跳出我天地 Billy Elliot (2000)【完整台词】
跳出我天地 Billy Elliot (2000) 全部台词 (当前第1页,一共 6 页)
No!
Grandma.
Your eggs.
It's Billy.
Come on.
Fuck!
You been playing my records, you little twat!
I never played naught.
Ow!
Nob head!
If Dad knew you smoked that stuff,
he'd go mental.
What? Fuck off, will you?
Twat.
Here we go, Dad! Come on, man.
Dad!
Hurry up, Dad, man. We'll be late.
I'm telling you, the whole frigging world's
gonna be on that picket line this morning.
Oi! You tidy our room. Dad!
There's not much of this coal left.
It's fine.
We'll be digging it up again next month.
Don't kid yourself.
I'm not waiting for youse.
Tony. Tony!
See you down the picket line, Dad.
Leave it, Billy.
Mom would've let us.
Your 50 pence is on the fridge.
Scab! Scab! Scab! Scab! Scab! Scab!
Scab! Scab! Scab!
Are you sure you're not going to come?
Am I fuck. It's a right load of old bollocks.
No, it's not.
It's a load of shite, kicking people in.
Anyway, I don't know why you bother.
- I'm good at it.
- You're shite.
Look at them gloves, man.
They went out with the ark.
They're me dad's, these.
Exactly.
Right, lads. Listen up here.
Hold it! Oi, oi! Here!
Now, because they're using downstairs
as a soup kitchen for the striking miners,
I'm going to let Mrs Wilkinson
use the bottom end of the boxing hall
for her ballet lessons.
So no hanky-panky. Understood?
Yes.
Elliot, you're late.
Get changed and get in here.
All right then, lads.
Now, give it all you got! Round one.
Well, don't just stand there, Elliot!
No! Not again!
This is man-to-man combat,
not a bloody tea dance.
What're you doing, man? Hit him!
Greavesy, he's just pissing about.
Now, get stuck in and give him a belt.
He's like a fanny in a fit.
Billy, hit him!
Jesus Christ, Billy Elliot!
You're a disgrace to them gloves,
your father,
and the traditions of this boxing hall.
You owe us 50 pence.
Liberace, will you give it a rest?
Billy, punch bag.
You're not going until you do it properly.
Give these to Mrs Wilkinson
and her dance class when you've finished.
I'll see you next week.
Okay, girls.
Left hand on the bar.
Thank you, Mr Braithwaite. And...
Pretty arms.
Bottoms in.
Where are you looking, Susan?
Lift. Feel the music. Feel it.
In time, Debbie, please.
And one, and two, and three,
and four, and five,
six, seven, eight.
And one, and two, and three,
and four, five.
And hold.
Hold it.
Support yourselves! Don't look at me.
Look ahead!
Where's your confidence? Come on.
And down.
Connie.
Oh, God.
And, Debbie, eyes front.
And five, and six, and seven, and stop.
For God's sake.
Thank you, Mr Braithwaite.
Right into the centre, girls, please.
Miss? Miss, the keys.
Not now.
Right, Mr Braithwaite.
The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow.
Fat chance. Ready, and...
Port de bras forward,
and up.
Port de bras forward, and up.
- Why don't you join in?
- Port de bras forward.
- Nah.
- And up.
Port de bras forward.
And up, and hold.
And three, and four.
And, Debbie, straight leg.
Seven and eight.
And one, and two, and three,
and four, and five.
Boots off. Seven and eight.
- What size are you?
- Miss, what about the keys?
Into the centre.
Go on. I dare you.
Prepare.
And one, and two, and three,
and four, and five, and six, and...
And eight, and hold.
Hold it.
Hold it.
Hold it.
What have we got here, then?
Heel out. Drop your hip.
Nice, straight leg.
Good arch.
Turn that leg out.
Right. Class dismissed.
Home time. Debbie, get the 50p's.
- You owe me 50 pence.
- No, I don't!
You do.
Why don't you bring it along next week?
Can't. I'm going to boxing.
- But you're crap at boxing.
- No, I'm not!
Shut up.
Thought you enjoyed it.
Please yourself, darling.
He was your mom's favorite,
was Fred Astaire.
We used to watch him
at the Palace Picture House,
and then dance round
the front room like lunatics.
Marvelous!
Mind, they used to say
I could've been a professional.
Come on, Grandma. Not now.
Oh!
Grandma!
It's this one here!
Grandma! It's over here!
Tony, do you ever think about death?
Fuck off!
Night-night, then.
Plenty of boys do ballet, you know?
Do they now? What boys do ballet?
Nobody around here, but plenty of men do.
- Poofs.
- Not necessarily poofs.
Who, like?
What about that Wayne Sleep?
He's not a poof.
He's as fit as an athlete.
Bet he couldn't beat Daley Thompson.
Maybe not in a race, but in stamina.
Why don't you come tomorrow?
- You can just watch.
- I can't.
Gotta go to boxing, haven't I?
Please yourself, then.
See you around.
Aye, see you. Ta-ra.
Right, lads. Look sharp.
Everybody, out!
Turn, turn, and stop.
One, two, three. One, two, three.
Arms are in fifth.
One, two, three. One, two, three.
Turn, turn, and stop.
One, two, three. One, two, three.
Where are those arms?
- I don't know what to do.
- Follow the others.
Shut up, Debbie! One, two, three.
One, two, three.
Nice pretty arms. And stop.
See? I told you it takes loads of practice.
Debbie.
What, Mom?
What do you call me?
Miss.
Shove off.
So, do we get the pleasure
of your company next week?
It's just... I feel like a right sissy.
Well, don't act like one. Fifty p, please.
If you're not coming again,
give us your shoes.
Nah. You're all right.
