Michael Collins Script - Dialogue Transcript

Voila! Finally, the Michael Collins script is here for all you quotes spouting fans of the Liam Neeson and Julia Roberts movie.  This script is a transcript that was painstakingly transcribed using the screenplay and/or viewings of Michael Collins. 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 corrections, feel free to drop me a line. You won't hurt my feelings. Honest.

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Michael Collins Script




            You've got to think of him the way he was.

            He cycled around Dublin...

            in his pin-striped suit with 10,000 on his head.

            "Why hide, Joe", he'd say...

            "...when that's what they expect?"

            But he never did what anyone expected.

            He got the British out of here, and no one expected that.

            Some people are what the times demand...

            and life without them seems impossible.

            But he's dead.

            And life is possible.

            He made it possible.

            Fire!

            Cease firing!

            Cease firing!

            Move forward!

            Come forward!

            Keep your hands in the air and your weapons visible at all times.

            Form up, in three columns...

            across the square.

            Now, ground your arms.

            Take three paces back...

            slowly.

            Move three paces back, now!

            The game's over, Harry. We lost again.

            Quick...march!

            Pick your feet up!

            Move it, you Fenian bastard!

            Open the gates!

            Show me the ringleaders of this little farce.

            Pearse...

            with the gunner eye.

            McDonagh.

            Thomas Clarke.

            Connolly.

            Get up, you Fenian swine.

            Wait, Michael. Wait.

            Till when?

            Till the next time.

            Eamon de Valera.

            What happens next time?

            We won't play by their rules. We'll invent our own.

            Fire!

            "The fact...

            "that I was born in...

            "America...

            "might save my hide.

            "Either way...

            "I am ready...

            "for what...

            "comes.

            "The Irish Republic...

            "is a dream...

            "no longer".

            Fire!

            "lt is daily sealed...

            "by the lifeblood...

            "of those who...

            "proclaimed it.

            "And every one of us...

            "they shoot...

            "brings more people...

            "to our side.

            "They cannot imprison us...

            "forever.

            "And from...

            "the day...

            "of our release...

            "Michael...

            "we must act...

             "as if the Republic...

              "is...

              "a fact.

              "We defeat...

              "the British Empire...

              "by...

              "ignoring it".

              They let us out of jail so we can do our best to be put inside again.

              Don't you see a certain paradox in that?

              Paradox.

              A contradiction.

              An immovable force meets an immovable object kind of thing.

              Look, isn't that a lovely picture?

              Maybe we should settle down.

              Just the two of us?

              And him.

              Who?

              How are you?

              How long has that man been there?

              As long as we have. Half an hour or so.

              How'd they know we were coming?

              They know what we ate for breakfast.

              There's only one way to beat them, then.

              Find out what they eat for breakfast.

              Fuck.

              It's market day.

              Where are you going?

              So, what did you have for breakfast?

              A traffic jam, lads. If you backed up, we could back up...

              and you could chase us some more.

              If we sit here a minute, it'll sort itself out.

              Grand so.

              The fact that the candidate you're being asked to vote for...

              is at this moment rotting in an English jail shouldn't put you off!

              I was in one myself till a week ago!

              They can jail us.

              They can shoot us.

              They can even conscript us!

              They can use us as cannon fodder in the Somme!

              But...

              we have a weapon more powerful...

              than any in the whole arsenal of the British Empire!

              That weapon...

              is our refusal!

              Our refusal to bow to any order but our own!

              Any institution but our own!

              Our friends in the Royal Irish Constabulary want to shut me up.

              Jail me again, shoot me, who knows?

              But I'd like you to send them a message!

              If they shut me up, who'll take my place?

              Who'll take my place?

              We will!

              I can't hear you! Who'll take my place?

              Will they shut you up?

              Clear a path!

              Clear a path!

              Get him out! Go, get him out!

              So, what's your name?

              Kitty.

              Is Harry here?

              Downstairs.

              What did they hit you with?

              Whatever it was, it was hard.

              - You'll be all right. - You're a nurse, Kitty?

              I'm nothing.

              I'm my father's daughter.

              Who's your father?

              He's dead.

              There's dinner in an hour, if you fancy it.

              Grand so.

              "Last night she came to me

              "She came softly in

              "Was so softly she came that

              "Her feet made no din

              "And she laid her hand on me

              "And this she did say

              "'Aye, it will not be long, love

              "'Till our

              "'Wedding day"'

              Gorgeous, Kitty. Beautiful.

              Mick's about to make another speech.

              What are you saying, you Dublin jackeen?

              What would you know about singing?

              I agree, you West Cork muck savage.

              You're the expert in singing.

              So it's your turn now, right?

              Hey, hey, give over, Harry, will ya.

              She has a voice like an angel. I have one like a puck goat.

              Is it or is it not Mick's turn?

              No, please.

              A noble call is mine...

              and I call on Michael.

              Mick, give us your party piece.

              Come on, Mick. Give us a song.

              He hasn't a note in his head.

              Shut up.

              "Well do I remember the bleak December day

              "The landlord and the sheriff came to drive us all away

              "They set my roof on fire with their cursed foreign spleen

              "And that's another reason

              "Why I left old Skibereen"

              Twelve more verses, now.

              You wanted to be woken.

              There was a man in West Cork who proposed to five sisters...

              one after the other.

              I suppose they all refused.

              Then the father died, and he proposed to the mother.

