if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href by Jim Uhls based on a novel by Chuck Palahnuik People were always asking me, did I know Tyler Durden. TYLER has one arm around Jack's shoulder; the other hand holds a HANDGUN with the barrel lodged in JACK'S MOUTH. Tyler is sitting in Jack's lap. They are both sweating and disheveled, both around 30; Tyler is blond, handsome; and Jack, brunette, is appealing in a dry sort of way. Tyler looks at his watch. One minute. (looking out window) This is the beginning. We're at ground zero. Maybe you should say a few words, to mark the occasion. ... i... ann....iinn.. ff....nnyin... With a gun barrel between your teeth, you only speak in vowels. Jack tongues the barrel to the side of his mouth. (still distorted) I can't think of anything. With my tongue, I can feel the rifling in the barrel. For a second, I totally forgot about Tyler's whole controlled demolition thing and I wondered how clean this gun is. Tyler checks his watch. It's getting exciting now. That old saying, how you always hurt the one you love, well, it works both way. Jack turns so that he can see down -- 31 STORIES. We have front row seats for this Theater of Mass Destruction. The Demolitions Committee of Project Mayhem wrapped the foundation columns of ten buildings with blasting gelatin. In two minutes, primary charges will blow base charges, and those buildings will be reduced to smoldering rubble. I know this because Tyler knows this. Look what we've accomplised. (checks watch) Thirty seconds. Somehow, I realize all of this -- the gun, the bombs, the revolution -- is really about Marla Singer. PULL BACK from Jack's face. It's pressed against TWO LARGE BREASTS that belong to...BOB, 45, a moose of a man. Jack is engulfed by Bob in an intense embrace. Bob weeps openly. Bob had bitch tits. PULL BACK to wide on... Men are paired off, hugging, talking in emotional tones. Near the door, a SIGN on a stand: "REMAINING MEN TOGETHER." This was a support group for men with testicular cancer. The big moosie slobbering all over me was Bob. We're still men. Yes. We're men. Men is what we are. Six months ago, Bob's testicles were removed. Then hormone therapy. He developed bitch tits because his testosterone was too high and his body upped the estrogen. That was where my head fit -- into his huge, sweating tits that hung enormous, the way we think of God's as big. They're gonna have to open my pec's again to drain the fluid. Bob hugs tighter; then looks with empathy into Jack's eyes. Okay. You cry now. Jack looks at Bob. Wait. Back up. Let me start earlier. Jack lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. For six months. I could not sleep. Jack, sleepy, stands over a copy machine. His Starbucks cup sits on the lid, moving back and forth as the machine copies. With insomnia, nothing is real. Everything is far away. Everything is a copy of a copy of a copy. Other people make copies, all with Starbucks cups, sipping. Jack picks up his cup and his copies and leaves. Jack, sipping, stares blankly at a Starbucks bag on the floor, full of newspapers and FAST FOOD GARBAGE. When deep space exploration ramps up, it will be corporations that name everything. The IBM Stellar Sphere. The Philip Morris Galaxy. Planet Starbucks. Jack looks up as a pudgy man, Jack's BOSS, enters, Starbucks cup in hand, and slides a stack of reports on Jack's desk. I'm going to need you out-of-town a little more this week. We've got some "red-flags" to cover. It must've been Tuesday. he was wearing his "cornflower-blue" tie. (listless management speak) You want me to de-prioritize my current reports until you advise of a status upgrade? You need to make these your primary "action items." He was full of pep. Must've had his grande latte enema. Here are your flight coupons. Call me from the road if there are any snags. Your itinerary... Jack hides a yawn, pretends to listen. Jack sits on the toilet, CORDLESS PHONE to his ear, flips through an IKEA catalog. There's a stack of old Playboy magazines and other catalogs nearby. Like everyone else, I had become a slave to the IKEA nesting instinct. (into phone) Yes. I'd like to order the Erika Pekkari slip covers. Jack drops the open catalog on the floor. MOVE IN ON CATALOG -- ON PHOTO of COFFEETABLE SET... If I saw something like clever coffee table sin the shape of a yin and yang, I had to have it. PAN TO PHOTO of ARMCHAIR... Like the Johanneshov armchair in the Strinne green stripe pattern... The armchair APPEARS. PAN OVER next to armchair... Or the Rislampa wire lamps of environmentally-friendly unbleached paper. The lamps APPEAR. PAN OVER to wall... Even the Vild hall clock of galvanized steel, resting on the Klipsk shelving unit. The clock APPEARS as the shelving unit APPEARS on the wall. I would flip through catalogs and wonder, "What kind of dining set defines me as a person?" We used to read pornography. Now it was the Horchow Collection. A dining room set APPEARS. Jack, the cordless phone still glued to his ear, walks INTO FRAME and continues. No, I don't want Cobalt. Oh, that sounds nice. Apricot. Jack opens a cabinet, takes out a plate. I had it all. Even the glass dishes with tiny bubbles and imperfections, proof they were crafted by the honest, simple, hard-working indigenous peoples of wherever. He rummages through the refrigerator. It's practically empty. Jack takes out a jar of mustard, opens it and uses a butter knife to eat it. Jack, eyes puffy, face pale, sits before an INTERN, who studies him with bemusement. No, you can't die of insomnia. Maybe I died already. Look at my face. You need to lighten up. Can't you give me something? Red-and-blue Tuinal, lipstick-red Seconals. (overlapping w/ above) You need healthy, natural sleep. Chew valerian root and get some more exercise. The Intern ushes Jack to the door. They step into the... The Intern walks away from Jack, picks up a chart. I'm in pain. (facetious) You want to see pain? Swing by First Methodist Tuesday nights. See the guys with testicular cancer. That's pain. The Intern moves into the other room. Jack stares after him. Jack heads for the front door. Jack stares at a group of men, including Bob, who are all listening to a group member speak at a lectern. The SPEAKER has pale skin and sunken eyes -- he's clearly dying. I... wanted three kids. Two boys and a girl. Mindy wanted two girls and one boy. We never could agree on anything. The Speaker cracks a sad smile. Some men chuckle, happy to lighten the mood. Well, she had her first child a month ago, a girl, with her new husband... And, Thank God. I'm glad for her, because she deserves... The speaker breaks down, WEEPS UNCONTROLLABLY. Jack watches. A couple of the men go up to the speaker, comforting him, leading him away. A LEADER takes the stand. Everyone, let's thank Thomas for sharing himself with us. Jack, uncomfortable, joins EVERYONE ELSE: (in unison) Thank you, Thomas. I look around this room and I see a lot of courage. And it gives me strength. We give each other strength. Jack looks around. Many of the men are sniffling, sobbing. Jack squirms in his seat. It's time for the one-on-one. Let's follow Thomas's example and open ourselves. Everyone gets out of their chairs and begins pairing-off. Jack stands, uncomfortable. Can everyone find a partner? Bob, his chin down on his chest, starts toward Jack, shuffling his feet. The big moosie, his eyes already shrink-wrapped in tears. Knees together, invisible steps. Bob takes Jack into an embrace. Bob was a champion bodybuilder. You know that chest expansion program you see on TV? That was his idea. ...using steroids. I was a juicer. Diabonol, then, Wisterol -- it's for racehorses, for Christsake. Now I'm bankrupt, divorced, my two grown kids won't return my calls... Strangers with this kind of honesty make me go a big rubbery one. Bob breaks into sobbing, putting his head on Jack's shoulder and completely covering Jack's face. After a long beat of crying, Bob raises up his head, looks at Jack's NAMETAG. Go ahead, Cornelius. You can cry. They look at each other. Slowly, Jack's eyes grow wet. Then... something happened. I was lost in oblivion -- dark and silent and complete. Bob pulls Jack's head back into his chest. Jack tightens his arms around Bob. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom. Jack pulls away from Bob. On Bob's chest, there's a WET MASK of Jack's face from how he looks weeping. Babies don't sleep this well. Jack lies sound asleep. I became addicted. Jack moves into a "group hug" of sickly people, men and women. In view is a sign by the door "Free and Clear." Jack stands with a weeping middle-aged WOMAN. He begins to cry along with her. A sign by the door: "Onward and Upward." If I didn't say anything, people assumed the worst. They cried harder. I cried harder. Everyone, including Jack, sits back in their seats, EYES CLOSED. The Leader speaks into a microphone. Tonight, we're going to open the green door -- the heart chakra... I wasn't really dying, I wasn't host to cancer or parasites; I was the warm little center that the life of this world crowded around. ...And you open the door and you step inside. We're inside our hearts. Now, imaging your pain as a white ball of healing light. That's right, the pain itself is a ball of healing light. Jack, eyes closed, is silent... It moves over your body, healing you. Keep this going and step forward, through the back door of the room. Where does it lead? To your cave. Step forward into your cave. Jack walks along, moving through an ICE CAVERN... That's right. You're going deeper into your cave. And you're going to find your power animal... Jack comes upon a PENGUIN. The penguin looks at him, cocks his head to signal Jack forward. Slide. The penguin jumps onto a patch of ICE and slides away. Jack walks out a doorway, saying goodbye to people. He walks down the sidewalk, shining with peace. Every evening I died and every evening I was born again. Resurrected. Jack's still in an embrace with Bob. Bob loved me because he thought my testicles were removed too. Being there, my face against his tits, ready to cry -- this was my vacation. MARLA SINGER enters. She has short matte black hair and big, dark eyes like a character from japanese animation. And, she ruined everything. Marla looks around, raises a cigarette to her lips. This is cancer, right? Bob and Jack stare, dumbfounded. Everyone paired-off. MOVE THROUGH ROOM... FIND JACK'S FACE as he stares... MOVE THROUGH ROOM... FIND MARLA'S FACE. She's drinking coffee, smoking a cigarette. This ... chick ... Marla Singer ... did not have testicular cancer. She was a liar. Marla sits with the group, smoking, listening intently while a member speaks. Jack spies on her. She had no diseases at all. I had seen her at my melanoma Monday night group ... Marla sits at the end of a row, smoking. All the faces down the row are turned toward her, incredulous... ... and at "Free and Clear," my blood parasites group Thursdays. Jack leans out further than the others, scornful. -- And, again, at "Seize The Day," my tuberculosis Friday night. Jack watches... Marla's eyes are closed, her head on the shoulder of the MAN she's embraced by. She opens her eyes, catching Jack's stare. Jack looks away. Marla -- the big tourist. Her lie reflected my lie. Marla rests her chin on the man's shoulder. Tears roll down her cheeks. She wipes at them. Marla walks out, The support group's dispersing. Jack exits amongst them. He spots Marla walking away. And suddenly, I felt nothing. I couldn't cry. So, once again, I could not sleep. Jack stares after Marla for a long moment. He walks away. Jack, in underwear, is cross-legged on the floor, assembling IKEA furniture, CORDLESS PHONE shouldered to his ear. (into phone) No, I just can't believe that card is declined -- Okay, okay, let me give you a different card number. Jack gets his wallet off the floor, pulls out another card and, MOS over the following, he reads it into the phone. Next group, after guided meditation, after we open our chakras, when it's time to hug, I'm going to grab that little bitch, Marla Singer, pin her arms against her sides and say... CLOSE ON JACK as he CLAMPS his arms around Marla. Marla, you liar, you big tourist. I need this. Get out. Jack, in pajamas, stares at Home Shopping Network on his TV. When you have insomnia, you're never really asleep and you're never really awake. I hadn't slept in four days... Jack walks in and joins the crowd, looking around. People are chattering with each other. -- But, in here, in everyone, there's the squint of a five-day headache. Yet they forced themselves to be positive. They never said "parasite;" they said "agent." They always talked about getting better. Okay, everyone. Everyone sits in chairs. Jack catches sight of Marla. To open tonight's communion, Chloe would like to say a few words. Taking the lectern is CHLOE, a pale, sickly girl whose skin stretches yellowish and tight over her bones. She wears a head bondage. She clears her throat. Ahh, Chloe. Chloe looked the way Joni Mitchell's skeleton would look if you made it smile and walk around a party being extra nice to everyone. Well, I'm still here -- but I don't know for how long. That's as much certainty as anyone can give me. but I've got some good news -- I no longer have any fear of death. APPLAUSE from around the room. But... I am in a pretty lonely place. No one will have sex with me. I'm so close to the end and all I want is to get laid for the last time. I have pornographic movies in my apartment, and lubricants and amyl nitrate ... The LEADER gingerly takes control of the microphone. Thank you, Chloe. Everyone, let's thank Chloe. Thank you, Chloe. Now, you're standing at the entrance to your cave. You step inside your cave and you walk. Keep walking. Jack's face, eyes closed, is motionless. If I did have a tumor, I'd name it Marla. Marla...the little scratch on the roof of your mouth that would heal if only you could stop tonguing it, but you can't. Now, find your power animal. Jack finds Marla smoking a cigarette. Marla cocks her head, indicating whe wants him to -- Slide. Jack's eyes open and turn to Marla, watching her blow smoke rings with her eyes closed. Everyone stands and mills about, pairing-off. Pick someone special to you tonight. Jack sees the ghastly spectre of Chloe ambling towards him. He tries to smile. She smiles with a twisted, dying mouth. Hello, Mr. Tayler. I never gave my real name at support groups. Hi, Chloe. We've never actually talked. Chloe's eyes are eerily bright with desperation. Jack, in a sincere attempt at levity, chokes out: You look good. You ... look ... like a pirate. Chloe laughs, a little too much. Jack squeezes out a laugh. Then he sees Marla, off by herself. Someone heads for her. Excuse me, I have to... Jack gives a quick nod to Chloe and darts towards Marla. Chloe watches him go. STAY ON JACK AND MARLA as Jack CLAMPS his arms around her. He whispers into her ear. We need to talk. Sure. I'm on to you. You're a faker. You aren't dying. What? Okay, in the Sylvia Plath philosophy way, we're all dying. But you're not dying the way Chloe is dying. Tell the other person how you feel. You're a tourist. I saw you at melanoma, tuberculosis and testicular cancer. And I saw you practicing this... Practicing what? Telling me off. Is it going as well as you hoped... ? (reads his nametag) "... Mr. Taylor." I'll expose you. Go ahead. I'll expose you. Share yourself completely. Marla puts her head down on Jack's shoulder as if she were crying. Jack pulls her head back up. She deadpans at him. Why are you doing this? It's cheaper than a movie, and there's free coffee. These are my groups. I was here first. I've been coming for a year. A year? How'd you manage that? Anyone who might've noticed either died or recovered and never came back. Let yourself cry. Why do you do it? I... I don't know. I guess... when people think you're dying, they really listen, instead... -- Instead of just waiting for their turn to speak. Yeah. Brief recognition between them, broken as the Leader passes. Quietly, now. Share with each other. Jack waits till the Leader's out of earshot. (warning) It becomes an addiction. Really? Jack sighs, then pulls back. Look, I can't cry with a faker present. Candy-stripe a cancer ward. It's not my problem. Please. Can't we do something... ? Marla starts out of the room. Jack follows her. Now, the closing prayer. Marla gets to the sidewalk, moving quickly along. We'll split up the week. You can have lymphoma, tuberculosis and -- You take tuberculosis. My smoking doesn't go over at all. I think testicular cancer should be no contest. Well, technically, I have more of a right to be there than you. You still have your balls. You're kidding. I don't know -- am I? Jack follow Marla into... Marla walks with authority up to an unwatched DRYER. She takes out clothes, picks out jeans, pants and shirts. I'll take the parasites. You can't have both parasites. You can take blood parasites -- I want brain parasites. Okay. I'll take blood parasites and organic brain dementia -- I want that. You can't have the whole brain! So far, you have four and I only have two! Then, take blood parasites. It's yours. Now we each have three. Marla gathers the chosen garments and heads out past Jack... Jack follows, bewildered. You... left half your clothes. HONK! Jack starts. Marla's led him into the street with traffic barreling down. Marla walks on, oblivious as CARS screech to a halt, HORNS BLARING. Jack dashes, following... Marla drops the pile of clothes on a counter. An old CLERK sifts through the clothes, begins writing on a pad. You're selling those? Marla steps down hard on Jack's foot. He winces in pain. (for the Clerk to hear) Yes, I'm selling some chothes. The Clerk starts to ring up the assessed amounts. So, we each have three -- that's six. What about the seventh day? I want ascending bowel cancer. The girl had done her homework. I want ascending bowel cancer. The Clerk gives a strange look as he hands money to Marla. That's your favorite, too? Tried to slip it by me, eh? We'll split it. You get it the first and third Sunday of the month. Deal. They shake. Jack tries to withdraw his hand; Marla holds it. Looks like this is goodbye. Let's not make a big thing out of it. She walks to the door, pocketing money, not looking back. How's this for not making a big thing? Jack watches her go. A moment, then he follows after... Jack hesitates, unsure, then run/walks to catch up to her... Um... Marla, should we maybe exchange numbers? Should we? In case we want to switch nights. I suppose. Jack takes out a business card, writes his number on the back, hands it to her. She takes the pen, grabs his hand and writes her number on his palm. She walks into the street, causing more SCREECHING and HONKING. She turns, holds up the card. It doesn't have your name. Who are you? Cornelius? Mr. Taylor? Dr. Zaius? Any of the stupid names you give each night? Jack starts to answer, but the traffic noise is too loud. Marla just shakes her head, turns, and keeps moving. A BUS moves into view, obscuring her. This is how I met Marla Singer. The plane touches down; the cabin BUMPS. Jack's eyes open. You wake up at O'Hare. Jack snaps awake again, looking around, disoriented. You wake up at SeaTac. The rear of a CRASHED CAR sticks up by the side of the road. Jack stands, marking on a clipboard. The SUN SETS behind. Jack stands at a gate counter. An ATTENDANT smiles at him. Check-in for that flight doesn't begin for another two hours, Sir. Jack looks with blearing eyes at his watch, steps away and looks at an overhanging CLOCK. Pacific, Mountain, Central. Lose an hour, gain an hour. This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time. Jack's eyes snap open as the plane LANDS. You wake up at Air Harbor International. Jack stands on a conveyor belt, briefcase at his feet. He watches PEOPLE MOVING PAST on the opposite conveyor. If you wake up at a different time and in a different place, could you wake up as a different person? Jack misses seeing TYLER on the opposite conveyor belt. They pass each other. Jack sits next to a BUSINESSMAN. As they have idle CONVERSATION, we MOVE IN ON Jack's tray. An ATTENDANT'S HANDS set coffee down with a small container of cream. Everywhere I travel -- tiny life. Single-serving sugar, single-serving cream, single pat of butter. HANDS place a dinner tray down. Microwave Cordon Bleu hobby kit. Jack brushes his teeth in the MIRROR. Shampoo/conditioner combo. Single- serving mouthwash, tiny bar of soap. Jack picks up an individual, wrapped Q-TIP, looks at it. He moves out of the bathroom into... Jack sits on the bed. He turns on the TV. It's tuned to the "Sheraton Channel," shows WAITERS serving people in a large BANQUET ROOM. Jack stops brushing his teeth, feels something on the bed, lifts it -- a small DINNER MINT. Jack sits next to a frumpy WOMAN. They chat. Jack turns to look at his food, takes a bite. He turns back and it's... --a BALD MAN next to him, talking. Jack takes another bite, turns back and it's... --a BUSINESSMAN next to him. Jack takes another bite, turns back, and it's... --a BUSINESS WOMAN next to him. The people I meet on each flight -- they're single-serving friends. Between take-off and landing, we have our time together, but that's all we get. Jack's eyes snap open. You wake up at Logan. A giant corrugated METAL DOOR opens. On a long enough time line, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero. Two TECHNICIANS lead Jack to the BURNT-OUT SHELL of a WRECKED AUTOMOBILE. Jack sets down his briefcase, opens it and starts to make notes on a CLIPBOARDED FORM. I'm a recall coordinator. My job is to apply the formula. It's a story problem. Here's where the infant went through the windshield. Three points. A new car built by my company leaves somewhere traveling at 60 miles per hour. The rear differential locks up. The teenager's braces around the backseat ashtray would make a good "anti-smoking" ad. The car crashes and burns with everyone trapped inside. Now: do we initiate a recall? The father must've been huge. See how the fat burnt into the driver's seat with his polyester shirt? Very "modern art." Take the number of vehicles in the field, (A), and multiply it by the probable rate of failure, (B), then multiply the result by the average out-of-court settlement, (C). A times B times C equals X... Jack is speaking to the BUSINESSWOMAN next to him. If X is less than the cost of a recall, we don't do one. Are there a lot of these kinds of accidents? Oh, you wouldn't believe. ... Which... car company do you work for? A major one. Turgid silence. Jack turns to the window. He sees a PELICAN get SUCKED into the TURBINE. Every time the plane banked too sharply on take-off or landing, I prayed for a crash, or a mid-air collision -- anything. Jack's face remains bland during the following: the plane BUCKLES -- the cabin wobbles. People panic. Masks drop. No more haircuts. Nothing matters, not even bad breath. The side of the plane SHEARS OFF! Screaming PASSENGERS are sucked out into the night air, flying past the quivering wind. Magazines and other objects fly everywhere. Life insurance pays off triple if you die on a business trip. Jack remains in his same position, same bland expression. DING! -- the seatbelt light goes OUT. Jack SNAPS AWAKE. EVERYTHING IS NORMAL. Some passengers get out of their seats. From next to Jack, a VOICE we've heard before... There are three ways to make napalm. One, mix equal parts of gasoline and frozen orange juice... Jack turns to see TYLER. Without turned to Jack, Tyler continues: Two, equal parts gasoline and diet cola. Three, dissolve kitty-litter in gasoline until the mixture is thick. Pardon me? Tyler turns to Jack. This is how I met -- Tyler Durden. Tyler offers his hand. Jack takes it. You know why they have oxygen masks on planes? No, supply oxygen? Oxygen gets you high. In a catastrophic emergency, we're taking giant, panicked breaths... Tyler grabs a safety instruction CARD from the seatback, hands it to Jack. Suddenly, we become euphoic and docile. We accept our fate. Tyler points to passive faces on the drawn figures. Emergency water landing, 600 miles per hour. Blank faces -- calm as Hindu cows. Jack laughs. What do you do, Tyler? What do you want me to do? I mean -- for a living. Why? So you can say, "Oh, that's what you do." -- And be a smug little shit about it? Jack laughs. Tyler reaches under the seat in front of him and lifts a BRIEFCASE. You have a kind of sick desperation in your laugh. Jack points to his own briefcase. We have the same briefcase. Tyler turns the top of his briefcase toward Jack. Open it. Jack looks at Tyler, then pops the latches and raises the lid to reveal quaintly-wrapped bars of SOAP. Soap -- the yardstick of civilization. (reaches in his pocket) I make and sell soap... Tyler hands Jack his card. "THE PAPER STREET SOAP COMPANY." If you were to add nitric acid to the soap-making process, one would get nitroglycerin. With enough soap, one could blow up the world, if one were so inclined. Tyler SNAPS the briefcase shut. Jack stares. Tyler, you are by far the most interesting "single-serving" friend I've ever met. Tyler stares back. Jack, enjoying his own chance to be witty, leans closer to Tyler. You see, when you travel, everything is small, self-contained-- The spork. I get it. You're very clever. Thank you. How's that working out for you? What? Being clever. (thrown) Well, uh... great. Keep it up, then. Keep it right up. Tyler stands, looks towards the aisle. ... As I squeeze past, do I give you the ass or the crotch? Tyler moves to the aisle, his ass toward jack, walks away... We are defined by the choices we make. Tyler goes to the curtain dividing First Class, slaps the curtain aside and sits in an empty seat. Jack watches. How I came to live with Tyler is: airlines have this policy about vibrating luggage. Utterly empty of baggage. No people except for Jack and a SECURITY TASK FORCE MAN. The Security TFM, smirking, holds a receiver to his ear from an official phone on the wall. (to Jack) Throwers don't worry about ticking. Modern bombs don't tick. Excuse me? "Throwers?" Baggage handlers. But when a suitcase vibrates, the throwers have to call the police. My suitcase was vibrating? Nine time out of ten, it's an electric razor. But, every once in a while ... (whispers) ...it's a dildo. It's airline policy not to imply ownership in the event of a dildo. We use the indefinite aricle: "A dildo." Never "Your dildo." Jack sees, through the window, Tyler, at the curb, throwing his briefcase into the back of a shiny, red CONVERTIBLE. Tyler leaps over the door into the driver's seat and PEELS OUT. jack turns away, looks at the Security TFM. In the background, a HARRIED MAN dashes after Tyler and the convertible, SCREAMING. (to Security TFM) I had everything in that bag. My C.K. shirts... my D.K.N.Y. shoes... (into phone) Yeah, uh huh... yeah? (pause, still on phone) Oh... A lone SUITCASE sits on the concrete. SECURITY PERSONNEL keep their distance. KABOOM! The suitcase explodes. The Security TFM, shakes his head, hangs up. I'm terribly sorry. The Security TFM hands Jack a claim form. Jack snatches it, disgusted, takes out a pen, starts filling out the form. You know the industry slang for "Flight Attendant?" "Air Mattress." Along a residential street. Jack looks ahead, sees a tall, grey, bland BUILDING on the corner. Home was a condo on the fifteenth floor of a filing cabinet for widows and young professionals. The walls were solid concrete. A foot of concrete is important when your next- door neighbor lets her hearing aid go and has to watch game shows at full volume... The taxi turns a corner and Jack sees the front of the building. A diffuse CLOUD of SMOKE wafts away from a BLOWN- OUT SECTION of the fifteenth floor. FIRETRUCKS, POLICE CARS and a MOB are all crowded around the lobby area. -- Or when a volcanic blast of debris that used to be your furniture and personal effects blows out your floor- to-ceiling windows and sails flaming into the night. Jack, gaping at the sight above him, absently gives the Cabbie money. The taxi pulls away. Jack starts toward the building. He pushes through the fray of people, into the... The DOORMAN sees Jack enter, gives a sad smile, shakes his head. Jack starts for the elevator. There's nothing up there. Jack presses the button. The Doorman moves next to him. You can't go into the unit. Police orders. The elevator doors open. Jack hesitates. The doors close. Jack heads out the lobby doors. The Doorman follows... Jack walks past SMOKING, CHARRED DEBRIS -- a flash of ORANGE from the Yang table, a CLOCK FACE from the hall clock, part of an arm from the GREEN ARMCHAIR. His feet CRUNCH glass. How embarrassing. Do you have somebody you can call? Jack comes to his REFRIGERATOR lying on its side. He reaches down and takes a note: "MARLA --" and a phone number, from under a BANANA MAGNET. Hissing. The police would later tell me that the pilot light might have gone out... letting out just a little bit of gas. Jack gets to a PAYPHONE. The Doorman follows, watching him. Lots of young people try to impress the world and buy too many things. Jack picks up the receiver, puts in a quarter. He looks at Marla's number a long moment. The SOUND of the HISS... The gas could have slowly filled the condo. Seventeen-hundred square feet with high ceilings, for days and days. Jack replaces the receiver. He pockets Marla's number, digs out a small FILOFAX. He flips through the pages for phone numbers and addresses. Most of the pages are blank. Many young people feel trapped and desperate. Then, the refrigerator's compressor could have clicked on... Click. KABOOM! SCREEN GOES WHITE. Jack looks at the Doorman. Tyler's BUSINESS CARD falls from the Filofax. Jack catches it. If you don't know what you