A última noite - 25th hour (por Hpcharles)

Ontem postamos dois pequenos videos de coleção de dvd`s em nosso vlog de seriados. Até aí nada. Mas em um deles, a Tati fez um comentário rápido e despretensioso assim que mostrou o dvd de um filme chamado 25th, cujo o protagonista é vivido pelo Edward Norton. Lembrei imediatamente e fiquei com aquilo na cabeça.

Ela se referiu a um discurso espetacular que o cara faz em um determinado momento. Para mim, ao ver Norton disparar sua metralhadora giratória, foi difícil não associar a cena com aquela clássica de Robert de Niro em frente ao espelho, no aclamado e espetacular Taxi Drive. Se lembram do famoso “Are you talking to me?”

Como sempre achei o cara fodástico e o tal texto também sensacional, pensei em dividir com vocês. Vai que não conhecem, né? E quem não conhece está perdendo, isso eu garanto.

Apenas me desculpem os que não entendem inglês, mas “in casu”, mais do que o normal, o ritmo é fundamental e achei que ele ficaria deveras comprometido na tradução. Além disso, é coalhado de referências, regionalismos e aborda idiossincrasias que talvez se perdessem um pouco ao transporta-lo para o português. Mas a especialista aqui é a Tati, posso estar equivocado. De qualquer maneira, vai no original mesmo.

Segurem o petardo aí, porque é “tempo ruim o tempo inteiro”. E me desculpem, mas "Michael Douglas, Gordon Gecko wannabe mother fuckers" é GENIAL!!!!!

No, Fuck You 
(written by David Benioff, from his novel)
(Monty walks into the bathroom. He looks in the mirror. In the bottom corner, someone's written Fuck You!)

Monty: Yeah, fuck you, too.

Monty's Reflection: Fuck me? Fuck you! Fuck you and this whole city and everyone in it.
Fuck the panhandlers, grubbing for money, and smiling at me behind my back.
Fuck squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car. Get a fucking job!
Fuck the Sikhs and the Pakistanis bombing down the avenues in decrepit cabs, curry steaming out their pores and stinking up my day. Terrorists in fucking training. Slow the fuck down!
Fuck the Chelsea boys with their waxed chests and pumped up biceps. Going down on each other in my parks and on my piers, jingling their dicks on my Channel 35.
Fuck the Korean grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in the country, still no speaky English?
Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobster thugs sitting in cafés, sipping tea in little glasses, sugar cubes between their teeth. Wheelin' and dealin' and schemin'. Go back where you fucking came from!
Fuck the black-hatted Chassidim, strolling up and down 47th street in their dirty gabardine with their dandruff. Selling South African apartheid diamonds!
Fuck the Wall Street brokers. Self-styled masters of the universe. Michael Douglas, Gordon Gecko wannabe mother fuckers, figuring out new ways to rob hard working people blind. Send those Enron assholes to jail for fucking life! You think Bush and Cheney didn't know about that shit? Give me a fucking break! Tyco! Imclone! Adelphia! Worldcom!
Fuck the Puerto Ricans. 20 to a car, swelling up the welfare rolls, worst fuckin' parade in the city. And don't even get me started on the Dom-in-i-cans, because they make the Puerto Ricans look good.
Fuck the Bensonhurst Italians with their pomaded hair, their nylon warm-up suits, and their St. Anthony medallions. Swinging their, Jason Giambi, Louisville slugger, baseball bats, trying to audition for the Sopranos.
Fuck the Upper East Side wives with their Hermés scarves and their fifty-dollar Balducci artichokes. Overfed faces getting pulled and lifted and stretched, all taut and shiny. You're not fooling anybody, sweetheart!
Fuck the uptown brothers. They never pass the ball, they don't want to play defense, they take fives steps on every lay-up to the hoop. And then they want to turn around and blame everything on the white man. Slavery ended one hundred and thirty seven years ago. Move the fuck on!
Fuck the corrupt cops with their anus violating plungers and their 41 shots, standing behind a blue wall of silence. You betray our trust!
Fuck the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants. Fuck the church that protects them, delivering us into evil. And while you're at it, fuck JC! He got off easy! A day on the cross, a weekend in hell, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity! Try seven years in fuckin Otisville, Jay!
Fuck Osama Bin Laden, Alqueda, and backward-ass, cave-dwelling, fundamentalist assholes everywhere. On the names of innocent thousands murdered, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your seventy-two whores roasting in a jet-fueled fire in hell. You towel headed camel jockeys can kiss my royal, Irish ass!
Fuck Jacob Elinski, whining malcontent.
Fuck Francis Xavier Slaughtery, my best friend, judging me while he stares at my girlfriend's ass.
Fuck Naturel Rivera. I gave her my trust and she stabbed me in the back. Sold me up the river. Fucking bitch.
Fuck my father with his endless grief, standing behind that bar. Sipping on club soda, selling whiskey to firemen and cheering the Bronx Bombers.
Fuck this whole city and everyone in it. From the row houses of Astoria to the penthouses on Park Avenue. From the projects in the Bronx to the lofts in Soho. From the tenements in Alphabet City to the brownstones in Park slope to the split levels in Staten Island. Let an earthquake crumble it. Let the fires rage. Let it burn to fuckin ash then let the waters rise and submerge this whole, rat-infested place.

Monty: No. No, fuck you, Montgomery Brogan. You had it all and then you threw it away, you dumb fuck!
(He takes a breath and tries to rub away the words.)
bite me

Tá, agora vejam o Edward chutar bundas em uma das melhores atuações de sua vida e sejam felizes. E por favor, nesse processo, não negligenciem a trilha sonora durante a cena, pois é ela é perfeita.

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