Right.
What are you doing,
going around here like creeping Jesus?
Naught.
Grandma.
Your eggs.
It's Billy.
Come on.
Fuck!
You been playing my records, you little twat!
I never played naught.
Ow!
Nob head!
If Dad knew you smoked that stuff,
he'd go mental.
What? Fuck off, will you?
Twat.
Here we go, Dad! Come on, man.
Dad!
Hurry up, Dad, man. We'll be late.
I'm telling you, the whole frigging world's
gonna be on that picket line this morning.
Oi! You tidy our room. Dad!
There's not much of this coal left.
It's fine.
We'll be digging it up again next month.
Don't kid yourself.
I'm not waiting for youse.
Tony. Tony!
See you down the picket line, Dad.
Leave it, Billy.
Mom would've let us.
Your 50 pence is on the fridge.
Scab! Scab! Scab! Scab! Scab! Scab!
Scab! Scab! Scab!
Are you sure you're not going to come?
Am I fuck. It's a right load of old bollocks.
No, it's not.
It's a load of shite, kicking people in.
Anyway, I don't know why you bother.
- I'm good at it.
- You're shite.
Look at them gloves, man.
They went out with the ark.
They're me dad's, these.
Exactly.
Right, lads. Listen up here.
Hold it! Oi, oi! Here!
Now, because they're using downstairs
as a soup kitchen for the striking miners,
I'm going to let Mrs Wilkinson
use the bottom end of the boxing hall
for her ballet lessons.
So no hanky-panky. Understood?
Yes.
Elliot, you're late.
Get changed and get in here.
All right then, lads.
Now, give it all you got! Round one.
Well, don't just stand there, Elliot!
No! Not again!
This is man-to-man combat,
not a bloody tea dance.
What're you doing, man? Hit him!
Greavesy, he's just pissing about.
Now, get stuck in and give him a belt.
He's like a fanny in a fit.
Billy, hit him!
Jesus Christ, Billy Elliot!
You're a disgrace to them gloves,
your father,
and the traditions of this boxing hall.
You owe us 50 pence.
Liberace, will you give it a rest?
Billy, punch bag.
You're not going until you do it properly.
Give these to Mrs Wilkinson
and her dance class when you've finished.
I'll see you next week.
Okay, girls.
Left hand on the bar.
Thank you, Mr Braithwaite. And...
Pretty arms.
Bottoms in.
Where are you looking, Susan?
Lift. Feel the music. Feel it.
In time, Debbie, please.
And one, and two, and three,
and four, and five,
six, seven, eight.
And one, and two, and three,
and four, five.
And hold.
Hold it.
Support yourselves! Don't look at me.
Look ahead!
Where's your confidence? Come on.
And down.
Connie.
Oh, God.
And, Debbie, eyes front.
And five, and six, and seven, and stop.
For God's sake.
Thank you, Mr Braithwaite.
Right into the centre, girls, please.
Miss? Miss, the keys.
Not now.
Right, Mr Braithwaite.
The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow.
Fat chance. Ready, and...
Port de bras forward,
and up.
Port de bras forward, and up.
- Why don't you join in?
- Port de bras forward.
- Nah.
- And up.
Port de bras forward.
And up, and hold.
And three, and four.
And, Debbie, straight leg.
Seven and eight.
And one, and two, and three,
and four, and five.
Boots off. Seven and eight.
- What size are you?
- Miss, what about the keys?
Into the centre.
Go on. I dare you.
Prepare.
And one, and two, and three,
and four, and five, and six, and...
And eight, and hold.
Hold it.
Hold it.
Hold it.
What have we got here, then?
Heel out. Drop your hip.
Nice, straight leg.
Good arch.
Turn that leg out.
Right. Class dismissed.
Home time. Debbie, get the 50p's.
- You owe me 50 pence.
- No, I don't!
You do.
Why don't you bring it along next week?
Can't. I'm going to boxing.
- But you're crap at boxing.
- No, I'm not!
Shut up.
Thought you enjoyed it.
Please yourself, darling.
He was your mom's favorite,
was Fred Astaire.
We used to watch him
at the Palace Picture House,
and then dance round
the front room like lunatics.
Marvelous!
Mind, they used to say
I could've been a professional.
Come on, Grandma. Not now.
Oh!
Grandma!
It's this one here!
Grandma! It's over here!
Tony, do you ever think about death?
Fuck off!
Night-night, then.
Plenty of boys do ballet, you know?
Do they now? What boys do ballet?
Nobody around here, but plenty of men do.
- Poofs.
- Not necessarily poofs.
Who, like?
What about that Wayne Sleep?
He's not a poof.
He's as fit as an athlete.
Bet he couldn't beat Daley Thompson.
Maybe not in a race, but in stamina.
Why don't you come tomorrow?
- You can just watch.
- I can't.
Gotta go to boxing, haven't I?
Please yourself, then.
See you around.
Aye, see you. Ta-ra.
Right, lads. Look sharp.
Everybody, out!
Turn, turn, and stop.
One, two, three. One, two, three.
Arms are in fifth.
One, two, three. One, two, three.
Turn, turn, and stop.
One, two, three. One, two, three.
Where are those arms?
- I don't know what to do.
- Follow the others.
Shut up, Debbie! One, two, three.
One, two, three.
Nice pretty arms. And stop.
See? I told you it takes loads of practice.
Debbie.
What, Mom?
What do you call me?
Miss.
Shove off.
So, do we get the pleasure
of your company next week?
It's just... I feel like a right sissy.
Well, don't act like one. Fifty p, please.
If you're not coming again,
give us your shoes.
Nah. You're all right.
Right.
What are you doing,
going around here like creeping Jesus?
Naught.
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