              Are you trying to tell me something?

              I was building up to a proposal.

              It's not easy with a Fenian in your bed.

              - He likes you too. - I do?

              Stop it.

              - But, sadly, he snores. - I do not.

              So it's up to you, Kitty.

              - I don't have to like either. - Never was a truer word spoken.

              And he sleeps in his trousers.

              Forgive the brute.

              Morning.

              Morning.

              Behave yourself.

              Am I dreaming?

              I think you are.

              We'll be an invisible army.

              Our uniform will be that of the man on the street, the peasant in the field.

              We'll strike the enemy and vanish back in the crowd again.

              What do we strike with?

              What have you got?

              Show me.

              Jeez, look at this, Harry.

              Same old story. You need something better.

              Where's the police barracks?

              - Two miles down the road. - There is an arsenal.

              How do we get in? We have no bullets!

              They don't know that.

              What's that?

              - A sod of turf. - Wrong. That's a weapon.

              Fucking deadly.

              You don't believe me?

              What is it now?

              Good evening, lads.

              Hands in the air.

              - Drop your weapons! - Now!

              We'll relieve you of your responsibilities.

              Grab that bag, one of youse.

              Jesus, lads, it's Christmas.

              You'll be organized in flying columns.

              Fight on your own terms. What's your name?

              - Whose terms, Pat? - Ours.

              I want each of those to capture ten more.

              And I want you to account for every bullet, understand?

              Stand up!

              - You understand? - Yes, sir!

              I'll make a fucking army out of you if it's the last thing I do.

              - Am I late, Joe? - Not yet.

              Can't keep the gob-shites waiting.

              Harry, I want something...

              Hold on, hold on. Behind you.

              Jesus wept.

              Five minutes.

              Sit down.

              Have a drink.

              What's this?

              What's all this?

              You've been on my heels for weeks.

              Very eager for a G man.

              I've something for you.

              Don't!

              Don't you ever calm down?

              Names and addresses of the whole cabinet.

              They're to be lifted tonight.

              It's an illegal gathering...

              in open defiance of His Majesty's government.

              How'd you get this?

              Like you said, I'm eager, for a G man.

              Why should I trust you?

              Logically, I suppose you shouldn't.

              But I've been on your heels for weeks...

              making notes of your speeches.

              Let's just say that you can be persuasive.

              You work for the Castle.

              I know.

              What was it you said...

              "Our only weapon is our refusal".

              I am getting very tired of the spectacle...

              of an upstart dominating these entire cabinet proceedings.

              I've said it before and I'll say it again:

              The minister is, as usual, exceeding his brief.

              And just what is my brief?

              Intelligence.

              Bullshit.

              I'm minister for gunrunning, daylight robbery and general mayhem.

              Until we're armed, nothing's going to happen.

              But as minister of intelligence, I'd like to inform you...

              that each of us is to be arrested...

              tonight.

              How does the minister know this?

              Now, Cathal, don't exceed your brief.

              Names, addresses, next of kin, of the whole cabinet.

              They know more about us than our mothers do.

              How do we know it's genuine?

              We don't, chief. But it could well be.

              So, nobody sleeps at home tonight.

              I disagree.

              Do sleep at home tonight.

              If Mr. Collins has been gulled, we'll sleep soundly.

              If not, they will arrest the cabinet.

              The public outcry will be deafening. Maybe then the world will listen.

              You can't be serious. We've been rotting in English jails long enough!

              I... am...

              serious, Michael.

              Fuck them.

              - Mind your tongue. - I fucking will in future.

              Mother of God.

              Pull in.

              Christ, the G man was right.

              Come on.

              This is an illegal arrest...

              by an illegal force of occupation!

              Jesus Christ.

              It's the safest house in Dublin now.

              May as well stay the night.

              What does the minister think?

              Which minister?

              We're the only two left.

              I'm changing your brief.

              I hereby appoint you minister for general mayhem.

              What's your brief?

              The same.

              Plus one other portfolio.

              Jailbreaks.

              How are youse? Didn't I tell you he snores?

              How are you?

              Do you remember Kitty?

              Indeed I do. Do you remember me?

              Vaguely.

              All right...

              l know when I'm not wanted.

              See you.

              - Good night. - Good night, Mr. Boland.

              I'll wrestle you for her.

              Go away.

              She's not interested in a bogman like you.

              Want to bet?

              Come here, Boland!

              Leave me alone!

              Give us a hand, will you?

              Give me an ear!

              Fuck off and leave me alone!

              What's your game, Mr. Broy?

              - Don't have a game. - Why did you give me that list?

              Why didn't you act on it?

              The cabinet thinks it's useful in jail.

              You obviously don't agree.

              Look...

              Castle informers have run us through like woodworm.

              You could play the same game.

              You're a queer bloody G man.

              You don't believe me, do you?

              I'm not sure.

              What would convince you?

              Show me the Castle files.

              I'd never get them out.

              No...

              but you could get me in.

              Jesus, you're serious?

              Think I'm joking?

              Does anybody know what I look like?

              Only me.

              Pretend I'm an informer. Let me in at midnight.

              We'd never get away with it.

              Everything's possible if you wish hard enough. Who said that?

              You did.

              'Twas him.

              Peter Pan.

              How is it?

              - Grand evening. - Yeah, not bad.

              Is Broy here?

              - Who? - Detective Ned Broy.

