All language subtitles for Fight.Club.1999.REMASTERED.BDRip.x264-OLDTiME

People are always asking me
if I know Tyler Durden.

Three minutes.

This is it. Ground zero.

Would you like to say a few
words to mark the occasion?

With a gun barrel between your teeth,
you speak only in vowels.

I can't think of anything.

For a second, I totally forget about
Tyler's whole controlled demolition thing

and I wonder how clean that gun is.

It's getting exciting now.

That old saying,
how you always hurt the one you love,

well, it works both ways.

We have front-row seats
for this theatre of mass destruction.

The Demolitions Committee
of Project Mayhem

wrapped the foundation columns
of a dozen buildings with blasting gelatin.

In two minutes,
primary charges will blow base charges

and a few square blocks will be reduced
to smouldering rubble.

I know this because Tyler knows this.

Two and a half.
Think of everything we've accomplished.

And suddenly, I realize that all of this:
the gun, the bombs, the revolution,

has got something to do
with a girl named Marla Singer.

Bob. Bob had bitch tits.

This was a support group
for men with testicular cancer.

The big moosie slobbering all over me,
that was Bob.

We're still men.

Yes, we're men.

Men is what we are.

Eight months ago, Bob's testicles were removed.
Then hormone therapy.

He developed bitch tits
because his testosterone was too high

and his body upped the estrogen

and that was where I fit.

I think they're gonna have to open up
my pecs again and drain the fluid.

Between those huge, sweating tits

that hung enormous,
the way you'd think of God's as big.

Okay, you cry now.

No, wait. Back up. Let me start earlier.

For six months, I couldn't sleep.

I couldn't sleep...

With insomnia, nothing's real.

Everything's far away.

Everything's a copy of a copy

of a copy.

When deep-space exploration ramps up,

it'll be the corporations
that name everything.

The IBM Stellar Sphere.

The Microsoft Galaxy.

The Planet Starbucks.

I need you out of town a little more this week.
We've got some red flags to cover.

It must have been Tuesday.
He was wearing his cornflower-blue tie.

You want me to deprioritise my current reports
until you advise of a status upgrade?

Make these your primary action items.

Here's your flight coupons.
Call me from the road if there's any snags.

He was full of pep.
Must have had his grande latte enema.

Like so many others, I had become
a slave to the IKEA nesting instinct.

- Uh, yes. I'd like to order the Erika Pekkari dust ruffles.
- Please hold.

If I saw something clever,
like a little coffee table

in the shape of a yin-yang,
I had to have it.

The Klipsk personal office unit.

The Hovetrekke home Exerbike.

Or the Ohamshab sofa
with the Strinne green stripe pattern.

Even the Ryslampa wire lamps of
environmentally friendly unbleached paper.

I'd flip through catalogues and wonder:

What kind of dining set
defines me as a person?

I had it all. Even the glass dishes
with tiny bubbles and imperfections,

proof that they were
crafted by the honest,

simple, hard-working,
indigenous peoples of...

- Please hold.
- ...wherever.

- I was holding.
- Your call is important to us.

We used to read pornography.

Now it was the Horchow collection.

- No. You can't die from insomnia.
- What about narcolepsy?

I nod off, I wake up in strange places.
I have no idea how I got there.

- You need to lighten up.
- Can you please just give me something?

Red and blue Tuinals,
lipstick-red Seconals...

No. You need healthy, natural sleep.

Chew some valerian root
and get more exercise.

- Hey, come on. I'm in pain.
- You wanna see pain?

Swing by First Methodist, Tuesday nights.
See the guys with testicular cancer.

That's pain.

I always wanted three kids.
Two boys and a girl.

Mindy wanted two girls and a boy.

We never could agree on anything.

Well, she had her first child last week.

A girl.

With her... with her new husband.

And thank God. You know?

I-I'm glad for her.

Because she deserves it.

Everyone, let's thank Thomas
for sharing himself with us.

Thank you, Thomas.

I look around this room,
and I see a lot of courage.

And that gives me strength.

We give each other strength.

It's time for the one-on-ones.

So let's all of us follow Thomas' good example
and really open ourselves up.

Could you find a partner?

And this is how I met the big moosie.

His eyes already shrink-wrapped in tears.

Knees together.
Those awkward little steps.

- My name is Bob.
- Bob?

Bob had been a champion body builder.

You know that chest expansion
program you see on late-night TV?

That was his idea.

I was a juicer.

You know - using steroids.

Diabonal and... Wisterol.

Oh, they use that on racehorses,
for Christ's sakes.

And now I'm bankrupt, I'm divorced,

my two grown kids
won't even return my phone calls.

Strangers with this kind of honesty
make me go a big, rubbery one.

Go ahead... Cornelius.

You can cry.

And then... something happened.
I let go.

That's really good.

Lost in oblivion.

Dark and silent and complete.

I found freedom.

Losing all hope was freedom.

It's okay.

Babies don't sleep this well.

I became addicted.

If I didn't say anything,
people always assumed the worst.

They cried harder...

then I cried harder.

Now we're going to open the green door,
the heart chakra...

I wasn't really dying.

I wasn't host to cancer or parasites.

I was the warm little centre
that the life of this world crowded around.

Imagine your pain
as a white ball of healing light.

It moves all over your body, healing you.

Now keep this going.
Remember to breathe.

And step forward
through the back door of the room.

Where does it lead?

To your cave.

Step forward into your cave.

That's right.

You're going deeper into your cave,

and you're going to find
your power animal.

Slide.

Every evening I died.

And every evening I was born again.

Resurrected.

Bob loved me because he thought
my testicles were removed too.

Being there, pressed against his tits,
ready to cry.

This was my vacation.

And she... ruined everything.

This is cancer, right?

This chick, Marla Singer,
did not have testicular cancer.

She was a liar.

She had no diseases at all.

I had seen her at Free and Clear,
my blood parasites group, Thursdays.

Then at Hope,
my bimonthly sickle-cell circle.

And again at Seize the Day,
my tuberculosis, Friday night.

Marla, the big tourist.

Her lie reflected my lie.

And suddenly, I felt nothing.

I couldn't cry.
So once again, I couldn't sleep.

