Dutch (1991)
Ed O'Neill: Dutch Dooley
Photos
Quotes
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Dutch : Nothing burps better than bacon. Your water looked tasty.
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Dutch : You might be the toughest little whacker at the junior high but in my world, you're about as worrisome as a cloudy day.
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Dutch : You know, some day you're gonna get in a situation where you can't call for help. You'll have to depend on yourself, and you'll let yourself down. I'm not calling because I don't want your mother to think we can't make it home on our own. Call it male pride. Good, old fashioned, pig-headed, working-class, pre-fax machine/car phone, masculine pride. No accountants, no lawyers, no mommies, no daddies... no Washington lobbyists. Just a man and his wits.
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Dutch : I may not look like I could finance a trip to the zoo but the truth is I make a pretty good living. My income is a damn lot more than your father gives your mother to live on. But my money doesn't matter in your neighborhood, because I work for it. Working for your money doesn't matter in your neck of the woods, it's whose crotch the doctor yanked you out of.
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[Doyle doesn't want to come with Dutch; Dutch carries him out of his dorm slung underneath a hockey stick, with his hands and feet tied to the stick and a gag in his mouth]
Dutch : What do you like to do for fun?
[Doyle struggles to get loose, grunting around the gag]
Dutch : Oh, you like to wiggle and grunt. Me too.
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[last lines]
Dutch : Before we start, run in the other room and get my coat, would ya. I've got something in there for your mother.
Doyle : Right now?
Dutch : Yeah.
Natalie : Can't it wait?
Dutch : Well, it's something very special.
[grins all around]
Doyle : Okay...
[gets up from table]
Dutch : [to Natalie] Move over.
[to her horror he shoots Doyle with the pellet gun]
Doyle : Yipe!
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Dutch : Excuse me, I understand what you were saying to Natalie was personal. Well, I'm involved with her now so this is personal too; you hurt her and I'll hit you so fucking hard your dog will bleed, okay?
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Dutch : How do you know I'm working-class?
Doyle : From your cheap shoes, to your ridiculous hairstyle, to your crude vocabulary, to my mother's taste in men, you scream it.
Dutch : And is working-class bad.
Doyle : If you want to get into a political discussion with me, I'll shred you. No, it's not bad. A solid economy needs hand workers.
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Doyle : Fireworks are illegal in Illinois.
Dutch : Yes they are but this is Tennessee, so it doesn't matter.
Doyle : You're gonna detonate this material now?
Dutch : No not here in the gas station, you nuts? We'll go down the road a piece. I got M80s, Dragon Tongues, Bombay Bugles, Jersey Stinkers, Ha ha ha I don't even know what this is. For later I got a bag of pretzels and a deck of racy playing cards.
Doyle : You're like a great big demented child.
Dutch : Hee hee hee hee hee.
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Dutch : There's no better way for two guys to get to know each other better than to spend a couple of days in a car.
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Dutch : [after straightening things out with the truck driver, Dutch shoves Doyle into their motel room] Listen, you little son of a bitch, you could've killed somebody with a stunt like that! That poor bastard was on his way home to see his family and because you wanted to play some kind of spoiled-brat prank, you put his life in jeopardy. Now, what gives you the right to do that, huh?
Doyle : I guess I didn't think about that.
Dutch : [shoves him towards the bathroom] Well, you better start thinking of a little something else besides your own spoiled ass. I took on his idiotic assignment because I love your mother. I gotta wonder how nuts I am! Boy, I met some scum in my life, but you beat all, man. You are absolutely worthless. You know what? This isn't a joke anymore. This is a full-blown mission. You're not gonna beat me. I've had my head split open, my nose mashed, I've been kicked and beat and left for dead and when I set you down on your mother's doorstep, you're gonna be one whipped little puppy.
Doyle : [advances his hands martial-arts style] Don't flatter yourself.
Dutch : Get your hands down.
Doyle : I'm not taking anymore of your crap! You touch me once more, you'll be sorry!
Dutch : You say you want to go? You want to go? Hell, I'd love to go! You want to go?
Doyle : [eager] Yeah, I do.
Dutch : Okay, then. Let's see if your punch is as big as your mouth. Only this time, no sissy kicks, no kamikize kicks, no sucker punches. Just good American street fighting. Now, let me show how you do it.
[he helps Doyle curl up his knuckles into fists]
Dutch : Just curl up your little digits and thumbies, so you don't hurt them. All right, come on, give it to me, pipsqueak!
[he lands a hard punch into Dutch's face, knocking him to the floor unconscious, with his rear end facing up. Doyle, shocked and fearful, goes into the bathroom and locks the door]
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[Doyle insists that Dutch stop the car, Dutch sarcastically slams on the brakes, tossing Doyle on the floorboard]
Dutch : You can't beat a Ford for good brakes!