              Told me to drop by if I had information.

              How are you?

              Inspector Broy?

              Down there.

              - Who is it? - Grace, sir, John Grace.

              Come in, Mr. Grace.

              I've information relating to the guttersnipe called Collins.

              - You're not nervous? - I'm shaking.

              Don't.

              Use this.

              Sorry.

              Index to the files.

              Files on the IRB in England, Scotland, America.

              Irish Volunteers.

              Sinn Fein, more Sinn Fein.

              More IRB.

              I have to lock you in. If you hear anyone, be quiet.

              If caught, you're on your own.

              Don't I know it.

              Jesus wept.

              Christ, that's all we need.

              Get up, you! Get up!

              - Get up! - He was celebrating, Tom!

              The birth of his child.

              Was he, now? And what was it, boy or girl?

              Girl.

              Have a drink.

              All work and no play.

              Are you finished in here?

              It's a drink, is it? Shame to waste it.

              Take it.

              Let's get you cleaned up and take you home.

              - Where's me breakfast? - Time to go, Mick.

              Wait a minute.

              Mick, you're pushing it.

              Can you get a typist?

              Why?

              Copy every new file and send it to me.

              I'll try. Now, you've got to leave.

              You could squash us in a week, you know.

              Why do you think I came to you?

              If we don't get there first...

              things might get rough.

              How rough?

              Very rough.

              These files are no good without the G men who compiled them.

              That's rough.

              Can you handle it?

              After tonight, I can handle anything. Come on.

              Where the hell have you been?

              Working.

              Where?

              I want a file made on every member of the British administration.

              Look through whatever you can find: "Who's Who", society columns.

              I want names, addresses, clubs...

              where they bank, what they eat for breakfast.

              Keep it up to date. Add to it weekly.

              Tom...

              get me a list of our    best men. Young, no families.

              - What for? - The    Apostles. Just do it!

              Joe, take a letter.

              Where have you been?

              "To Whom It May Concern:

              "This is to inform you that any further collaboration...

              "with the forces of occupation will be punishable by death.

              "You have been warned.

              "Signed, the Irish Republican Army".

              Are you serious?

              Afraid so.

              Send one to every G man.

              I saw their files. They know too much.

              Look.

              Look. That's us.

              - Where'd you get these? - Know how they thrive?

              Informers.

              Without them, the Brits would have no system.

              Now, imagine the Castle...

              where anyone who collaborated knew he'd be shot.

              They wouldn't be able to move outside those fucking walls.

              That's how serious I am.

              There's only one problem.

              What?

              We'd have to do it.

              Yes.

              So...

              could you bear it?

              You got one too?

              It's a joke.

              No Fenian guttersnipe threatens me.

              Give us a name.

              What for?

              Someone to hang and fry like bacon!

              Here's one.

              Cullen.

              Don't threaten us, you Fenian swine.

              We threaten you!

              What's this mean?

              It means you can get out now.

              What?

              Give up our jobs?

              And miss out on all the fun?

              Or face the music, Hoey.

              You're the only one who will make music here.

              God's curse on them!

              Go on!

              Who's John Grace?

              Ned?

              They dumped him.

              Tommy.

              Hoey.

              I know. Come on.

              Any of ye who read Irish history know movements like ours...

              are always destroyed by paid spies and informers.

              I want to set up an outfit that'll rectify that.

              Your job will be to wreck the system of information the Castle uses against us.

              To make it unhealthy for them to run it.

              How unhealthy?

              We've sent letters of warning...

              to every G man.

              If they're stupid enough to stay in the Castle...

              then they'll be shot.

              And you will have to do the shooting.

              Don't expect it to be pleasant.

              Any of ye with any qualms, there's the door.

              Would we have got past the door?

              You would have, Vinny.

              Seriously though, I won't force this on any man.

              May the Lord have mercy on your soul.

              I want to thank you.

              For what, Father?

              For these mornings...

              praying together.

              I can't pretend to understand your politics.

              But I can appreciate...

              your integrity.

              And I yours, Father.

              And if prayer...

              can transcend these things...

              there's hope, surely.

              There must be.

              Raid!

              Out! Everybody out!

              Move! Get out!

              Ma'am, how do I get out of here?

              Grand.

              Give me The Mail.

              That's for the job on Friday.

              Get them! Get those two men!

              Stop them!

              These are the best premises you could get?

              A temporary stopgap, I swear.

              What'll be next, the knackers' yard?

              Made the front page.

              What does it say?

              "Dublin Detective Riddled With Bullets".

              "Riddled"? Riddled?

              Why are you riddling people?

              Ten bullets, when the one would do?

              To make sure he died.

              Lads, try and remember they don't grow on trees.

              - What don't they grow on? - Trees.

              Get out.

              - From the chief. - When?

              This morning.

              Boys, you did well. But go easy on the riddling.

              Go on.

              Sure it's from Dev?

              Christ, pure genius.

              Look.

              Yeah, I want peace and quiet. I want it so much I'd die for it.

              You mean you'd kill for it first.

              No, not first. Last.

              You know you are good at it.

              At what?

              Bloody mayhem.

              You're not so bad yourself.

              But Mick, you're more than good.

              You leave them sitting in the halfpenny place.

              We haven't seen anything yet.

              Are you saying things will get worse?

              So we'll have to get worse?

              Yep.

              Know what?

              I hate them.