Next group, after guided meditation,

after we open our heart chakras,
when it's time to hug,

I'm gonna grab that bitch Marla Singer
and scream:

Marla, you liar!
You big tourist! I need this! Now, get out!

I hadn't slept in four days.

We'll just let that dry...

When you have insomnia,
you're never really asleep

and you're never really awake.

To begin tonight's communion,
Chloe would like to say a few words.

Oh, yeah. Chloe.

Chloe looked the way
Meryl Streep's skeleton would look

if you made it smile and walk around a
party being extra nice to everybody.

Well, I'm still here.

But I don't know for how long.

That's as much certainty
as anyone can give me.

But I've got some good news.

I no longer have any fear of death.

But... I am in a pretty lonely place.

No one will have sex with me.

I'm so close to the end,

and all I want is to get laid for
the last time.

I have pornographic movies
in my apartment,

- and lubricants and amyl nitrite.
- Thank you, Chloe.

Everyone, let's thank Chloe.

Thank you, Chloe.

Now, let's ready ourself
for guided meditation.

You're standing at the entrance
of your cave.

You step inside your cave and you walk...

if I did have a tumour, I'd name it Marla.

Marla.

The scratch on the roof of your mouth

that would heal if you could stop
tonguing it, but you can't.

...deeper into your cave as you walk.

You feel the healing energy of
this place all around you.

Now find your power animal.

Slide.

Okay. Let's partner up.

Pick someone special to you tonight.

Hey.

- We need to talk.
- Sure.

- I'm onto you.
- What?

Yeah. You're a faker. You're not dying.

Sorry?

In the Tibetan-philosophy,
Sylvia Plath sense, I know we're all dying.

All right, but you're not dying
the way Chloe back there is dying.

So?

So you're a tourist.

I've seen you. I saw you at melanoma,
I saw you at tuberculosis.

I saw you at testicular cancer!

I saw you practising this.

- Practising what?
- Telling me off.

Is it going as well as you hoped...
"Rupert"?

- I'll expose you.
- Go ahead. I'll expose you.

All right, come together. Let yourselves cry.

Oh, God. Why are you doing this?

It's cheaper than a movie
and there's free coffee's.

Look, this is important.
These are my groups.

I've been coming for over a year.

- Why do you do it?
- I don't know.

When people think you're dying, then they
really really listen to you instead of just...

Instead of waiting for their turn to speak.

Yeah. Yeah.

Share yourself, completely.

Look, you don't want to get into this.
It becomes an addiction.

- Really?
- I'm not kidding.

I can't cry if another faker is present,
and I need this.

So you gotta find somewhere else to go.

Candy-stripe a cancer ward.
It's not my problem.

Wait a second. Hold on. I'll tell you.

We're gonna split up the week, okay?
You take lymphoma and tuberculosis.

You take tuberculosis.
My smoking doesn't go over at all.

Okay. Good. Fine.
Testicular cancer should be no contest.

Technically, I have more right to be there than you.
You still have your balls.

- You're kidding.
- I dunno. Am I?

No. No.

- What do you want?
- I'll take the parasites.

You can't have both the parasites, but
why don't you take the blood parasites.

I want brain parasites.

I'll take the blood parasites,
but I'm gonna take the organic brain dementia.

- I want that.
- You can't have the whole brain.

So far, you have four. I only have two.

Okay. Take both the parasites. They're yours.

Now we both have three...

Hey! You left half your clothes.

- What, are you selling those?
- Yes, I'm selling some clothes.

So, we each have three. That's six.

What about the seventh day?
I want ascending bowel cancer.

The girl had done her homework.

- No. No. I want bowel cancer.
- That's your favourite too?

- Tried to slip it by me, eh?
- Look, we're gonna split it.

Take the first and third Sunday
of the month.

Deal.

- Looks like this is goodbye.
- Well, let's not make a big thing out of it, okay.

How's this for not making a big thing?

Hey, Marla! Marla!

- Maybe we should exchange numbers.
- Should we?

We might wanna switch nights.

Okay.

This is how I met Marla Singer.

Marla's philosophy of life
is that she might die at any moment.

The tragedy, she said, was that she didn't.

It doesn't have your name! Who are you?

Cornelius? Rupert? Travis?

Any of the stupid names
you give each night?

You wake up at SeaTac.

SFO. LAX.

You wake up at O'Hare.
Dallas Fort Worth. BWI.

Pacific. Mountain. Central.
Lose an hour. Gain an hour.

Check-in for that flight
doesn't begin for another two hours, sir.

This is your life,
and it's ending one minute at a time.

You wake up at Air Harbour International.

If you wake up at a different time,
in a different place,

could you wake up as a different person?

Everywhere I travel, tiny life.

Single-serving sugar, single-serving cream,
single pat of butter.

The microwave cordon bleu hobby kit.

Shampoo-conditioner combos. Sample
package mouthwash. Tiny bars of soap.

The people I meet on each flight,
they're single-serving friends.

Between take-off and landing, we have
our time together, but that's all we get.

Welcome!

On a long-enough time line,

the survival rate for
everyone drops to zero.

I was a recall coordinator.
My job was to apply the formula.

The infant went through the windshield.
Three points.

A new car built by my company
leaves somewhere travelling at 60mph.

The rear differential locks up.

The teenager's braces
are wrapped around the back-seat ashtray.

Might make a good anti-smoking ad.

The car crashes and burns
with everyone trapped inside.

Now, should we initiate a recall?

The father must've been huge.

See where the fat's burned to the seat?
The polyester shirt?

Very modern art.

Take the number of
vehicles in the field, A.

Multiply it by the probable rate
of failure, B.

Then multiply the result by
the average out-of-court settlement, C.

A x B x C...

equals X.

If X is less than the cost of a recall,
we don't do one.

Are there a lot of these
kinds of accidents?

You wouldn't believe.

Which car company do you work for?

A major one.

Every time the plane banked too sharply
on take-off or landing,

I prayed for a crash
or a mid-air collision.

Anything.

Life insurance pays off triple
if you die on a business trip.