want, you end up with a lot you don't. The Doorman walks away. Jack stares at Tyler's card. If you asked me now, I couldn't tell you why I called him. Jack re-deposits the quarter, dials Tyler's number. It RINGS... and RINGS and RINGS. Jack sighs and hangs up the phone. A moment, then the phone RINGS. Hello? Who's this? Tyler? Who's this? Uh... I'm sorry. We met on the plane. We had the same briefcase. I'm... you know, the clever guy. Oh, yeah. I just called a second ago. There was no answer. I'm at a payphone. I star-sixty-nined you. I never pick up my phone. What's up? Well... let me see... here's the thing... A small building in the middle of a concrete parking lot. Jack and Tyler sit in the back, with a pitcher of BEER. You buy furniture. You tell yourself: this is the last sofa I'll ever need. No matter what else happens, I've got the sofa issue handled. Then, the right set of dishes. The right dinette. This is how we fill up our lives. Tyler lights a cigarette. I guess so. And, now it's gone. All gone. Tyler offers cigarettes. Jack declines. Could be worse. A woman could cut off your penis while you're asleep and toss it out the window of a moving car. There's always that. I don't know, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's a terrible tragedy. ...no ...no ... I mean, you did lose a lot of nice, neat little shit. The trendy paper lamps, the Euro-trash shelving unit, am I right? Jack laughs, nods. He shakes his head, drinks. But maybe, just maybe, you've been delivered. (toasts) Delivered from Swedish furniture. Delivered from armchairs in obscure green stripe patterns. Delivered from Martha Stewart. Delivered from bullshit colors like "Cobalt," "Ebony," and "Fuchsia." They laugh together. Then, silence. They drink. Insurance'll cover it. Oh, yeah, you gotta start making the list. What list? The "now I get to go out and buy the exact same stuff all over again" list. That list. I don't... think so. This time maybe get a widescreen TV. You'll be occupied for weeks. Well, I have to file a claim... The things you own, they end up owning you. Don't I? Do what you like. (looks at watch) God, it's late. I should find a hotel... A hotel? Yeah. So, you called me up, because you just wanted to have a drink before you... go find a hotel? I don't follow... We're on our third pitcher of beer. Just ask me. Huh? You called me so you could have a place to stay. No, I... Why don't you cut the shit and ask if you can stay at my place? Would that be a problem? Is it a problem for you to ask? Can I stay at your place? Yes, you can. Thank you. You're welcome. But, I want you to do me one favor. What's that? I want you to hit me as hard as you can. What? I want you to hit me as hard as you can. Freeze picture. Let me tell you a little bit about Tyler Durden. -- And we see it's PORNOGRAPHY. Jack, in the foreground, FACES CAMERA. In the BACKGROUND, Tyler sits at a bench, looking at individual FRAMES cut from movies. Near him, a PROJECTOR rolls film. Tyler was a night person. He sometimes worked as a projectionist. A movie doesn't come in one big reel, it's on a few. In old theaters, two projectors are used, so someone has to change projectors at the exact second when one reel ends and another reel begins. Sometimes you can see two dots on screen in the upper right hand corner... Tyler points to the side of OUR FRAME and the TWO DOTS briefly APPEAR ONSCREEN. They're called "cigarette burns." It's called a "changeover." The movie goes on, and nobody in the audience has any idea. Why would anyone want this shitty job? It affords him other interesting opportunities. -- Like splicing single frames from adult movies into family films. In reel three, right after the courageous dog and the snooty cag -- who have celebrity voices -- eat out of a garbage can, there's the flash of Tyler's contribution... In the AUDIENCE, CHILDREN suddenly start squirming, confused, looking at each other. A WOMAN abruptly stops sucking her soda straw, feeling vaguely terrible. Her uncomfortable HUSBAND slowly leans back in his seat. Jack and Tyler watch from the projection booth window. One-forty-eighth of a second. That's how long it's up there. No one really knows that they've seen it. But they did. A nice, big cock. Only a hummingbird could have caught Tyler at work. Tyler moves around one of many tables, setting down SOUP BOWLS. Jack stands in the same position, FACING CAMERA. Tyler also worked as a banquet waiter at the luxurious Pressman Hotel. The GUESTS command the WAITERS with snaps of fingers. Jack turns and WE PAN to Tyler, standing by a CART with a giant SOUP TUREEN. His hands are at his open fly and he's in position to piss into the soup. He was the guerrilla terrorist of the food service industry. Don't watch. I can't if you watch. Jack waits. The SOUND of a STREAM of LIQUID is HEARD. ... Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. He farted on meringue; he sneezed on braised endive; and, with creme of mushroom soup, well... Go ahead. Say it. You get the idea. Tyler and Jack come out the back door. I don't know about this. I don't know, either. I want to find out. I've never been hit, have you? No. That's a good thing, isn't it? I don't want to die without any scars. How much can you really know about yourself if you've never been in a fight? Come on... you're the only person I've ever asked. Me? Jack stares at him. Why not you? I'm letting you go first. Do it. This is crazy. Alright, go crazy. Let 'er rip. Where do you want it? In the face? Surprise me. Jack swings a wide, clumsy roundhouse -- hits Tyler's neck -- makes a dull, flat sound. Shit. Sorry. That didn't count. Like hell. That counted. Tyler shoots out a straight punch to Jack's chest. Jack falls back against a car. His eyes tear up. How do you feel? Strange. But a good strange. Is it? We've crossed the threshold. You want to call it off? Call what off? The fight. What fight? This fight, pussy. Jack swings another roundhouse that slams right under Tyler's ear. Tyler punches Jack in the stomach. Tyler and Jack move clumsily, throwing punches. They breathe heavier, drooling saliva and blood, growing dizzier from every impact. Jack and Tyler sit on the curb, watching sparse headlights on the nearby freeway. Their eyes are glazed with endorphin- induced serenity. They look at each other, laugh. Look away. If you could fight anyone... one on one, whoever you wanted, who would you fight? Anyone? Anyone. Jack thinks. My boss, probably. (pause) Who would you fight? My dad. No question. A long pause as Jack studies Tyler's face. Oh, yeah. (nodding) I didn't know my dad. Well, I knew him, till I was six. He went and married another woman, had more kids. Every six years or so he'd do it again -- new city, new family. He was setting up franchises. My father never went to college, so it was really important that I go. I know that. After I graduated, I called him long distance and asked, "Now what?" He said, "Get a job." When I turned twenty-five, I called him and asked, "Now what?" He said, "I don't know. Get married." Same here. A generation of men raised by women. I'm wondering if another woman is the answer we really need. Another pause. Jack feels his bleeding lip, smiles. We should do this again sometime. Tyler cracks a smile, give a sidelong glance to Jack. A street sign: "PAPER STREET." A PAPER MILL stis on one side, facing a lone HOUSE on the other. The rest of the land is grass and weeds. It's a grand, old three-story, long abandoned. Tyler leads Jack toward it. Where's your car? What car? I don't know how Tyler found the house, but he'd been there for half a year. Tyler leads Jack through the FRONT DOOR... It looked like it was waiting to be torn down. Most of the windows were boarded up. Tyler and Jack climb CREAKY STAIRS to the 2ND FLOOR LANDING. None of the doors locked. The stairs were ready to collapse. I didn't know if he owned it or he was squatting. Tyler opens the door to a ROOM... Jack enters, stis on the creaky BED. Dust drifts upwards. Neither would have surprised me. Jack turns on the water. LOUD VIBRATIONS from the walls. Water spits in starts. Nothing worked. The rusty plumbing leaked. Turning on a light meant another light in the house went out. All the tavern's lights are off. Tyler and Jack FIGHT. FIVE GUYS stand around watching. Jack, his face showing NEW BRUISES AND CUTS, makes coffee with a wire-mesh strainer. Tyler shuffles in, wearing a flannel bathrobe. He spears pieces of bread on a fork, starts roasting them over a burner. There were no neighbors. Just warehouses and the paper mill. The fart smell of steam, the hamster cage smell of wood chips. Jack sits watching as Tyler SWINGS an old GOLF CLUB -- THWACK -- sends a golf ball soaring down the desolate street. At night, Tyler and I were alone for half a mile in every direction. All the lights are off. TEN GUYS YELL, standing around Jack and Tyler, who FIGHT. THREE CARS are parked in the lot. Jack sits on basement stairs, watching as Tyler, knee-deep in water, works at an open FUSEBOX, flipping breakers in a certain order, showing Jack how it's done. When it rained, we had to kill the power. By the end of the first month, I didn't care about TV. I didn't mind the warm, stale refrigerator. CANDLES BURN. Tyler and Jack are seated across from each other on the buckled floor, reading MAGAZINES. Rain DRIPS from the ceiling. No furniture. THOUSANDS of MAGAZINES. The previous occupant had been a bit of a shut-in. (of magazine) Hum. What? Oh, a new riot control grenade... (reading) "...the successful combination of concussive, 3000 foot-candle flash- blasts and simultaneous high-velocity disbursement of...blah, blah, blah..." Tyler begins RIPPING the ARTICLE from his magazine. ("Reader's Digest") "I am Joe's Lungs." It's written in first person. "Without me, Joe could not take in oxygen to feed his red blood cells." There's a whole series -- "I am Joe's Prostate." "I get cancer, and I kill Joe." Tyler tosses his article in a pile of other articles, chooses another magazine. What are you reading? Soldier of Fortune. Business Week. New Republic. Show-off. All the lights are off. Jack and Tyler stand amidst FIFTEEN GUYS around TWO GUYS FIGHTING. The crowd YELLS MORE WILDLY than before. In the background are EIGHT PARKED CARS. I should have been haggling with my insurance company. I should have been looking for a new condo... Jack walks along. He stops, looking at a CHURCH with SUPPORT-GROUP-PEOPLE milling around the entrance, drinking coffee and sodas. Marla's there, amongst them, smoking. .... I should have been upset about my nice, neat, flaming little shit. Jack's face shows no reaction. He continues to walk. But I wasn't. Jack, in work clothes, interlocks his fingers and POPS his knuckles, picks up a saucepan with coffee and sips. Tyler, in waiter's uniform, comes to have Jack straighten his tie. Most of the week, we were Ozzie and Harriet. Jack picks up his briefcase and walks out the door. But, Wednesday night, ever Wednesday night... All the lights are off. No one around, but there are at least TWENTY-FIVE CARS parked in the full lot. ... we were finding something out: we were finding out, more and more, that we were not alone. A SLIDE SHOW progresses, run by a chipper salesman, WALTER. Jack sits, deadpan, with a PUFFY LIP and a BRUISED cheek. Thursday mornings, all I could do was think about next week. Boss gives Jack a dubious look. Walter's next SLIDE: a The basic premise of cyber-netting your office is -- make things more efficient. Can I get the icon in cornflower blue? Absolutely. Walter continues, his sales pitch drowned out by Jack's V.O.: Walter, the Microsoft account exec. Walter, with his smooth, soft hands. Maybe he was thinking about the free- range potluck he'd been to last weekend, or his church-group car-wash fund-raiser. Or, probably not. Walter moves to Jack and slaps him in the shoulder. I showed this already to my man here. You liked it, didn't you? Jack smiles. His teeth are RED with BLOOD. They GLOW eerily in the dim light. You can swallow a pint of blood before you get sick. Jesus, I'd hate to see what happened to the other guy. Jack keeps the smile frozen on his face. Screw Walter. His candy-ass wouldn't last a second Wednesday night. Out of silent darkness, HEADLIGHTS appear from all directions. CARS PULL UP and park in the already-packed lot. YOUNG MEN get out and march into the tavern... The men, including Jack and Tyler, enter and stand against the back wall, waiting. The bartender, IRVINE, calls out: Drink up people. We're closing. Irvine flicks on the LIGHTS. Drunken customers squint and get the message. They plop down money, leaving. It was right in everyone's face. Tyler and I just made it visible. Irvine hits a button and the JUKEBOX loses power. Members of the waiting army begins to share secret looks. Finally, one buy locks the door. Two other guys close the blinds. It was on the tip of everyone's tongue. Tyler and I just gave it a name. A BOMB-SHELTER. Concrete walls. One BARE BULB above, Tyler standing directly beneath it. Welcome to fight club. The guys mill around, finding partners. Everyone brims with eagerness, but tries to act cool. CHATTER gets LOUDER. Everyone spreads out, forming a circle, Tyler at center. Every week, Tyler gave the rules that he and I decided. PEAKING CHATTER, till Tyler raises his arms and the CHATTER DIES. A couple of COUGHS, FEET SHUFFLING, then, SILENCE. The first rule of fight club is -- you don't talk about fight club. The second rule of fight club is -- you don't talk about fight club. The third rule of fight club is -- when someone says "stop" or goes limp, the fight is over. Fourth rule is -- only two guys to a fight. Fifth rule -- one fight at a time. Sixth rule -- no shirts, no shoes. Seventh rule -- fights go on as long as they have to. And the eighth and final rule -- if this is your first night at fight club, you have to fight. Tyler steps back. A short guy, RICKY, and a GOATEED MAN take off shirts and shoes and step to the center. This kid, Ricky -- supply clerk -- couldn't remember whether you ordered pens with blue ink or black ink ... The two fighters circle, then begin throwing PUNCHES... But Ricky was a god for ten minutes last week when he trounced an actuary twice his size. Harder, faster PUNCHES between the two. SWEAT flies. SHOUTS become DEAFENING. Ricky's getting the best of Goateed Man, POUNDING him... Sometimes all you could hear were flat, hard packing sounds over the yelling, or the wet choke when someone caught their breath and sprayed... (spittle-lipped) Ssssstop... ! Jack, eating lunch, watches the BROKEN-NOSED WAITER with a GOATEE -- from the above fight -- converse with a MAITRE D'. Even if I could tell someone they had a good fight, I wouldn't be talking to the same man. The Goateed Waiter approaches Jack and sets a refill soda down on the table. The two of them briefly make eye contact. Who you were in fight club is not who you were in the rest of the world. Jack stands over a copy machine, hit by flashes of light. He glances over his shoulder, watches Ricky, wearing an apron, push a supply cart. Ricks nods at Jack. You weren't alive anywhere like you were there. But fight club only exists in the hours between when fight club starts and when fight club ends. Jack, playing SOLITAIRE on his computer, daubs blood from his mouth with a handkerchief. Boss, passing by the doorway, looks in at Jack, irritated. What are you getting yourself into every week? Jack keeps playing Solitaire. Boss enters, folds his arms. After fight club, everything else in your life gets the volume turned down. You can deal with anything. Have you finished those reports? (handing him reports) Yes. The people who had power over you have less and less. Jack looks at Boss. Reflexively, Jack's tongue plays with his teeth. By this point, I could wiggle most of the teeth in my jaw. Tyler and Jack walk, both smoking cigarettes. A guy came to fight club for the first time, his ass was a wad of cookie dough. After a few weeks, he was carved out of wood. If you could fight any celebrity? Alive or dead? Doesn't matter. Hemingway. You? Shatner. William Shatner. They reach a BUS STOP as a BUS arrives, tossing their cigarettes, getting on board... The bus is crowded. As Tyler and Jack walk toward the back, Jack studies the faces of OTHER PASSENGERS... We all started seeing things differently. Wherever we went. They hold hand grips. Jack looks up at an ADVERTISEMENT; a CALVIN KLEIN ad featuring a tan, bare-chested MUSCLE STUD. I felt sorry for all the guys packing into gyms, trying to look like what Calvin Klein and Tommy Hilfiger said they should. Tyler looks at Jack, looks at the C.K. advertisement. Self-improvement is masturbation. Self-destruction is the answer. A MAN in a suit KNOCKS Tyler's shoulder as he passes. The Man takes a handle, close by. Jack's pissed, staring at the man, who stares back. (to Tyler, so the Man can hear) You could take him. Tyler looks to Jack, glances over his shoulder at the Man. Tyler casually picks a small scab off Jack's nostril. The trick is not to care. Tyler stares forward. Tyler HITS the floor, stomach first. HIS OPPONENT lands on top of him, grappling, trying for a CHOKE HOLD. The surrounding CROWD, Jack included, SCREAMS at them... Tyler and the Opponent wrestle desperately, and Tyler flips his attacker, gets on top, sprawling to pin him. Tyler turns -- starts reining PUNCHES into the Opponent's GROIN... Jack lands a couple of BLOWS to HIS OPPONENT'S stomach -- brings up a left uppercut that smashes the Opponent's jaw. Tiny spatters of BLOOD adorn the walls, along with sweat. Jack catches sight of a swollen-faced Tyler, watching appreciatively, a smile growing slowly on his face. Fight club wasn't about winning or losing. It wasn't about words. The Opponent recovers, throws a headlock on Jack. Jack snakes his arm into a counter headlock. They wrestle like wild animals. The crowd CHEERS maniacally. They hysterical shouting was in tongues, like at a Pentecostal church. Onlookers kneel to stay with the fight, cheering LOUDER. The Opponent SMASHES Jack's head to the floor, over and over. ... stop... When the fight was over, nothing was solved, but nothing mattered. Everyone moves in as the Opponent steps away. Tyler pushes through the crowd. Others lift Jack up. They turn their attention to the floor, to a BLOOD MASK of Jack's face -- similar to the TEAR MASK on BOB'S SHIRT. Cool. Jack limply shakes his Opponent's hand. How about next week? Look at me. How about next month? Everyone helps Jack walk. He's sweating, bleeding, smiling. Afterwards, we all felt saved. A NURSE tends to Jack while Tyler watches. He fell down some stairs. The Nurse doesn't look at Tyler, just keeps tending to Jack. I fell down some stairs. Sometimes Tyler spoke for me. Tyler and Jack share the cracked MIRROR. Tyler's clipping at his hair with blunt, ill-suited SCISSORS. Jack's brushing his teeth, spitting out pink foam. Fight club became the reason to cut your hair short and trim your fingernails. Any historical figure. Okay... Ghandi. Good answer. You? Abe Lincoln. Big reach. Skinny guys fight till they're burger. Jack reaches in his mouth, exploring, pulls -- yanks a TOOTH. Jack looks at it. Tyler puts scissors down, done. Remember, even the Mona Lisa's falling apart. Jack drops the tooth in the sink with Tyler's hair. Jack enters, buttoning his shirt. The PHONE RINGS. Hello? Marla's in the HALL, on the PAYPHONE, twisting the phone cord around her neck. Where have you been the last few weeks? Marla? Jack looks through the archway and sees Tyler, in his gummy flannel bathrobe, doing sit-ups. Jack leans, cups the phone. (quietly) How did you find me? The forwarding number. I haven't seen you at any support groups. That's the idea -- we split them. You haven't been going to yours. I found a new one. Really? It's for men. Like testicular cancer? Look, this is a bad time... I've been going to debtor's anonymous. You want to see some truly fucked up people? I'm just on my way out... Me too. I got a stomach full of Xanax. I took what was left of a bottle. Might've been too much. Jack looks exasperated, turns TO LOOK INTO THE CAMERA. Picture yourself watching Marla Singer throw herself around her crummy apartment. This isn't a for-real suicide thing. This is probably one of those cry-for- help things. This could go on for hours. So you're staying in tonight? Do you want to wait to hear me describe death? Jack puts the handset on top of the phone, still off the hook, walks out the back door. Do you want to listen and see if my spirit can use the telephone? Thru the archway: Tyler leans to look in, curious. GRUNTS of PLEASURE and EXERTION. Glimpses of TORSOS, ASSES, LEGS, ARMS, BREASTS, and FEMALE HAIR, all DRENCHED in SWEAT. Sheets RIP. Bodies hit the FLOOR. Insane GRUNTING and LAUGHING. A flash of MARLA'S FACE. Jack sits up in bed, looks around the room. Jack steps out of his room. The neighboring door is closed. Tyler's door was closed. I'd been living here two months, and Tyler's door was never closed. Jack stares into the TOILER, looking at SIX USED CONDOMS. Jack sits at the table, sips coffee, read Reader's Digest. He hears FOOTSTEPS approaching. You're not going to believe what I dreamt last night. Marla walks in, straightening her dress, looks like she's been raped by a hurricane. Jack's jaw drops. I can hardly believe anything about last night. Marla goes to pour coffee. She takes a swig, GARGLES and SPITS it in the sink. She gives Jack a lascivious smile. What are you doing here? What... ? What the hell are you doing here? Marla stares at him a beat, then drops the cup in the sink. Fuck you. Marla shoves open the door to the backyard and walks out. Jack gets up, watches her stomp away. Jack turns and -- Tyler is at his shoulder, staring after Marla. He's in his usual sweatpants. He grins at Jack, then moves away, pours himself coffee. Jack, smoldering, slumps at the table and picks up Reader's Digest. Tyler puts his foot on a countertop, does stretching exercises. She's a piece of work. Get this -- I come in here last night, the phone's off the hook... Jack pretends to read, quickly glances at Tyler. TYLER'S I already knew the story before he told it to me. Tyler enters, gently lifts the handset and listens. (from handset) I'll tell you when I'm floating out of my body. Tyler smiles. How could Tyler, off all people, think it was a bad thing that Marla Singer was about to die? Tyler, a wry smile on his face, ambles up the stiars, looking at the rotting walls. He reaches the top of the stairs and heads for Marla's room. Before he can knock, Marla's hand shoots out and grabs him... Marla pulls Tyler inside and shuts the door. Her drugged eyes look him over. You got here fast. She staggers and sits on the bed. She slides off, along with the blanket and sheets, to the floor. The mattresses are all sealed in slippery plastic. She tries to focus her eyes on Tyler. Did I call you? Tyler studies her with cynical curiosity, looks at a DILDO lying atop a dresser. Marla follows his gaze. Don't worry. It's not a threat to you. SIRENS and vehicles SCREECHING outside can be HEARD; doors opening and SLAMMING; running FOOTFALLS. Oh, no! Somebody called the cops... She gets to her feet, grabs Tyler, pulls him out the door. Marla LOCKS her door, then pulls Tyler toward the STAIRCASE. COPS and PARAMEDICS charge up with oxygen and medical kits. Marla and Tyler flatten against the wall to let them pass. 8-G! Where's 8-G? (pointing) End of the hall. The rescuers keep running. (calling after) The girl who lives there used to be a charming, lovely girl, but she's lost faith in herself... Miss Singer, let us help you! You have every reason to live! Marla yanks Tyler's arm, heading down the stairs. She's a monster! Infectious human waste! Good luck trying to save her! Tyler makes coffee. Marla slouches against the refrigerator. If I fall asleep, I'm done for. You're gonna have to keep me up all night. Tyler chuckles, shakes his head. Unbelievable, huh? He was obviously able to handle it. Tyler stands across from Jack, gets a cigarette from a pack. I mean, this girl... uh, you're not into her or anything... ? No. Not at all. I am Jack's Raging Bile Duct. Tyler lights his cigarette. You're sure? Yeah, I'm sure. Good. This chick was up on the table with her legs in the stirrups before the doctor even walked in the room. The things that she said... I've never heard a woman talk like that... Tyler smokes, post-coital. Marla puts her lips to his ear. (whispering) I want to have your abortion. Tyler laughs, shakes his head. Jack's gripping his Reader's Digest just a little too tight. How could Tyler not go for that? Night before last, he was splicing sex organs into "Little Mermaid." Tyler sits, studies Jack's face. You're okay with this? I'm fine. Put a gun to my head and paint the wall with my brains. Tyler smokes. She is a wild, twisted bitch. Stay away from that one. Oh, and my pace is more librarians. Hey... don't knock librarians. Marla doesn't need a lover. She needs a case worker. She needs an exorcist. This isn't love. This is sport-fucking. She'd invaded my support groups, now she's invading my home. Listen... do me a favor... sit here a minute... Tyler pulls out a closer chair, motions to it. Jack puts down his Reader's Digest and moves to that chair. What? You've gotta understand something about me. I have a little rule, okay? Don't ever talk to her about me. Ever. I can't stand that kind of shit. Tyler fixes Jack with a friendly, but firm stare. If you ever say anything about me or about what happens here in this house, to her or anyone -- I will find out. And you'll never see me again. Promise me. Okay. Promise you won't. Yes, I promise. Promise? I said I promise! That was three times you promised. Tyler smiles, gets up and leaves. Jack sits smoldering. If only I had wasted a couple of minutes and gone to watch Marla die, none of this would have happened. Jack watches TV at HIGH VOLUME. SOUNDS of SEX from upstairs. Jack lies calmly on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Sounds of THUMPS and CRASHES from beyond the wall. (muffled through wall) Miserable fucking discharge! I could've moved to another room, one on the third floor -- so I wouldn't have heard them. But I didn't. SOUNDS of RAIN. Jack flips FUSES off, then walks upstairs. Jack walks, HEARS Marla SCREAM in orgasm. He reaches the landing. Tyler's door is ajar. Jack peeks in... Marla's legs are sprawled on the bed. The door PUSHES OPEN WIDER -- Tyler, naked, stands CLOSE TO CAMERA. What are you doing? Jack steps back. I... uh... just going to bed. Tyler scratches his head, wears a RUBBER GLOVE. You want to finish her off? Uh... nah... Jack continues toward his room. Jack brushes his teeth. I became the calm, little center of the world. I was the Zen master. Haiku is BEING TYPED in a trendy, italicized font. "Worker bees can leave Even drones can fly away The queen is their slave" I wrote little haiku poems. Jack's clothes are PERMANENTLY STAINED with BLOOD. He sits in Zen pose, cigarette in mouth, finishes typing Haiku. I faxed them around to everyone. He hits "SEND," gets the "ERROR CHIME" SOUND. He presses this key over and over. Boss enters. Is that your blood? Some of it, yes. Boss stares at Jack like he's from Mars. Take the rest of the day off. Come back tomorrow with clean clothes. Get yourself together. Jack's leaving, looks like a war casualty, passing COWORKERS who coldly stare at him. His face is totally passive. I got right in everyone's hostile little face. Yes, these are bruises from fighting. I'm comfortable with them. I am enlightened. Jack walks toward the HOUSE. You give up the condo life, give up all your flaming worldly possessions, go live in a dilapidated house in the toxic waste part of town... Jack walks in. SOUNDS of VIOLENT SEX and a POLAROID CAMERA from upstairs. Pieces of PLASTER fall from the ceiling. ... and you come home to this. (laughing) You fucking slut!! Thank you, sir, may I have another! Thank you sir, may I have another... ! Jack rolls his eyes, takes off his pants. He runs water in the sink, finds a tiny bit of SOAP and scrubs at the blood stains. The PHONE RINGS. He answers it. Yeah. Speaking. A cop, DETECTIVE STERN, refers to a file. This is Detective Stern with the arson unit. We have some new information about the "incident" at your condo. Yes? I don't know if you're aware... your front door -- it seems someone sprayed freon into the lock, then tapped it with a chisel to shatter the cylinder. No, I wasn't aware... I am Jack's Cold Sweat. Does this sound strange to you? Yes, sire, strange. Very strange. Jack starts to sweat, scrubs his pants obsessively. The dynamite... Dynamite? Yes. It left a residue of ammonium oxalate and potassium perchloride. Do you know what that means? What does that mean? It means it was homemade. This is... really a shock... Whoever set this homemade dynamite could've blown out the pilot light days before the explosion. The gas, it seems, was just a detonator. Who do you think could've done this? I'll ask the questions, son. (whispering in Jack's ear) Tell him... Jack almost leaps out his skin, startled; looks to see Tyler standing right next to him. Huh? (overlap w/below) "The liberator who destroyed my property has re-aligned my paradigm of perception." Shhhhhh! (into phone, overlap w/above) I don't know what to make of this, sir, I really don't... Do you know anyone who'd have the expertise or motive to do something like this? "I reject the basic assumptions of civilization, including material possession." Jack pushes Tyler away, cups the receiving. (into phone) No. No, sir. I loved that condo. I loved every stick of furniture. The lamps, the chairs, the rugs, were me. The dishes were me. The plants were... I'd like to thank the academy... Well, if any ideas come to