Full Metal Jacket Page #2

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 f***ing 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 f*** 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 eightweek

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-b*tch!

RECRUITS:

Ho Chi Minh is a son-of-a-b*tch!

HARTMAN:

Got the blueballs, crabs and the seven-yearitch!

RECRUITS:

Got the blueballs, crabs and the seven-yearitch!

DISSOLVE TO:

5 EXT. PARADE WEDDING--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 pnE hard across the right

cheek,

Knocking his cap off:

HARTMAN:

What side was

that, Private Pyle?

PYLE:

Sir, right side, sir.

HARTMAN:

Don't f*** with me again, Pyle! Pick up

your f***ing

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 p*ssy 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 f***ing seconds! It should

take you no

more than ten f***ing 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 f***ing

seconds!

12 EXT.

"TOUGH ONE" OBSTACLE--DAY

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