"If you are seated
in an emergency exit row

"and feel you would be unable or unwilling to
perform the duties listed on the safety card,

"please ask a flight attendant
to reseat you."

- it's a lot of responsibility.
- Wanna switch seats?

No. I'm not sure
I'm the man for that particular job.

An exit-door procedure
at 30,000 feet.

The illusion of safety.

Yeah. I guess so.

You know why
they put oxygen masks on planes?

- So you can breathe.
- Oxygen gets you high.

In a catastrophic emergency,
you're taking giant panic breaths.

Suddenly you become euphoric, docile.
You accept your fate.

It's all right here.

Emergency water landing, 600mph.

Blank faces. Calm as Hindu cows.

That's...

That's an interesting theory.

- What do you do?
- What do you mean?

What do you do for a living?

Why? So you can pretend
like you're interested?

Okay.

You have a kind of
sick desperation in your laugh.

We have the exact same briefcase.

Soap.

- Sorry?
- I make and I sell soap.

The yardstick of civilization.

And this is how I met...

"Tyler Durden".

Did you know if you mixed equal parts of gasoline

and frozen orange juice concentrate,
you can make napalm?

- No, I did not know that. Is that true?
- That's right.

One can make all kinds of explosives
using simple household items.

- Really?
- If one were so inclined.

Tyler, you are by far the most interesting
single-serving friend I've ever met.

- See, everything on a plane is single-serving...
- Oh, I get it. Very clever.

Thank you.

How's that working out for you?

- What?
- Being clever.

- Great.
- Keep it up, then. Keep it right up.

Now, a question of etiquette.

As I pass,
do I give you the ass or the crotch?

How I came to live with Tyler is...

Airlines have this policy
about vibrating luggage.

Was it ticking?

Actually, throwers don't worry about
ticking because modern bombs don't tick.

- Sorry. Throwers?
- Baggage handlers.

But when a suitcase vibrates,
then the throwers got to call the police.

My suitcase was vibrating?

Nine times out of ten it's an electric
razor, but... every once in a while...

it's a dildo.

Of course it's company policy never to imply
ownership in the event of a dildo.

We have to use the indefinite article -
"a dildo", never "your dildo".

I don't own...

I had everything in that suitcase.
My CK shirts. My DKNY shoes. My AX ties.

Never mind.

Hey! That's my car!

Home was a condo on
the 15th floor of a filing cabinet

for widows and young professionals.

The walls were solid concrete.

A foot of concrete's important when your
next-door neighbour lets her hearing-aid go

and has to watch game shows at full volume.

Or when a volcanic blast of debris that
used to be your furniture and personal effects

blows out of your floor to ceiling windows
and sails flaming into the night.

I suppose these things happen.

There's... nothing up there.

You can't go into the unit. Police orders.

Do you have somebody you can call?

How embarrassing.
A houseful of condiments and no food.

The police would later tell me that the pilot light

might have gone out,
letting out just a little bit of gas.

That gas could have
slowly filled the condo,

1700 square feet with high ceilings,

for days and days.

Then the refrigerator's compressor
could have clicked on.

Yeah?

I can hear you breathing, you...

if you ask me now,
I couldn't tell you why I called him.

- Hello?
- Who's this?

- Tyler?
- Who is this?

Um...

We met... We met on the airplane.

We had the same suitcase?

- Uh... the clever guy.
- Oh, yeah. Right.

I called a second ago.
There was no answer. I'm at a payphone.

Yeah, I *69'd you.
I never pick up my phone.

So what's up?

Well...

You're not gonna believe this.

You know man, it could be worse.

A woman could cut off your penis while you sleep
and toss it out the window of a moving car.

There's always that.

It's just, when you buy furniture,
you tell yourself:

That's it. That's the last sofa I'm gonna need.

Whatever else happens,
I've got that sofa problem handled.

I had it all.
I had a stereo that was very decent.

A wardrobe that was
getting very respectable.

I was close to being complete.

- Shit, man. And now it's all gone.
- All gone.

All gone.

Do you know what a duvet is?

- It's a comforter.
- It's a blanket. Just a blanket.

Why do guys like you and I know what a duvet is?

Is this essential to our survival
in the hunter-gatherer sense of the word?

No.

- What are we, then?
- I dunno. Consumers.

Right. We're consumers.

We are by-products of
a lifestyle obsession.

Murder, crime, poverty.
These things don't concern me.

What concerns me
are celebrity magazines,

television with 500 channels,

some guy's name on my underwear.

Rogaine. Viagra. Olestra.

- Martha Stewart.
- Fuck Martha Stewart.

Martha's polishing the brass on the Titanic.
It's all going down, man.

So fuck off with your sofa units
and Strinne green stripe patterns.

I say never be complete.

I say stop being perfect.

I say let... let's evolve.

Let the chips fall where they may.

But that's me, and I could be wrong.
Maybe it's a terrible tragedy.

It's just stuff. It's not a tragedy.

You did lose a lot of versatile solutions
for modern living.

Fuck, you're right. No, I don't smoke.

My insurance is probably
gonna cover it, so...

- What?
- The things you own end up owning you.

But do what you like, man.

Oh, it's late.

- Hey, thanks for the beer.
- Yeah, man.

I should find a hotel.

What?

What?

- A hotel?
- Yeah.

- Just ask, man.
- What are you talking about?

Oh, God. Three pitchers of beer
and you still can't ask.

- What?
- You called me

'cause you need a place to stay.

- Oh, hey. No, no, no.
- Yes, you did. So just ask.

Cut the foreplay and just ask, man.

Would... Would that be a problem?

Is it a problem for you to ask?

- Can I stay at your place?
- Yeah.

Thanks.

- I want you to do me a favour.
- Yeah, sure.

I want you to hit me as hard as you can.

- What?
- I want you to hit me as hard as you can.

Let me tell you a little bit
about Tyler Durden.

Tyler was a night person.
While the rest of us were sleeping, he worked.

He had one part-time job
as a projectionist.

A movie doesn't come all on one big reel.
It comes on a few.

So someone has to be there to switch
the projectors at the exact moment

that one reel ends
and the next one begins.

If you look for them, you can see little dots come
into the upper right corner of the screen.

In the industry,
we call them cigarette burns.