you, give me a call. In the meantime, don't leave town. I may need to bring you in for questioning. Jack hangs up. Tyler shrugs. Could be worse. You could be cursed with the three terrible Karmas. You could be beautiful, rich and famous. Jack turns away, continues to scrub his pants. Marla's FOOTSTEPS can be HEARD coming downstairs... Jack really grinds the soap against the pants, splashing water. He turns, sees Marla enter. Tyler is GONE. Marla lights a cigarette. Except for their humping, Tyler and Marla were never in the same room. I got this dress at a thrift store for one dollar. (keeps scrubbing) Worth every penny. My parents pulled this exact act for years -- one came in, the other disappeared. Marla begins a slow, exotic dance, moving very close to Jack. She lifts her dress dangerously high, dancing close to Jack's body, almost touhcing. (seductive) It's a bridesmaid's dress. Someone loved it intensely for one day, then tossed it. Like a Christmas tree -- so special, then, bam -- it's abandoned on the side of the road, tinsel still clinging to it... Jack becomes very aware of having no pants on, presses against the counter. Marla pulls her hemline further up. Like sex crime victims, underwear inside-out, bound with electrical tape. (coldly) It suits you. She leans in very close to Jack's ear, whispers hoarsely: You can borrow it sometime. Jack takes a step away, keeps scrubbing. Marla blows smoke in his face. Jack takes her cigarette and throws it in the sink. Marla backs away, fed up, storms out, going UPSTAIRS. Get rid of her. Jack turns to see Tyler in the doorway. You get rid of her. (pointing at Jack) Don't mention me. Marla's FOOTSTEPS are coming DOWNSTAIRS. Jack looks to the archway, then back at -- Tyler's GONE. Marla enters, shoes and balled up clothing under one arm, looking for something on the junk strewn table. I'm six years old again, passing messages between my parents. I, uh... think you should go now. Marla ignores, still searching the table, tossing things, pushing other things off to the floor. It's time for you to leave. Don't worry, I'm leaving. Marla finds what she wanted, a pack of cigarettes. She moves up into Jack's face. You're such a nutcase, I can't even begin to keep up. Goodbye. She laughs, spins on her heels. As she exits the back door, she sings "This Merry-Go-Round" from "Valley of the Dolls." Jack watches her through the kitchen window. Nice work. Jack turns. Tyler's right behind him. Through the window, Marla can be seen walking away. Tyler picks up the remnant of SOAP Jack's been using, holds it up to Jack. To make soap, first we have to render fat. Jack looks at Tyler. Tyler stands inside the fence. Jack's atop the fence, struggling to cross BARBED WIRE. He wobbles, gets over, snags his shirt. Jack falls, RIPPPPP. Tyler helps. FOOTSTEPS. A FLASHLIGHT BEAM. Tyler pulls Jack behind a DUMPSTER, one of DOZENS. A silhouette of a SECURITY GUARD moves along the perimeter, flashlight first. He walks away. MOVE BACK to Tyler and Jack, who emerge from hiding. Tyler eagerly grabs the lid of the closest dumpster. The best fat for making soap -- because the salt balance is just right -- comes form human bodies... Tyler lifts the lid -- it CREAKS. What is this place? A liposuction clinic. From the dumpster, Tyler pulls out an industrial-sized, thick plastic bag full of PINK GOO. Paydirt. From society's richest asses and thighs. TIME CUT: Tyler and Jack climb back over the fence, carrying BAGS of fat. One of Jack's bags RIPS, spilling the goo down the chain-link fench. Jack slips and slides. Tyler laughs. Tyler tries to scoop the running fat back into the bag. Jack and Tyler each stir a boiling pot. As the fat renders, the tallow floats to the surface. Remember the crap they taught you in Boy Scouts. Hard to imagine you in Boy Scouts. This clear layer in glycerin. We'll mix it back in when we make the soap. Tyler sticks a spoon into a pot, lifts up a scoop of the glycerin layer. Then, he crabs a can, opens it. Lye -- the crucial ingredient. (adding lye to mix) Ancient peoples found their clothes got cleaner if they washed them at a certain spot in the river. Why? Because, human sacrifices were once made on the hills above this river. Year after year, bodies burnt. Rain feel. Water seeped through the wood ashes to become lye. The lye combined with the melted fat of the bodies, till a thick white soapy discharge crept into the river. Tyler licks his lips until they're gleaming wet. He takes Jack's hands and KISSES the back of it. The first soap was made from the ashes of heroes. Like the first monkeys shot into space. The saliva shines in the shape of the kiss. Tyler pours a bit of the flaked lye onto Jack's hand. Without sacrifice, without death, we would have nothing. Jack's whole body JERKS. Tyler holds tight to Jack's hand and arm. Tears well in Jack's eyes; his face tightens. This is a chemical burn. It will hurt more than you've ever been burned and you will have a scar. Jack looks -- the burn is swollen, glossy, in the shape of Tyler's kiss. Jack's face spasms. Tyler's kiss was a bonfire on the back of my hand. Look at your hand. Guided meditation worked for cancer, it could work for this. Tyler looks at Jack's glazed and detached eyes. Come back to the pain. Don't shut this out. Jack, snapping back, tries to jerk his hand away. Tyler keeps hold of it and their arms KNOCK UTENSILS off the table. I tried not to think of the words "searing" or "flesh." I imagined my pain as a ball of healing white light. Tyler JERKS Jack's hand, getting Jack's attention... Stop it. This is your pain -- your burning hand. It's right here. Look at it. I was going to my cave to find my power animal. Tyler JERKS Jack's hand again. Jack re-focuses on Tyler... Don't deal with this the way those dead people do. Deal with it the way a living person does. Jack tries to pull his hand free. Tyler won't let go. Jack's eyes glaze over again. Jack speaks, whiny from pain: I... I think I understand. I think I get it... No, what you're feeling is premature enlightenment. Tyler SLAPS Jack's face, regaining his attention... This is the greatest moment of your life and you're off somewhere, missing it. No, I'm not... Shut up. Our fathers were our models for God. And, if our fathers bailed, what does that tell us about God? I don't know... Tyler SLAPS Jack's face again... Listen to me. You have to consider the possibility that God doesn't like you, he never wanted you. In all probability, He hates you. This is not the worst thing that can happen... It isn't... ? We don't need him... We don't... ? Jack is a wide-eyed zombie... ... Marla ... ? Fuck damnation. Fuck redemption. We are God's unwanted children, with no special place and no special attention, and so be it. Jack looks at Tyler -- they lock eyes. Jack does his best to stifle his spasms of pain, his body a quivering, coiled knot. He bolts toward the sink, but Tyler holds on. You can go to the sink and run water over your hand. Look at me. Or you can use vinegar to neutralize the burn, but first you have to give up. First, you have to know that someday, you are going to die. Until you know that, you will be useless. Jack spasms with a shiver of pain... You ... you don't know what this feels like, Tyler. Tyler shows Jack a LYE-BURNED KISS SCAR on his own hand. Tears begin to drip from Jack's eyes. Tyler grabs a bottle of VINEGAR -- pours it over Jack's wound. Jack closes his eyes, holds his hand... slumps to the floor. Congratulations. You're a step closer to hitting bottom. Jack and Tyler, in trench coats, looking like deaht-warmed- over, wait as a BUYER fills out forms. There are bars of "The Paper Street Soap Company" soap on the counter. Jack looks like he's half-expecting to get arrested. His hand is BANDAGED. Tyler sold the soap to department stores at twenty bucks a Ear. God knows what they charged. How ironic. We were selling rich women their own fat asses back to them. Jack sits at his desk, playing a game on his computer, smoking a cigarette. Boss enters. He was wearing a yellow tie. It must be Thursday. I didn't even wear a tie to work anymore. Boss slaps a piece of PAPER down on Jack's desk. "The first rule of fight club is you don't talk about fight club." Jack snuffs his cigarette in an ashtray, stares up stoically. I must've left the original in the copy machine. "The second rule of fight club... Is this yours? Hmm? You don't get paid to abuse the copy machine. "Abuse" the copy machine. There's an image. Pretend you're me. You find this. What would you do? Jack rises slowly, walks to his door, shuts it. Me? I'd be very careful who I talked to about this. It sounds like someone dangerous wrote it... someone who might snap at any moment, stalking from office to office with an Armalite AR-10 Carbine-gas semiautomatic, bitterly pumping round after round into colleagues and co- workers. Jack moves very close to Boss, picks up the PAPER and starts tearing it into pieces. Might be someone you've known for years... somebody very close to you. Or, maybe you shouldn't be bringing me every little piece of trash you pick up. Jack puts the PAPER in his trash. Bass stares with a tinge of outrage, a tinge of fear. PHONE RINGS. Jack answers it. Compliance and Liability. My tit's going to rot off. Just a second. (to Boss; smiles) Could you excuse me? I need to take this call. Boss goes to the door, stares at Jack a beat, then leaves. (into phone) What are you talking about? Would you do something for me? I need you to check and see if there's a lump in my breast. I can't afford to throw money away on a doctor. I don't know ... Please. She didn't call Tyler. I'm neutral in her book. Jack walks down the sidewalk, seeing Marla take two BOXES from a VAN with the sign "MEALS ON WHEELS." Marla leads Jack inside. This is a sweet side of you. Picking these up for ... (reads the boxes:) "Mrs. Haniver" and... "Mrs. Raines." Where are they? Tragically, they're dead. I'm alive and I'm in poverty. You want any? No, thanks. Good. He stares at her while she eats. What happened to your hand? Jack awkwardly puts his bandaged hand behind his back. Nothing. Marla stands facing a MIRROR with her shirt open. Jack stands behind her with his hand on the bottom side of her breast. Marla's hand guides his. Where? Here? Here. There? Here. Here. Feel anything? No. Jack's head is behind Marla's. They speak softer, slower. Make sure. Okay. Okay, I'm sure. You feel nothing? Nothing. Marla turns around and faces him, begins to button her shirt. Well, that's a relief. Thank you. No... no problem. I wish I could return the favor. Jack touches his own chest, shakes his head. I think everything's okay here. I could check your prostate. Uh ... nah. (pause) Well... thanks, anyway. Marla leans to kiss him -- lingers for a bit longer than just friendly. Jack pulls away. So.... are we done? Marla sighs. Yeah, we're done. See you around. Jack emerges from the lobby. He looks up at Marla's window, watches her silhouette. He walks away, right into -- Big BOB, the moose, eating a donut and drinking orange juice. Cornelius! How are you? Bob. I'm okay. How are you? Better than I've ever been in my life. Really? Great. Still "Remaining Men Together?" An intense look of born-again fervor comes over Bob's face. No. I found something new. Really, what's that? (quietly) The first rule is... you aren't supposed to talk about it... Oh. And the second rule about it is... you're not supposed to talk about it. And the third rule... Bob, Bob... I'm a member. You are?! Look at my face. Bob roughly slaps Jack's shoulder. That's a fucking great, man! Fucking great! Congratulations. Yeah, both of us. You know about the guy who invented it? I hear all kinds of things. Supposedly, he was born in a mental institution. They say he only sleeps one hour a night. You know about this guy? Tyler Durden? The CROWD SCREAMS insanely as Bob and Jack go at it in the circle of light. Bob's eyes are wild with glee. Everyone sneaks out of this new location - we've seen none of these guys before - it's a new chapter. Jack and Bob Stagger out last, Jack being in worse shape. They both grin with religious serenity. Bob hugs Jack. Thank you. Thank you. Bob relaxes the hug and Jack drops to the ground like a sack, completely enervated from the beating he took. You're welcome. Fight club -- this was mine and Tyler's gift... our gift to the world. Jack has his briefcase on the table, looks at PAPERWORK. Tyler wanders in, carries a dirty pot to the sink. Jack takes out a cigarette, lights up. He offers the pack... No thanks, I quit. You quit? Yeah. Where you headed? Work. Going to work. Tyler scratches his chin absently. What... ? Nothing. Do what you like. Tyler walks out the way he came. Jack sits staring at his SCREEN SAVER. Jack steps into the open doorway, knocks on the doorframe. Boss looks up from his large, expensive desk. We need to talk. Okay. Where to begin? With your constant absenteeism? With your unpresentable appearance? You're up for review... I Am Jack's Complete Lack of Surprise. Boss sits up in his seat, becoming enraged. Let's pretend. You're the Department of Transportation, and you discover that our company intentionally did nothing about leather seats cured in third world countries with chemicals we know cause birth defects? Brake linings that fail after a thousand miles. Fuel injectors that burn people alive. Just who the fuck do you think you are?! Get out! You're fired! What about this? Keep me on payroll as an outside consultant. In exchange for my salary, I'll keep my mouth shut. I won't need to come to the office. I can do this job from home. Boss stands, moves around his desk, glaring with rage. You little fucker! I oughta... Jack PUNCHES HIMSELF in the nose. Blood starts to trickle. He punches himself in the jaw, throws himself back as if by the force of the punch, SLAMS against a framed picture and SHATTERS the glass. He falls to the floor. I Am Jack's Smirking Revenge. Jack gets back to his feet. Please... don't hit me again, please. I'm your responsibility... He PUNCHES himself in the stomach, then in the jaw again. He reels backwards, pulls down a hanging shelf, its contents flying. He hits the floor. For some reason, I thought of my first fight -- with Tyler. Jack crawls toward Boss, dripping blood, grabs Boss's leg. Please... give me the paychecks like I asked for. I won't be any trouble. You won't see me again. Jack climbs up Boss's leg while Boss tries to shake him off. Boss stumbles back into his desk, knocking off belongings. Under and behind and inside everything this man took for granted, something horrible had been growing. Jack crawls high enough to grab Boss's belt, hoisting himself up. He dribbles blood an Boss's clothing, SMUDGES blood from his face onto the knuckles of Boss's hand. Please... please... And right then, at our most excellent moment together... Two SECURITY GUARDS enter and gape at the sight. Behind them stand CURIOUS WORKERS, looking in. (gurgling blood) Please don't hit me again. Jack holds a CHECK in front of Tyler's face. Six months advance pay. Six months! Fucking sweet. Okay, and... and... Jack digs in his pocket, takes out a thick bundle of CARDS. Forty-eight airline flight coupons. Plus... hold on... just a minute... Jack holds up a finger, going to open the front door. He drags an unwieldy SHOPPING CART in behind him; filled with his COMPUTER, PHONE, FAX and other office equipment. I am now officially self-employed. Jack looks at the cart, then back at Tyler, proud. Good for you. LOUD. An enormous CROWD of guys, including Jack and Bob, stands around Tyler, who's in the center of the circle, holding up his hands to quiet them... I look around... I look around and see a lot of new faces. An enthusiastic RUMBLE from the crowd. Shut up! Which means a lot of you have been breaking the first two rules of fight club. A glum silence falls. Guys look at each other. I see in fight club the strongest and smartest men who have ever lived -- an entire generation pumping gas and waiting tables; or they're slaves with white collars. (more) TYLER (cont) Advertisements have them chasing cars and clothes, working jobs they hate so they can buy shit they don't need. We are the middle children of history, with no purpose or place. We have no great war, or great depression. The great war is a spiritual war. The great depression is our lives. We were raised by television to believe that we'd be millionaires and movie gods and rock stars -- but we won't. And we're learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed-off. The crowd erupts into a DEAFENING CHORUS of agreement. Jack looks at the blazing excitement in the eyes of the crowd. We are the quiet young men who listen until it's time to decide. A fat, MIDDLE-AGED MAN stomps down the stairs, pushing into the crowd, followed by a TALL, HEFTY THUG who holds a GUM. Who are you? Who am I?! There's a sign on the front that says "Lou's Tavern." I'm fucking Lou. Who the fuck are you?! Tyler Durden. Tyler extends his hand for a shake, but Lou SLAPS it away. Who told you motherfuckers you could use my place? We have a deal worked out with Irvine. Irvine? Irvine's at home with a broken collarbone. Everyone glances guiltily at each other. He don't own this place, I do. How much money's he getting for this? There is no money. Really? It's free to all. Ain't that something? Yes, it is. Look, stupid fuck, I want everyone outta here now! You're welcome to join our club. Did you hear what I just said?! You and your friend. Lou SLUGS Tyler in the stomach, doubles him over. You hear me now? Tyler gains his breath, determined. He looks up, turns his head, looking to Jack. Jack watches, wide-eyed. Tyler straightens, facing Lou. No, I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. Lou PUNCHES Tyler in the face. Some of the guys move forward, but the Thug points his gun. Jack-runs forward anyway -- Lou PUNCHES him in the face. More guys move forward, but Tyler waves them off, facing Lou. We really need to use this place. Lou proceeds to beat the shit out of Tyler, PUNCHING his face, his stomach. Tyler collapses to the floor. Lou starts KICKING his. Tyler bleeds from the mouth and face. That's it.... that's good. Get it all out. You'll feel better. Lou flushes red with exasperation, KICKS more. Finally, sweating, bewildered, Lou stops. He looks to the Thug, who is just as bewildered. Suddenly, Tyler SPRINGS UP, grabs onto Lou... Yes, I am shit and crazy, to you and this whole fucking world... Tyler's blood spatters on Lou. Lou tries to shake Tyler off, but Tyler BITES Lou's NECKTIE. The Thug grabs Tyler and pulls, the necktie tightening and strangling Lou. Lou slaps at Tyler's face, but recoils from the blood. Tyler spits and shouts through clenched teeth... You don't know where I've been. Tyler bear hugs Lou, pulls him to the floor. Tyler rubs his bloody face into Lou's face. The Thug lifts Tyler. Tyler clings to Lou's belt, dragging Lou as he is dragged... We need this place. We need it. Please let us keep it, please... Blood dribbles out of Tyler's mouth, spattering Lou. What are you doing?! Pleeeeeease! Okay! Okay, fuck it! Use the basement! Get off me! We need some towels, Lou. We need replacement light bulbs. Alright, Christ! Fucking let me go! Thank you. Thank you, sir... Let go of me!! Tyler lets go of Lou's belt. Lou scrambles away. The Thug drops Tyler, trying to keep clear of the blood. Lou gets to his feet, looks at Tyler, then at the rest of the guys. He and the Thug back away... slamming the door behind. Fight club surrounds Tyler. They help him up, move him to a crate. Tyler sits slumped for a long moment, his breathing labored... then, he sits back, crossing his legs and looking to the group, his demeanor businesslike. This week, each of you has a homework assignment. You're going to go out and start a fight with a total stranger... (pause, drooling blood) You're going to start a fight... and you're going to lose. Jack beams in appreciation. Ricky trips a passing YUPPIE. The Yuppie falls. Not as easy as it sounds. People'll do just about anything to avoid a fight. The Yuppies gets up, angry, and Ricky PUNCHES him... Hey! Wha... What the hell... what are you doing?! Who are you?!! The Yuppie backs away. Ricky follows... Get away from me! Keep away! Ricky TACKLES the Yuppie. The Yuppie struggles spastically. Who are you!? Why are you attacking me... ?! Having no recourse, the Yuppie begins trading blows. A MECHANIC WITH A BATTERED FACE uses a hose to wash the sidewalk. As MEN pass, he jerks the hose up and SPRAYS them. Hey... hey... Watch out, jackass! These men continue on their way. The Mechanic sprays a third man, a SEMINARY STUDENT, who looks down, stunned. You... you did that on purpose! The Mechanic DOUSES the Seminarian. The Seminarian grabs the hose, wrestling the Mechanic for it. The Mechanic shoves the Seminarian, who responds with a half-assed PUNCH. The Mechanic purposely takes it. The Seminarian starts to run away. The Mechanic sprints after him, PUNCHING the Seminarian in the back of the neck. They fight. A FIST smashes a JAW. Guys CHEER. An arm snakes around a neck and squeezes, blood and sweat dripping. It's the YUPPIE and the SEMINARIAN fighting. Tyler walks around the perimeter of the circle. Now nobody was the center of fight club except the two men fighting. The leader walked around in the crowd, out in the darkness. Tyler hands ENVELOPES out to the crowd. Everyone took a homework assignment. Ricky and another FIGHT CLUBBER paste up a BILLBOARD which reads: "DID YOU KNOW? YOU CAN USE YOUR OLD MOTOR OIL TO HANDS use a MARKER, writing on a FILE: "Disinformation." Jack and Tyler, in work gloves, armed with TOOLS, work together to lift the entire METAL PLATE of EXIT SPIKES from the ground. They reverse it, then replace it. Jack and Tyler walk away, each carrying a 4x4 plank of WOOD. There's fight club in Delaware City. I heard. Local 15, Monday nights. As they pass PARKED CARS, they SWING the planks against front bumpers -- activating ALARMS and INFLATING AIR BAGS... Local 8 just started in Penns Grove. And, Bob said he was at fight club in Newcastle last week. Newcastle? Did you start that one? I thought you did. In the background, a CAR quickly EXITS the parking lot -- front tires EXPLODING, wheel rims throwing sparks. FATHER, MOTHER, YOUNG DAUGHTER and SON, eat dinner, watching TELEVISION. Suddenly, the TV IMAGE turns to SNOW and static. Family members stop eating. Father picks up the REMOTE, points it -- all channels are SNOW. Father turns the TV OFF. He and his family members look at each other, utensils in hand, uncomfortable. The Yuppie SWINGS a BASEBALL BAT -- DESTROYS a digital SATELLITE DISH. The Yuppie and the Seminarian move on, climbing to a neighboring rooftop. They come upon another DISH. The Seminarian takes the bat, takes a SWING... HANDS place NEWS CLIPPINGS into a FILE: "Mischief." Two AIRPLANE MAINTENANCE,MEN, with bruised faces, rip open a box from a PRINT SHOP. They dig up AIRPLANE SAFETY INSTRUCTION CARDS and begin inserting them into each seatback. We SEE a CARD - it shows passengers SCREAMING and FLAILING ABOUT IN TERROR. Huge office. Rows and rows of desks. FIGHT CLUB MEMBERS work: one guy moving from COMPUTER MONITOR to COMPUTER MONITOR, using a DRILL to drill a hole into the top of each. Other guys follow behind, with FUNNELS and CANS of GASOLINE, filling each monitor with gasoline. Files and newspaper clippings are piled up. HANDS write on a new FILE FOLDER: "Arson." The Yuppie crumbles a loaf of stale bread into a bucket, stirring it with a big spoon, mixing in a BOTTLE of EX-LAX. Nearby, Rob throws handfuls of wet BREADCRUMBS to PIGEONS... HUNDREDS of PIGEONS -- a rooftop feeding-frenzy. Tyler and Jack cross the parking lot, towards the convenience store. Jack wears a BACKPACK. Let me have that a minute... Tyler takes the BACKPACK, unzips it, searching the contents. What are we doing? Homework assignment. What is it? Tyler takes out a HANDGUN, hands the backpack back. Human Sacrifice. Jack turns white, staring at the gun. The BACK DOOR opens and Tyler brings the store's CLERK out at gunpoint, forces him to his knees. Jack follows, freaked. Tyler points the gun at the Clerk. On a long enough time line, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero. Please... don't... Give me your wallet. The Clerk fumbles his wallet out of his pocket and Tyler snatches it. Tyler pulls out the DRIVER'S LICENCE. Raymond K. Hessel. 1320 SE Benning, apartment A. A small, cramped basement apartment. How'd you know? They give basement apartments letters instead of numbers. Raymond, you're going to die. Tyler rummages through the wallet. Is this a picture of Mom and Dad? Yesssss... Your mom and dad will have to call kindly doctor so-and-so to dig up your dental records, because there won't be much left of your face. Please, God, no... Raymond begins to weep, shoulders heaving. Tyler... An expired community college student ID card. What did you used to study, Raymond K. Hessel? S-S-Stuff. "Stuff." Were the mid-terms hard? Tyler rams the gun barrel against Raymond's temple. I asked you what you studied. Tell him! Biology, mostly. Why? I... I don't know... What did you want to be, Raymond K. Hessel? Raymond weeps and says nothing. Tyler COCKS the gun. Raymond GASPS. The question, Raymond, was "what did you want to be?" A beat. Answer him! A veterinarian! Animals. Yeah ... animals and s-s-s --- Stuff. That means you have to get more schooling. Too much school. Tyler shoves Raymond's wallet back into Raymond's pocket. Would you rather be dead? No, please, no, God, no! Tyler moves the gun right between Raymond's eyes. Tyler UNCOCKS the gun, lowers it. I'm keeping your license. I know where you live. I'm going to check on you. If you aren't back in school and on your way to being a veterinarian in six weeks, you will be dead. Get the hell out of here. Raymond staggers to his feet, heads down an alleyway. Jack and Tyler watch Raymond flee, then Tyler looks at Jack. I feel sick. Imagine how he feels. Tyler brings the gun to his own head, pulls the trigger -- CLICK. Empty. I don't care, that was horrible. Tyler walks away. Tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of Raymond K. Hessell's life. Jack watches Tyler go. His breakfast will taste better than any meal he has ever eaten. Jack turns to look the direction Raymond ran. He finally turns back, following after Tyler. SLOW MOTION: in the deserted office, gasoline filled COMPUTER MONITORS begin to EXPLODE...BOOM...BOOM...BOOM... ! Luxury AUTOMOBILES are parked, splattered with BIRD SHIT. VIEWED OUT 3RD STORY WINDOW: Tyler uses a RAKE, dragging it across rocks and dirt. He stops a moment, rake on his shoulder, staring off. Then, back to work... (muttering quietly) ... You are not how much money you have in the bank. You are not the shoes you wear. Tyler's marking a large SQUARE in the weeds and rubble of the backyard, kicking rocks away, dragging the rake... You are not the contents of your wallet... The DRIVER has a broken nose. The bus is empty, except for Jack, in the very last seat, sleepy. He had a plan. Maybe you just didn't see it till it hit you between the eyes. (pause) But, it started to make sense... in a Tyler sort of way. No fear. No distractions. The ability to let that which does not matter truly slide. Jack gets off the bus. As the bus pulls away, we see it dropped Jack off right in front of the house. Jack enters. Tyler, dressed in FATIGUES and splattered with PAINT, grabs BEERS from the refrigerator. Hey. Hey. Jack notices ROPE and RAPPELLING TOOLS on the table. Tyler comes to hand Jack a bunch of beers, nod to the living room. Go on in. We're celebrating. Jack, bewildered, enters carrying beers. Tyler does NOT follow. BOB, RICKY and several other fight club guys sit in front at the TV, chanting not too loudly, all also dressed in FATIGUES and splattered with PAINT. You are not your job. You are not your job. You are not how much money you have in the bank. Shhhh, wait... they're back to it... Bob goes to turn up the TV. One guy, sixteen years old with an angelic face, ANGEL FACE, gets up to take beer from Jack. (to Jack) Great, thanks. Angel face starts distributing beer amongst his cohorts. Shhhhh! Watch! Jack looks to the TV -- it shows a LIVE shot of the "PARKER MORRIS BUILDING." The building has a GIANT, GRINNING FACE PAINTED on it -- two BROKEN WINDOWS for EYES, with flames pouring out... FIRETRUCKS spray water. Police Commissioner Jacobs has just arrived... just a second... excuse me, Commissioner, could you tell us what you think has happened? COMMISSIONER JACOBS, a wrinkled official, turns to camera. We believe this is related to the recent acts of vandalism around the city. It's some kind of organized group, and we are coordinating a rigorous investigation. Jack turns, sees Tyler in the archway, watching him. Tyler tips his beer to toast, pulls back, out of sight. What did you guys do? They all BURST INTO LAUGHTER. They look at Jack and shake their heads. Jack doesn't get it. Suddenly, the guys' faces turn to stone. Bob sits rigid. The first rule of Project Mayhem is... you do not ask questions. Jack stares at them. A luxurious BANQUET. Commissioner Jacobs guzzles champagne. He rises and starts out of the room. Jack, in a WAITER'S UNIFORM, looks apprehensively to OTHER WAITERS: BOB... RICKY... ANGEL FACE -- who all give each other a look. Jacobs saunters down an empty hall. He stops to check his tie in a mirror. He pushes open the door of the MEN'S BATHROOM -- face to face with TYLER. Tyler GRABS Commissioner Jacobs, pulling him into the bathroom. He slaps a piece of tape over Jacobs' mouth. The OTHER "WAITERS" rush in. Jack stays back to keep the door shut. Tyler and the others hold Jacobs, pulling down his pants. Bob snaps a rubber band -- reaches to Jacob s crotch. Wrap it around the top of his