              Not for their race or their brutality.

              I hate them for leaving us no way out.

              I hate whoever put a gun in Vinny's hand.

              I know it's me and I hate myself for it.

              I hate them for making hate necessary.

              I'll do what I have to do to end it.

              Fancy a good time?

              Not tonight, girls.

              Relax, you bastard.

              Dev, two minutes to the next watch.

              Fuck's sake.

              Mind your language.

              The bleeding key broke.

              I'll try mine.

              You can't. The fucking keyhole's jammed.

              That's no excuse for obscenities.

              Maybe I can force it out.

              Come on, Mick.

              Come on!

              Come on, Dev. Push.

              Got it! Got it!

              Emergency supplies!

              Man, you are blessed.

              What's this?

              A fur coat. Pretend you're a whore.

              Come on! Up ahead!

              All I'm missing is the high heels.

              Drive! Hop to!

              Get out! Get out!

              You look good in furs.

              There are certain things one should not do for one's country.

              Like what? Go on the game?

              Some died for lreland, but Dev whored for lreland.

              I suppose it does set a historical precedent.

              I'll take you home again, Kathleen.

              I see you've had fun in my absence.

              Right. Fun and games all the way, chief.

              I know.

              I read the papers.

              God, we're famous.

              No, he is. Lay low for a week. That nose of his is hard to hide.

              Then all of Dublin can throw a hooley.

              - Did Dev speak to you? - About what?

              He wants to go to America.

              Aye. And he wants me to go with him.

        You can't do this to me!

         I want American public support and...

          recognition from the U.S. for an Irish Republic.

          I want international opinion brought to bear on the British government.

          There's only one force they understand and you know it!

          Our job is at home!

          Our job is where I say it is.

          As president of the Irish Republic...

          l want recognition from the U.S.

          Go to America then, blast you! But leave me Boland!

          What's so special about Harry?

          - I can't do it without him. - Do what?

          I can't run a war without Harry Boland!

           You could run it without me.

            Christ, all of Dublin must be out there, Harry.

            Look! Look at the face on Smith.

            So near, yet he can't touch him.

            Don't worry. He'll try.

            Not here, he won't.

            No. But we can't let the Long Fella hang around.

            Harry, come on! Move!

            Dev!

            Chief!

            Good luck, mates.

            - Open up! - Get out of my house!

            Upstairs!

            Remember one thing. You're my chief, always!

            Go on!

            Move!

            Since you Dublin boyos can't sort out this Collins...

            I suppose it's up to us.

            Files on the IRB, England, Scotland, America.

            The Irish Volunteers.

            Sinn Fein, more Sinn Fein.

            Forget files!

            I want anyone with a remote connection to this geezer lifted! Tonight!

            It's not that simple, sir.

            But it is that simple, Mr. Broy.

            We'll make it that simple.

            There's a new regime in here...

            and it's starting now!

            Good day, Mr. Broy.

            Belfast efficiency's what they need.

            Passport. You're Harry Clyne till you get there.

            Here's a birth-cert for you, some money and the like.

            There.

            Thanks, Mick.

            Fuck and blast him! I told him I can't do without you!

            Why do you think he chose me?

            He's scared to leave us together.

            We might achieve the Republic he's talking to the world about.

            I don't know.

            They're filling up the Castle from Belfast. Things'll get rough.

            Rougher than we can imagine.

            You don't let them near you, hear me?

            Don't let them near you.

            They can't imagine a gunman in a pinstriped suit on a bicycle.

            Fuck it. It's worked for us so far.

            Let's hope my luck holds and the wheels don't buckle.

            - Coming to the train? - I will.

            There's someone to say hello to.

            Yeah? I wonder who that is, now.

            She needs looking after while I'm away.

            - He's leaving me, Mick. - I thought he was leaving me.

            Shut up, you two. I'm leaving no one.

            Do all the women in America wear trousers?

            Yes. Shameless hussies, the lot of them.

            Did you hear?

            A butterfly's been seen in West Clare.

            Its wings are green, white and yellow.

            It's a sign.

            My foot.

            - I'm telling you. - Know the problem of butterflies?

            - What? - They only last one day.

            But what a day, Mick.

            - This one's empty. - What a day.

            I leave you so. Here's your ticket.

            It'll be all right.

            I pray it will.

            See you, Mick.

            I don't want to go.

            - Will you write? - I will.

            You promise?

            See you.

            Papers, miss.

            Lads, lads...

            let a man say good-bye to his wife in peace.

            Sorry, Kitty.

            We call it taking liberties.

            I promised Harry I'd look after you.

            Come on.

              Take a section each.

              The sooner we finish, the sooner we go home.

              Toothcomb, gentlemen.

              Toothcomb.

              Black and Tan scum!

              Fuck off!

              We put up with this bollox every fucking day!

              Stupid Irish cow!

              I love trains. Don't you, Ned?

              What's so special about them?

              They make me think of places I know I'll never see.

              They're the elite of the British Secret Service.

              Churchill handpicked them.

              Give me everything you've got.

              No addresses?

              They keep to themselves.

              They were sent here for one reason.

              To eliminate you and your boys.

              I can't hold on much longer, Mick.

              It's pulling me to ribbons.

              Neither can I, Ned. But sure keep it a secret.

              Doesn't he have a face, this Collins?

              Doesn't he have corporeal form?

              This the best you've got?

              Afraid so, sir.