That's the cue for a changeover.

He flips the projectors, movie keeps right on
going and nobody in the audience has any idea.

Why would anyone want this shit job?

'Cause it affords him other
interesting opportunities.

Like splicing a frame of pornography
into family films.

So when the snooty cat
and the courageous dog

with the celebrity voices meet for the first time in reel three,

that's when you'll catch a flash
of Tyler's contribution to the film.

Nobody knows
that they saw it but they did.

Nice big cock.

Even a hummingbird
couldn't catch Tyler at work.

Tyler also works sometimes as a banquet
waiter at the luxurious Pressman Hotel.

He was the guerrilla terrorist
of the food service industry.

Do not watch.
I cannot go when you watch.

Apart from seasoning the lobster bisque,

he farted on meringues,
sneezed on braised endives...

As for the cream of mushroom soup, well...

- Go ahead, tell 'em.
- You get the idea.

What do you want me to do?
You just want me to hit you?

Come on. Do me this one favour.

Why?

Why? I don't know why. I don't know.
Never been in a fight. You?

No. But that's a good thing.

No it is not. How much can you know about
yourself if you've never been in a fight?

I don't wanna die without any scars.

- Come on. Hit me, before I lose my nerve.
- Oh, God. This is crazy.

So go crazy! Let her rip.

- I don't know about this.
- I don't either.

Who gives a shit? No one's watching.
What do you care?

This is crazy. You want me to hit you?

That's right.

- Where? Like, in the face?
- Surprise me.

This is so fucking stupid.

Motherfucker! You hit me in the ear!

- Well, Jesus, I'm sorry.
- Ow! Christ!

Why the ear, man?

- I fucked it up.
- No, that was perfect.

No, it's all right.

It really hurts.

Right.

- Hit me again.
- No, you hit me. Come on!

We should do this again sometime.

- Where's your car?
- What car?

I don't know how Tyler found that house,
but he said he'd been there for a year.

It looked like it was
waiting to be torn down.

Most of the windows were boarded up.

There was no lock on the front door

from when the police,
or whoever, kicked it in.

The stairs were ready to collapse.

I didn't know if he owned it
or if he was squatting.

Neither would have surprised me.

Yep. That's you.

That's me. That's the toilet. Good?

Yeah, thanks.

What a shithole.

Nothing worked.

Turning on one light meant
another light in the house went out.

There were no neighbours.
Just some warehouses and a paper mill.

That fart smell of steam.
The hamster-cage smell of wood chips.

Hey. What have we here?

- Hey, guys.
- Hey.

Every time it rained,
we had to kill the power.

By the end of the first month,
I didn't miss TV.

I didn't even mind the warm,
stale refrigerator.

Can I be next?

All right, man.

Lose the tie.

At night, Tyler and I were alone
for half a mile in every direction.

Rain trickled down through
the plaster and the light fixtures.

Everything wooden swelled and shrank.

Everywhere were rusted nails
to snag your elbow on.

The previous occupant
had been a bit of a shut-in.

- Hey man, what are you reading?
- Listen to this.

It's an article written
by an organ in the first person.

"I am Jack's medulla oblongata."

"Without me, Jack could not regulate

"his heart rate,
blood pressure or breathing."

There's a whole series of these.

"I Am Jill's Nipples."
"I Am Jack's Colon."

Yeah. "I Get Cancer. I Kill Jack."

After fighting, everything else in
your life got the volume turned down.

What?

- You could deal with anything.
- Have you finished those reports?

If you could fight anyone,
who would you fight?

I'd fight my boss, probably.

Really?

- Yeah. Why? Who would you fight?
- I'd fight my dad.

I don't know my dad.

I mean, I know him, but he left
when I was, like, six years old.

Married this other woman
and had some other kids.

He, like, did this every six years.

- He goes to a new city and starts a new family.
- Fucker's setting up franchises.

My dad never went to college,
so it was real important that I go.

That sounds familiar.

So I graduate. I call him up long distance
and say, "Dad, now what?"

- He says, "Get a job."
- Same here.

Now I'm 25. Make my yearly call again.
"Dad, now what?"

He says, "I dunno. Get married."

You can't get married.

I'm a 30-year-old boy.

We're a generation of men
raised by women.

I'm wondering if another woman
is really the answer we need.

Most of the week,
we were Ozzie and Harriet.

But every Saturday night,
we were finding something out.

We were finding out more and more
that we were not alone.

It used to be that when I came home angry
or depressed, I'd just clean my condo.

Polish my Scandinavian furniture.

I should have been
looking for a new condo.

I should have been haggling
with my insurance company.

I should have been upset about my nice,
neat, flaming little shit, but I wasn't.

The basic premise of cybernetting any office
is make things more efficient.

Monday mornings, all I could do
was think about next week.

Can I get the icon in cornflower blue?

Absolutely.

Efficiency is priority no. 1, people.

Because waste is a thief.

I showed this already to my man here.
You liked it, didn't you?

You can swallow a pint of blood
before you get sick.

It was right in everyone's face.
Tyler and I just made it visible.

It was on the tip of everyone's tongue.
Tyler and I just gave it a name.

Come on, people, you've gotta go home!

Turn off the jukebox. Lock the back.

Every week, Tyler gave the rules
that he and I decided.

Gentlemen!

Welcome to Fight Club.

The first rule of Fight Club is
you do not talk about Fight Club.

The second rule of Fight Club is...

you do not talk about Fight Club!

Third rule of Fight Club:

someone yells stop, goes limp, taps out,

the fight is over.

Fourth rule: only two guys to a fight.

Fifth rule: one fight at a time, fellas.

Sixth rule: no shirts, no shoes.

Seventh rule: fights will go on
as long as they have to.

And the eighth and final rule: if this is
your first night at Fight Club,

you have to fight.

This kid from work, Ricky,

couldn't remember whether
you ordered pens with blue ink or black.

But Ricky was a god for ten minutes

when he trounced
the maître d' of a local food court.

Sometimes,
all you could hear were the flat,

hard, packing sounds over the yelling.

Or the wet choke when someone
caught their breath and sprayed...

Stop!

You weren't alive anywhere
like you were there.