hackie- sack. Man, his balls are ice cold. Ricky produces a KNIFE, moves it down to Jacob's testicles. Jacobs is bug-eyed. Jack, red-faced, keeps his distance. You're not going to continue your "rigorous investigation." You will publicly state that there is no underground group. Or -- imagine, the rest of your life with your scrotum flapping empty. (mouth taped) ... no... please, no... We'll send one to the New York Times and one to the Los Angeles Times. Press release style. Your nuts will be bicoastal. Understood? The people you're after are everyone you depend on. (more) TYLER (cont) We do your laundry, cook your food and serve you dinner. We guard you while you sleep. We drive your ambulances. Do not fuck with us. Ricky makes a dramatic cut with the knife, causing Jacobs to JUMP -- Ricky holds up the severed RUBBER BAND. Jack, Tyler and the others file quickly out the back SERVICE ENTRANCE. Tyler gives Angel Face a hearty slap on the back. Angel Face smiles at Tyler, nods, grinning. Jack sees this, his eyes narrowing, stops walking. Fight club in full swing. Jack battles Angel Face, BEATING the shit out of him with unprecedented viciousness. I felt like putting a bullet between the eyes of every Panda that wouldn't screw to save its species. The crowd shouts maniacally, save Tyler, who watches with an inscrutable stone face. Angel Face tries to speak, but Jack POUNDS too hard. Blood flies. The crowd begins to grow QUIETER. I wanted to open the dump valves on oil tankers and smother all the French beaches I'd never see. Finally, Angel Face lies still, unconscious. Jack stops, stares down, numb. Jack walks away -- the crowd parts to let him pass. Jack scans faces... finds Tyler. Where did you go, Psycho-Boy? I felt like destroying something beautiful. RAINING. Tyler and Jack walk through pools of streetlight. A idling car HONKS. Tyler leads Jack toward it. A bruised- faced VALET PARKER thrown keys to Tyler, but Jack intercepts. There you are, Mr. Durden. Airport parking, long term. (motions to car) After you, Mr. Durden... No... after you. Tyler gets in the driver's seat. Jack gets into the front passenger seat. Ricky and the mechanic are in back. Tyler pulls the stolen car away from the curb. It has two bumperstickers: "RECYCLE YOUR ANIMALS" and "MAKE MINE VEAL." RAIN GUSHES down. Jack stews, silent. The car moves down a HIGHWAY, intermittently illuminated by oncoming headlights. Something on your mind? No. Tyler shrugs; turns on the RADIO, ignores Jack. Why wasn't I told about "Project Mayhem?" What should I have told you? Why wasn't I involved from the beginning? You and I started fight club together. Fight club was the beginning. Now it's out of the basements and there's a name for it -- Project Mayhem. (together) The first rule of Project Mayhem is you do not ask questions. This is as much mine as yours. Is this a needlepoint club? Is it about you and me? You know what I mean. What do you want? A statement of purpose... ? Look... Should I E-mail you? Should I put this on your "action item list?" I want to know -- What do you want to know about Project Mayhem? (together) The first rule of Project Mayhem -- (to Ricky and Mechanic) Shut up!! (to Tyler) I want to know what's going on. Tyler steers the car into the opposite lane, accelerates... Opposing HEADLIGHTS get closer fast... This does not belong to us. We are not the leaders. We are not special. What are you doing?! We are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world. We are all part of the same compost heap... Tyler... Tyler steers back into the proper lane. The other CAR flies past, HORN SOUNDING... What the hell ... ?! You choose your level of involvement. I won't make decisions for you. I'm not asking you to. You're asking questions that don't have answers. You know just as much about Project Mayhem as anybody else. I don't think that's true. Tyler again steers into the oncoming lane, speeding up. Through the windshield: oncoming headlights -- a TRUCK. Tyler... what is this... ! Jack fights to turn the wheel, but Tyler uses both hands. What will you wish you'd done before you died? Paint a self-portrait. Build a house. (to Jack) And you? I don't know! Nothing! If you died right now, how would you feel about your life? I would feel nothing about my life? Is that what you want to hear?! The oncoming truck HONKS and FLASHES its LIGHTS. It moves to the other side of the road. Tyler steers there, too. I want to hear the truth. Fuck my life. Fuck fight club. Fuck you and fuck Marla. I'm sick of this. How's that? Why do you think I blew up your condo? What? Hitting bottom isn't a weekend retreat! It's not a seminar! You have to forget everything you know, everything you think you know -- about life, about friendship, about you and me. Nearing impact with the oncoming truck, Tyler takes his hands off the wheel -- Jack keeps his grip, turns the wheel... the car swerves... The truck ROARS past, spraying water, HORN BLASTING. Tyler looks at Jack, his hands in the air. Jack looks at Tyler with dead eyes. Okay, okay... fine... Jack takes his hands off the wheel, holds them in the air. Tyler studies Jack face, impressed. Tyler makes no move to take the wheel. THROUGH THR WINDSHIELD: a STALLED CAR ahead on the side of the road, surrounded by flares. Jack and Tyler's eyes stay locked as the car drifts onto the shoulder... heading for the stalled car. Their faces are illuminated by the light of the flares. Tyler smiles. They SMASH into the stalled car -- AIRBAGS INFLATE! The back of their car whips around and carries it into a ass- over-tea-kettle ROLL down a hill... I'd never been in a car accident. This must've been what all those statistics felt like before I filed them into my reports. The car finally hits the bottom, lying on its roof. Tyler crawls from the passenger side. He walks around... opens the driver's side door and drags Jack out into the mud. Ricky and the Mechanic climb out the broken rear window. Tyler sits beside the stunned, wounded Jack. We just had a near-life experience. Jack lies in bed, traumatized, eyes empty, staring at the ceiling. Tyler sits in a nearby chair. In the world I see -- you're stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You will wear leather clothes that last you the rest of your life. You will climb the wrist- thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. You will see tiny figures pounding corn and laying-strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of the ruins of a superhighway. Tyler stands, gives Jack's head a pat. (leaving) Feel better, champ. Jack sits at the table, sips coffee. He's pale, dazed, seems broken. He hears the faint SOUND of SAWING and HAMMERING, unsure of where it's coming from. Marla walks into the kitchen and goes straight to the counter. Her back is to Jack as he looks at her. She pours ccffee and lights a cigarette. A beat of silence, then: I'll be out of your way in a sec. She seems to be as weak as Jack. You... don't have to... leave. Whatever. Really... I mean it. (pause) Have you been going to your groups? Chloe's dead. When? Do you care? I don't know. It was the smart move on her part. Marla turns to face Jack, a grim expression on her face. There's a BRUISE on her ARM. Jack gets up, moves closer. Why are we both... caught up like this... with... ? I came so close to saying Tyler's name, I could feel it vibrate inside my mouth. Marla looks a him, waiting. I don't understand. Why does a weak person have to go out and find a strong person... to hang onto? What do you get out of it? Faint SOUND of SAWING and HAMMERING. Jack can't quite figure where it's coming from. You hear that? Hear what? That... sawing and hammering. Have we been talking too long? Must we change the subject? Jack turns -- through the crack of the open basement door, Tyler's staring at Jack from the bottom of the stairs. (harsh whisper) You're not talking about me, are you? Jack reacts, turns back to Marla. (to Marla and Tyler) No. That day you came over to my place to play doctor... what was going on there? (still a whisper) What are you talking about? (to Marla and Tyler) Nothing. Nothing? I don't think so. (whisper) This conversation... This conversation... ... is over. ... is over. Marla comes to touch Jack's hair. Jack closes the basement door. Marla sees the kiss-scar on Jack's hand, grabs his hand. Jack tries to pull it back, but Marla keeps a grip. What is this? Who did this? ... A person. Guy or girl? Why would you ask if it's a guy or a girl?! Why would you get bent if I asked? Let go of me... (pulls his hand free) Leave me alone. You're afraid to say. Marla backs away, closes her eyes, struggling with frustration. She leaves out the back door, not looking back. Jack leans against the wall. After a moment, he opens the basement door, heads downstairs... Tyler walks upstairs, passing as Jack continues down... Jack looks around. TRIPLE-DECKER BUNKS clutter the basement, as many as can fit into the space. (calling upstairs) Tyler... ? What's this for? From upstairs, the SOUND of the DOORBELL. Jack opens the door. Ricky stands on the porch, staring ahead in subordinate military style. He's in black pants, black shirt, black shoes, holds a PAPER BAG, with an army surplus MATTRESS rolled-up at his feet. Um... what can I do for you, Ricky? Tyler steps up beside Jack, looks Ricky over. You're too young. Sorry. Wait a minute... Tyler comes back inside, shuts the door. "Too young?" If the applicant is young, we tell him he's too young. Old, too old. Fat, too fat. "Applicant?" If the applicant waits at the door for three days without food, shelter or encouragement, then he can enter and begin training. "Training?" Tyler... Jack comes out, walks around Ricky, hands in his pockets, unsure. Tyler watches, nods for Jack to go ahead. Uh, look. You're too... young to... train here. You should probably be on you way. No response from Ricky, who remains at attention. Jack goes back inside. Tyler closes the door. Ricky remains at attention. Jack bursts out with a BROOM, knocks the brown bag out of Ricky's hand, kicks it away. Are you deaf?! I told you to leave! You will never get inside this house! Ricky's still there. Tyler comes out, friendly. Look, friend, I'm sorry for the misunderstanding. It's not the end of the world. Just go away. You're trespassing and I will call the police. Nothing personal. Ricky, same spot. Jack bursts outside with the broom again. You're never getting through this door, you stupid little weasel! Look at me when I talk to you... ! He WHACKS Ricky in the shoulder with the broom. What is your major malfunction!? At the window, Tyler sips coffee, watches this scene on the PORCH below. Sooner or later, we all became what Tyler wanted us to be. Ricky's there. Bob is now next to him, in black, with a paper bag in hand, mattress at his feet. Tyler steps out. Jack stays in the doorway, locking eyes on Bob. To all the following questions, Ricky answers "Sir!" -- You have two black shirts? Two pair black trousers? One pair black boots? Two pair black socks? One black coat? Three hundred dollars personal burial money? Go inside. Ricky goes in. Tyler turns to Bob. You're too old. Sorry. And, you're too fat. Nice seeing you. Bob looks genuinely hurt. He picks up his mattress and starts away. Tyler looks at Jack and rolls his eyes. Jack follows Bob... Bob... Bob, wait... (leading Bob back) Let me explain this to you... CRICKETS CHIRP. Bob stands at at rigid attention. Tyler and Jack stand in bathroom doorway, watching Ricky finish SHAVING off all of his HAIR. Tyler comes to give the top of Ricky's head a sharp SLAP. A monkey, ready to be shot into space. A Space Monkey, ready to sacrifice himself for Project Mayhem. From here on, all those with shaved heads: "SPACE MONKEYS." Jack looks out the window. Bob stands motionless. There's another "applicant," a SHORT GUY, beside Bob. Ricky comes out the front door with the BROOM... (to Bob) You're too fucking old, fatty! We don't want your kind here! (to short guy) You're too short. Go away, stumpy! Go back to the circus! Ricky HITS them with the broom, then goes in, SLAMS THE DOOR. So it went... Tyler works with a HALF DOZEN SPACE MONKEYS, preparing the square of backyard. They pull weeds, clear rocks; working with shovels, rakes, etc. They cart away WHEELBARROWS of rocks and carry in SACKS of FERTILIZER. Tyler built his army. IN THE KITCHEN WINDOW, Jack watches... Jack keeps watching out the window, eats toast. To what purpose, might one ask? Well, one might ask, if not for the first rule of Project Mayhem. Jack turns to look around the kitchen. THREE SPACE MONKEYS work -- one SCRUBBING the FLOOR, one WASHING DISHES, one SCRUBBING the walls. Jack walks out. In Tyler We Trust. Jack opens his eyes, awakening to sunlight thru the window. And, then... Jack slowly pushes open the door to Tyler's room... Tyler... The room is empty. Jack stares. He was gone. Jack comes downstairs... finds DOZENS of SPACE MONKEYS. Jack enters. Space Monkeys render fat and make soap. They pinch HERBS, adding them to the mix. They add VODKA. Off to the side, a couple Monkeys stir a vat of RICE. On the wall is a big bulletin board with HUNDREDS of DRIVER's LICENSES; a sign above it: "HUMAN SACRIFICES." "You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You are the same decaying organic matter as everything else. We are all part of the same compost heap." Planet Tyler. Jack dips a spoon into the rice, chomps on it irritatingly. "We are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world." Jack picks up a BOTTLE of VODKA. I had to hug the walls, trapped inside this clockwork of Space Monkeys, cooking and working and sleeping in teams. Jack enters, vodka in hand. TEN SPACE MONKEYS here, reading. The house became a living thing, wet inside from so many people sweating and breathing. So many people moving, the house moved. Jack walks out. Jack enters. Angel Face reads a book, marks on a chart. Space Monkeys shuffle PAPERS and NEWS CLIPPINGS. Walls are lined with FILES, each labeled with a STREET ADDRESS, under SIGNS: "Mischief," "Disinformation," "Arson." Jack's eye lingers on "Arson." He starts flipping through a file. Angel Face comes to take the file from him. That wouldn't interest you. Where's Tyler? The first rule of Project -- Right, right. As Angel Face replaces the file, Jack notices -- a LYE- BURNED KISS-SCAR on the back of Angel Face's hand. Jack takes a swig of vodka, smokes. In the BACKGROUND, a Space Monkey WHACKS an APPLICANT with a BROOM. It's a ritual; no words. Other Space Monkeys tend the garden. I'm all alone. I Am Jack's Broken Heart. Jack drops his cigarette in the gravel, steps on it. A Space Monkey immediately comes to clean it up. Get away from me! Who are all these people? Jack turns, sees Marla with an overnight bag. The Paper Street Soap Company. Can I come in? He's not here. What? He's not here! Tyler's not here anymore! He's gone away! Marla stares at Jack, miserable. A tear runs down her cheek. She turns and walks away. Jack watches her go. There's a LOUD COMMOTION from the house, VOICES SHOUTING. Jack heads to the back door... Jack enters. Ricky crawls, bleeding from a gunshot wound to the LEG. Space Monkeys begin a rudimentary job of treating the wound. Other Space Monkeys carry in a DEAD BODY in BLACK CLOTHES and SKI MASK, putting it on the table. What's going on? Space Monkeys stare at the body. The Mechanic, sweating, gets to his knees and pulls the ski mask off the corpse -- it's BOB, with a gunshot wound to the HEAD. Bob... oh, Christ... Jack pushes past a Space Monkey, stares down, stricken... What... what happened... ? (out of breath) We were on assignment... A SCULPTURE adorned with a giant GLOBE on top. We were supposed to kill two birds with one stone: A SERIES of EXPLOSIONS blasts the GLOBE free. It ROLLS... A piece of corporate art... The GLOBE ROLLS downhill, to the street -- rolling over one parked LUXURY CAR after another, crunching car roofs and causing windows to explode... ... and trash a trendy coffee bar. Then, the GLOBE arrives at the lobby of a HOTEL... BROADSIDES a limo, RICOCHETS... ROLLS directly into the front of a closed ARROSTO coffee bar, SMASHING windows... DECIMATING coffee push-pats... Bob, the Mechanic and Ricky FLEE, LAUGHING at their handiwork. They split up, running O.S. We had it all worked out, man. It went smooth... until... Police! Freeze! O.S. SOUNDS of GUNSHOTS and FLASHES of MUZZLE FIRE. The Mechanic looks up from Bob's corpse. They shot Bob... they shot him in the head. Those fuckers... Jack walks away from Bob's corpse, distraught, holds his head, turns to look back, his eyes filling with tears. We gotta do something. We got to get rid of the evidence. We have to get rid of this body. Bury him... Jack looks around in disbelief. What... ? The garden. Take him there. Move, people. Let's do this! Several Space Monkeys gather around Bob's body. No... ! Space Monkeys stop. Jack gets between them and Bob, SHOVES a few Space Monkeys back... Get your hands off him! Get off...! What the hell do you think you're doing... ? Evidence?! This is a man... ! You killed him! He was killed in action. No! Look at you! You're... you're running around in ski masks, exploding things... He was killed serving Project Mayhem. It's what he would have wanted, sir. What he wanted? Look... look at him. Look at him! What does he want? (wipes tears, points at Bob) This is a person. This is not a cog in your machine... But, this is Project Mayhem. No, no. This is a man -- this man has a name... But, in Project Mayhem, we have no names. No! Wrong! This man's name is Robert Paulson. Robert Paulson? Robert Paulson is dead. He's dead, because of you... I understand. Everyone just stares at Jack. In death, a member of Project Mayhem has a name. No -- ! His name is Robert Paulson. His name is Robert Paulson! No! His name is Robert Paulson! Stop that -- ! (louder) His name is Robert Paulson! His name is Robert Paulson... Jack backs away, surrounded, PUSHES his way out of the room. Jack barges in, goes to the desk, rifling through drawers. He finds FLIGHT COUPONS, used and unused. The used coupons. have the flight information, including the destination cities. The PHONE RINGS. Jack answers it... Tyler? (from phone) This is Detective Stern of the arson unit. I'd like to see you in my office tomorrow morning... Jack, in a panic, HANGS UP. Jack sits stiffly in a seat. I went to the cities on Tyler's used tickets stubs. Jack hurries from the terminal, runs to a TAXI ... In every city, I branched out from the airport to downtown, bar- hopping... Jack's looks out the window, intently watching buildings. I didn't know how or why, but I could look at fifty different bars, and somehow I just knew... (to driver, points) Here. Let me out, right here... Jack enters. He sees several MALE PATRONS with FIGHT BRUISES. Jack moves to the bar. The BARTENDER has a broken arm and swollen face. I'm looking for Tyler Durden. Never heard of him. This is an emergency. It's important I find him. I wish I could help you... sir. The bartender WINKS at Jack. Every city I went to... ...as soon as I set foot off the plane... ...I knew fight club was close. Jack RUNS through the airport, lugging his suitcase. Tyler was setting up franchises, all over the country. The PROPRIETOR, his head bandaged, is confronted by Jack. I need to know where Tyler is. Can't you help me? Sir, you're disturbing the other patrons with your laudish behavior. (pointing) There's no one else here. I'm sorry, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. Look at my face. I'm a member. I just need to know if you've seen Tyler Durden. I'm not disclosed to bespeak any such information to you, nor would I, even if I had said information you want, at this juncture be able. Jack looks around, incredibly frustrated. You are a moron. I'm afraid I have to insist you leave. Jack gives up, shoves his way out the door. Jack sits on the bus, looking out the window. The bus stops. Under and behind and inside everything I took for granted, something horrible had been growing. OUT THE WINDOW, a CONSTRUCTION WORKER with a BROKEN NOSE works a jackhammer. He stops, wipes his brow. TVs show football. Jack is seated with TWO BRUISED PATRONS. No one's ever seen him. No one knows what he looks like. He has facial reconstructive surgery every three years. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Is it true about fight club in Miami? Is Mr. Durden building an army? Am I asleep... ? Jack sits awake. Everyone around him is asleep. Have I slept? I'm not sure if Tyler is my bad dream or if I'm Tyler's. Jack steps off the sidewalk, hailing a TAXI... The alleyway's deserted. Jack heaft to rusty CELLAR DOORS. He opens the doors, looks around, heads down stairs... I was living in a state of perpetual deja vu. Jack enters this dark basement, walks ahead in the dim light. The place is damp and empty. Jack stops, looks down. Everywhere I went, I felt I had already been there. At his feet -- DRIED BLOOD on the concrete floor. Jack walks in. The place is empty. He walks to a KITCHEN DOOR, opens it and peers in at... a GROUP of KITCHEN WORKERS solemnly stand in a circle, chanting... His name is Robert Paulson. His name is Robert Paulson... (from behind Jack) Welcome back, sir. Jack whirls, startled -- facing the wounded BARTENDER, who wears a NECK BRACE, his nose a smashed eggplant. How have you been? ... You know me? Is this a test, sir? Yes... it's a test. You were in here last Thursday night. What? You were standing right where you are now, asking how good our security is. It's tight as a drum. Who do you think I am? Is this part of the test? Jack nods slowly. The Bartender holds up his hand, shows the KISS SCAR on the back of his hand... You're the one who did this to me. You're Mr. Durden, sir. Tyler Durden. Please return your seatbacks to their full upright and locked position. Jack bursts inside, out of breath, runs to grab the phone, punches a number, doesn't bother to turn on the lamp. Marla answers. Yeah? Marla, it's me. Have we... have we ever had sex? What kind of stupid question is that?! Because the answer's "yes" or because the answer's "no?" Is this a trick? Will you just answer me, for Christsake?! You mean, you want to know if I think we were just having sex or making love? We did make love? Is that what you're calling it? Answer the question! You fuck me, then snub me. You love me, you hate me. You show me your sensitive side, then you turn into a total asshole! Is that a pretty accurate description of our relationship, Tyler? We've just lost cabin pressure. What did you say... ? What is wrong with you? Say my name. What... ? Say my name! What's my name!? Tyler Durden! Tyler Durden, you fucking freak. What's going on? I'm coming over there... Marla, no, wait... As Marla HANGS UP. Jack stares at the receiver, dazed... We've got six fight clubs in Chicago now... Jack spins, dropping the phone -- TYLER sits beside him. Four in Milwaukee. What's this all about, Tyler? And, we're definitely filling a void in the rural South. Why do people think I'm you? You broke your promise. You talked to her about me. Why do people think I'm Tyler Durden? Why did you do that? Answer me, Tyler. Why do people think anything? I don't know! Tell me! Tyler shakes his head in disgust, extremely irritated. People think that you're me, because you and I happen to share the same body. What... ? Is this really news to you? What are you talking about... ? Sometimes I control it, and you imagine yourself watching me... Commissioner Jacobs checks his tie in a mirror, goes to open the door of the MEN'S BATHROOM -- face to face with JACK. JACK stands surrounded by eager fight club MEMBERS, under the bare bulb, talking and behaving like Tyler... The first rule of fight club is -- you don't talk about fight club. And, sometimes you control it... Jack stands in the yard, VODKA in hand, yells at Marla. He's not here! Tyler's not here anymore! He's gone away! You can see me and hear me, but no one else can... JACK sits alone on the curb, watching the nearby freeway. He talks to someone beside him, but nobody's there. Anyone? (thinks) My boss, probably. (pause) Who would you fight? Jack listens, looks at the empty space beside him. Oh, yeah. (nodding) I didn't really know my Dad... But, when you fall asleep, I do things without you... JACK is on top of Marla, sweating, making violent love... I go places without you. Get things done... The Parker Morris Building. JACK, Bob, Ricky, Angel Face and another GUY rappel down the side, SPRAYING PAINT. JACK is "TYLER" in demeanor, mannerisms, speech... (shouting) You are not your job. You are not how much money you have in the bank. TWO WINDOWS SHATTER OUTWARD -- TWO MEN look out and yell: I am not my job! I am not how much money I have in the bank! Jack's having trouble catching his breath. Tyler stands. There! Happy? I asked for one thing from you... one simple promise. Now look what you've done! This isn't possible... We're going to have to do something about Marla... What... what are you saying? It's okay. We okay... a little codependent, sure, but... Jack shakes his head in disbelief, in denial... No! This isn't true. We... we were around other people, together, both of us... You never talked to me in front of anyone else. Wrong, wrong -- what about the car crash... the two guys in the backseat? What about them? They're lunatics. You took me to the house. The house is rented in your name. You have jobs. Night jobs -- while you were sleeping. What about Marla? What about Marla? She's... you... you're fucking her. Um, well... technically, no. Jack stands, trying to absorb, feeling ill, trying to find words, then -- he suddenly FAINTS to the floor, OUT COLD. It's called a "changeover." The movie goes on, and nobody in the audience has any idea. Jack's eyes snap open. He sits up, alone. He remembers the previous night... looks at himself in the mirror... looks at the clock -- 4:35am. The room door SLAMS OPEN as Jack bursts out of the room, carrying his suitcase, SPRINTING for the STAIRWELL... Jack races down, three steps at a time, dragging his suitcase - BOOM, BOOM, BOOM - behind him... Jack hurries to the front door, his suitcase half-broken open, passing the front desk. A DESK CLERK calls after him. Sir... sir? Are you checking out? Yes. The clerk follows the length of the counter, waves a PAPER. Please initial this list of phone calls. Bill me! Jack goes out the door, freezes. He rushes back in, going to the desk -- snatches the bill, studies it: many NUMBERS. Wait...when were these made? It says right there, sir... between two and three-thirty this morning. Jack looks at the clerk, at the bill, at the clerk. I need a copy of this. Jack stares out the window, his face set hard. Had I been going to bed earlier every night? Have I been sleeping later? Has Tyler been in charge longer and longer? A TAXI halts. Jack leaps out, points to the GRUNGY CABBIE. Wait here. Jack walks in to find the place EMPTY and DESERTED. He continues on into the KITCHEN, gawks at BATHTUBS and CANISTERS holding vast amounts of liquid. There are HOSES, GAS MASKS, BEAKERS, TEST TUBES and PUMPS. He picks up a BOTTLE labeled "NITRIC ACID." Jack sits by the PHONE, pulls out the HOTEL BILL, runs his finger up and down the list of PHONE NUMBERS... Deja vu, all over again... Jack finger stops on a NUMBER. He dials, phone to his ear. (from phone) Eighteen-eighty-eight. Jack sees a file on the wall: "1888 CENTURY PARK EAST." Who is this? Maintenance. Listen, something is going to happen, something terrible... Very good, Sir. Excuse me? Don't worry about us, sir. We're solid. Now wait, there's been a mix-up. Everything's changed... You told me you'd say that. Abort the plan. You told me you'd say that, too. Did I tell you I'd call you a fascist dickhead?! Well, sir, you said you might. Jack HANGS UP, desperately dials the next number on the bill. (front phone) Twenty-one-sixty. Maintenance. Jack sees a file: "2160 PICO BOULEVARD." He throws the phone, pocketing the bill. He grabs up all the FILES. Jack's TAXI halts. Marla walks out of the lobby doors, sees Jack getting out of the cab, laden with files... Marla! Marla makes a sharp turn, walking away. Jack follows, hugging the files to his chest, catching up. Marla... Your whacked-out, bald freaks hit me with a fucking broom. I thought they were going to break my arm. I'm sorry, I... The were burning their fingertips with lye. The stink was unbelievable. Marla... I need to talk to you. It's going to take a tremendous act of faith on your part for you to hear me out. Here comes an avalanche of bullshit. Marla heads into a DINER. Jack follows... -- A little more faith than that. Marla sits in a BOOTH. Jack sits across from her. I don't want to hear anything you've got to say. Give me a minute, Marla, alright... just sixty seconds. Sixty seconds, then I'm out of here. Absolutely, you have every right. I need you to do me a favor. I've done you enough favors. A WAITER with a BLACK EYE appears at the table. Sir! Anything you order is free of charge, sir. Why is it free of charge? Because... I'm Tyler Durden. Then, I'll have the clam chowder... fried chicken and a baked potato with everything and a chocolate chiffon pie. Jack look to the pass-through WINDOW into the kitchen where THREE COOKS look out with STITCHES in their faces. Clean food, please. In that case, sir, may I advise against the lady eating the clam chowder? Thanks, no clam chowder. That's it. The waiter snaps to attention and leaves. You got about thirty seconds. (takes a deep breath) I know that I've been... unwell. I know it's been like there's two sides to me. Two sides? You're Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Jackass. I deserve that. Anyway, I've... I've only just realized What? I mean, the depth and breadth of our relationship has only