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Dutch : I don't care for caviar, I make it a policy never to eat something a fish deposits in a riverbed.
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Dutch : Frankly, I don't care if you live, die, or grow mushrooms in your crack.
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Doyle : I could have frozen to death, you asshole!
Dutch : I don't think you would have frozen. Not solid, anyway, it's not quite cold enough for that. Here's the deal, Dobsie: I don't screw around. You piss me off, I react. I'm not your daddy, I'm not your friend, I'm not your uncle. I'm a working-class nobody, and I don't take crap from kiddies.
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Dutch : You and I are riding in the back seat from now on. Because what that missile twister can teach you, you don't need to learn 'til you're in prison.
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Dutch : I've talked to you and talked to you until I can puke coat hangers.
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Dutch : I feel the pain in my crotch in my teeth!
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Doyle : Does campus security know you're here?
Dutch : Can you say, "I'm sorry I hit you with a golf club? Kicked your face? Mashed your testes? Shot you twice?" If that's too much, a simple "hello" would do.
Doyle : Answer my question.
Dutch : You can't say that?
Doyle : Of course I can say it.
[long, melodramatic pause]
Doyle : I choose not to.
Dutch : [aims the bb pistol] Now can you?
Doyle : No.
Dutch : Well, then I have to shoot you. Now, since we might be legally related someday, I'll give you the option of taking it on the backside. Won't hurt as bad.
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Dutch : I still owe you that shot in the ass, in case it's gnawing on your mind.
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Dutch : That's not gonna get us a ride! Come on, be pathetic! Pretend you're not gonna get ten million dollars when you're twenty-one!
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Dutch : [In hopes of getting a ride, Dutch coaches Doyle on how to make a pathetic face] Act like you're not gonna get $10,000,000 when you're 21!
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Dutch : [Angrily shoving Doyle back into the motel room] Listen, you little son of a bitch, you could've killed somebody with a stunt like that! That poor bastard was on his way home to see his family and because you wanted to play some kind of spoiled brat prank, you put his life in jeopardy. Now, what gives you the right to do that, huh?
Doyle : I guess I didn't think about that.
Dutch : [Shoves Doyle into the bathroom] Well, you better start thinking of a little something else, besides your own spoiled ass! I took on this idiotic assignment because I love your mother. I gotta wonder how nuts I am! Boy, I met some scum in my life, but you beat all, man. You are absolutely worthless. You know something? This isn't a joke, anymore. This is a full-blown mission. You're not gonna beat me. I've had my head split open, my nose mashed. I've been kicked and beat and left for dead and when I set you down on your mama's doorstep, you're gonna be one, whipped little puppy.
Doyle : [Gets himself ready to fight Dutch] Don't flatter yourself.
Dutch : Get your hands down.
Doyle : I'm not taking anymore of your crap! You touch me once more, you'll be sorry!
Dutch : You're saying you want to go? You want to go? Hell, I'd love to go! You want to go?
Doyle : Yeah.
Dutch : Okay, go ahead. Let's see if your punch is as big as your mouth. Only this time, no sissy kicks, no kamakize tricks, no sucker punches. Just good all-American street fighting. Now, let me show you how to do it, curl your little digits and balls up, so you don't hurt your little thumbies. All right, come on, give it to me, pipsqueak!
Doyle : [Doyle gives Dutch a right cross across the face and goes down, knocked out, with his butt raised up. Doyle looks down at his fist in horror and locks himself in the bathroom]
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Dutch : [Dutch and Doyle run out of the diner to notice the two hookers stole their car] Damn it, damn it, damn it!
Doyle : I can't believe it.
Dutch : [tersely] Believe it. Your angel with the dirty wings flew, taking my luggage, my wallet, my last cigar.
Doyle : She was so understanding about my problems.
Dutch : Stuff your problems!
Doyle : Stuff YOUR problems!
Dutch : If you weren't such as a spoiled little worm, such a whiny little rodent, I wouldn't had to come down here for you!
Doyle : You asked for it, you got it.
Dutch : True.
Doyle : It's not my fault.
Dutch : True. It's not your fault, it's your mother's fault.
Doyle : Why is it her fault?
Dutch : Because she gave birth to you.
Doyle : And what about your mother?
Dutch : My mother's a saint.
Doyle : [mockingly] For what, having puppies?
[Dutch angrily shoves him]
Doyle : [taunting] Oh, you want more, huh?
Dutch : Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do.
Doyle : [makes a martial-arts pose] Come and get it.
[Dutch looks at him and walks away in disgust]
Doyle : Chicken!
[Dutch turns around and kicks his leg, ejecting his shoe in the air and he hits the ground on his back. The shoe then falls back down, landing on Dutch's face]
Doyle : God, you're pathetic.