But Fight Club only exists in the hours
between when Fight Club starts and when Fight Club ends.

Even if I could tell someone
they had a good fight,

I wouldn't be talking to the same man.

Who you were in Fight Club

is not who you were
in the rest of the world.

A guy came to Fight Club for the first
time. His ass was a wad of cookie dough.

After a few weeks,
he was carved out of wood.

If you could fight any celebrity,
who would you fight?

- Alive or dead?
- Doesn't matter. Who'd be tough?

Hemingway. You?

Shatner. I'd fight William Shatner.

We all started seeing things differently.

Everywhere we went,
we were sizing things up.

I felt sorry for guys packed into gyms,

trying to look like how Calvin Klein
or Tommy Hilfiger said they should.

Is that what a man looks like?

Ah, self-improvement is masturbation.

Now, self-destruction...

Excuse me.

Fight Club wasn't about winning or losing.

It wasn't about words.

The hysterical shouting was in tongues,
like at a Pentecostal Church.

- Is that it?
- Stop!

When the fight was over,
nothing was solved.

But nothing mattered.

Cool.

Afterwards, we all felt saved.

Hey, man. How about next week?

How about next month?

Irvine, you're in the middle.
New guy, you too.

Sometimes, Tyler spoke for me.

He fell down some stairs.

I fell down some stairs.

Fight Club became the reason to cut
your hair short or trim your fingernails.

Okay. Any historical figure.

- I'd fight Gandhi.
- Good answer.

- How about you?
- Lincoln.

Lincoln?

Big guy, big reach.
Skinny guys fight till they're burger.

Fuck!

Hey, even the Mona Lisa's falling apart.

Hello?

Where have you been
the last eight weeks?

Marla?

- How did you find me?
- You left a forwarding number.

I haven't seen you at any support groups.

We split 'em up.
That was the idea. Remember?

Yeah, but you haven't been going to yours.

- How do you know?
- I cheated.

I found a new one.

- Really?
- It's for men only.

Like the testicle thing?

- Look, this is a bad time.
- I've been going to Debtors Anonymous.

- You wanna see some really fucked-up people...
- I'm just on my way out.

Me too. I've got a stomach full of Xanax.

I took what was left of a bottle.
It might have been too much.

Just picture watching Marla Singer throw herself
around her crummy apartment.

This isn't a for-real suicide thing.
This is probably one of those cry for help things.

This could go on for hours.

- So you're staying-in tonight then?
- Do you wanna wait and hear me describe death?

Do you wanna listen
and see if my spirit can use a phone?

Have you ever heard a death rattle before?

Tyler's door was closed.

I'd been living here for two months
and Tyler's door was never closed.

You won't believe the dream
I had last night.

I can hardly believe
anything from last night.

What are you doing here?

- What?
- This is my house.

What are you doing in my house?

Fuck you!

Oh, you've got some fucked-up friends! I'm telling you.

Limber, though. Silly cooze.

So I come in last night. Phone's off the hook.
Guess who's on the other end.

I already knew the story
before he told it to me.

Have you ever heard
a death rattle before?

Do you think it'll live up to its name?

Or will it just be a death hairball?

Prepare to evacuate soul.

Ten, nine, eight...

Now how could Tyler, of all people,
think it was a bad thing

that Marla Singer was about to die?

...five, four, three...

Hang on.

You got here fast.

Did I call you?

Huh?

The mattress is all sealed
in slippery plastic.

Don't worry. It's not a threat to you.

Oh, fuck! Somebody called the cops.

- Hey, where's 513?
- End of the hall.

The girl who lives there
used to be a charming, lovely girl.

She has lost faith in herself.

- Miss Singer, let us help you!
- She's a monster!

- You have every reason to live.
- She's infectious human waste!

- Miss Singer!
- Good luck trying to save her!

If I fall asleep, I'm done for.

You're gonna have to keep me up...

all night.

Un-fucking-believable.

He was obviously able to handle it.

- You know what I mean. You fucked her.
- No, I didn't.

- Never?
- No.

- You're not into her, are you?
- No! God, not at all.

I am Jack's raging bile duct.

- Are you sure? You can tell me.
- Believe me, I'm sure.

Put a gun to my head

- and paint the walls with my brains.
- That's good.

She's a predator posing as a house pet.
Stay away from her.

The shit that came out of
this woman's mouth, I had never heard!

My God.

I haven't been fucked like that
since grade school.

How could Tyler not go for that?

The night before last, he was splicing
sex organs into "Cinderella".

Marla doesn't need a lover,
she needs a fucking caseworker.

She needs a wash.
This isn't love, it's sport fucking.

She invaded my support groups
and now she'd invaded my home.

Hey, hey. Sit down.

- Listen, I can't have you talking to her about me.
- Why would I talk to her?

You say anything about me
or what goes on

in this house to her or anybody,
we're done.

- Now promise me.
- Okay.

- You promise?
- Yeah, I promise.

- Promise.
- I just said, I promise! What...

That's three times you promised.

If only I had wasted a couple of minutes
and gone to watch Marla Singer die,

none of this would've happened.

Yes! Oh, harder, harder!

I could have moved to another room.

On the third floor
where I might not have heard them.

But I didn't.

- What are you doing?
- Just going to bed.

- You wanna finish her off?
- Ooh!

- No. No, thank you.
- I found a cigarette.

- Who were you talking to?
- Shut up.

I became the calm
little centre of the world.

I was the Zen master.

I wrote little haiku poems.

I emailed them to everyone.

Is that your blood?

Some of it, yeah.

You can't smoke in here.

Take the rest of the day off.
Come back Monday with some clean clothes.

Get yourself together.

I got right in everyone's hostile little face.
"Yes, these are bruises from fighting."

"Yes, I'm comfortable with that.
I am enlightened."

You give up the condo life, give up
all your flaming worldly possessions,

go live in a dilapidated house
in a toxic-waste part of town,

and you have to come home to this.

Hello?

Yes, this is Detective Stern
with the Arson Unit.

We have new information about
the incident at your former condo.

- Yes?
- I don't know if you're aware,

but it seems that someone sprayed Freon
into your front-door lock.

