Full Metal Jacket

FADE IN:

WARNER BROS. LOGO:

WARNER BROS. PICTURES

WB:

A WARNERMEDIA COMPANY

LOGO FLYS DOWN:

Music:

"Chug jug with you"

TITLE:
A STANLEY GOODMAN FILM

CUT:

TO:

TITLE:
FULL METAL JACKET 2

CUT TO:

1 INT. BARBERSHOP--PARRIS ISLAND MARINE BASE-DAY

Marine recruits are having their heads shaved with

electric clippers. The hair piles up on the floor.

And somebody sits in a wood house.

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? And the last time you did something last year!?

RECRUITS:

(in unison) Sir, yes, sir!

HARTMAN:

Bullshit! I can't hear you. Sound off like you got a pair. Today everybody is going to jail!

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 f***ing beings! You are nothing but unorganized grabasstic pieces of amphibian sh*t! 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 n*ggers, 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!

JOHN:

what are we doing today?

Sergeant HARTMAN stops in front of a black recruit, Private SNOWBALL.

HARTMAN:

What's your name, scumbag?

SNOWBALL:

(shouting) Sir, Private Brown, sir!

DAVID:

My name is David

HARTMAN:

Bullshit! From now on you're Private Snowball! Do you like that name?

DAVID:

(shouting) NO!

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!

JOHN:

Sir, NO, sir!

JOKER:

(whispering) Is that you, John Wayne? Is this me?

HARTMAN:

Who said that? Who the MOTHERF***ER said that? Who's the slimy

little communist sh*t twinkle-toed cocksucker down here, who just signed his own death warrant? Nobody, huh?! The fairy f***ing godmother said it! Out-fuckingstanding! I will P.T. you all until you f***ing die! I'll P.T. you until your a**holes are sucking buttermilk.

Sergeant HARTMAN grabs cowboy by the shirt.

HARTMAN:

Was it you, you scroungy little f***, huh?!

COWBOY:

Sir, no, sir!

HARTMAN:

You little piece of sh*t! You look like a f***ing 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 sh*t. What have we got here, a f***ing comedian? Private Joker? I admire your honesty. Hell, I like you. You can come over to my house and f*** 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 sh*t 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 don'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 f***ing 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 a**hole?!

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 sh*t 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! 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 much look like a steer to me, so that kinda narrows it down! Do you suck d*cks?

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 f*** a person in the ass and not even have the goddamn common courtesy to give him a reacharound! 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 d*cks?

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 f***ing time, sweetheart!

PYLE:

Sir, I'm trying, sir.

HARTMAN:

Private Pyle, I'm gonna give you three seconds--excactly three f***ing seconds--to wipe that stupid-looking grin off your face, or I will gouge out your eyeballs and skull-f*** 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.

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