              That'll be all, boy.

              Broy, sir.

              Broy.

              Yes. Broy.

              Trouble you for a light, sir?

              Ta.

              So that's Mr. Soames. How many to go?

              Nineteen.

              Tom, move.

              I'll handle it, Liam. Tom.

              How are you, Charlie?

              This is Rosie.

              How are you? Sit down.

              Tell him about Mr. Soames.

              Well, he tips me every day.

              Not like some.

              What time does he get up?

              I come in at nine.

              He's washing behind the screen, so I don't see him.

              I empty the basket and take the linen.

              And then he reaches over the screen with a half-crown.

              You shouldn't take it.

              He's a gentleman.

              And you're a lady. Shut up, you.

              Thank you, Mr. Collins.

              Show him what you got from the basket.

              Ta.

              Come on.

              God bless you, Rosie.

              We've got them.

              They have more experience.

              You'll get only once chance. It's either them or us.

              We hit them at daybreak. If you're not up to it, say so now.

              I know what some of you have been through.

              There's no shame in pulling out.

              Thank you.

              Don't stay in your usual places...

              Vaughan's, Cleary's Pub.

              If any of us are lifted, we're dead!

              Understood?

              Let's go.

              I got a message for you from Kitty.

              - Where is she? - Vaughan's.

              Get your things, Kitty.

              - Couldn't you say hello? - Hello.

              - What are you doing? - Harry told me to look out for you.

              You've heard of common courtesy?

              No.

              Kitty, please. You can't stay here.

              - Why? - Don't ask questions.

              Come on!

              If any of our lads come in, tell them to stay somewhere else.

              - Where? - Anywhere else! And look sharp!

              Sufficient unto the day the evil thereof, boy?

              Yes, sir.

              Or is it Broy?

              Broy, sir.

              Good night.

              Stay on him.

              You're hurting me.

              I said, you're hurting me!

              Kitty, please.

              Please.

              The Gresham.

              Can't tell you...no, everything's fine.

              Call me if anything's up.

              Come in!

              Where will you have it, Mr. Grace?

              Here.

              - Ta. - Thank you.

              I'm going, Mick.

              You can't! Why do you think I brought you here?

              I don't know why!

              Vaughan's isn't safe.

              Not tonight.

              Sweet mother of God!

              What was on the paper, Paddy?

              Words.

              Just words.

              What's happening tonight?

              You don't want to know.

              Am I allowed to guess?

              Heard from Harry?

              Yes.

              He wrote.

              He always writes.

              When you both came to Granard the first time, you....

              But he was the one that wrote.

              Why was that, Mick?

              He's the writing type, Harry.

              What type are you?

              Let me go!

              I know exactly where I'm going!

              I can walk!

              I can walk!

              Promise me something, Kitty.

              Anything.

              Promise me you'll never care about me. Please.

              I promise.

              That's the trouble with the Irish. They sing at the drop of a hat.

              Ask them to talk and they won't.

              Do what you have to do.

              You've sent your boys out, haven't you?

              It's written on your face.

              Every step they take.

              Like so many valentines.

              Delivering bouquets.

              Do you send a love note, Mick...

              with the flowers?

              What does it say?

              Do it now!

              Jesus!

              Come on!

              Go!

              It says, "Leave us be!"

              Is that all?

              Not very romantic.

              Move away from her.

              You could at least spare my wife this spectacle.

              Take her outside.

              I'm not his bloody wife!

              Say your prayers.

              You know what it says, Kitty?

              It says, "Give us the future. We've had enough of your past".

              The Lord is my shepherd....

              "Give us our country back...

              "to live in...

              "to grow in...

              "to love".

              So there is love there, Mick.

              Hang on, Rosie.

              Clean sheets, I think.

              Come on!

              So, Mick...

              flowers delivered.

              Do you think they got the message?

              Any casualties?

              Any casualties?

              Are you deaf?

              Broy.

              Ned - fucking - Broy!

              What are you talking about? Broy wasn't out.

              They lifted him at Vaughan's.

              What was he doing?

              Oh, sweet mother of Jesus.

              Can't risk it any longer, Mick.

              Who'll give in first, Joe?

              Us or them?

              The body or the lash?

              You look like a gangster!

              You look like a ghost!

              Welcome back, Harry!

              How are you keeping?

              Grand.

              You're famous over there.

              Where?

              Over there, you thick.

              So, how was America?

              Great.

              Dev never got to meet the President.

              I didn't think he would.

              How are you?

              I'm grand.

              Welcome back, chief.

              The Big Fella sends his regards.

              We'll see who is the big fella.

              Apologies, gentlemen.

              As you may know...

              we have had some communication from the British side.

              There is a slim possibility...

              that they might want to talk.

              But our...

              tactics...

              allowed the British press to paint us as murderers.

              If we are to negotiate as a legitimate government...

              our armed forces must act...

              like a legitimate army.

              What exactly do you mean, Dev?

              I mean large-scale engagements.

              You mean, like in     ?

              The great heroic ethic of failure...

              marching to slaughter.

              Why don't we save them the bother and blow our own brains out?

              How dare you!

              How did we get them to this point...

              to consider talking?

              We brought them to their knees the only way we could!

              They call us...

              murderers.

              War is murder! Sheer, bloody murder!

              Had you been here the past year, you'd know that!

              I propose an assault...

              on the administrative center of British rule in lreland:

              The Customs House.

              Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

              How many lost?

                dead,    taken! Bloody fiasco!

              Christ, not again!

              The guns!

              We need the guns!

              Leave them!

              There's nothing we can do.

              There's nothing we can do.

              How much longer can we hold out?

              Four weeks. But keep it a secret.

              As little as that?

              Unless we use bows and arrows.

              Don't be flippant, Michael.

              We nearly lost    men last week, Dev.

              You tell him, Harry.

              He's right, chief.

              I lied.

              You lied? About what?

              We can't hold out for another week.

              Christ! Do they know that?

              Nobody knows.

              Mick, Dev's negotiating.

              Yes, so he doesn't know either.

              It's very important he doesn't know.

              The world must believe we're invincible.

              Maybe then we can talk.

              Jesus Christ.

              Kitty's down.

              So I heard.

              Is she down to see you or me?

              Maybe both of us.

              You take her down to Kingstown. Get some sea air.

              No, why don't you take her?

              No, you take her.

              - No, you take her. - No, you do.

              A horse called "Irish Republic" ran at Donnybrook today.

              What were the odds?

              -   -to- . - Jesus, some odds, what?

              There's        Tommies here and not      of us.

              I'd say   -to-  is optimistic.

              Optimistic or no...

              she won.

              No, you're joking?

                 bob each way, that makes   ...

              plus the place money,    .

              So I won...

                   thank you very much.

              Let the Irish Republic buy us dinner.

              I know just where to go.

              Which one of you will ask me to dance?

              - Me, me, me, please! - No, I will. I will.

              Heads, it's Harry. Tails, it's Mick.

              - Kitty, may I have the pleasure? - The gangster wins again.

              Watch his feet, Kitty.

              Shut up, you.

              I shouldn't have left, should I?

              Why not?

              I was a length ahead.

              Now where am I?

              It's not a race, Harry.

              Mind telling me what it is, then?

              You without him...

              him without you...

              l can't imagine it.

              Three-legged race.

              Mick, where the hell have you been?

              For God's sake, give me one free night to be a human being!

              We looked all over! Have you heard?

              No, I haven't heard!

              Would the bloody Irish Republic leave me some time off?

              It's over!

              What's over?

              It's over.

              They called a truce.

              It's finished?

              - The whole damn thing. - Yes.

              We've won?

              Lloyd George has thrown in the towel?

              We've brought the British Empire to its knees?

              Yes.

              Why the fuck didn't you say so?

              What was that horse called?

              We did it! We did it! It's a truce!

              What?

              You must be joking?

              No. I won't do it.

              I'm not a politician. I'm not going to London.

              You're the strongest card we have.

              They call me an assassin and a murderer!

              Will Churchill even shake my hand?

              We've broached it and had no objections.

              You go, Dev.

              You're the statesman.

              You know how far we can push them. They know you.

              That's the point. They don't know you.

              Don't do this to me, Dev. Don't do it.

              I'm no good at talk. I'm a yob from West Cork.

              Please!

              You'll head our team, Michael...

              to negotiate a treaty for the first time in history...

              between lreland and England.

              We need to keep a final arbitrator in reserve.

              You.

              That will be the Irish people.

              And me...

              as president of the Irish Republic.

              Why does he want me there?

              Why?

              - You put the fear of God into them. - Save me the bullshit.

              Mick, you are the strongest card we have.

              What's he up to?

              - What are you talking about? - I have one simple asset.

              All these years, no one knows what I look like.

              Which one of you is Michael Collins?

              He is.

              That's him.

              The small fella.

              "From your very own plenipotentiary, to the provisions of the said document...

              "hereinafter to be referred to as The Letter:

              "They didn't defeat us by force of arms...

              "but now they'll try to do it by force of verbiage.

              "The English language wasn't meant to be spoken like that.

              "How did these people ever get to run an empire?"

              Don't.

              Why not?

              'Cause you'll get hurt.

              How will I get hurt?

              I'm in love with him.

              I'm sorry.

              I have to tell you.

              Have you told him?

              No.

              And maybe I never will.

              I'm only telling you because I can't hurt you.

              Lucky Mick.

              I did my best, Kitty, but it won't be good enough.

              We'll have an Irish Free State, instead of an Irish Republic.

              We'll have our own government.

              But we have to swear allegiance to the English Crown.

              The position of the north will be reviewed...

              but now it remains part of the British Empire.

              This treaty isjust a steppingstone.

              I hope the country sees it as such.

              How are you?

              Is this true?

              It's the best anyone could have got.

              This gives up the north...

              divides the country.

              You expect us to give an oath of allegiance to the Crown?

              They can't comprehend giving us the Republic.

              And that's why Dev sent me.

              What?

              He knew we'd get no Republic.

              He wanted me to bring back the bad news.

              We can use the Irish Free State to achieve the Republic we want.

              It's either this or war.

              I won't go to war over words.

              What if it's war either way, Mick?

              You published the terms without my agreement!

              - They were the best we could get. - In your opinion!

              You sent me there knowing they were the best we'd get.

              - Idle speculation. - No, it's the truth.

              Or else you'd have gone yourself.

              We don't have the Republic...

              but freedom to achieve it. Peacefully.

              Surely it's time for peace.

              What would you know about peace?

              You said we could negotiate on behalf of our government...

              the D il and the Irish people.

              If they reject it, I'll reject it.