Then tapped it with a chisel to shatter the cylinder.

- No, I wasn't aware of that at all.
- I am Jack's cold sweat.

- Does this sound strange to you?
- Yes, sir. Strange. Very strange.

- The dynamite...
- Dynamite?

...left a residue of
ammonium oxalate potassium perchloride.

- Do you know what this means?
- No. What does it mean?

It means it was home-made.

I'm sorry. This is just coming
as quite a shock to me, sir.

See whoever set this dynamite
could have blown out

your pilot light days before the actual explosion.

- The gas was just a detonator.
- Who'd go and do such a thing?

- I'll ask the questions.
- Tell him.

"Tell him the liberator who destroyed my property
realigned my perceptions."

Excuse me. Are you there?

I am listening. it's a little hard
to know what to make of all this.

Have you recently made enemies with anyone

who might have access
to home-made dynamite?

- Enemies?
- "I reject the basic assumption of civilization,

"especially the importance
of material possessions."

- Son, this is serious.
- Yes, I know it's serious.

- I mean that.
- Yes, it's very serious.

Look, nobody takes this more seriously
than me. That condo was my life. Okay?

I loved every stick of
furniture in that place.

That was not just a bunch of stuff
that got destroyed.

- It was me!
- I'd like to thank the Academy.

- Is this not a good time for you?
- Just tell him you fucking did it!

Tell him you blew it all up!
That's what he wants to hear.

- Are you still there?
- Wait. Are you saying that I'm a suspect?

No, no. I may need to talk to you a little further,
so how about you just let me know if you're gonna leave town?

- Okay?
- Okay.

Except for their humping,

Tyler and Marla were never
in the same room.

My parents pulled
this exact same act for years.

The condom is the glass slipper
of our generation.

You slip one on when you meet a stranger.

You dance all night,
then you throw it away.

The condom, I mean. Not the stranger.

What?

I got this dress at a thrift store for $1.

It was worth every penny.

It's a bridesmaid's dress.

Someone loved it intensely for one day,

then tossed it.

Like a Christmas tree.

So special.

Then... bam!

It's on the side of the road.

Tinsel still clinging to it.

Like a sex-crime victim, underwear
inside out, bound with electrical tape.

Well, then, it suits you.

You can borrow it sometime.

Get rid of her.

- What? Hey, you get rid of her!
- Don't mention me.

I am six years old again,
passing messages between parents.

- You know what? I really think it's time you got out of here.
- Don't worry, I'm leaving.

- Not that we don't love your little visits.
- You know, you're such a nutcase. I can't even begin to keep up.

♪ Gotta get off ♪

Thanks. Bye.

♪ Gotta get off of this merry-go-round ♪

♪ Gonna get, need to get, gotta get... ♪

You kids!

Why do you still waste time with her?

I'll say this about Marla.
At least she's trying to hit bottom.

What, and I'm not?

Sticking feathers up your butt
does not make you a chicken.

What are we doing tonight?

Tonight... we make soap.

- Really?
- To make soap, first we render fat.

The salt balance has to be just right,

so the best fat for making soap
comes from humans.

- Wait. What is this place?
- A liposuction clinic.

Pay dirt!

Richest, creamiest fat in the world.
The fat of the land!

No! Don't pull it.

- Oh, God!
- Give me another one.

As the fat renders, the tallows float
to the surface. Like in Boy Scouts.

- It's hard to imagine you as a Boy Scout.
- Keep stirring.

Once the tallow hardens,
you skim off a layer of glycerine.

If you would add nitric acid, you got nitroglycerin.

If you then add sodium nitrate
and a dash of sawdust, you got dynamite.

Yeah, with enough soap,
one could blow up just about anything.

Tyler was full of useful information.

Now, ancient peoples found their clothes got cleaner
when thay washed them at a certain point in the river.

- You know why?
- No.

'Cause human sacrifices were once made
on the hills above this river.

Bodies burned, water seeped
through the wooden ashes to create lye.

This is lye. The crucial ingredient.

Once it mixed with the melted fat of the bodies,
thick white soapy discharge crept into the river.

May I see your hand, please?

What is this?

This is a chemical burn.

It'll hurt more than you've ever
been burned and you'll have a scar.

God, if meditation worked for cancer,
it could work for this.

- Stay with the pain. Don't shut this out.
- No no Oh, God!

Look at your hand.

The first soap was made
from the ashes of heroes,

like the first monkey shot into space.

Without pain, without sacrifice,
we would have nothing.

I tried not to think
of the words "searing" or "flesh".

Stop it! This is your pain,
this is your burning hand. It's right here.

I'm going to my cave
to find my power animal.

No! Don't deal with it the way
those dead people do! Come on!

- I get the point! Okay, please!
- No!

What you're feeling is premature enlightenment.

It's the greatest moment of your life, man,
and you're off somewhere missing it!

I am not...

Shut up! Our fathers
were our models for God.

If our fathers bailed,
what does that tell you about God?

Listen to me. You have to consider
the possibility that God does not like you.

He never wanted you.
In all probability, he hates you.

This is not the worst thing
that can happen. We don't need him!

- We don't! I agree!
- Fuck damnation man, fuck redemption.

We are God's unwanted children? So be it!

- I'm getting water!
- Listen! You can run water over your hand & make it worse or...

Look at me!

- Or you can use vinegar to neutralize the burn.
- Please let me have it, please!

First, you have to give up.

First, you have to know, not fear,

know that someday, you're gonna die.

You don't know how this feels!

It's only after we've lost everything
that we're free to do anything.

Okay.

Congratulations.
You're one step closer to hitting bottom.

Tyler sold his soap to department stores
at $20 a bar.

God knows what they charged.

- This is the best soap.
- Why, thank you, Susan.

It was beautiful.

We were selling rich women
their own fat asses back to them.

He was wearing his yellow tie.

I didn't even wear a tie to work anymore.

"The first rule of Fight Club
is you don't talk about Fight Club"?

I'm half-asleep again.
I must have left the original in the copy machine.

"The second rule of Fight..." Is this yours?

Pretend you're me.
Make a managerial decision.

You find this. What would you do?