recently been illuminated for me. I know this... I know us hasn't been such a great thing for you... Whatever. (to waiter) I'll take my food to go... Marla's getting up to go, but Jack rises, fed up, takes her by the arm, putting her back in her seat. Sit down! Sit down and give me my last fifteen seconds without opening your mouth! Marla crosses her arms. Jack collects himself. I'm trying to tell you -- and this is where you have to trust me -- but, I think your life might be in real danger. What? You have to get out of here. Leave as soon as possible. Go to any rural town, away from any major city... You are an insane person. Marla... No, no, shut up! I've had enough. I tried, Tyler... I have tried... Marla's getting upset, tears coming to her eyes. There's a part of you I really like, but I can't do this anymore. I just can't. This is killing me... I'm sorry, but I... What?! You're sorry? I don't believe that for a minute. Marla gets up. Jack grabs for her, but she's gone, heading for the door. Jack gathers his files, runs to follow... Jack pushes out the door, files under one arm, catching up... I can't explain. You wouldn't believe me anyway. I'm trying to protect you... Jack grabs her arm, tries to hail a TAXI, but the taxi races past. Marla pulls free, screaming at him..., Let go of me! Do this for me, Marla. Do this for me, if you never do anything else... Jack spots a BUS idling further up the street. Leave me alone! I don't ever want to see you again! Okay, if that's what it takes, you'll never have to see me again. (digs in his pocket) Here... here... He pulls MONEY from his pocket, holding it out. Take this money, get on this bus... (pointing to bus) Get on, and I promise you, I'll never bother you again, if that's what you want. Please... Marla looks at Jack, numb. Tyler... I'm begging you. Get on the bus. Get on the bus. Marla takes the money from Tyler, walks towards the bus. As they approach it, Jack shields his eyes, afraid to look... Why are you doing this? I can't let myself see where you're going. Go wherever it takes you, remember... keep away from major cities... Marla stands at the doors of the bus, heartbroken, gives one last look at Jack. (holds up the money) I'm not paying this back. I consider it "asshole tax." Yes, fine. Just, get on. Stay away a couple of weeks, at least. Jack's still covering his eyes. Marla gets on the bus. Tyler... Jack finally looks to her. You are the worst thing that ever happened to me. DOORS HISS SHUT. The BUS LEAVES, heading away. Jack seems relieved. Then, a SCREAM is HEARD from MARLA... Jack turns, looks... THROUGH THE BUS WINDOWS: the bus is filled with BALD MEN IN BLACK: Space Monkeys. Jack SPRINTS after the bus... The bus speeds away. Onboard, Space Monkeys subdue Marla. Jack falls to the asphalt, rolls, files-flying. Son of a bitch! Jack RUNS to the front desk, crazed, dumps the armload of files on the desk in front of the DESK SERGEANT... (loudly) I want you to arrest me. I'm the leader of a terrorist organization responsible for acts of vandalism all over the city. Detective Stern in arson knows who I am... Detective Stern and THREE DETECTIVES stand, staring at Jack, who's seated. On the table are the phone bill and files. There are probably several hundred members in the metropolitan area. Chapters are sprouting in at least five other major cities. They're tightly-regimented, with many cells capable of operating without a central leader. Check this address: 1537 Paper Street. You'll find the body of Robert Paulson buried in the garden. You'll also find numerous tubs used to make gallons of nitroglycerin. The plan, I believe, is to blow up these credit card headquarters and the TRW building. Why these buildings? You are not your job. You are not how much money you have in the bank. (to other detectives) Keep him talking. Stern leaves. A beat, then, the remaining Detectives smile at Jack with REVERENCE. I really admire what you're doing. You're a brave man to order this. What? You're a genius, sir. They grab Jack and force him on his back on the table. Flat-Top has a rubber band; the Bald Detective has a knife. You know the drill. You said if anyone ever tries to interfere with Project Mayhem, even you, we got to get his balls. Flat-Top PULLS Jack's pants completely off, tosses them aside. Jack SCREAMS. Flat-Top holds his legs. It's useless to fight. This is really a powerful gesture, Mr. Durden. It'll set quite an example. No... you're making a mistake! You told us you'd say that. I'm not Tyler Durden! You told us you'd say that, too. Okay, I am Tyler Durden and I'm ordering you to abort the mission! You said you would definitely say that. What's our best time for a "cut and run?" Four minutes. Is somebody timing this? (looks at his watch) Wait till the second hand gets to the twelve. A KNOCK at the door. Flat-Top slaps a hand over Jack's mouth. He and Redhead block view of the table as Baldy opens the door a crack. Stern mutters: Some of this info checks out. Let's go to the place on Paper Street. Baldy glances back at the other Detectives, leaves, closing the door. The two remaining Detectives continue. Jack kicks and screams and writhes. The Detectives wrangle him, but with more difficulty, now that Baldy's gone. (checking his watch) Mr. Durden, you're going to fuck up the time! Jack gets one leg free, KICKS, knocks Flat-top backwards -- Flat-Top SLAMS the wall, falls. Redhead lets go of one of Jack's arms, jams his elbow into Jack's throat... cutting off the airway. Jack's face reddens... he's choking... Jack's free hand reaches, searching.. pulls Redhead's GUN and points it at him. Redhead backs off. Jack gets up, gasping for air, PISTOL-WHIPS Flat-top as he rises. Jack grabs one of the files off the table. Jack, without pants, in BOXER SHORTS, escapes out the BACK DOOR. He looks at the ADDRESS on the file folder. Jack SPRINTS down the middle of the street, gun in hand, looking like a complete madman. Cars almost hit him. Jack, sweating and panting, stops, looks... then heads toward the BUILDING with the address "1888." Jack tries the door. Locked. He lifts a cast iron bench, runs forward -- RAMS it into the glass. The bench immediately recoils from the glass, SLAMS Jack's groin! Jack falls to his knees, doubled over, holding his package. Then, he rises, SHOOTS the glass... Jack pushes through the broken glass. He sprints for the "PARKING" door... Jack enters, looks -- NO CARS. He bolts to the STAIRS... Jack enters, heaving. Again, NO CARS. He moves from one SUPPORT POST to another, searching. He finally spies, across the garage, NINE LARGE CANISTERS, heavily-WIRED. Jack runs to the BOMB, frantic. He walks around it. There's a DIGITAL CLOCK, ticking down from "10:05"... Jack moves to pull the lid off one CANISTER, looks inside.. Could be worse... Jack looks -- Tyler's seated, his back against one post. You could be standing under 37 stories of steel and concrete with a 150 gallons of nitroglycerin strapped to the support... oh, maybe it couldn't be... (points at bomb) You... you can't be serious about this. What a ridiculous thing to say. I can't let you... ...go through with this? What are you going to do? I'm going to... ...stop me? I'm not going... ...to let this happen! Stop finishing... ...your sentences! They're our sentences. Get your mind around that. Tyler gets up walks to Jack. What are you doing running through the streets in your underpants? We both use that body. Since when is Project Mayhem about murder? The buildings were evacuated thirty minutes ago. Everything's proceeding exactly as planned. You don't know that. There could still be people inside. Tyler keeps walking around, crosses his arms. Maybe. Maybe a couple of guys with shaved heads couldn't synchronize their watches. Good riddance. Jack looks back to the BOMB, goes to it, wipes sweat off his face. He starts finger the MANY WIRES, sorting them. I wouldn't be doing that. Unless you know which wires, in what order... If you know, I know. Jack holds his gun under one armpit, uses both hands to go through the tangle of colored wires. Or... maybe I knew you'd know, so I spent the whole day thinking about the wrong ones. Jack chooses one wire, GREEN, holds it in his fingers. If I'm wrong, we're both dead.. This is not about martyrdom. Jack twists the GREEN WIRE around his finger. I'm pulling the green wire. Green? Did you say green? Tyler comes a little closer, leaning to try to get a look, seems genuinely concerned. Yes... Don't pull the green wire. Pull anything but the green wire. Fuck you. I'm serious. That's the wrong one. Jack's unsure, swallowing, pulling the wire taunt, fingers trembling. The SOUND of a VEHICLE is HEARD from below... Hear that? Marla's here. Just in the nick of time, eh? Jack looks to Tyler. Tyler points towards the SOUND... See for yourself. Jack releases the wire, walks to a RAILING, gun in hand, keeps an eye on Tyler. Jack looks over the railing... BELOW, a BUS idles. The doors open and MARLA'S dragged out, kicking and screaming, carried by SIX SPACE MONKEYS... You motherfuckers... They carry Marla into the BUILDING'S ENTRANCE. Jack leans against the railing, exhausted. I've got everything. The bombs. The army. I've got Marla. Bob is dead, Tyler. The police blew a hole in his head. Was that part of your plan? Tyler thinks, shrugs. Bob was a grown man. In any great struggle, there will be casualties. Wouldn't that be implicit in the name? Project "Mayhem." Fuck your struggle. I want out. You want out? I quit. Not an option, for the most obvious of reasons. You need to get with the program. (looks at his watch) Seven minutes. Let's get out of here. Tyler's walks away. Jack looks at the gun in his hand. He points the gun at Tyler... Tyler... (still walking away) What? (COCKS the gun) Defuse the bomb. Tyler stops walking. Ask me nicely. Defuse the bomb, please. Defuse the bomb? Yes. Tyler strides towards the BOMB. Jack trains the gun... Please. Tyler looks at the BOMB, reaches over to it. He grips the GREEN WIRE, yanks it out -- the CLOCK STOPS. Jack lowers his gun. I did that for you. As a gesture. Now, how fast can you run? There are ten other bombs, in ten other buildings in the immediate area. If you're going to get them all, you better get cracking. (looks at watch) Six minutes. Green wires, remember. I'll be upstairs. Jack's stunned. Tyler walks across the parking garage, past Jack, heading for the STAIRS. Jack aims the gun at Tyler's back, FIRES! Tyler ducks to one side, impossibly quick, avoiding... Tyler spins to face Jack. Whoa! What was that all about? Jack aims... FIRES! Tyler DODGES behind a post as the BULLET THROWS CONCRETE. Jack edges forward, gun held in both hands, moves around the post... Tyler is NOT THERE. Jack turns, takes slow steps, moving the gun from side to side... Suddenly, a FIST ENTERS FRAME -- SLUGS Jack's face. Jack falls. The gun goes CLATTERING across the floor... Jack turns, looking... Tyler's GONE. Jack looks to the gun, scrambles to his feet, running to pick up the gun... Tyler KICKS Jack in the chest, sends Jack sprawling. Jack rolls, holding his chest. He looks up, sees Tyler run into the STAIRWELL. Jack grabs the gun and follows... Jack smashes the door open. The stairwell's empty. Jack RUNS up a flight of stairs, kicks open ANOTHER DOOR... Jack steps forward, gun up... TWO INTERLOCKED HANDS SLAM down onto his head. Jack drops to the floor. Tyler backs away, laughing. Jack gets to his feet, aims his gun... Fire at will. Jack clenches his teeth, FIRING -- nothing happens to Tyler. Jack FIRES TWICE -- no effect. Tyler raises his arms. What did you expect? Jack charges. Tyler dodges, PUNCHES, knocks the gun out of Jack's hand. They FIGHT, trading PUNCHES, grappling, taking each other to the floor... Banks of SECURITY MONITORS sit unmanned. ON ONE MONITOR: Jack is seen in the lobby, on the floor, alone, wrestling himself. He swings his left hand up, punching empty air, then swings his right hand -- PUNCHING himself in the side of the head... Tyler and Jack fight viciously, bloodied. Tyler manages to get his hands around Jack's throat, starts BANGING Jack's head against the floor... ... Jack's got his hands around his own throat, BANGING his own head against the floor, over and over... Jack manages to break Tyler's grip, KICKS Tyler away. Tyler springs to his feet, RUNS, heading for a STAIRCASE. Jack gets up, breathing hard, holding his head, follows... ON THE STAIRS, Tyler reaches the LOFT LEVEL, above the lobby, disappears around a corner. Jack's right behind, turning the corner -- Tyler's NOT THERE. Jack receives a SHARP SLAP on the back of the head. He wheels. Tyler isn't there. A TAP on his shoulder. Jack turns around -- WHAM! -- Tyler PUNCHES his face. Jack falls against the loft railing. Tyler comes forward, SWINGS... Jack PUNCHES himself square in the nose! Jack's dazed. Tyler grabs Jack's shirt, pulls him forward, SWINGS HIM -- THROWS him DOWN THE STAIRS... Jack TUMBLES horribly down... HITS BOTTOM, striking his head on the floor. Jack PASSES OUT... CLOSE ON: Jack's head jerks back as he SNAPS AWAKE. He looks around, trying to focus his eyes... JACK'S P.O.V. -- TRACKS in the sawdust of the floor, from where his body was dragged across to where he is how. CLOSE ON: Jack tries to comprehend. He turns his head -- TYLER'S HAND brings the GUN up, PUTS THE GUN IN JACK'S MOUTH. Jack freezes, looks around with his eyes... Tyler is seated in Jack's lap. Tyler holds the gun in Jack's mouth, his arm around him. This huge room is being remodeled. Tyler and Jack are seated near floor-to-ceiling windows affording a spectacular view of the CITY. Tyler looks at his watch. One minute. I think this is about where we came in. (looking out window) This is the beginning. We're at ground zero. Maybe you should say a few words, to mark the occasion. i... ann....iinn.. ff....nnyin... Jack tongues the barrel to the side of his mouth. (still distorted) I still can't think of anything. Tyler checks his watch. It's getting exciting now. Jack turns, so he can see down -- 31 STORIES. Look what we've accomplished. (checks watch) Thirty seconds. (looks out windows) Out these windows, we will view the economic collapse. One step closer to global equilibrium. I'm glad you're here with me. Tyler watches the skyline, WHISTLES at tune, waiting. (distorted) Can't you call it off... ? It's out of our hands. (looks at watch) This is it. Please... Fifteen seconds now. Can you see alright? 10... 9... 8.... Tyler looks out the windows, at SURROUNDING BUILDINGS, excited. Jack closes his eyes, despairing. Out the window, the SKYLINE remains unchanged. Nothing. A long beat. A very dark scowl comes over Tyler's face. Jack opens his eyes. More waiting. Tyler looks genuinely surprised, pissed-off. What the fuck -- ? Paraffin. What? (relieved) Paraffin. Your merry band mixed the nitro with paraffin. I saw it floating in the bomb. (more) JACK (cont) They must've run out of cotton and Epsom salt. Paraffin is iffy at best. Tyler rises, taking the gun from Jack's mouth, starts pacing. Jack rubs his sore jowls, allows himself a smile. Damn it! God-damn it... Not exactly according to plan. Do we have to do everything ourselves?! Tyler stops walking, lets out a sigh of disgust. He reaches into his pocket, taking out a WALKIE TALKIE. (into WALKIE TALKIE) ... Codename Rooster. Passcode First Strike... Jack's eyes go wide. (into WALKIE TALKIE) Proceed with remote detonation. Jack leaps -- TACKLES Tyler. The GUN is knocked away. Jack STRIKES Tyler's face repeatedly with his elbow, scrambles off... Jack gets the gun, turns, pointing it. Tyler's getting to his feet, sees the gun, annoyed. Jack stands. Haven't we already done this? Jack SHOOTS TWICE. Bullets pass right thorough Tyler. Tyler just rolls his eyes, drops the walkie-talkie to the floor and STOMPS on it, CRUSHING it. (pointing) How'd you do that?! You're a fucking figment of my imagination... you're psychogenic fugue state... Fuck that, maybe you're my hallucination. Jack falters, pointing at Tyler's feet. There's no walkie- talkie there. Jack looks down, sees the WALKIE-TALKIE CRUSHED under his own foot. Oh... Christ... Jack holds his head, walks around, at his wit's end. Why... why... why... ? Why what? Why can't I get rid of you? Why can't I just wish you away? You need me. No, no, I don't. (pause) I thank you, I really do. Thank you, but I don't need you anymore. Look, I can be selfish, I know that. (pause) I'm not blind to my own failings... Noooo, please... Jack backs up against a window, numb and weary. From now on, we'll share Marla. We've been spending too much time apart... ... no, no, no... No more running off without you. From here on out, we do it together. Why are you doing this?! I'm doing this for us. Please understand... I've gotten all I can from this, Tyler. (sullen) If I leave, you will be right back where I found you... I swear on my life, I won't... You will. You know you will. Jack stares at Tyler, tears welling up, hangs his head. He looks at the gun in his hand... Can you live with that? Jack stares at the gun a long time... then... Jack brings the gun up, PUTS THE GUN IN HIS MOUTH. Tyler cocks his head. What are you doing? What have you left for me? Why do you want to do that? Why do you want to put that gun in your mouth? Not my mouth. Our mouth. Tyler is calm. This is interesting. Tyler smiles in appreciation, slowly walks forward, stands very close to Jack. Why are you going with this, Ikea- boy? It's the only way to get rid of you... Jack COCKS the hammer on the gun. I can see you feel very strongly. I feel strongly too. (pause) Hey, you and me. (pause) Friends again? Their eyes are locked, unblinking. Long silence. Do something for me. What? Appreciate something. What? Look at me... What? My eyes are open. Jack's finger squeezes the trigger... KABLAM! -- Jack's cheeks INFLATE with gas. His eyes bulge. BLOOD flies out from his head. The WINDOW behind him SHATTERS. SMOKE wafts out of his mouth and tear ducts. RESUME NORMAL SPEED as the GLASS FALLS behind Jack... Tyler stands, in gunsmoke, eyes glazed, sniffs the air... What's that smell... ? Jack slumps to the floor... Tyler falls... Tyler hits the ground. The back of TYLER'S HEAD is BLOWN OPEN, revealing blood, skull and brain. Suddenly, a GROUP of SPACE MONKEYS burst into the room, moving forward to Jack. TYLER'S BODY IS GONE. Are you all right, sir... ?! Jack quakes, holding the side of his head; a ragged hole blown in his CHEEK. He's bleeding hard, but he's alive. I'm okay... Jack looks to the Space Monkeys, trying to get his eyes to see. TWO SPACE MONKEYS enter with Marla. One holds a gun to Marla as she struggles. Are you sure? You look terrible, sir! What's happened? Everything's fine. Sir, you look really awful! Do you need medical assistance? Jack sees Marla, tries to get to his feet, falls... Bring the girl to me. The rest of you get out. Now! The Monkeys bring Marla, releasing her, saluting. What happened... ? Don't ask. Marla crouches, takes out wadded TISSUES and tries to apply. them to Jack's wound. Space Monkeys are leaving, hesitantly. Get to the rendezvous point. Move it! Jack and Marla are left alone. My God, you're shot... Yes. Jack tries to got up. Marla helps him. Who did this to you? I did, I think. But, I'm okay... I'm fine... MASSIVE EXPLOSION... the glass walls rattle... Jack and Marla look -- OUT THE WINDOWS: a BUILDING EXPLODES; collapsing upon itself. Then, ANOTHER BUILDING IMPLODES into a massive cloud of dust. Jack and Marla are silhouetted against the SKYLINE. Jack looks to Marla, reaches to take her hand. I'm sorry... you met me at a very strange time in my life. Marla looks at him. ANOTHER BUILDING IMPLODES and COLLAPSES inward... and ANOTHER BUILDING... and ANOTHER... The FILM SLOWS, then ADVANCES ONE FRAME at a TIME -- SHOWING SPROCKET HOLES on the SIDES. EACH FRAME is an IMPLODING BUILDING -- then, ONE FRAME IS A PENIS. Then, the IMPLODING BUILDING again. SPEED UP the frames, LOSE the sprocket holes, RESUME NORMAL SPEED... end
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Palahniuk, Chuck - Fight ClubBookreader item preview, share or embed this item, flag this item for. - Graphic Violence
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plus-circle Add Review comment Reviews21,973 Views 65 Favorites DOWNLOAD OPTIONSIn collections. Uploaded by comadose on April 14, 2023 SIMILAR ITEMS (based on metadata)True Monologue Best Monologues from Movies for You  Fight Club MonologuesAn insomniac office worker and a devil-may-care soap maker form an underground fight club that evolves into much more. Tyler Durden MonologuesMan, I see in fight club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war… our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off. Gentlemen, welcome to Fight Club. The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is: you DO NOT talk about Fight Club! Third rule of Fight Club: someone yells "stop!", goes limp, taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule: only two guys to a fight. Fifth rule: one fight at a time, fellas. Sixth rule: No shirts, no shoes. Seventh rule: fights will go on as long as they have to. And the eighth and final rule: if this is your first time at Fight Club, you have to fight. Warning: If you are reading this then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second off your life. Don't you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can't think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all that claim it? Do you read everything you're supposed to read? Do you think every thing you're supposed to think? Buy what you're told to want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you're alive. If you don't claim your humanity you will become a statistic. You have been warned- Tyler. You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world. Oxygen gets you high. In a catastrophic emergency, you're taking giant panicked breaths. Suddenly you become euphoric, docile. You accept your fate. It's all right here. Emergency water landing - 600 miles an hour. Blank faces, calm as Hindu cows. It's a blanket. Just a blanket. Now why do guys like you and me know what a duvet is? Is this essential to our survival, in the hunter-gatherer sense of the word? No. What are we then? Hi. You're going to call off your rigorous investigation. You're going to publicly state that there is no underground group. Or… these guys are going to take your balls. They're going to send one to the New York Times, one to the LA Times press-release style. Look, the people you are after are the people you depend on. We cook your meals, we haul your trash, we connect your calls, we drive your ambulances. We guard you while you sleep. Do not… fuck with us. Fuck what you know. You need to forget about what you know, that's your problem. Forget about what you think you know about life, about friendship, and especially about you and me. In the world I see - you are stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You'll wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life. You'll climb the wrist-thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. And when you look down, you'll see tiny figures pounding corn, laying strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of some abandoned superhighway. All right, if the applicant is young, tell him he's too young. Old, too old. Fat, too fat. If the applicant then waits for three days without food, shelter, or encouragement he may then enter and begin his training. We're consumers. We are by-products of a lifestyle obsession. Murder, crime, poverty, these things don't concern me. What concerns me are celebrity magazines, television with 500 channels, some guy's name on my underwear. Rogaine, Viagra, Olestra. We have more monologues for You! Othello Monologues Selma Monologues 101 Dalmatians Monologues Find Me Guilty Monologues- Craft and Criticism
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 Everyone Misunderstands the Point of Fight ClubRebecca renner on the forgotten anti-capitalist message of an unjustly vilified work. “The first rule about fight club is you don’t talk about fight club.” “The second rule about fight club is you don’t talk about fight club.” But the most important rule of fight club is: Fuck the rules. One hot summer night in 1997, David Fincher caught Brad Pitt on the street below Pitt’s Manhattan apartment. Pitt was returning after a long day filming Meet Joe Black , an odd movie where Pitt plays the titular peanut-butter-obsessed embodiment of death. Now Fincher had a new concept for Pitt to embody: Tyler Durden, who is rule breaking, personified. When Fincher handed him the script for Fight Club that night, he read it and related to it—not to the chaos or destruction, but to the existential dread of having everything you’ve been told to want and still feeling empty. Pitt had already played some peculiar roles, including a cop in Fincher’s deadly-sins-inspired Seven. But it’s like fans glossed over the content of his movies. He had a reputation for being a pretty boy, an empty-headed heartthrob. He was dating Jennifer Anniston, America’s girl next door, and it seemed like his whole life was coming together. “I’m the guy who’s got everything,” he said in an interview with Rolling Stone in 1999, the year the movie was released in theaters. “But I’m telling you, once you get everything, then you’re just left with yourself. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: It doesn’t help you sleep any better, and you don’t wake up any better because of it.” Meanwhile, Edward Norton, who would go on to play the book’s nameless narrator (who fans sometimes call Jack), devoured the book in one night. Unlike Pitt, Norton zeroed in on the story’s black humor. “The book was so sardonic and hilarious in observing the vicissitudes of Gen-X/Gen-Y’s nervous anticipation of what the world was becoming—and what we were expected to buy into,” Norton said, according to Best. Movie. Year. Ever ., a book by Brian Raftery. In interviews, Fincher was on the same page as Norton: he said he was making a satire. While I’m not sure anyone actually comes away from it laughing, what Fincher did do is manage to capture the disaffected Gen X essence of the novel, the iconoclastic ethos that has been enthralling die-hard fans like me for 20 years. In the movie, Durden and the narrator are opposites; the narrator is an office drone who wears forgettable suits, whose scenes are cast in somnolent shades of blue, while Durden is flashy, marked by the color red, and as tan and swaggering as the narrator is sallow and thin. They first meet one night at a scuzzy bar. Later, in the parking lot, Durden delivers the line that wakes up the narrator: “ I want you to hit me as hard as you can .” From there, their lives are connected. The narrator starts sleeping at Durden’s ramshackle house near the paper mill and going to Fight Club, a secretive, underground bare-knuckle boxing club that is strangely like the support groups the narrator used to attend, with more blood and sweat. Officially, you’re not supposed to talk about fight club. But rules are made to be broken when you’re an anarchist like Durden who makes soap from stolen liposuction fat. Without broken rules, there would be no recruitment, which Durden needs to scale up his club of disaffected men into Project Mayhem, a group of anarchists who blindly follow Durden into chaos. During filming, Fincher, Norton, and Pitt would hang out, drinking Mountain Dew, playing Nerf basketball and, “riffing on the film’s numerous bull’s-eyes: masculinity, consumerism, their aggravating elders,” according to Best. Movie. Year. Ever . That ranting inspired what would become some of the movie’s most famous lines, like: “Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate, so we can buy shit we don’t need. We are the middle children of history, raised by television to believe that someday we’ll be millionaires and movie stars and rock stars, but we won’t.” Project Mayhem sets its sights on destruction. Sure, it’s literal anarchy for a while, but after that, it has a purpose: Durden wants to blow up the credit card companies, undo the American Dream, and set everyone free from their debt. In Fincher’s vison, the devil truly is in the details. The movie is rife with Easter eggs, including cigarette burns and sudden phallic flashes that are often too quick to see. Fincher watched UFC fights to study the blood and the movement of broken bodies. Norton and Pitt took tae kwon do—and they really learned to make soap. Cinematographers played up the grit with cheap lighting. Designers created sets with holes, smoke, and leaks, making the grungy, dripping, shadowy, disgusting places that seem like the grossest parts of our own subconscious rendered on the screen. Combined with the fractured cinematic techniques, the flashbacks, spliced-in images and imagined scenes, the film feels like a slow descent into madness, a fever dream with Durden at the wheel. For a rallying cry against capitalism, Fight Club had appropriately humble beginnings. Chuck Palahniuk wrote the novel in snippets while on the job at a truck manufacturer. The meager first printing sold just under 5,000 copies. Even optioning the movie was a steal, at about $10,000. Things didn’t get much better after the movie was released. Fight Club was a flop at the box office. People didn’t want to see it, and it was panned by most critics. But other people got it. Millions of other people. It just took us a while. Fight Club came to DVD in 2000, and in the decade that followed, it sold more than six million copies. I bought one of them. I watched it and re-watched it. In 2007, a year deep in the heart of the recession, I was a senior in high school. My dad had canceled our cable package so we’d still have some crumbs left to buy books, including this one. I read it sitting on our lawn within view of no less than eight for-sale signs; a third of our neighbors’ houses had been foreclosed. There was a gaping hole where the American Dream was supposed to be. While my dad and I were eating one-dollar-a-box pasta for dinner in a house with almost no furniture, in school, I was studying American literature. The books we read— The Great Gatsby , Death of a Salesman —said the Dream was broken. But it was Fight Club that showed me the Dream was a lie in the first place , and the people who shilled for it were all selling something. So I didn’t understand why it seemed like I was the only one of my friends who loved it. Not only that: loving Fight Club made me weird. The only other people who liked it were guys, but the more I talked to them about it, the more it seemed like we were watching two totally different movies. Most of them were dazzled by the violence, the gross-out motifs, or Brad Pitt’s low body fat percentage. They thought the story was about how men should be able to take out their aggression however and whenever they want. To them, Fight Club wasn’t anti-capitalist; instead, it catered to their entitlement. “In the decade and a half or so after its release and reception as a cult classic, Fight Club has been embraced by the loose collection of radical online male communities (known as the ‘manosphere’) as a kind of gospel text,” Paulie Doyle wrote for Vice . “The manosphere’s affinity for Fight Club stems from a common central, biologically deterministic claim: Men are naturally predisposed to being violent, dominant hunter gatherers, who, having found themselves domesticated by modern civilization, are now in a state of crisis.” The “manosphere” thinks Fight Club is telling us we need to reprogram ourselves. The weird thing is they’re half right, but it’s like they’ve all watched the movie on mute. The problem in their logic comes when they want to strip away the consumerist programming Fight Club is so against, and replace it with more programming in the form of old-fashioned gender roles, destructive caricatures of masculinity, and patriarchal privilege. “While both the manosphere and Fight Club believe that a lack of ‘heroic’ roles for men in society has caused a generalized male malaise,” Doyle writes, “these online communities add one crucial, misogynist caveat: Women are the ones to blame, and they need to be brought back in line to solve the problem.” Instead of consumerist culture, MRA Fight Club fanboys want power, silent women, and—wait for it—the American Dream, just by another name. In other words, they’re a bunch of rule-followers trying to remake the world in the way they’ve always been told it should be. That kind of ethos is completely against the point of Fight Club , which recognizes that the patriarchy hurts men as well as the rest of us. The patriarchal establishments that make up our country also created the American Dream; they told us what we should want and gave us the (often quite rigged) rules of how to get it. That’s what people latch onto in the book and the movie: the repression and a hyper-masculine way of expressing anger against it. Fight Club ’s real philosophy: fuck the rules. The Dream isn’t worth the struggle, our freedom, our souls, or the time we have on this earth. Be who you are, whether that looks like traditional masculinity or not. Don’t forget one of the most important characters in the movie has breasts. “His name was Robert Paulson.” If this story was happening today, Project Mayhem would be rounding up incels and turning them into anti-capitalist freedom fighters, men who try to destroy the patriarchy instead of bending to its will and lining its pockets. The movie has a lot of added flourishes and details, of course, that aren’t in the book. But the book has something the movie doesn’t, and it clears things up a little: In the end, the narrator meets God. I’ve met God across his long walnut desk with his diplomas hanging on the wall behind him, and God asks me, “Why?” Why did I cause so much pain? Didn’t I realize that each of us is a sacred, unique snowflake of special unique specialness? Can’t I see how we’re all manifestations of love? I look at God behind his desk, taking notes on a pad, but God’s got this all wrong. We are not special. We are not crap or trash, either. We just are. We just are, and what happens just happens. And God says, “No, that’s not right.” Yeah. Well. Whatever. You can’t teach God anything. Maybe this isn’t God. Maybe the narrator’s in a psych ward. It’s Fight Club. Why can’t it be both? The real lesson, regardless, isn’t about how to be a hypermasculine bro or Übermensch hero. It’s that the world doesn’t owe you shit. So stop listening to gods, fathers, and advertising agencies; be yourself, and you’ll be free. Fuck the rules. - Share on Facebook (Opens in new window)
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"Man, I see in fight club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off." Scene 39, Tyler addresses the members of Fight Club before Lou discovers them in his basement. Tyler addresses the men in the basement of Lou's Tavern after admonishing them for breaking the rules of fight club. New members have joined the club, indicating that the existing members have been talking about fight club and breaking its first two rules. In this short monologue he encapsulates the feelings of a generation that believes it was raised on the notion that it would achieve success and greatness inherently. Having realized that this greatness was not their destiny, they have become angry and unmotivated. Tyler specifically blames mass media for creating this illusion. His generation was raised to regard normal everyday existence as somehow substandard or not flashy enough. Despite this, he sees potential in these men. He sees that what they can offer is being wasted on a society that values and chases material possessions. "All the ways you wish you could be, that's me. I look like you wanna look, I fuck like you wanna fuck, I am smart, capable, and most importantly, I am free in all the ways that you are not." Scene 52, Jack/The Narrator has just learned that he and Tyler are the same person. Tyler says these words to Jack/the Narrator after Jack/the Narrator learns that he and Tyler are the same person. He outlines the reasons Jack/the Narrator created the persona of Tyler. Jack/the Narrator did not feel that he could change his life on his own and felt trapped by it. Consider the added layer cast on this line by the fact that it is spoken by actor Brad Pitt. He could very well be addressing his audience, commenting on how celebrity is viewed and valued. "In the world I see - you are stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You'll wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life. You'll climb the wrist-thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. And when you look down, you'll see tiny figures pounding corn, laying strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of some abandoned superhighway." Scene 49, Tyler addresses Jack/the Narrator after Jack/the Narrator awakens following the car crash. Tyler lays out his plans to Jack/the Narrator, his vision for a new world that will come into existence after Project Mayhem achieves its goals. This pre-agrarian hunter-gatherer model disposes with the comforts of modern living as well as its trappings, such as jobs and advertising. Tyler does not seem to take into account the negative aspects of his vision, such as how disease or famine may affect the members of this society.Tyler also does not clarify how this will be achieved or how such a massive upheaval in society could come to pass without resistance or risk to human life. What does seem to be sure is that Tyler will be this new society's leader. "Our fathers were our models for God. If our fathers bailed, what does that tell you about God? Listen to me! You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you. He never wanted you. In all probability, he hates you. This is not the worst thing that can happen." Scene 35. Tyler gives Jack/the Narrator a chemical burn. Tyler addresses Jack as Jack's hand is burning from the lye Tyler poured on it. Tyler again returns to the theme of the men's fathers. Here, he makes an intellectual leap to applying his negative feelings for his father to include God. Tyler sees God as a malevolent creator, a being who could even despise his children. He feels that God is not necessary and that time spent by human beings trying to gain God's attention or acceptance is time wasted. In Tyler's mind, God does not care. If society concerns themselves with what God would think of their actions, they will never be independent of some type of parental figure and therefore will never be free. "This is your life, and it's ending one second at a time." Scene 13. Montage sequence of Jack/the Narrator traveling for his job. Jack/the Narrator states this in a voiceover over a montage sequence in which we see him traveling for his job. He is at the airport, waiting to board a flight, unsure of what time zone he is, dealing with minutiae of daily modern life. In this one simple line, Jack/the Narrator pinpoints the existential nature of his life. He can feel his life passing by, devoid of any meaning. Jack/the Narrator directly addresses the specter of death and its inevitability. Rather than seeing this as purely negative, he uses it as a call to arms. Instead of letting your life passively float by, he wishes to be an active participant in it and actually live it. He wonders what that would be like. "We're consumers. We are by-products of a lifestyle obsession. Murder, crime, poverty, these things don't concern me. What concerns me are celebrity magazines, television with 500 channels, some guy's name on my underwear. Rogaine, Viagra, Olestra." Scene 16. Jack/the Narrator and Tyler meet at Lou's Tavern after Jack/the Narrator finds that his condominium has been destroyed. Tyler highlights some of the misplaced values he sees in modern society as Jack/the Narrator listens, taken in by Tyler's charisma. As he will throughout the film, Tyler attacks mass media and advertising as contributing to this disconnection from everyday reality. People don't see or simply are not as concerned about actual problems. They'd rather discuss celebrity gossip than something unpleasant like inequality or crime in their world. In Tyler's opinion the experience of our everyday existence is dictated more and more by these obsessions than it is by our own hand. "I can't get married - I'm a thirty-year-old boy." Scene 24, Tyler and Jack/the Narrator discuss their fathers. Jack/the Narrator explains to Tyler how unready he feels to take on adult life. He and Tyler bond over the fact that their fathers were largely absent figures who contributed little to their upbringing. As a result both characters feel they were unprepared for their roles as men. They are unsure of what 'being a man' would mean and intimidated by the thought of having to settle down at some point and raise children of their own. "It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything." Scene 35. Tyler gives Jack/the Narrator a chemical burn. Tyler utters these words to Jack/the Narrator after burning his hand with lye. This is part of Tyler's philosophy of "hitting rock bottom." As Tyler uses the term, he means it as stripping away all that is unnecessary and useless to reach the true self. Rock bottom equals freedom. To get there requires overcoming one's self-imposed limitations and fears. Tyler exposes Jack/the Narrator to the worst pain he's ever faced as a means to putting Jack/the Narrator on the path towards his true self. Jack/the Narrator must look past this pain while simultaneously accepting it. "When the fight was over, nothing was solved, but nothing mattered. We all felt saved." Scene 28, Jack/ the Narrator's voiceover during a fight in which he is injured and has to go to the hospital for stitches. Jack/The Narrator comments on the spiritual aspects of fight club. The men experience a rekindled sense of self and masculinity after fighting. They feel all the things they do not miss in their regular everyday lives. Jack/the Narrator acknowledges that fighting wasn't about solving anything directly. It is just a tool to achieving a greater sense of self and allows the men to cut through to finding a sense of purpose. "Tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of Raymond K. Hessel's life. His breakfast will taste better than any meal you and I have ever tasted." Scene 42. Tyler and Jack/the Narrator confront Raymond K. Hessel, the convenience store clerk. Tyler says these words to Jack/the Narrator as Raymond Hessel runs away in terror. Jack/the Narrator asks Tyler pointedly what he hoped to achieve by terrifying this innocent man. Tyler reveals that his goal was to instill in this perfect stranger a sense of purpose and ownership over his own life. By threatening to kill Raymond, Tyler gives Raymond a new perspective on his life. It could end there, behind a convenience store, or he could become motivated and make something of it. Tyler envisions that Raymond will awake in the morning with renewed vigor and a new view on the world. He does not, however, concede the possibility that Raymond may be terrified beyond reason or that he might take action out of fear instead of self-interest.  Fight Club (Film) Questions and AnswersThe Question and Answer section for Fight Club (Film) is a great resource to ask questions, find answers, and discuss the novel. what made people to join with tayler Tyler offers a way for men to reclaim their masculinity and identity. His followers feel emasculated and unable to understand their feelings. Through advertising and social manipulation, they have lost the ability to understand what it means to be... Tyler complains that humans have lost value in society, yet the participants in project mayhem are known only bu number. What is wrong with his plan to change the world? This is a paradox of sorts. I think that Tyler was trying to start a movement where men can discover themselves but in doing so they lose their identity to the movement itself. Their use of violence to change the world results in violence becoming... WHAT IS THE FILMS INTERPRETATIONS OF EMASCULATION IN THE FILM FLIGHT CLUB? This is a pretty involved topic. Fight Club presents the argument that men in today's society have been reduced to a generation of men that do nothing themselves, but have become anesthetized with watching others do things instead. Masculinity... Study Guide for Fight Club (Film)Fight Club study guide contains a biography of director David Fincher, literature essays, quiz questions, major themes, characters, and a full summary and analysis. - About Fight Club (Film)
- Fight Club (Film) Summary
- Character List
Essays for Fight Club (Film)Fight Club literature essays are academic essays for citation. These papers were written primarily by students and provide critical analysis of Fight Club directed by David Fincher. - Restoration of Masculinity in Fight Club
- Fight Club: a Search for Identity
- The Problem of Identity in Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club
- Catharsis and the Other: Defying Alterity in Fight Club and Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close
- Tyler Durden as the Perfect Man
Wikipedia Entries for Fight Club (Film) Screen Rant19 best quotes from fight club.  Your changes have been saved Email is sent Email has already been sent Please verify your email address. You’ve reached your account maximum for followed topics.  Disney Pushed Back Against Alien: Romulus' New Xenomorph Form, Director Reveals DebateRipley easter egg in alien: romulus confirmed (& it changes her story before aliens), "there are very few films left that i'm interested in": denzel washington explains his gladiator 2 casting. Fight Club was the movie that defined a generation of young men. It might not be a pretty one, but it's a tale of repressed rage, corporate monotony, homoerotic overtones, insomnia, nihilism, anarchism versus consumerism, and splicing of porno frames into family-friendly movies struck a chord with audiences across the world. RELATED: 10 Satirical Movies To Watch If You Like Fight Club David Fincher’s oddball, yet relatively faithful adaptation of Chuck Palahniuk’s darkly comic novel might not have been a huge box office success when it was first released, but it has certainly gained a massive cult following in the years since. Updated on January 31st, 2022 by Ben Hathaway: David Fincher's adaptation of Chuck Palahniuk's masterful book is just as quotable as the nihilistic source material. This means that there's no shortage of options when it comes to fans choosing their favorite bits of Fight Club dialogue. Tyler's Idea of Etiquette"now, a question of etiquette - as i pass, do i give you the ass or the crotch".  Tyler Durden sets up his rude form of dominance right off the bat. When he's introduced, The Narrator is on an airplane, with the seat next to him being empty. Durden's back takes up most of the camera frame and he mulls on airplane etiquette with "Now, a question of etiquette - as I pass, do I give you the ass or the crotch?" It's a funny line, but it's also relatable. A lot of people have been on an airplane or walked down the aisle at a dark movie theater and asked themselves the same question. Durden is just the ruder version of the common man (the Narrator), which is in and of itself a subtle clue to the film's ending . The Narrator Is In A Lot of Trouble"you said you would definitely say that.".  Once the Narrator is coming to the realization about Tyler Durden's true identity, he enters a police station in a city far away from home. However, once the Captain has left, the officers seem to know him anyway. Durden's already been here, he's already been everywhere. The officers are in on it even more than the Narrator who gave them specific directions as Tyler. The Narrator stands there trying to explain things, but the officers/Fight Club members know more than he does. They're a step ahead, and when he tries to explain further they merely say "You definitely said you would say that." It's one of the most unforgettably shocking moments of the movie. A Morbid Thought From The Narrator"on a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.".  "On a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero." These words from the Narrator are the epitome of Fight Club . Life isn't limitless, and the Narrator knows that, but he doesn't know how to fully grasp that knowledge in a way that's beneficial not just to others, but to himself as well. He works in the risk management section of the automobile insurance industry. He's seen more than his fair share of death and has been forced to think of those deaths as numbers. Before long, he starts thinking in terms of survival rates. It's just one of Fight Club 's more morbidly beautiful quotes . Tyler Gets A Surprise"you hit me in the ear".  The intensity of the fight sequences is just one thing about Fincher's Fight Club that holds up today . They're visceral, unexpected, even outright bizarre. They can also be very humorous, no more so than when Tyler Durden shouts out the iconic line "You hit me in the ear!" He's goaded the Narrator into a fistfight. The Narrator, naturally, is inexperienced and his punch lands with an awkward thud. The genuine surprise in Pitt's delivery makes the quote unforgettable. Marla's Philosophy"marla's philosophy of life is that she might die at any moment. the tragedy, she said, was that she didn't.".  Marla Singer goes a long way towards making Fight Club memorable. Her worldview isn't all that dissimilar from Tyler Durden/The Narrator's, and they serve to accentuate one another. She sees little point in all of this and makes an equal point of showing it. RELATED: 10 Movies That Subtly Spoil The Ending Early On Or, as the Narrator tells the viewer, "Marla's philosophy of life is that she might die at any moment. The tragedy, she said, was that she didn't." She doesn't want to live life to the fullest and she doesn't much care for understanding it, but she does have insight, even if it is as warped and jaded as the Narrator's. The Clock Is Ticking“this is your life, and it’s ending one minute at a time.”.  Time flies by, so it’s never a bad idea to appreciate life and live in the moment. Fight Club might not seem like the kind of movie to preach that message, but in its own way, that’s what this story tells people to do. The Narrator provides this timeless nugget of wisdom when he talks about traveling for work: “You wake up at SeaTac, SFO, LAX. You wake up at O’Hare, Dallas-Fort Worth, BWI. Pacific, mountain, central. Lose an hour, gain an hour. This is your life, and it’s ending one minute at a time.” Tyler's Idea Of A Motivational Quote“if you aren’t on your way to becoming a vet in six weeks, you will be dead.”.  Tyler Durden wants people to stop procrastinating following their goals. He wants them to seize the day. He wants them to stop making excuses and start doing what they can to make their dreams come true. But he goes about it in a more extreme way than most self-help gurus, telling an aspiring veterinarian, “If you aren’t on your way to becoming a vet in six weeks, you will be dead.” It's an odd but memorable take on the classic motivational quote structure. Tyler Makes An Odd Request“i want you to hit me as hard as you can.”.  Fight Club preaches that fighting can be a cathartic experience. It all begins when the Narrator tells Tyler about his problems and Tyler tells the Narrator to “hit me as hard as you can.” In the film, the ear punch is a surprise to Tyler. On the set, it was a surprise to Brad Pitt, too. He was expecting a pretend hit, but David Fincher told Edward Norton to hit him for real . Fight Club On Freedom“it’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.”.  Having an apartment and a bunch of possessions can be restricting. Having bills to pay gives people something to lose. In Fight Club , the Narrator loses everything when his apartment is destroyed, and it frees him up to follow his heart and start an underground anarchist group. However, the phrase is powerful enough to inspire people to do more positive things with their lives too. Fight Club On Mortality“first, you’ve gotta know – not fear, know – that someday, you’re gonna die.”.  According to Tyler Durden, this is the key to living life to the full. If people are afraid of death, then they won’t really experience life. People won’t do anything risky or dangerous or life-threatening or exhilarating if their main priority is not dying. When Tyler gets the Narrator to know, and not fear, that he is going to die one day, he starts setting up his ring of anarchism and rallying an army against the advertising industry. This isn’t necessarily the way to fully experience life, but it’s a start: “First, you’ve gotta know – not fear, know – that someday, you’re gonna die.” The Narrator On Insomnia“when you have insomnia, you’re never really asleep...and you’re never really awake.”.  As with most of his film’s subjects, David Fincher does a fantastic job of depicting and framing insomnia in Fight Club . It’s partly down to Edward Norton’s impeccable performance, but a lot of it is in the camera angles chosen by Fincher’s regular cinematographer Jeff Cronenweth and editing and color-grading choices made by his editor James Haygood. It’s simply a strong command of the magic of the movies and the horrors of experiencing insomnia are summed up beautifully in one single line of voiceover narration: “When you have insomnia, you’re never really asleep...and you’re never really awake.” That’s pretty much it in a nutshell. It’s a nightmare. The Narrator Or Jack?“i am jack’s complete lack of surprise.”.  The fact that Edward Norton’s Narrator character continually uses the phrase “I am Jack’s...” has led some people to think that Jack is the character’s name. In fact, screenwriter Jim Uhls called him “Jack” in the script. But it’s like Benicio del Toro’s character, “DJ”, from The Last Jedi . The character doesn’t actually have a name, but they need a placeholder name for scripts and call sheets, otherwise production would get very confusing. The phrase simply refers to the average man. He got it from a magazine. It’s just that the Narrator takes it one step further with dark twists on it, like “I am Jack’s wasted life,” and “I am Jack’s smirking revenge.” Marla On Cinderella Stories“a condom is the glass slipper of our generation.”.  A lot of love from Fight Club fans is directed at Tyler Durden and the Narrator, but Marla Singer is a great character, too. Helena Bonham Carter plays her every whim perfectly. RELATED: 5 Reasons Cliff Booth Is Brad Pitt's Best Character (& 5 Why It's Still Tyler Durden) Her explanation of why Cinderella stories are dead is one for the ages: “A condom is the glass slipper of our generation. You slip one on when you meet a stranger. You dance all night, and then you throw it away. The condom, I mean, not the stranger.” Tyler Delivers One Of Fight Club's Most Famous Quotes“you are not special. you are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. you are the same decaying organic matter as everything else.”.  Though the sentiment has caused controversy for its association with certain kinds of political discourse, Tyler's speech to his followers remains one of the most iconic moments in Fight Club . He lines them up and tells them, “Listen up, maggots! You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You are the same decaying organic matter as everything else. We are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.” The Narrator On Tyler's Power“in tyler we trusted.”.  There’s a sort of sly, double-edged message to the Narrator’s claim when he says, “Tyler built himself an army. Why was Tyler Durden building an army? To what purpose? For what greater good? In Tyler we trusted.” Tyler’s whole ethos is to go against what the corporations are telling people and go against what the government is telling people, but in doing so, he tells a bunch of people what they should be thinking and they continue to be mindless drones following what someone is telling them – they just swapped ads for Tyler Durden. The Narrator blindly follows Tyler – and trusts in him – without knowing his plan. Later in the movie, he realizes that Tyler is him, and he doesn’t know the purpose of his own army. Tyler Explains The Rules Of Fight Club“the first rule of fight club is: you do not talk about fight club. the second rule of fight club is: you do not talk about fight club.”.  The rule’s so nice, they named it twice. Many people have tried to analyze exactly why Tyler Durden felt the need to make the first two rules of Fight Club the same. Simply put, it’s because he wanted to really implant the idea in these guys’ heads that Fight Club is a very secretive organization. Don’t talk about it. Seriously, don’t talk about it. If he says it twice, it has more impact: “The first rule of Fight Club is: You do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is: You do not talk about Fight Club.” The Narrator Makes An Understatement“you met me at a very strange time in my life.”.  This line should be included in every movie with a romantic subplot. Movies usually focus on the most interesting part of their lead character’s life, whether that is the time they became a superhero, the time they were pursued by a serial killer, or the time they rallied an army of Gen-Xers against the system. RELATED: 10 Movies That Influenced David Fincher Usually, during this time, due to the three-act structure, time constraints, and audience quadrants, the character will also fall in love, and all the other stuff that goes on gets in the way of it. The Narrator explains this to Marla in one sentence: “You met me at a very strange time in my life.” Tyler Durden On Owning Things“the things you own end up owning you.”.  Many viewers think that the message of Fight Club is anti-consumerist. They think it’s a movie that critiques all the systems that are in place, like banks and corporations and products. But Tyler Durden is clearly posed as the villain. Everything he does is framed as the wrong thing to do, and at the end of the movie, as all the banks’ headquarters burn to the ground, there’s not a sense of hope, but rather a sense of dread. Still, early on in the movie, Tyler makes a very strong point about consumerist culture: “The things you own end up owning you.” Tyler Durden On Adverstising“advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy s*** we don’t need.”.  This Tyler Durden monologue is simply iconic: “Man, I see in Fight Club the strongest and smartest men who’ve ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see it squandered. Goddamn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy s*** we don’t need. We’re the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our great war is a spiritual war. Our great depression is our lives. We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars, but we won’t. And we’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very p***** off.” Though Tyler may not be the hero that some make him out to be, some of the character's insights into advertising and media ring true even today for fans. NEXT: I Am Jack's 10 Behind-The-Scenes Facts About Fight Club Fight Club (film) Fight Club is a 1999 film about an insomniac office worker, looking for a way to change his life, who crosses paths with a devil-may-care soap maker, forming an underground fight club that evolves into something much, much more. - 1 The Narrator
- 2 Tyler Durden
- 3 Marla Singer
- 5 About Fight Club (film)
- 8 External links
The Narrator- Bob had bitch tits.
