Full Metal Jacket

PYLE

Sir, no, sir!

HARTMAN

That name sounds like royalty! Are you royalty?

PYLE

Sir, no, sir!

HARTMAN

Do you suck dicks?

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 fucking time, sweetheart!

PYLE

Sir, I'm trying, sir.

HARTMAN

Private Pyle, I'm gonna give you three seconds – exactly three fucking seconds – to wipe that stupid-looking grin off your face, or I will gouge out your eyeballs and skull-fuck 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.

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 fucking 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 offlike 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 fuck you up!

PYLE

Sir, yes, sir!

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 eight-week 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...

EXT. PRACTICE FIELD – SUNSET

Recruits, silhouetted against the sun, climbing ropes, nets and ladders.

HARTMAN

(offhand)

...till the running's done!

 RECRUITS

(offhand)

Gotta run all day till the running's done!

HARTMAN

(offhand)

Ho Chi Minh is a son-of-a-bitch!

RECRUITS

(offhand)

Ho Chi Minh is a son-of-a-bitch!

HARTMAN

(offhand)

Got the blueballs, crabs and the seven-year-itch!

RECRUITS

(offhand)

Got the blueballs, crabs and the seven-year-itch!

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. PARADE DECK – 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 Pyle hard across the right cheek, knocking his cap off.

HARTMAN

What side was that, Private Pyle?

PYLE
Sir, right side, sir.

HARTMAN

Don't fuck with me again, Pyle! Pick up your fucking cover!

PYLE

Sir, yes, sir!

DISSOLVE TO:

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.

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 pussy 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!

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!

INT. BARRACKS – NIGHT