Well, I gotta tell you,

I'd be very, very careful
who you talk to about that.

Because the person who wrote that
is dangerous.

And this button-down,
Oxford-cloth psycho might just snap

and then stalk from office to office

with an Armalite AR10 carbine
gas-powered semi-automatic weapon,

pumping round after round
into colleagues and co-workers.

This might be someone
you've known for years.

Someone very, very close to you.

Tyler's words coming out of my mouth.

And I used to be such a nice guy.

Or maybe you shouldn't bring me every little
piece of trash you happen to pick up.

- Compliance and Liability.
- My tit's gonna rot off.

Will you excuse me? I need to take this.

What are you talking about.

I need you to check and see
if there's a lump in my breast.

- Go to a hospital.
- I can't afford to throw money away on a doctor.

I don't know about this, Marla.

Please?

She didn't call Tyler.
I'm neutral in her book.

That's nice. Taking food to...
Mrs. Haniver and Mrs. Raines.

Where are they, exactly?

Tragically, they're dead.
I'm alive and I'm in poverty. Want any?

- No, no.
- I got one for you.

Thanks for the thought.

What happened to your hand?

Oh, nothing.

Right there?

- Feel anything?
- No.

Well, make sure.

- Okay, I'm pretty sure.
- You feel nothing?

No, nothing.

Well, that's a relief. Thank you.

- No problem.
- I wish I could return the favour.

There's not a lot of breast cancer
in the men of my family.

- I could check your prostate.
- I think I'm okay.

Well, thanks, anyway.

- Are we done?
- Yeah, we're done.

See you... around.

Cornelius?

Cornelius!

It's me! Bob!

Hey, Bob.

- We all thought you were dead.
- No, no. Still here.

How are you, Bob?

Better than I've ever
been in my whole life.

Really? Still Remaining Men Together?

No, no.
I got something so much better now.

Really, what is it?

Well...

The first rule is,
I'm not supposed to talk about it.

And the second rule is...

I'm not supposed to talk about it.

- And the third rule is...
- Bob, Bob. I'm a member.

Look at my face, Bob.

That's fucking great.

- I've never seen you there.
- I go Tuesdays and Thursdays.

- I go Saturday.
- Congratulations.

Yeah, hey, to both of us, right?

Have you heard about the guy
that invented this thing?

- Yeah, actually...
- I hear all kinds of things.

Supposedly, he was born
in a mental institution

and he sleeps only one hour a night.

- He's a great man.
- Oh...

Do you know about Tyler Durden?

I didn't hurt you, did I?

Actually, you did.

Thank you for this.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Fight Club.

This was mine and Tyler's gift.

Our gift to the world.

I look around, I look around,
I see a lot of new faces.

Shut up!

Which means a lot of people have been
breaking the first two rules of Fight Club.

Man, I see in Fight Club the strongest
and smartest men who've ever lived.

I see all this potential.
And I see it squandered.

Goddamn it,
an entire generation pumping gas.

Waiting tables.

Slaves with white collars.

Advertising has us chasing
cars and clothes.

Working jobs we hate
so we can buy shit we don't need.

We're the middle children of history, men.
No purpose or place.

We have no Great War.

No Great Depression.

Our great war is a spiritual war.

Our great depression is our lives.

We've all been raised on television to
believe that one day we'd all be millionaires

and movie gods and rock stars.

But we won't.

We're slowly learning that fact.

And we're very, very pissed off.

Yeah!

First rule of Fight Club is,
you do not talk about...

Who are you?

- Who am I?
- Yeah.

There's a sign on the front
that says Lou's Tavern.

I'm fucking Lou. Who the fuck are you?

Tyler Durden.

Who told you motherfuckers
that you could use my place?

We have a deal worked out with Irvine.

Irvine?

Irvine's at home with a broken collarbone.
He don't own this place. I do.

- How much money does he get for this?
- There is no money.

- Really?
- Free to all.

- Ain't that something.
- It is, actually.

Look, stupid fuck!

- I want everybody out of here right now.
- Hey! You should join our club.

- Did you hear what I just said?
- You and your friend.

You hear me now?

No, I didn't quite catch that, Lou.

Still not getting it.

Okay, okay, okay, I got it.

I got it, I got it. Shit, I lost it.

Back! All of you!

Everybody back!

Ah, Lou!

Come on, man! We really like this place.

- That's right, Lou. Get it out.
- Shut the fuck up.

Oh, yeah!

That's fucking funny?

Fucking guy's a loony, I'm telling you.

Unbelievable.

- You don't know where I've been, Lou.
- Oh, my God!

You don't know where I've been!

Please let us keep it, Lou! Please, Lou!

- Fucking use the basement! Christ!
- I want your word, Lou! I want your word!

On my mother's eyes.

Thanks, Lou.

You too, big guy.

We'll see you next week.

This week, each one of you
has a homework assignment.

You're gonna go out. You're gonna
start a fight with a total stranger.

You're gonna start a fight,

and you're gonna lose.

Excellent choice, sir.

Hey! Watch out, jackass! Come on!

Now, this is not as easy as it sounds.

What... Son of a bitch!

Most people, normal people,
do just about anything to avoid a fight.

Excuse me!

You sprayed me with your hose.

That's not necessary.

Jay! Go call 911!

Put the hose down.

Stop it! Stop it!

Sorry.

You bastard!

We need to talk.

Okay.

Where to begin?

With your constant absenteeism?

With your unpresentable appearance?

- You're up for review.
- I am Jack's complete lack of surprise.

- What?
- Let's pretend.

You're the Department
of Transportation, okay?

Someone informs you that this company
installs front-seat mounting brackets

that never pass collision tests,

brake linings that fail after 1,000 miles,

and fuel injectors
that explode and burn people alive.

What then?

- Are you threatening me?
- No...

- Get the fuck out of here. You're fired!
- I have a better solution.

Keep me on the payroll
as an outside consultant

and, in exchange for my salary,

my job will be never to tell people
these things that I know.

I don't even have to come into the office.
I can do this job from home.

Who... Who the fuck do you think you are,
you crazy little shit?

- Security!
- I am Jack's smirking revenge.

What the hell are you doing?