              If they stand by it, I'll stand by it.

              I want to know you'll do the same.

              Will you come in for a pint?

              He's read the papers.

              Say something, would you?

              I've known the two of you for four years.

              You've slept together, lived together, fought together.

              But your war is over now.

              What if it's just the beginning?

              Christ.

              I'd be better off in Longford.



          We were elected by the people of lreland...

          We were elected by the people.

          Did they think we were liars when we meant to uphold the Irish Republic?

            The letters preceding the negotiations...

            not once demanded recognition of the Irish Republic!

            We knew it would have been refused!

            So Mr. Collins is asking us...

            to accept an oath of allegiance to a foreign king...

            and the partition...

            and the partition of the northern part of the country!

            Mr. Collins, the man who won the recent war...

            has himself described the treaty...

            as a steppingstone toward the ultimate freedom!

            Mr. Griffith has described Mr. Collins as the man who won the war!

            Point of order, Mr. Chairman.

            Are we discussing the treaty or myself?

            The minister does not like what I say!

            Anything about me, say it!

            Mr. Collins, your position in the army...

            was as chief of one subsection.

            Nobody sought notoriety except you!

            Come on, Cathal!

            One person was held up by the press...

            and put into a position he never held.

            He was made a romantic figure...

            a mystical character...

            which he certainly is not!

            The person I refer to is Michael Collins!

            I would plead...

            with every person here.

            Make me a scapegoat, if you will. Call me a traitor, if you will.

            But please, let's save the country.

            The alternative to this treaty is a war...

            which nobody in this gathering can even contemplate.

            If the price of freedom...

            the price of peace, is blackening my name...

            l will gladly pay it.

            Thank you.

            The result, ladies and gentlemen...

            is    to   .

            A majority of seven...

            in favor of the treaty.

            There is one thing I want to say.

            I want it to go...

            to the country...

            and to the world.

            And it is this:

            The Irish people established the Republic.

            It can only...

            be disestablished...

            by the Irish people.

            As a protest...

            against the ratification of this treaty...

            which can only subvert...

            the Republic...

            I...

            and my deputies...

            are leaving this house.

            Traitors!

            Traitors, all!

            Not you, Harry.

            All right, you've won.

            You always win, Mr. Collins.

            Rarely, Miss Kiernan.

            Very rarely.

            Jesus, I hate you.

            Sure. Join the club.

            You're seven minutes late, Mr. Collins.

            You've kept us waiting     years.

             You can have your seven minutes.

              Let's get this over with.

              Company, present arms!

              So that's what caused all the bother?

              Now what?

              Do I get to wear that hat?

              This treaty...

              bars the way to the Republic...

              with the blood...

              of fellow Irishmen!

              If it is only with civil war...

              that we can get our independence...

              then so be it!

              The Volunteers...

              will have to wade through Irish blood...

              through the blood of some members of this government...

              in order to get...

              Irish freedom!

              After     years....

              After     years....

              Let him speak!

              Kitty, don't!

              Leave him be!

              You put the heart across me, Kitty.

              I like the sound of your voice.

              They won't accept the treaty.

              No matter how the vote goes.

              You heard what de Valera said.

              "And to wade through rivers of blood..."

              And who's blood you think he's talking about?

              Yours.

              Will you marry me?

              Yeah.

              You will?

              It's that simple?

              Yeah.

              Who gave you that, you little runt?

              What's all this about?

              - We've taken over the Four Courts. - You fucking fool!

              Mind your language.

              You'll start a civil war!

              We'll defend the Republic.

              These kids don't know guns!

              - We know how to train them. - The way I trained you?

              - On whose orders? - The Volunteer Executive.

              Dev's part of it?

              His half of it?

              Go away home to your mothers, all of you!

              You know what this means?

              The army's split down the middle.

              - Who's in there? - Mellowes, Lynch...

              Tom Barry, Oscar Traynor.

              Keep it off.

              Why?

              There's a gunman outside by the railings.

              Jesus' sake.

              They won't shoot me, then.

              Jesus, what are you doing to me?

              They can shoot us, but they can't get us.

              - What are you talking about? - It's not possible.

              I'm going to live to see you old.

              I am old.

              Old enough to see your hair turn grey.

              I come from a long line of baldies.

              Bald, then.

              I can live with that.

              I will not fight against men I trained with, I fought with!

              The people have spoken for the treaty you brought home!

              They've occupied the Four Courts, Limerick, Cork. It's anarchy.

              Better anarchy than civil war!

              - Churchill offered artillery! - He can do his own dirty work!

              Maybe he will, Michael.

              Maybe he will.

              Stop!

              - It's not safe... - Do as you're told.

              Harry, talk to me, will you?

              I don't want any bullshit, Mick.

              Neither do l.

              Come upstairs.

              Is it true what I heard?

              You're engaged?

              Should I apologize for that, too?

              No, no, no.

              I'm happy for you both.

              Me arse. You don't look it.

              Maybe I don't, but I'm trying.

              Do you understand? I'm trying.

              I miss the way it used to be.

              Me too.

              I hear you're Dev's right-hand man.

              Well, I suppose that's how it goes.

              We were too dangerous together.

              Know the funny thing, Harry?

              For the first time in my life, I'm scared.

              The Big Fella, scared?

              I hate to say it, Mick, but you've a right to be.

              You don't understand me.

              You told me once I was good at bloody mayhem.