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Dutch : [after he restrains Doyle from shooting him with a BB gun in his dormitory room] I'm Dutch Dooley. I'm a friend of your mother's. I know she called you. What the hell are you beating me up for?
[walks toward the closet holding his crotch in pain]
Dutch : I can feel the pain of my crotch in my teeth.
Doyle : Does campus security know you're here?
Dutch : Can you say "I'm sorry I hit you with a golf club, kicked your face, mashed your testes, shot you twice?" If that's too much, a simple "hello" would do.
Doyle : Answer my question.
Dutch : You can't say that?
Doyle : Of course, I can say it.
[sits down on his chair]
Doyle : I choose not to.
Dutch : [points the BB gun at Doyle] Now, can you?
Doyle : No.
Dutch : Well, I'll have to shoot you. Now, since we might be legally related someday, I'm gonna give you the option to take it in the backside. Won't hurt as bad.
Doyle : If you shoot me, I'll have you arrested.
Dutch : Well, I'll have to make it look like an accident, then.
[Doyle scowls at him]
Dutch : All right, you win.
[puts the BB gun inside his coat]
Doyle : Clearly. Now, leave.
Dutch : I told your mother I'd take you home for the holidays.
Doyle : I have plans.
Dutch : Stay here? You gonna watch the football game, make a turkey sandwich, and hang yourself in the toilet?
Doyle : I said, I have plans. Leave it at that. Now, please go.
Dutch : Waiting for your father?
Doyle : I don't have to tell you anything.
Dutch : He's not coming.
Doyle : You don't know my dad, so, shut up.
Dutch : I know he's in London.
Doyle : We got a real problem here.
Dutch : I suppose we do. I have a problem because I said I'd come pick you up.
[he towers over Doyle]
Dutch : And YOU got a problem, because the last person who hit me has a dent in his head
[shows Doyle his pinkie ring]
Dutch : about the size of my pinkie ring and he dribbles when he smiles.
[he sees Doyle's empty duffel bag and throws it to him]
Dutch : Grab your stuff.
Doyle : [gets up from his chair] Listen one last time. I'M NOT GOING ANYWHERE WITH YOU!
[he throws the bag at Dutch's feet as we cut to the next scene where Dutch exits the dormitory doors carrying a bound and gagged Doyle]
Dutch : What do you do for fun?
[Doyle lets out muffled yells]
Dutch : Oh, you like to wiggle and grunt.
[chuckles]
Dutch : Me, too.
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Dutch : [while in the car, Dutch pulls out a cigar] Smoke bother you?
Doyle : Yes.
[Dutch turns off the air conditioning]
Doyle : You're asking for it so bad.
[Dutch starts chuckling]
Doyle : I'm not kidding! You have no idea how serious I can get when I wanna let somebody have it.
Dutch : [while smoking] Mmm. You know you might be able to do some damage to the small and exclusive group of people that care about you, but I don't think you could raise a welt on my fanny, because frankly, I really don't care if you live, die, or grow mushrooms in your crack.
Doyle : I'll get you so bad.
Dutch : I don't think so.
Doyle : Really? You wanna put some money on it?
Dutch : How much?
Doyle : Five-thousand dollars.
Dutch : Five-thousand dollars. I bet I know where you keep it. In a gilded box under your bed. We'll keep it modest. Twenty bucks.
[holds out his hand for Doyle to give him the money]
Doyle : It's a bet.
[he takes Dutch's cigar from the ashtray and throws it on his lap]
Dutch : HEY, WHOA!
[he begins to swerve out of control on the road]
Dutch : OWW! GODDAMNIT! OWWW!
[he screeches to a stop and gets out]
Dutch : Son of a bitch! You bastard! You little son of a bitch!
[Doyle starts snickering as Dutch retreats to the passenger side and drags Doyle out of the car, where he runs down to a snowy field]
Doyle : GO TO HELL!
[Dutch angrily gets in the back and scowls at Doyle]
Doyle : I WON THE BET!
[laughs as an angered Dutch shakes his head in annoyance. Suddenly Doyle begins throwing mud balls at Dutch's car and he gets out]
Dutch : Throw one more--
[he ducks a mud ball coming towards him]
Dutch : Throw one more and I'm leaving you!
Doyle : YOU PROMISE?
Dutch : Guaranteed!
Doyle : GOOD RIDDANCE!
[throws another one on the roof, narrowing missing Dutch. He then grabs Doyle's overcoat out of the car and throws it in his direction]
Doyle : Here! I'll see you at the motel about fifty miles down the road!
[he gets in the car, much to Doyle's shock, and drives away]
Dutch : WAIT A MINUTE! STOP! I'LL DIE!
