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 Sarah Alexander QuotationMovie Title: Coupling (2000) as Susan: Steve : What is this? Susan : It's a cushion. Steve : Right. Yes. Thank you for that. Very informative. [to Jeff] Steve : You got any of these? Jeff : No. Steve : Of course you haven't. [to shop assistant] Steve : You - are you married? Living with anyone? Junior Shop Assistant : No. Steve : Got any of these? Junior Shop Assistant : No. Steve : Of course not. Okay! [to the women] Steve : You bring these things into our homes. They sit on our chairs. They watch our televisions. Now, I just need to know, on behalf of all men everywhere, I just need to ask, please... What are they for? I mean, look at them! Look at the chubby little bastards! Just sitting around everywhere! What are they, pets for chairs? [to shop assistants] Steve : Come on, you sell them. What are they for? Junior Shop Assistant : Well... Senior Shop Assistant : You sit on them. Steve : Ah! Ha ha ha! You see, that's where you're wrong! Nobody sits on them. Okay, watch this. Here's the cushion. I'm putting it on the sofa. Now watch me. I'm stting down. And what do I do on my final approach? I - oh! - move the cushion! You see? It's not involved! It's not part of the whole sitting process. It just lies there. It's fat litter! It's a sofa parasite! Jane : It's, you know... padding. Steve : Oh, padding! Now, that's interesting, Jane. See, I like padding. If I was, say, an American Football player, and all those big bastards running at me, I would say "give me some of that padding and be quick about it." If my job involved bouncing down jagged rocks I would say "in view of those jagged rocks down there, I'll have some of that padding, thank you very much." But Susan, Sally, Jane, this is a sofa. It is designed by clever scientists in such a way as to shield the unprotected user from the risk of skin abrasions, serious head trauma, and, of course... [drops behind sofa, then sticks head out] Steve : Daleks. Trust me girls, trust me on this one: you do not need padding to tackle upholstery. So please - once and for all, tell me why on Earth you would want me to sit on one of these? Susan : Because, if you pressed it firmly against your bottom, it might stop you talking! [Susan has removed the lock from the bathroom door, and doesn't understand why Steve is so upset about it] Susan : Men and toilets, the love that dare not speak its name. What's that about? Steve : [slams hand down] We are men! Throughout history, we have always needed, in times of difficulty, to retreat to our caves. It so happens that in this modern age, our caves are fully plumbed. The toilet is, for us, the last bastion, the final refuge, the last few square feet of man-space left to us! Somewhere to sit, something to read, something to do, and who gives a damn about the smell? Because that, for us, is happiness. Because we are *men.* We are different. We have only one word for soap. We do not own candles. We have never seen anything of any value in a craft shop. We do not own magazines fill of pictures of celebrities with all their clothes *on*. When we have conversations, we actually take it in turns to talk! But we have not yet reached that level of earth-shattering boredom and inhuman despair that we would have a haircut *recreationally*. We don't know how to get excited about... really, *really* boring things, like ornaments, bath oil, the countryside, vases, small churches. I mean, we do not even know what, *what* in the name of God's *ass* is the purpose of potpourri! Looks like breakfast, smells like your auntie! Why do we need that? So please, in this strange and frightening world, allow us one last place to call our own. This toilet, this blessed pot, this... fortress of solitude. You girls, you may go to the bathroom in groups of two or more. Yet we do not pass comment. We do not make judgement. That is your choice. But we men will always walk the toilet mile... alone. [audience applauds] Susan : Would you like me to put the lock back on the toilet door, dear? Steve : Would you mind? Susan : You should have asked. Jane : I don't know. I've just felt really horny lately. Let me tell you, if there weren't so many guys after me, you two would be in trouble. Sally : God, I don't think I could ever sleep with another woman. What if she had a smaller bottom than me? Susan : Excuse me! I'm on tape in my ex-boyfriend's closet, very nude and very pornographic. Where does bottoms fit in on the crisis scale? Sally : Bottoms are their own crisis scale. It's just amazing how they fallow you, but keep growing and growing and growing. I bet mine's having a secret snacking right now. Susan : Jane's breasts scare me. They're like Mickey Mouse's ears. No matter which way you turn, they're still facing you. Susan : Some men were born lucky. Some men were born very lucky. Sally : What was Patrick born? Susan : A tripod. [Susan is about to show the others one of her breasts] Susan : Well? Which one do you want? The left one or the right one? Patrick : The right one. [to others] Patrick : Trust me. Susan : Why? What's wrong with the left one? Patrick : Now, don't be like that. There has to be a second place. Susan : Well, I wasn't aware you were judging them individually! Patrick : You were asleep! I was bored! Jane : Do they really call me the one with the breast? Susan : Yes. Jane : Then what do they call you? Susan : Susan. Susan : Well, you know what it's like at the start, when they're all fiery-eyed, and eager, and they haven't seen you naked yet. And it's like he's smashing at your door with his mighty battering ram. And he's promising to ravish you forever. So you brace yourself for man overload, and throw open the doors, and what do you find standing there? An oversized toddler who wants his dinner. And before you can say, "There's been a terrible mistake," he's snoring on your sofa, the fridge is full of empty bottles and the whole place smells of feet. |
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