My Big Night Page #3

Synopsis: During the never-ending TV taping for a New Year's Eve program, peoples personal lives clash and eventually explode out into the open.
Genre: Comedy
Director(s): Álex de la Iglesia
  2 wins & 8 nominations.
 
IMDB:
6.0
Metacritic:
74
Rotten Tomatoes:
88%
NOT RATED
Year:
2015
100 min
21 Views


a friend gave you his semen

'cause you want to be

a single mother.

- Won't they ask for papers?

- Like what?

Just take the tube and pay them.

They don't give a sh*t.

It's like Boris Becker.

- True.

- That slut's loaded now.

And the kid's gorgeous.

What you are looking at?

Sorry, I couldn't help overhearing.

Keep your mouth shut.

I think you should reconsider.

Who are you to butt in?

Motherhood is sublime,

especially at your age.

What's he on about?

- Who's the father?

- As if we'd tell you.

It's not Alphonso?

The guy from the gym?

You know him?

No, Alphonso the singer.

With a "ph".

No way. This guy's cute.

Excuse me,

Alphonso is genetically perfect.

Whatever. This guy's younger.

Shut up, b*tch!

It's Adanne, isn't it?

"Fireman".

I can't tell you anything.

You always blab!

Alright...

Listen, I need applause.

Playtime's over.

I want everyone clapping.

Hurt your hands!

They used to do this so well.

You clapped for the singers

and they taped it.

Now it's done separately.

Singers on one side,

actors on the other.

It takes longer and it's fake.

You already told us you were in

New Year's Eve '74.

- Not again.

-And '75, '80, '85...

The Golden Age.

Now those were New Year's Eves.

And the artists! Pajares,

Mara Jos Cantudo, she was hot.

Who's that?

An historic figure

from the Transition.

Imagine being this close

to Tom Jones singing Delilah,

clapping hard, singing along...

with real drinks, not like this.

It brings tears to my eyes.

Me too, if you say it again.

Are you the "Chinaman"?

What?

- The man selling bottles.

- 50 bucks.

- I didn't tell you what I want!

- Everything costs 50.

Any Hendricks cucumber gin?

You're an idiot, kid.

Everyone laugh now.

Belly laughs.

More laughter, more.

That's it, laughter!

I can't take any more.

Okay, enough.

Now I need applause.

That's it.

Is it "Party1234?"

Okay, that's enough.

That's not the WiFi.

- Then what is it?

- There's no one left outside.

We're the last people alive.

A supertoxic virus killed everyone.

Everything is contaminated!

Locked in here forever,

and no WiFi!

Clapping until our hands bleed...

Josua, you're the dumbest guy

I've ever met.

Yeah, but you love it.

Don't jump the gun.

Save your energy.

Now we're doing "New Year".

When that "Happy 2016" lights up,

everyone hugs, claps,

toasting with champagne

and go for it.

Give it everything. Watch me.

- Are they a couple?

- No, they met here.

The first day they didn't

even talk to each other.

Let'go, you f***ers!

Now, you d*cks!

Go, you fucks!

Okay!

That's enough.

Good. Thanks a lot.

Okay, that's enough.

Enough...

Okay!

Okay!

Save your energy,

the night is young.

Yesterday we f***ed under the table!

Don't tell them!

You think we didn't notice?

You knocked over the glasses!

Even the turkey was shaking!

Good, but we're going again.

Sure, people have

nothing else to do.

It's only natural,

it's a long time.

- You're up close...

- You get bored.

...you talk, one thing

leads to another

- and you end up f***ing.

- Go, you f***ers!

Happy, that's it.

Go, you f***ers!

Happy New Year!

Okay!

Thanks, everyone.

Do we do that again?

The guy next to me

was a pain in the ass.

One and a half weeks

with the same people.

For hours.

Thank God you came.

Thanks.

We could end up making out.

Can you imagine that?

I like the way you kiss.

Really?

I don't kiss much.

Me neither.

It's this place:

it doesn't matter

what you do here.

It's all so absurd.