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Dutch : [Dutch and Doyle are driving down the interstate at night] These are the Cumberland Mountains. Beautiful, aren't they?
[Doyle looks to see nothing but passing lights and gives Dutch an annoyed look]
Doyle : You know what? The more you babble, the more you reveal yourself as an insecure fool, who's definitely afraid he's going to blow his chance with my mother.
Dutch : What chance, Duncan?
Doyle : My name's Doyle and the chance I'm referring to has dollar signs in it.
Doyle : Chance at your mom's money.
Doyle : Bingo.
Dutch : I may not look like I could finance a trip to the zoo, but the truth is, I make a pretty good living. My income's a damn sight more than what your father gives your mother to live on. Oh, yeah, but my money doesn't count in your neighborhood because I worked for it.
[smiling]
Dutch : Working for your money doesn't matter in your part of the world. It's whose crotch the doctor yanked you out of. Huh?
Doyle : You're disgusting.
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Dutch : How do you know I'm working-class?
Doyle : From your cheap shoes, to your ridiculous hairstyle, to your crude vocabulary, to my mother's taste in men. You scream it.
Dutch : All right. Is working-class bad?
Doyle : If you want to get into a political discussion, I'll shred you. No, it's not bad. A solid economy needs good hand workers.
Dutch : Well, I used to drive a cement truck. My father was a brick-layer. My mother worked in the laundry at the Ponchetrainian Hotel. Detroit.
Doyle : [sarcastic] You must be very proud.
Dutch : I am. I still owe you that shot in the ass, if you want to get it over with. Just in case it's gnawing on your mind. You know, you might be the toughest little whacker in the junior high, but in my world, you're about as worrisome as a cloudy day.
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Dutch : [notices a sweaty and froze Doyle entering their motel room] You wanna close the door?
[Doyle slams it and starts to take off his coat]
Doyle : I could have froze to death, you asshole!
Dutch : I don't think you were frozen. Not solid, anyway. It's not quite cold enough for that.
[as Doyle lays on his bed, Dutch leans over to him]
Dutch : Here's something you should know about me, Dale. I don't screw around. You piss me off, I react. I'm not your father, I'm not your grampy, I'm not your uncle. I'm just a working-class nobody and I don't take crap from kiddies.
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Dutch : [while on the highway] I like the backroads.
[Doyle continues yelling despite bound and gagged]
Dutch : You know, the only thing you see on the interstate is concrete.
[he looks in the rearview mirror to see Doyle lying on the backseat]
Dutch : Comfortable? You know, I owe you an apology. I lost my temper and I shouldn't have. I was a little crazy, not thinking too clear. I'm not a hundred percent sure those undershorts I jammed in your mouth to shut you up were clean or not.
Doyle : [spits out the underwear] Stop the car.
Dutch : I don't think that's a very good idea. This is only a two-lane. That's a soft shoulder.
Doyle : I said, stop the car!
[Doyle shrugs and slams hard on the brakes, knocking Doyle to the floor and the car stops near a gas station]
Dutch : You can't beat a Ford for good brakes.
Doyle : I'm gonna have you prosecuted for this.
Dutch : Oh, you mean, in big people's court or some school teen court, where I'm found guilty, I gotta roll naked in the snow or make a bed with my teeth?
Doyle : My father is one of the most powerful men in the country. When he sees what you did to me, he'll sue your working-class ass into complete and total destitution!
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Reed : [at Natalie's dinner party] I wasn't expecting to see you here, Natalie.
Natalie : I wasn't expecting to see you here, either. I thought you were going to spend some time with Doyle.
Reed : Something came up. I have to go to London in the morning.
Natalie : How does Doyle feel about this?
Reed : I haven't been able to reach him. Well, it doesn't matter. You'll be telling him.
Natalie : What?
Reed : [to Dutch, who is joining them] Could you excuse us? This is personal.
Dutch : [smiles] Sure.
[walks off]
Reed : [to Natalie] Where the hell did you find him?
Natalie : Look, you can tell Doyle yourself. I'm tired of doing your dirty work for you.
Reed : I'm being very nice to you. I gave you a house to live in with your... truck driver.
Natalie : He's not a truck driver.
Reed : [holds up his hand] Don't interrupt. You get a house to live in, you get a monthly check, and you get joint custody of Doyle. You give me a hard time, you lose it all.
Natalie : You wouldn't dare play fair, would you?
Reed : I wouldn't dare lose. Have a nice holiday.
[as Reed walks off, he is stopped by Dutch]
Dutch : Excuse me a minute. I know what you were saying to Natalie was personal. Well, I'm involved with her, now, so this is personal, too.
[talks into Reed's ear]
Dutch : You hurt her and I'll hit you so fucking hard, your dog will bleed.
[smiles]
Dutch : Okay?