- People are always asking me if I know Tyler Durden.
- When the fight was over, nothing was solved, but nothing mattered. We all felt saved.
- If you wake up at a different time, in a different place, could you wake up as a different person?
- Strangers with this kind of honesty make me go a big blubbery one.
- You wake up at SeaTac, SFO, LAX. You wake up at O'Hare, Dallas-Fort Worth, BWI. Pacific, mountain, central. Lose an hour, gain an hour. This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time.
- I am Jack's... complete lack of surprise.
- On a long enough time line, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.
- I felt like destroying something beautiful.
- I am Jack's wasted life.
- I am Jack's smirking revenge.
- When you have insomnia, you're never really asleep... and you're never really awake.
- With insomnia, nothing's real. Everything's far away. Everything's a copy of a copy of a copy.
- Fight club wasn't about winning or losing. It wasn't about words. The hysterical shouting was in tongues, like at a Pentecostal Church.
- Tyler built himself an army. Why was Tyler Durden building an army? To what purpose? For what greater good? In Tyler we trusted.
- When you have a gun in your mouth, you can only speak in vowels.
- I want you to really listen to me. My eyes are open.
- You met me at a very strange time in my life.
Tyler Durden - Gentlemen, welcome to Fight Club. The first rule of Fight Club is: You do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is: YOU DO NOT. TALK. ABOUT FIGHT CLUB! Third rule of Fight Club: Someone yells "Stop!", goes limp, taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule: Only two guys to a fight. Fifth rule: One fight at a time, fellas. Sixth rule: No shirts, no shoes. Seventh rule: Fights will go on as long as they have to. And the eighth and final rule: If this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight.
- Self-improvement is masturbation. Now, self- destruction ...
- Our fathers were our models for God, if our fathers bailed, what does that tell you about God?
- Man, I see in Fight Club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see it squandered. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our great war is a spiritual war. Our great depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars, but we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.
- In the world I see; you're stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You'll wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life. You'll climb the wrist-thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. And when you look down, you'll see tiny figures pounding corn, laying strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of some abandoned superhighway.
- Without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing.
- It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.
- You are not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.
- Hi, you're gonna call off your rigorous investigation. You're gonna publicly state that there is no underground group, or, these guys are gonna take your balls. They're gonna send one to the New York Times, one to the LA Times, press release style. Look, the people you are after are the people you depend on: we cook your meals, we haul your trash, we connect your calls, we drive your ambulances, we guard you while you sleep. Do not fuck with us.
- Hitting bottom isn't a weekend retreat. It's not a goddamn seminar. Stop trying to control everything and just let go! LET GO!
- The things you own end up owning you.
- You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you, never wanted you, in all probability he hates you. It's not the worst thing that could happen.
- Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken.
- If we are God's unwanted children, so be it !
- First you've gotta know - not fear, know - that someday you're gonna die.
- I look like you wanna look, I fuck like you wanna fuck, I am smart, capable, and most importantly, I'm free in all the ways that you are not.
- We're consumers. We are the byproducts of a lifestyle obsession. Murder, crime, poverty, these things don't concern me. What concerns me are celebrity magazines, television with 500 channels, some guy's name on my underwear. Rogaine, Viagra, Olestra.
- You wanna make an omelet, you gotta break some eggs.
- Listen up, maggots! You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You are the same decaying organic matter as everything else. We are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.
Marla Singer- A condom is the glass slipper of our generation. You slip one on when you meet a stranger. You dance all night, and then you throw it away. The condom, I mean, not the stranger.
- My God ... I haven't been fucked like that since grade school.
- Candy-stripe a cancer ward. It's not my problem.
- I've got a stomach full of Xanax. I took what was left in the bottle. It might have been too much.
- [ on the phone, after taking a bottle of sleeping pills ] This isn't a real suicide-thing. This is probably one of those cry-for-help things... You're going to have to keep me up aaaall night.
- It's a bridesmaid's dress. I got it at a second-hand store. It was loved intensely for one night.. then cast aside.
About Fight Club (film)- Gilbert Adair, "Sometimes it's hard to be a man" , The Independent , (14 November 1999).
- Soman S. chainani, "Fight Club" , The Harvard Crimson , (October 15, 1999).
- Roger Ebert , "Fight Club" , Rogerebert.com , (October 15, 1999).
- David Fincher , "Gavin Smith goes one-on-one with David Fincher" , Film Comment , October/November 1999 issue.
- David Fincher , Interview with Drew.com "Fightin Words" , Drdrew.com , (1998).
- Almar Haflidason, "Fight Club Review" , BBC , (14 November 2000).
- Ed Norton in "Interview: Edward Norton" by Sean O'Neal, The A.V. Club , (3/31/10).
- Peter Travers, "Fight Club" , Rolling Stone , (October 16, 1999).
- Paul Vercammen, "Brad Pitt spars with 'Fight Club' critics" , CNN , (October 14, 1999).
- How much can you know about yourself, if you've never been in a fight?
- When you wake up in a different place at a different time, can you wake up as a different person?
- Losing all hope is freedom
- Mischief. Mayhem. Soap.
- It's only after we've lost everything that we are free to do anything.
- This is your life and it's ending one minute at a time.
- Fuck Martha Stewart ..its all going down
- You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.
- Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes; working jobs we hate, so we can buy shit we don't need.
- Edward Norton - The Narrator
- Brad Pitt - Tyler Durden
- Helena Bonham Carter - Marla Singer
- Meat Loaf - Robert Paulson
- Jared Leto - Angel Face
- Zach Grenier - Richard Chesler, The Narrator's boss
External links- Fight Club quotes at the Internet Movie Database
- Fight Club at Rotten Tomatoes
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Navigation menu Fight Club (1999)Brad pitt: tyler durden. Photos  Quotes Tyler Durden : [31:14] The things you own end up owning you. Tyler Durden : [1:04:02] It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything. Tyler Durden : [1:10:11] Man, I see in fight club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off. Tyler Durden : [42:50] Gentlemen, welcome to Fight Club. The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is: you DO NOT talk about Fight Club! Third rule of Fight Club: someone yells "stop!", goes limp, taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule: only two guys to a fight. Fifth rule: one fight at a time, fellas. Sixth rule: No shirts, no shoes. Seventh rule: fights will go on as long as they have to. And the eighth and final rule: if this is your first time at Fight Club, you have to fight. Tyler Durden : Warning: If you are reading this then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second off your life. Don't you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can't think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all that claim it? Do you read everything you're supposed to read? Do you think every thing you're supposed to think? Buy what you're told to want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you're alive. If you don't claim your humanity you will become a statistic. You have been warned- Tyler. Tyler Durden : Now, a question of etiquette - as I pass, do I give you the ass or the crotch? Tyler Durden : [1:24:27] You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world. Tyler Durden : Listen up, maggots. You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You're the same decaying organic matter as everything else. Narrator : [34:11] Well, what do you want me to do? You just want me to hit you? Tyler Durden : C'mon, do me this one favor. Narrator : Why? Tyler Durden : Why? I don't know why; I don't know. Never been in a fight. You? Narrator : No, but that's a good thing. Tyler Durden : No, it is not. How much can you know about yourself, you've never been in a fight? I don't wanna die without any scars. So come on; hit me before I lose my nerve. Narrator : This is crazy. Tyler Durden : So go crazy. Let 'er rip. Narrator : I don't know about this. Tyler Durden : I don't either. Who gives a shit? No one's watching. What do you care? Narrator : Whoa, wait, this is crazy. You want me to hit you? Tyler Durden : That's right. Narrator : What, like in the face? Tyler Durden : [beat] Surprise me. Narrator : This is so fucking stupid... [Narrator swings, connects against Tyler's head] Tyler Durden : Motherfucker! You hit me in the ear! Narrator : Well, Jesus, I'm sorry. Tyler Durden : Ow, Christ... why the ear, man? Narrator : Guess I fucked it up... Tyler Durden : No, that was perfect! Tyler Durden : [22:28] You know why they put oxygen masks on planes? Narrator : So you can breathe. Tyler Durden : Oxygen gets you high. In a catastrophic emergency, you're taking giant panicked breaths. Suddenly you become euphoric, docile. You accept your fate. It's all right here. Emergency water landing - 600 miles an hour. Blank faces, calm as Hindu cows. Narrator : That's, um... That's an interesting theory. Tyler Durden : Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken. Tyler Durden : [1:03:32] Fuck damnation, man! Fuck redemption! We are God's unwanted children? So be it! Narrator : OK. Give me some water! Tyler Durden : Listen, you can run water over your hand and make it worse or... [shouts] Tyler Durden : Look at me... or you can use vinegar and neutralize the burn. Narrator : Please let me have it... *Please*! Tyler Durden : First you have to give up, first you have to *know*... not fear... *know*... that someday you're gonna die. Tyler Durden : [29:10] It could be worse. A woman could cut off your penis while you're sleeping and toss it out the window of a moving car. Narrator : There's always that. Tyler Durden : [1:23:50] Tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of Raymond K. Hessel's life. His breakfast will taste better than any meal you and I have ever tasted. Narrator : [reading] I am Jack's colon. Tyler Durden : I get cancer, I kill Jack. Tyler Durden : Hey, you created me. I didn't create some loser alter-ego to make myself feel better. Take some responsibility! Tyler Durden : We're a generation of men raised by women. I'm wondering if another woman is really the answer we need. Narrator : [1:52:23] Tyler, what the fuck is going on here? Tyler Durden : I ask you for one thing, one simple thing. Narrator : Why do people think that I'm you? Answer me! Tyler Durden : Sit. Narrator : Now answer me, why do people think that I'm you. Tyler Durden : I think you know. Narrator : No, I don't. Tyler Durden : Yes, you do. Why would anyone possibly confuse you with me? Narrator : Uh... I... I don't know. [Random flashbacks] Tyler Durden : You got it. Narrator : No. Tyler Durden : Say it. Narrator : Because... Narrator : Because we're the same person. Tyler Durden : [1:02:39] The first soap was made from heroes' ashes, like the first monkey shot into space.Without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing. Like the first monkey shot into space. Narrator : Oh, it's late. Hey, thanks for the beer. Tyler Durden : Yeah, man. Narrator : I should find a hotel. Tyler Durden : [in disbelief] What? Narrator : What? Tyler Durden : A hotel? Narrator : Yeah. Tyler Durden : Just ask, man. Narrator : What are you talking about? Tyler Durden : [laughs] Three pitchers of beer, and you still can't ask. Tyler Durden : You call me because you need a place to stay. Narrator : Oh, hey, no, no, no, I didn't mean... Tyler Durden : Yes, you did. So just ask. Cut the foreplay and just ask. Narrator : Would - would that be a problem? Tyler Durden : Is it a problem for you to ask? Narrator : Can I stay at your place? Tyler Durden : Yeah. Tyler Durden : Do you know what a duvet is? Narrator : It's a comforter... Tyler Durden : It's a blanket. Just a blanket. Now why do guys like you and me know what a duvet is? Is this essential to our survival, in the hunter-gatherer sense of the word? No. What are we then? Narrator : ...Consumers? Tyler Durden : Right. We are consumers. We're the by-products of a lifestyle obsession. Narrator : Bob is dead, they shot him in the head! Tyler Durden : You wanna make an omelet, you gotta break some eggs. [to the Narrator who has just fired a warning shot into the window of an explosives filled van] Tyler Durden : [2:07:41] WHOA! WHOA! WHOA! Ok, you are now firing a gun at your 'imaginary friend' near 400 GALLONS OF NITROGLYCERINE! [meeting aboard an airliner] Narrator : [23:04] What do you do for a living? Tyler Durden : Why? So you can pretend like you're interested? Tyler Durden : Fuck off with your sofa units and strine green stripe patterns, I say never be complete, I say stop being perfect, I say let... lets evolve, let the chips fall where they may. [while burning the Narrator's hand with lye] Tyler Durden : [1:03:07] Shut up! Our fathers were our models for God. If our fathers bailed, what does that tell you about God? Narrator : No, no, I... don't... Tyler Durden : Listen to me! You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you. He never wanted you. In all probability, he hates you. This is not the worst thing that can happen. Narrator : It isn't? Tyler Durden : We don't need him! Tyler Durden : [1:36:52] Where'd you go, psycho boy? Narrator : I felt like destroying something beautiful. Tyler Durden : Hitting bottom isn't a weekend retreat. It's not a goddamn seminar. Stop trying to control everything and just let go! LET GO! Tyler Durden : This isn't love, it's sport fucking. Narrator : This is crazy... Tyler Durden : People do it everyday, they talk to themselves... they see themselves as they'd like to be, they don't have the courage you have, to just run with it. Tyler Durden : [to the police chief] Hi. You're going to call off your rigorous investigation. You're going to publicly state that there is no underground group. Or... these guys are going to take your balls. They're going to send one to the New York Times, one to the LA Times press-release style. Look, the people you are after are the people you depend on. We cook your meals, we haul your trash, we connect your calls, we drive your ambulances. We guard you while you sleep. Do not... fuck with us. Lou : [1:12:25] Do you hear me now? Tyler Durden : No, I didn't quite catch that, Lou. [Lou hits Tyler again] Tyler Durden : Still not getting it. [Lou hits Tyler a few more times] Tyler Durden : Okay, I got it. Shit, I lost it. [Lou continues to beat up Tyler] Tyler Durden : Self improvement is masturbation. Now self destruction... Tyler Durden : My dad never went to college, so it was real important that I go. Narrator : Sounds familiar. Tyler Durden : So I graduate, I call him up long distance, I say "Dad, now what?" He says, "Get a job." Narrator : Same here. Tyler Durden : Now I'm 25, make my yearly call again. I say Dad, "Now what?" He says, "I don't know, get married." Narrator : I can't get married, I'm a 30 year old boy. Narrator : [1:39:00] What are you doing? Tyler Durden : Guys, what would you wish you'd done before you died? Ricky : Paint a self-portrait. The Mechanic : Build a house. Tyler Durden : [to Narrator] And you? Narrator : I don't know. Turn the wheel now, come on! Tyler Durden : You have to know the answer to this question! If you died right now, how would you feel about your life? Narrator : I don't know, I wouldn't feel anything good about my life, is that what you want to hear me say? Fine. Come on! Tyler Durden : Not good enough. Tyler Durden : Fuck what you know. You need to forget about what you know, that's your problem. Forget about what you think you know about life, about friendship, and especially about you and me. Narrator : Tyler, I'm grateful to you; for everything that you've done for me. But this is too much. I don't want this. Tyler Durden : What do you want? Wanna go back to the shit job, fuckin' condo world, watching sitcoms? Fuck you, I won't do it. Tyler Durden : [the Narrator is trying to disarm a car bomb of nitroglycerin] You don't know which wire to pull. Narrator : I know everything you do, so if you know I know. Tyler Durden : Or maybe, since I knew you'd know I spent all days thinking about the wrong wires. [Narrator pauses] Tyler Durden : You have a kind of sick desperation in your laugh. Tyler Durden : All the ways you wish you could be, that's me. I look like you wanna look, I fuck like you wanna fuck, I am smart, capable, and most importantly, I am free in all the ways that you are not. Tyler Durden : In the world I see - you are stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You'll wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life. You'll climb the wrist-thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. And when you look down, you'll see tiny figures pounding corn, laying strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of some abandoned superhighway. [while narrator is on the phone] Tyler Durden : Reject the basic assumptions of civilization, especially the importance of material possessions. Tyler Durden : [1:09:50] I look around, I look around, I see a lot of new faces. [crowd laughing] Tyler Durden : Shut up. Which means a lot of you have been breaking the first two rules of Fight Club. Tyler Durden : I'll bring us through this. As always. I'll carry you - kicking and screaming - and in the end you'll thank me. [Tyler and Narrator are discussing ideal opponents] Tyler Durden : OK: any historic figure. Narrator : I'd fight Gandhi. Tyler Durden : Good answer. Narrator : How about you? Tyler Durden : Lincoln. Narrator : Lincoln? Tyler Durden : Big guy, big reach. Skinny guys fight 'til they're burger. Tyler Durden : [39:29] If you could fight anyone, who would you fight? Narrator : I'd fight my boss, prob'ly. Tyler Durden : Really. Narrator : Yeah, why, who would you fight? Tyler Durden : I'd fight my dad. Narrator : I don't know my dad. I mean, I know him, but... he left when I was like six years old. Married this other woman, had some other kids. He like did this every six years, he goes to a new city and starts a new family. Tyler Durden : Fucker's setting up franchises. [First lines. Tyler points a gun into the Narrator's mouth] Narrator : [voiceover] People are always asking me if I know Tyler Durden. Tyler Durden : Three minutes. This is it - ground zero. Would you like to say a few words to mark the occasion? Narrator : ...i... ann... iinn... ff... nnyin... [voiceover] Narrator : With a gun barrel between your teeth, you speak only in vowels. [Tyler removes the gun from the Narrator's mouth] Narrator : I can't think of anything. Narrator : For a second I totally forgot about Tyler's whole controlled demolition thing and I wonder how clean that gun is. Tyler Durden : God Damn! We just had a near-life experience, fellas. Narrator : Tyler was a night person. While the rest of us were sleeping, he worked. He had one part time job as a projectionist. See, a movie doesn't come all on one big reel. It comes on a few. So someone has to be there to switch the projectors at the exact moment that one reel ends and the next one begins. If you look for it, you can see these little dots come into the upper right-hand corner of the screen. Tyler Durden : In the industry, we call them "cigarette burns." Narrator : That's the cue for a changeover. He flips the projectors, the movie keeps right on going, and nobody in the audience has any idea. Tyler Durden : Why would anyone want this shit job? Narrator : Because it affords him other interesting opportunities. Tyler Durden : Like splicing single frames of pornography into family films. Tyler Durden : All right, if the applicant is young, tell him he's too young. Old, too old. Fat, too fat. If the applicant then waits for three days without food, shelter, or encouragement he may then enter and begin his training. Tyler Durden : We are all part of the same compost heap. Tyler Durden : [1:01:50] Now, ancient people found their clothes got cleaner if they washed them at a certain spot in the river. You know why? Tyler Durden : Human sacrifices were once made on the hills above this river. Bodies burnt, water speeded through the wood ashes to create lye. [holds up a bottle] Tyler Durden : This is lye - the crucial ingredient. The lye combined with the melted fat of the bodies, till a thick white soapy discharge crept into the river. May I see your hand, please? [Tyler licks his lips until they're gleaming wet - he takes the Narrator's hand and kisses the back of it] Narrator : What is this? Tyler Durden : This... [pours the lye on the Narrator's hand] Tyler Durden : ... is chemical burn. Tyler Durden : [23:34] Did you know that if you mix equal parts of gasoline and frozen orange juice concentrate you can make napalm? Narrator : No, I did not know that; is that true? Tyler Durden : That's right... One could make all kinds of explosives, using simple household items. Narrator : Really...? Tyler Durden : If one were so inclined. Narrator : Tyler, you are by far the most interesting single-serving friend I've ever met... see I have this thing: everything on a plane is single-serving... Tyler Durden : Oh I get it, it's very clever. Narrator : Thank you. Tyler Durden : How's that working out for you? Tyler Durden : Being clever. Narrator : Great. Tyler Durden : Keep it up then... Right up. [Gets up from airplane seat] Tyler Durden : Now a question of etiquette; as I pass, do I give you the ass or the crotch...? Tyler Durden : Would you like to say a few words to mark the occasion? Narrator : mumbles... Tyler Durden : I'm sorry... Narrator : I still can't think of anything. Tyler Durden : Ah... flashback humor. Tyler Durden : We're consumers. We are by-products of a lifestyle obsession. Murder, crime, poverty, these things don't concern me. What concerns me are celebrity magazines, television with 500 channels, some guy's name on my underwear. Rogaine, Viagra, Olestra. Narrator : Martha Stewart. Tyler Durden : Fuck Martha Stewart. Martha's polishing the brass on the Titanic. It's all going down, man. So fuck off with your sofa units and Strinne green stripe patterns. Tyler Durden : Fight Club was the beginning, now it's moved out of the basement, it's called Project Mayhem. Tyler Durden : This is your pain. This is your burning hand. It's right here. Look at it. Narrator : I'm going to my cave. I'm going to my cave and I'm going to find my power animal. Tyler Durden : No! Don't deal with this the way those dead people do. Deal with it the way a living person does. Narrator : You're insane. Tyler Durden : No, you're insane. [Of Marla] Tyler Durden : She's a predator posing as a house pet. Tyler Durden : The salt balance has to be just right, so the best fat for making soap comes from humans. Narrator : Wait. What is this place? Tyler Durden : A liposuction clinic. Narrator : I want you to listen to me very carefully, Tyler. Tyler Durden : Okay... Narrator : My eyes are open. [the Narrator puts the gun into his mouth and pulls trigger] Tyler Durden : I want you to hit me as hard as you can. Narrator : [looking at a Calvin Klein ad on a bus] Is that what a man looks like? Tyler Durden : [laughs] Self-improvement is masturbation. Now self-destruction... Tyler Durden : [his face is soaked in blood; he is shaking it over Lou and screaming] You don't know where I've been. You don't know where I've been. Just let us have the basement, Lou! [while the narrator is on the phone with the police] Tyler Durden : Tell him. Tell him, The liberator who destroyed my property has realigned my perceptions. Tyler Durden : [the Narrator places the gun under his chin and cocks back the hammer] Now why would you want to go and blow your head off? Narrator : Not my head, Tyler, *our* head. Narrator : You're fucking Marla, Tyler. Tyler Durden : Uh, technically, you're fucking Marla, but it's all the same to her. [the Narrator's apartment has just been blown to pieces] Narrator : I had it all. I had a stereo that was very decent, a wardrobe that was getting very respectable. I was close to being complete. Tyler Durden : Shit man, now it's all gone. Narrator : What do you do? Tyler Durden : What do you mean? Narrator : What do you do for a living? [the narrator pulls a loose tooth out of his mouth] Narrator : Fuck. Tyler Durden : Hey, even the Mona Lisa's falling apart. [about Tyler splicing frames of pornography into family films] Narrator : So when the snooty cat, and the courageous dog, with the celebrity voices meet for the first time in reel three, that's when you'll catch a flash of Tyler's contribution to the film. [the audience is watching the film, the pornography flashes for a split second] Narrator : Nobody knows that they saw it, but they did... Tyler Durden : A nice, big cock... [several audience members look rattled, a little girl is crying] Narrator : Even a hummingbird couldn't catch Tyler at work. Tyler Durden : You're too old, fat man. Your tits are too big. [Tyler walks away, throwing his cigarette] Tyler Durden : Get the fuck off my porch. Narrator : What do you want me to do? You want me to hit you? Tyler Durden : Come on, do me this