Yeah.

You can do whatever you want.

For example you and me.

If we'd met in a bar,

we would've never shown

each other our scars.

Right.

I'm considering

open heart surgery.

A scar from here to here.

What are you doing?

- What's wrong?

- You can't drink.

This is real whiskey.

- Where'd you get it?

- The Chinaman.

He steals it

from the dressing rooms.

He makes a killing.

Last year he stole Kate Moss' jacket

and got 2000 Euros on ebay.

And Naomi Campbell's panties?

- He kept them.

- He's wearing them!

I know what you're up to.

- Who, me?

- Yes, you.

Take them out.

What?

Cigarettes.

I said no smoking.

I'm going to the toilet.

Everyone wants to pee now!

You old ladies!

We'll never finish!

- Are you the magician?

- No.

Dani, you're gonna freak!

Some sluts just blew

that singer, Adanne.

The "Fireman" guy.

Yeah, me too.

No, I'm serious.

The b*tches have his juice in a jar

and want to get pregnant

so they can shake him down.

Incredible, eh?

I'll pass on the full story

to Luca, your Romanian pal.

How much could we ask for?

No, that's bullshit.

Imagine him on 'Survivor',

with paternity tests and sh*t.

Weeks of non-stop whining:

Is it true, is it a hoax...?

A soap,

trailer trash will love it.

F***.

Sh*t, look.

Dani, I got cut off.

We've hit the jackpot.

Then there's the kid's baptism,

first communion,

we make him a singer,

and when he's 8,

we tour him all over Spain.

I'm laughing my ass off.

Just the thought of it gets me hard!

Get Luca to bring the money.

It's a scandal.

Okay, fuckhead, call you later.

F***, these are good.

F***ing great.

No way!

Adanne will do the photocall but

he's not staying for the movie.

He's got the autistic kids gala

and the Loewe thing.

- Say he's already seen it.

- Sorry, kid,

I know I promised,

but we won't make the game.

People forget their lines

and we have to repeat it.

I'll put your mother on.

Sweetie, have you had dinner?

I've no idea when we'll finish.

Your father keeps improvising,

and you know he tries to

be funny and fails.

Sorry, did I tread on you?

See you tomorrow. Sleep tight!

Why are you here?

Are you mad?

I can't wait.

I want to do it now.

Now!!

He's in makeup,

you have to wait.

That's it. I'll hide...

then shoot him

and they'll arrest me.

That's not what we agreed!

We have to stick to the plan.

What plan?

What plan? scar, we've been

planning this for 3 months!

Go sit at your table

and calm down.

Did you take your meds?

The whole box, but no effect.

I've got a tic in my eye.

Can you see it?

You're fine.

Repeat after me:
I'm fine.

I'm fine.

I'm not fine.

How do you feel?

- Better.

- Good. What's the plan?

Kill Alphonso.

How are my little gals?

They said it's my turn.

- No, it's not.

- Why not come back later?

- Yes, tomorrow.

- But I'm singing today.

It was a mistake.

If you'd wait...

So you're Adanne, the "Fireman".

I wanted to meet you.

Alphonso.

You're backstage.

Alphonso has his back to you.

He always turns his back on me.

He never answered

any of my letters.

No, he has his back to you

because he's facing the audience.

Oh, okay. I get it.

A song begins.

It's My Big Night.

I'd rather it was Scandal.

I don't care what it is,

as long as you kill him!

I live my life, I am what I am.

Not again!

We don't choose the song.

It's the one they agreed on.

What do they know...?

What?

Sometimes, even I don't know what I want.

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Jorge Guerricaechevarría

Jorge Guerricaechevarría (born November 30, 1964 in Avilés, Asturias), also known as Guerrica, is a Spanish screenwriter. He won a Goya Award for the script of Cell 211, adapted from the novel of the same name by Francisco Pérez Gandul. He was also nominated for The Day of the Beast, La comunidad, and The Oxford Murders. In 2008, at the Basque film festival Zinemastea, he received an honorary award recognizing his career as a screenwriter. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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