              Right.

              I left the Brits in the halfpenny place.

              That's what I'm scared of, because once I start...

              there'll be no stopping me.

              Don't let it start, then.

              Tear up that treaty.

              It's the only thing we've got.

              So, then it starts.

              What?

              We fight.

              They fight. We don't.

              You've said what you had to say and you can go now.

              Listen, you don't know what you're saying!

              I have nothing more to say to you!

              - Do it! - Put the gun down!

              Save us all a lot of bother. Do it!

              Put the gun down.

              Do you not hear me! I said put the gun down!

              Get out!

              - Do it! - Fire!

              How would you like a new boss, Joe?

              Check the other side.

              What happened?

              They shot their way to the Catacombs. He thinks Harry was with them.

              - Let's go. - Mick, it's not safe!

              We'll never get through!

              Stop!

              Stop!

              Come on! Come on!

              Calm down! It's the Big Fella!

              What happened?

              Who closed your eyes?

              He tried to run across the river, sir. I plugged him.

              I didn't ask you. I asked him.

              You asked who?

              I fucking asked him!

              - But he's dead, sir. - And you killed him, you little git!

              You plugged him, you Free State gob-shite!

              - You were meant to protect him! - He was one of them, sir!

              No, sonny! You don't understand.

              He was one of us.

              Go on!

              Back to your posts.

              The papers said his last words were:

              "Have they got Mick Collins yet?"

              You know it's not true, Mick.

              I don't know anything, anymore.

              Tell Dev Mick wants to talk. Nothing more, nothing less.

              Not in Dublin.

              Where, then?

              West Cork...

              there might be a chance.

              He'd never get out of there alive.

              Doesn't he come from there?

              That's bandit country.

              They're bandits he trained, aren't they?

              Maybe. But Mick doesn't know the new boys.

              He'll have to get to know them now.

              Gentlemen.

              What time is it?

              Seven. Have you been here all night?

              Any news?

              They say if you went to Cork there might be a possibility.

              Fuck!

              What do you think?

              We've cleared them out except for West Cork.

              They wouldn't kill me in my own county.

              How would you like a new boss, Joe?

              Still, be nice to go home.

              - You'd be crazy to go. - So, I'm crazy.

              Get the convoy together.

              Go on.

              - What? - Here. For the cough.

              Here. New handkerchief.

              Go on! You're like an old clucking hen, fussing all the time!

              Sweet suffering Jesus!

              If you're going down, I'm going too.

              That's where it all started, Joe.

              Fenian stories by the fireside.

              That's your home?

              Was, till the Tans burned it.

              What are you doing here, Mick?

              Haven't I a civil war to run?

              Come on! It's my round.

              Come to flog us that bloody treaty, have you?

              I'm flogging fuck-all. I've come to buy.

              Drinks for the county on me.

              Come on, four pints.

              Is it him?

              Looks like it.

              Looks like he wants to meet.

              Can I trust him?

              Can you trust anyone these days, chief?

              "Oh, well do I remember...

              "the year of '  

              "When I rose with comrades brave and true

              "l was hunted through the hills by slaves

              "Who served a foreign queen

              "And that's

              "Another reason why

              "I left old Skibereen"

              Say it to me, kid.

              Put it away, Joe.

              Who the fuck are you?

              Who the fuck am l?

              I'm the fucker that asked to meet Dev.

              And who's Dev?

              And who are you?

              If I did know this Dev, what would you say to him?

              Tell him...

              Harry Boland's death was enough.

              Tell him Mick Collins wants to stop this bloody mayhem.

              Tell him I'm sorry I didn't bring back the Republic.

              But nobody could have!

              He was my chief, always.

              I'd have followed him to hell if he'd asked me.

              And maybe I did.

              But it's not worth fighting for anymore.

              We've got to build with what we have!

              You tell him that.

              Where can he find you?

              Here.

              So, I take it you heard?

              Jesus, Mick.

              God forgive us, Harry.

              Have you got any reply?

              He's come all this way.

              Be rude not to give him an answer.

              Well?

              He says he'll meet you tomorrow.

              What's wrong with now?

              His nerves are at him.

              Beal Na Blath. A farmhouse to the left on the Bandon side.

              Around   :  .

              Hey kid...what's your name?

              Little snot.

              Beal Na Blath?

              Should I ask them all to the wedding?

              Do you think that'd fix it?

              Be a big bloody wedding, Mick.

              We'll invite the whole country. Marital diplomacy.

              Dev as best man. Lloyd George, Winston Churchill as bridesmaids.

              What's up?

              We're stopped?

              Roadblock.

              Move it!

              Get those carts off the road!

              How long?

              Two minutes.

              Jeez, they're trying to fucking kill me.

              Get down!

              Give it to me! Get off!

              No! Jeez, Mick!

              Talk to me!

              Don't go!

              Don't go, Mick!

              Jesus, don't go on us, Mick! Please!

              Miss Kiernan?

              I'm sorry.

              I just heard.

              I'm sorry.

              That's why he died, Kitty.

              He knew the risk he was taking to go there.

              But he thought it worth taking.

              He took them for us.

              For every gob-shite in this country, no matter what side.

              If he saw you now, know what he'd say?

              "Get off the parliamentary side of your arse and get some color on your face".

              He would have said it better, Joe.

              "No regrets, Kit". That's what he'd say.









  

  

 
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