van!

Come on, folks. Stand back, please. Move!

Bring it down careful now. Yeah, gently.

-Please, move back.

-Move back.

Now let the Army go to work.

Get back, now, get back.

Move back and clear the area.

-There may be other devices.

-You're to get away now. Get back, now.

Get away from the street.

Get off the street now.

Clear this area for your own safety.

Move back.

-It's a Dalek. Exterminate.

-Lawrence!

Exterminate. Exterminate.

Exterminate. Exterminate.

Exterminate.

Dust thou art,

and unto dust thou shalt return...

until the Lord raises you up on the last day.

Let us pray for our brother Lawrence

to our Lord Jesus Christ...

who said,

"I am the resurrection, and the life.

"The man who believes in me will live

even if he dies."

Our Father, who art in heaven,

hallowed be thy name.

Thy kingdom come...

thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

Serious, serious.

Time for some serious spring cleaning.

F***.

Don't you know what this means?

Do you know

what these guys are like, Paddy?

-Don't let this come between us, Billy.

-Shut up!

Jesus, what the f*** am I gonna do?

-F***ing Jesus!

-Tell them I was spring cleaning, darling.

Where are they, Paddy?

Tell me, where are they?

Now, what is this you mean, my darling?

The guns, you little f***ing whore,

where are they?

The guns! It's all too f***ing serious!

Don't go f***ing me around.

Oh, all of a sudden

everybody's getting serious.

Serious, serious, serious.

I'm not f***ing joking, Patrick!

-Where are they?

-I told you to call me Kitten.

Don't f***ing know me.

You don't know where I've gone.

And if they come, if they f***ing come,

you tell them nothing.

-I mean nothing.

-Whatever you say, darling.

You're way out of your league, Patrick.

You don't know what you're dealing with.

Don't f***ing know.

Oh, I do. I know, all right.

I know you were only joking

about the roses...

and sweets, too, probably.

But it was nice while it lasted.

Are you happy now?

Are you happy now

that you got what you wanted?

Now that they've bombed down here?

Are your Republican friends

good and happy...

Rate this script:4.5 / 2 votes

Neil Jordan

Neil Patrick Jordan is an Irish film director, screenwriter and novelist. He won an Academy Award for The Crying Game. He also won the Silver Bear for Best Director at the Berlin International Film Festival for The Butcher Boy. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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