one favor. Tyler Durden : Why? I don't know why, I don't know. Never been in a fight, you? Tyler Durden : No, man it's not. How much can you know yourself if you've never been in a fight? I don't wanna die with out any scars. Narrator : Hello? Tyler Durden : [Eating breakfast cereal] Who is this? Narrator : Tyler? Tyler Durden : Who is this? Narrator : Uh... we met... we met on the airplane. We had the same suitcase. Uh... the clever guy? Tyler Durden : Oh yeah, right. [Snickers] Tyler Durden : Ok? Narrator : I called a second ago, th - there was no answer, I'm at the payphone... Tyler Durden : - yeah, I *69ed you, I never pick up my phone. [Crunch, crunch] Tyler Durden : So what's up, huh? Narrator : Uh, well... You're not gonna believe this... Tyler Durden : WHOA! WHOA! OK, you are now firing a gun at your imaginary friend NEAR 400 GALLONS OF NITROGLYCERIN! Tyler Durden : ...If you don't claim your humanity you will become a statistic. You have been warned Tyler Durden : [his last words] What's that smell? [Tyler and Jack stand in the bathroom doorway, watching Steph finish shaving off all of his hair. Tyler comes to give the top of Steph's head a sharp slap] Tyler Durden : [1:30:04] Like a monkey, ready to be shot into space. Space monkey! Ready to sacrifice himself for the greater good. Tyler Durden : From now on, all those with shaved heads: "Space Monkeys". Tyler Durden : This is a chemical burn. It will hurt more than you've ever been burned before. You will have a scar. Narrator : [44:38] If you could fight any celebrity, who would you fight? Tyler Durden : Alive or dead? Narrator : Doesn't matter. Who'd be tough? Tyler Durden : Hemingway. You? Narrator : Shatner. I'd fight William Shatner. Tyler Durden : *slaps the Narrator, throws away goggles* Listen to me! You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you, never wanted you, and in all probability, he HATES you. It's not the worst thing that can happen. Tyler Durden : We don't NEED Him! Narrator : *squirms* We don't - we don't - ! Tyler Durden : Fuck damnation, man! Fuck redemption! We're God's unwanted children, SO BE IT! Tyler Durden : Something on your mind, dear? Narrator : What are we doing tonight? Tyler Durden : Tonight? We make soap. Narrator : Really. Tyler Durden : To make soap, first we render fat. Tyler Durden : Just tell him you fuckin' did it. Tell him you blew it all up. That's what he wants to hear. Tyler Durden : [Robbing a liposuction clinic] The richest, creamiest fat in the world. The fat of the land. Tyler Durden : It's getting exciting now, two and one-half. Think of everything we've accomplished, man. Out these windows, we will view the collapse of financial history. One step closer to economic equilibrium. Narrator : Why wasn't I told about Project Mayhem? Tyler Durden : What are you talking about? Narrator : Why didn't you include me, in the beginning? Tyler Durden : Fight Club *was* the beginning. Lou : [Punches Tyler in the face] You hear me now? Tyler Durden : Alright, alright, I got it. I got it - shit I lost it. Narrator : [1:54:17] No, you have a house. Tyler Durden : Rented in your name. Narrator : You have jobs! You have a whole life! Tyler Durden : You have night jobs because you can't sleep. Or you stay up and make soap. Narrator : Marla. You're fucking Marla, Tyler. Tyler Durden : Technically *you're* fucking Marla, but it's all the same to her. Narrator : Oh my God. [after meeting and having sex with Marla] Tyler Durden : Man, you've got some fucked up friends, I'm tellin' ya. Limber, though... Tyler Durden : You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world. Narrator : He was *the* guerilla terrorist in the food service industry. [the Narrator looks at Tyler, who's urinating in a pot] Tyler Durden : Do not watch. I cannot go when you watch. Narrator : Apart from seasoning the lobster bisque, he farted on the meringue, sneezed on braised endive, and as for the cream of mushroom soup, well... Tyler Durden : [snickers] Go ahead. Tell 'em. Narrator : ...you get the idea. Tyler Durden : Well you did lose a lot of versatile solutions for modern living Tyler Durden : I say never be complete. I say stop being perfect. I say let's evolve. Let the chips fall where they may. Tyler Durden : [23:33] Did you know if you mixed equal parts of gasoline, orange juice concentrate you can make napalm? Narrator : No, I did not know that. Is that true? Tyler Durden : That's right. One can make all kinds of explosives using simple household explosives if one were so inclined. [to the fleeing Raymond K. Hessel] Tyler Durden : Run, Forrest, run! Tyler Durden : [46:53] OK, any historical figure Narrator : I'd fight Ghandi Tyler Durden : Good answer! Tyler Durden : Lincoln Tyler Durden : WOAH! You are now firing a gun at your imaginary friend, near 400 gallons of nitroglycerin! Tyler Durden : Look at you, running around in your underwear, you look like a crazy person! Tyler Durden : Oh heavens no, not the green one. Pull any one but the green one. [Narrator pulls the green one] Tyler Durden : I asked you not to DO THAT! Release Dates | Official Sites | Company Credits | Filming & Production | Technical Specs - Full Cast and Crew
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Related ItemsRelated lists from IMDb users  Recently Viewed Try AI-powered search Twenty-five years on, “Fight Club” punches harder than everActually, the first rule of the cult film is that people never stop talking about it.  I N THE scheme of history, the late 1990s were—for many in the West—a kind of nirvana. The cold war was won ; liberal democracy was rampant. The phantom millennium bug was as big a worry as any. In this becalmed era Chuck Palahniuk published “Fight Club”, his scabrous novel of male alienation, which the director David Fincher adapted for the screen. Starring Brad Pitt as Tyler Durden, the red-leather-jacketed id of modern man, the film had its premiere 25 years ago, in September 1999. Contrary to the rules, people have never stopped talking about “Fight Club”, whether they consider it profound, offensive, pretentious or silly. Particularly among men of a certain age, it is a cultural monument of its era. As cult classics should, it had a limp run in cinemas but became a sensation on DVD , spawning copycat incidents, endless parodies and enduring controversy (its fascination with violence has been labelled “fascist”). A quarter of a century on it has lost none of its punch. The reverse is true. It resonates more today than in the tame late 1990s. Played by Edward Norton, the unnamed narrator meets Durden on a plane. In contrast to the usual in-flight small talk, Durden is soon explaining how to make napalm (this is a story with a lot of amateur chemistry). He works as a cinema projectionist, splicing frames of pornography into family movies, and as a waiter at banquets, where he pees in the lobster bisque. For his part, the narrator is a wage-slave at the ultra-cynical end of capitalism: he calculates whether recalling faulty cars will cost or save the manufacturer money. Along with its noirish palette and air of insomniac hallucination, the film has a mega-twist that it is still a shame to give away. Suffice it to say that, after an explosion in his flat, the narrator moves into Durden’s crumbling mansion. They fight for kicks outside a bar; other men pick up their taste for blood and bare knuckles. Brawling is an ecstasy that dispels the anaesthesia of modern life. Amid all the thwacking and bleeding in dank basements—and the shots of Mr Pitt’s glistening torso—“Fight Club” is pugnaciously political. But its politics are confused. First it takes a swing at the false promises and deadening satiety of consumerism. “The things you own”, Durden declares, “end up owning you.” Later, when he bemoans the plight of the downtrodden proletariat, the problem is not too much affluence but too little. The ideology on show is a hazy anarcho-nihilism, with the odd environmental flourish. Yet now, especially, there is wisdom within this incoherence. Indeed, the incoherence is itself an insight. Consider the radicalisation process in the movie. As ever more unfulfilled men join the club, the aims and activities escalate. From knocking one another’s teeth out, an elite cohort moves on to vandalism and assault, then onwards to revolution. Fans have debated whether the film sympathises with the aggrieved masculinity it depicts or sends it up. Here it is clearly tipping into satire. At the same time, the process itself is authentic. In addition to its official rules (the first rule is…never mind), the club demands total loyalty and obedience. Next comes brainwashing, and, as Durden’s plans spiral into fanaticism, a fateful step from private hobby to public crimes. When a recruit is in, he is in for good—and bad. This cycle has played out repeatedly in the past 25 years, sped up by the internet . And, yes, it has mostly involved men. It is hard now to watch the skyscrapers collapse at the end of “Fight Club” without remembering the Twin Towers and al-Qaeda. Listen to the characters complain about women, and you think of noxious macho influencers and their online acolytes, or the derangements of the incel movement. The paramilitary outfits evoke America’s posturing right-wing militias. Meanwhile the film illuminates an overlooked motive for some of the ills of this more troubled age. Durden and his peers, he says, are “the middle children of history”, with no great war or cause to call their own. In 1999 this gripe reflected the ennui of some in Generation X, who grew up into a pale, complacent world. It also captures one reason why, today, some citizens of prosperous countries become convinced their lives are bereft, so turn to warped ideas and fiery leaders. The characters in “Fight Club” grope for a grievance to justify their rage, but its real wellspring is a gnawing feeling, less radical than banal. At bottom, they are just plain bored. ■ More from Culture Why the world is teeming with so many new sports leaguesInterest from fans and investors has led to a surge. But is it a winning strategy?  The creation, and collapse, of a progressive evangelical churchFor the members of Circle of Hope, good intentions were soon eclipsed by internal divisions  Elite sport isn’t meant to be fun, is it?Even for stars who love what they do, success can be a grind Madrid, Europe’s fourth-largest city, deserves more appreciationIt is now the subject of a comprehensive new biography Whatever happened to flying cars and other promises?A new book explores why tech innovation can go awry Hollywood has a behind-the-scenes helper you might not expectThe Department of Defence sees films as a way to boost recruitment and burnish its image Fight Club, Chapter 24 (Robert Paulson)Fight club, chapter 24 (robert paulson) lyrics. How to Format Lyrics: - Type out all lyrics, even repeating song parts like the chorus
- Lyrics should be broken down into individual lines
- Use section headers above different song parts like [Verse], [Chorus], etc.
- Use italics ( <i>lyric</i> ) and bold ( <b>lyric</b> ) to distinguish between different vocalists in the same song part
- If you don’t understand a lyric, use [?]
To learn more, check out our transcription guide or visit our transcribers forum In this chapter, Palahniuk evokes Ellison in order to transcend the narrator into a true Christ figure as well as to make a point on the importance of self-identity in a world where you are defined by your car, your job, and your paycheck. Beginning as a short story–inspired by an altercation that he had while camping–in a 1995 anthology, Pursuit of Happiness , then only a mechanic and hobbyist writer, Chuck Palahniuk expanded the story that would become Fight Club to novel length after his second book, Invisible Monsters , was rejected by publishers for being too disturbing. Palahniuk actually intended for Fight Club to be more disturbing out of frustration, but the publishers took it up in 1996. After the success of Fight Club , Invisible Monsters was revisited and published in 1999, after Survivor , his third novel. It was also in 1999 that Fight Club would prove it’s longevity when David Fincher directed what would become a cult classic, despite its box office bombing . Becoming a symbol of masculinity with constant references in pop culture, Fight Club is the underground classic and modern Odyssey that put small-time, Midwestern author Chuck Palahniuk on the map, which has since led him to a prolific career–publishing some of the most interesting and disturbing fiction to date, with stories such as Guts , novels like Snuff , and nonfiction books such as Stranger than Fiction . At 2013 San Diego Comic-Con, Palahniuk announced that there would be a sequel to Fight Club in the form of a 10 issue comic book series, titled Fight Club 2 . It takes place 10 years after the events of the both the novel and the film, and sees the Narrator (now called Sebastian) married to Marla, and a child with a bad habit of creating dangerous toys. The story would deal with the resurrection of the Narrator’s inner concious, Tyler Durden. It’s due out in May 2015. Find answers to frequently asked questions about the song and explore its deeper meaning  - 1. Fight Club, Chapter 1 (99 Floors Up)
- 2. Fight Club, Chapter 2 (Coping with Insomnia For Dummies)
- 3. Fight Club, Chapter 3 (Meeting Tyler Durden)
- 6. Fight Club, Chapter 6 (Fight Club)
- 8. Fight Club, Chapter 8 (Fat Soap)
- 9. Fight Club, Chapter 9 (Chemical Burn)
- 24. Fight Club, Chapter 24 (Robert Paulson)
- 30. Fight Club, Chapter 30 (Heaven)
Genius is the world’s biggest collection of song lyrics and musical knowledge  Hillary Clinton's speech at DNC ends with 'Fight Song' evoking 2016 nostalgia CHICAGO, ILLINOIS: Hillary Clinton 's appearance at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago on August 19 was marked by a poignant climax as her speech culminated with the rousing anthem 'Fight Song.' The song by Rachel Platten struck a chord with the audience, capturing the essence of determination and solidarity that Clinton highlighted in her speech. Hillary Clinton’s speech ends with ‘Fight Song’The convention hall, brimming with delegates and supporters, burst into an extended standing ovation as Clinton began her speech. Her remarks highlighted America's strides and hurdles, recognizing President Joe Biden 's contributions and the Democratic Party's united endeavors. The crowd responded to Clinton's address with enthusiastic cheers and repeated chants of "Thank you, Joe!" honoring Biden's leadership.  Clinton, clearly touched by the warm reception, paused to savor the audience's fervor before leaving the stage. She concluded her speech by saying, "This is our time, America! This is when we stand up. This is when we break through. The future is here! It's in our grasp! LET'S GO WIN IT!" WOW. Hillary Clinton being played out to her campaign theme “Fight Song” is so nostalgic and emotional. 🩵 Her parting words at the DNC: "This is our time, America! This is when we stand up. This is when we break through. The future is here! It's in our grasp! LET'S GO WIN IT!" pic.twitter.com/i9kR4DBLpE — ⚡️Daniel (@TheDancuso) August 20, 2024 The selection of 'Fight Song' to conclude the event was an intentional move to leave a lasting impression of motivation and unity, echoing the themes of hope and initiative that Clinton had emphasized in her speech. The organizers of the convention chose the song as a symbolic act representing the continuous struggle for democratic values and the united determination to confront upcoming challenges. How did 'Fight Song' amplify impact of Hillary Clinton's speech?The choice of 'Fight Song' was also influenced by its status as a motivational anthem, often employed in both political and personal settings to inspire and energize listeners. The emotional impact of the song was evident, as numerous attendees discussed its significance on social media and in conversations.  'Fight Song' rapidly emerged as a trending topic, with users commending its effectiveness in highlighting the themes of Clinton's speech and honoring the Democratic Party's resilience and solidarity. The Chicago DNC has been characterized by a succession of influential speeches and events, yet the climax with Clinton's rendition of 'Fight Song' emerged as a powerful testament to music's ability to enrich and uplift political dialogue.  As the convention progresses, the reverberations of Clinton's speech and the rousing melody of 'Fight Song' are expected to resonate, motivating delegates and audiences alike. ‘Fight Song’ became Hillary Clinton’s 2016 anthemIn 2016, the song 'Fight Song' gained prominence as an empowering anthem throughout Clinton's presidential campaign. It emerged as a rallying cry among her supporters, representing resilience and determination. The song was showcased at numerous campaign events and in promotional content, capturing the essence of perseverance that was central to Clinton's campaign message. Internet dubs Hillary Clinton 'national treasure'As the videos began to go viral, sparking a new 'Fight Song' trend on social media for Clinton, users quickly started to react. A user wrote, "Y’all I teared up more than a little bit when she walked in to Fight Song The AMAZING @HillaryClinton with a very deserving multi minute standing ovation!!!" Y’all I teared up more than a little bit when she walked in to Fight Song The AMAZING @HillaryClinton with a very deserving multi minute standing ovation!!! pic.twitter.com/PdkOFgOz6r — Randon (@RandonSprinkle) August 20, 2024 Another added, "I don’t think I blinked from the moment she walked out till they played “Fight Song.” She was magnificent. And I think we needed to thank her more than we understood. Great night." I don’t think I blinked from the moment she walked out till they played “Fight Song.” She was magnificent. And I think we needed to thank her more than we understood. Great night. — 💙 🟦 🛡️ #TeamKamala#ProCryptoLiberal#Pats (@YouRuinedItElon) August 20, 2024 A third commentator wrote, "The fight song wave of nostalgia omg." the fight song wave of nostalgia omg pic.twitter.com/N3ozMG6vte — mvn (@mvn_dn) August 20, 2024 "It was a great speech. Hillary is a national treasure," one wrote. It was a great speech. Hillary is a national treasure. — Michelle (@lovessays) August 20, 2024 A person remarked, "I was surprised by how powerful it was to see her on stage - she’s been taking slings and arrows my entire life, and is still so passionately committed to moving things forward. The mix of rage, sorrow, and inspiration was a LOT." I was surprised by how powerful it was to see her on stage - she’s been taking slings and arrows my entire life, and is still so passionately committed to moving things forward. The mix of rage, sorrow, and inspiration was a LOT. — mmmaiammm (@mmmaiammm1) August 20, 2024 Another user added, "I could live with never hearing this song again but her speech was actually incredible. Pitch-perfect. But of course my unpopular view is that she’s always been a compelling speaker and a great candidate." I could live with never hearing this song again but her speech was actually incredible. Pitch-perfect. But of course my unpopular view is that she’s always been a compelling speaker and a great candidate. https://t.co/Z0n6x0A2go — Jill Filipovic (@JillFilipovic) August 20, 2024 This article contains remarks made on the Internet by individual people and organizations. MEAWW cannot confirm them independently and does not support claims or opinions being made online. |
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1. "This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time." — The Narrator. 2. "The first rule of Fight Club is you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is you do not ...
Voila! Finally, the Fight Club script is here for all you quotes spouting fans of the David Fincher movie with Edward Norton, Brad Pitt, and Helena Bonham-Carter. This script is a transcript that was painstakingly transcribed using the screenplay and/or viewings of Fight Club. I know, I know, I still need to get the cast names in there and I'll be eternally tweaking it, so if you have any ...
"We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war. Our Great Depres...
Fight Club is still as relevant today as it was in 1999 when it was released. ... You are not your job. One of Tyler's powerful speeches captures the way he breaks down his members into the ...
The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is: you DO NOT talk about Fight Club! Third rule of Fight Club: someone yells "stop!", goes limp, taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule: only two guys to a fight. Fifth rule: one fight at a time, fellas. Sixth rule: No shirts, no shoes.
The second rule of Fight Club is: you DO NOT talk about Fight Club! Third rule of Fight Club: if someone yells "stop!", goes limp, or taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule: only two guys to a fight. Fifth rule: one fight at a time, fellas. Sixth rule: the fights are bare knuckle. No shirt, no shoes, no weapons. Seventh rule: fights will ...
Bodies burned, water seeped into ashes to make lye. This is lye, a crucial ingredient. Once it mixed with the melted fat of the bodies a thick, white soapy discharge crept into the river. Let me ...
Fight Club movie clips: http://j.mp/1TCviZuBUY THE MOVIE: FandangoNOW - https://www.fandangonow.com/details/movie/fight-club-1999/1MV8bf7dbbaffaffe22d7c8cfa7...
F I G H T C L U B by Jim Uhls based on a novel by Chuck Palahnuik 2/16/98 ----- SCREEN BLACK JACK (V.O.) People were always asking me, did I know Tyler Durden. FADE IN: INT. SOCIAL ROOM - TOP FLOOR OF HIGH RISE -- NIGHT TYLER has one arm around Jack's shoulder; the other hand holds a HANDGUN with the barrel lodged in JACK'S MOUTH.
🎥 Movie: Fight ClubFight Club is a 1999 American film directed by David Fincher and starring Brad Pitt, Edward Norton, and Helena Bonham Carter. It is based...
Jack, a little bewildered, saunters in, carrying the beers. Tyler does NOT follow him. Bob, Ricky and several fight club guys are in front of the TV. They are all dressed like Tyler, all splattered with paint. Jack hands them their beer. One of the guys is sixteen year old with an angelic face. He notices the TV.
Fight Club is the invention of Tyler Durden, projectionist, waiter and dark, anarchic genius. And it's only the beginning of his plans for revenge on a world where cancer support groups have the corner on human warmth. Every weekend, in basements and parking lots across the country, young men with good white-collar jobs and absent fathers take ...
The second rule of Fight Club is: you DO NOT talk about Fight Club! Third rule of Fight Club: someone yells "stop!", goes limp, taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule: only two guys to a fight. Fifth rule: one fight at a time, fellas. Sixth rule: No shirts, no shoes. Seventh rule: fights will go on as long as they have to. And the eighth and ...
But the most important rule of fight club is: Fuck the rules. One hot summer night in 1997, David Fincher caught Brad Pitt on the street below Pitt's Manhattan apartment. Pitt was returning after a long day filming Meet Joe Black, an odd movie where Pitt plays the titular peanut-butter-obsessed embodiment of death.
Fight Club (Film) Quotes and Analysis. "Man, I see in fight club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don ...
Fight Club was the movie that defined a generation of young men. It might not be a pretty one, but it's a tale of repressed rage, corporate monotony, homoerotic overtones, insomnia, nihilism, anarchism versus consumerism, and splicing of porno frames into family-friendly movies struck a chord with audiences across the world.
STREAM ON: Hulu (USA) Crave Starz (CANADA)BUY ON: https://play.google.com/store/movies/details/Fight_Club?id=Xr21IVoAcLQ&hl=en&gl=USFILM DESCRIPTION:An insom...
Fight Club is a 1999 film about an insomniac office worker, looking for a way to change his life, who crosses paths with a devil-may-care soap maker, forming an underground fight club that evolves into something much, much more. Directed by David Fincher. Written by Jim Uhls. Based on the novel by Chuck Palahniuk. Mischief.
Tyler Durden : [42:50] Gentlemen, welcome to Fight Club. The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is: you DO NOT talk about Fight Club! Third rule of Fight Club: someone yells "stop!", goes limp, taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule: only two guys to a fight. Fifth rule: one fight at a ...
Fight Club is a 1999 American film directed by David Fincher, and starring Brad Pitt, Edward Norton and Helena Bonham Carter.It is based on the 1996 novel by Chuck Palahniuk.Norton plays the unnamed narrator, who is discontented with his white-collar job. He forms a "fight club" with soap salesman Tyler Durden (Pitt), and becomes embroiled in a relationship with an impoverished but beguilingly ...
In this becalmed era Chuck Palahniuk published "Fight Club", his scabrous novel of male alienation, which the director David Fincher adapted for the screen. Starring Brad Pitt as Tyler Durden ...
And as I fly slowly out the door and into the night with the stars overhead and the cold air, and I settle to the parking lot concrete. All the hands retreat, and a door shuts behind me, and a ...
"Man, I see in fight club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generatio...
http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Why-are-you-wearing-that-stupid-man-suit/213700322001050Tyler Durden Welcome to Fight Club Speech
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS: Hillary Clinton's appearance at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago on August 19 was marked by a poignant climax as her speech culminated with the rousing anthem 'Fight Song.' The song by Rachel Platten struck a chord with the audience, capturing the essence of determination and solidarity that Clinton highlighted in her speech.
"It's the fourth quarter," he said. "We're down a field goal. But we're on offence. We're driving down the field. And, boy, do we have the right team to win this."
I don't claim to own this clip.Fight Club.