That hurt.

Why would you do that?

Oh, my God! No! Please stop!

What are you doing?

Oh, God, no! Please! No!

For some reason,
I thought of my first fight, with Tyler.

No!

Under and behind and inside
everything this man took for granted,

something horrible had been growing.

Look. Just give me the pay cheques,
like I asked,

and you won't ever see me again.

And right then,
at our most excellent moment together...

Thank God! Please don't hit me again.

Telephone, computer, fax machine,

52 weekly pay cheques
and 48 airline flight coupons.

We now had corporate sponsorship.

This is how Tyler and I were able to have
Fight Club every night of the week.

Now, nobody was the centre of Fight Club
except the two men fighting.

The leader walked through the crowd,
out in the darkness.

Tyler was now involved in a class
action lawsuit with the Pressman Hotel

over the urine content of their soup.

I am Jack's wasted life.

Thank you, sir.

Tyler dreamed up
new homework assignments.

He handed them out in sealed envelopes.

- Did you know there's a Fight Club up in Delaware City.
- Yeah, I heard.

There's one in Penns Grove too.
Bob even found one up in New Castle.

- Yeah, did you start that one?
- No, I thought you did.

No.

- Stop for a second.
- What are we doing?

- Turn around.
- What are we doing?

- Homework assignment.
- What kind?

Human sacrifice.

Hey! Is that a gun? Please!
Please tell me that's not a gun.

It's a gun. Meet me in the back.

- No, no! Hey! Don't fuck around!
- Meet me in the back.

On a long enough time line,

the survival rate for everyone
drops to zero.

- Stop. What are you doing come on?
- Hands behind your back.

Give me your wallet.

Raymond K. Hessel.
1320 SE Banning, Apartment A.

Small, cramped basement apartment Raymond?

How did you know?

'Cause they give shitty basement apartments
letters instead of numbers.

Raymond! You're going to die.

No!

Is that your mom and dad?

Mom and dad are gonna have to
call up kindly Dr. So-And-So

Pick up your dental records.
You want to know why?

- 'Cause there's going to be nothing left of your face..
- Aw, come on!

An expired community college student ID.
What did you study, Raymond?

- S... Stuff.
- Stuff?

Were the midterms hard?

- I asked you what you studied!
- Biology, mostly.

- Why?
- I don't know.

What did you wanna be,
Raymond K. Hessel?

The question, Raymond, was:
what did you want to be?

Answer him, Raymond! Jesus!

- Veterinarian. Veterinarian.
- Animals.

- Yeah. Animal and stuff.
- Stuff. Yeah, I got that.

- That means that you have to get more schooling.
- Too much school.

- Would you rather be dead?
- No, please...

You'd rather die, here, on your knees,
in the back of a convenience store?

No. Please, no.

I'm keeping your license.

Gonna check in on you.
I know where you live.

If you're not on your way to becoming
a veterinarian in six weeks,

you will be dead.

Now run on home.

Run, Forrest, run!

I feel ill.

- Imagine how he feels.
- Come on, this isn't funny!

That wasn't funny. What the
fuck was the point of that?

Tomorrow will be the most beautiful day
of Raymond K. Hessel's life.

His breakfast will taste better
than any meal you and I have ever tasted.

You had to give it to him.

- Come on.
- He had a plan.

And it started to make sense
in a Tyler sort of way.

No fear. No distractions.

The ability to let that
which does not matter truly slide.

You are not your job.

You're not how much money
you have in the bank.

You're not the car you drive.

You're not the contents of your wallet.

You're not your fucking khakis.

You are the all-singing,
all-dancing crap of the world.

I'll be out of your way in a sec.

You don't have to go.

Whatever.

No, I mean... it's okay.

Are you still going to groups?

Yeah.

Chloe's dead.

Wow. Chloe.

When did that happen?

Do you care?

I dunno.
I haven't thought about it in a while.

Yeah, well...

it was the smart move on her part.

Listen, um...

What are you getting out of all this?

What?

I mean, all this. Why do you keep...

Is this making you happy?

Yeah, well, sometimes.

I don't know. I don't understand.

Why does a weaker person need to latch
on to a strong person? What is that?

What do you get out of it?

No... That's not the same thing at all.
It's totally different with us.

"Us"?

- What do you mean by "us"?
- I'm sorry. Do you hear this?

- Hear what?
- You're not hearing all that noise? Hold on a second.

No, wait! What were you saying? Don't change
the subject! I want to talk about this.

- You're not talking about me, are you?
- No.

What?

That day you came over to my place,
playing doctor. What was going on there?

- What are you talking about?
- Nothing. Nothing.

- I don't think so.
- What do you want?

- Look at me.
- No. What?

Look at me.

- What is that?
- It's nothing. Don't worry about it.

- My God. Who did this?
- A person.

Guy or girl?

- What do you care if it's a guy or a girl?
- What do you care if I ask?

- Its none of your business. Leave me alone.
- You're afraid to say.

- I am not afraid to say. Let me go.
- No! Talk to me.

Let go of me. Leave me alone!

- This conversation...
- This conversation...

- ...is over.
- ...is over.

I just can't win with you, can I?

Hey, this is getting a little old!

What is... What is all this?

What do you think?

Hey, why do we need bunk beds?

Hey!

Too young. Sorry.

What's all that?

Right, If the applicant is young, tell him he's too young.
Old, too old. Fat, too fat.

Applicant?

If the applicant then waits three days
without food, shelter or encouragement,

he may then enter and begin his training.

Training for what?

You think this is a game?

You're too young to train here,
end of story.

Quit wasting our time.
Get the fuck out of here.

Bad news, friend.

It's not gonna happen.

Sorry if there was a misunderstanding.

It's not the end of the world.
Just... go away.

Go.

You're trespassing
and I will have to call the police.

Don't you look at me! You think
you're ever getting in this house?

You're never getting
in this fucking house!

Never. Now get the fuck off my porch!
Get off my porch!

Sooner or later,
we all became what Tyler wanted us to be.

I'm gonna go inside
and I'm gonna get a shovel.

Got two black shirts?
Two pair of black pants?

- Yes, sir.
- One pair black boots? Two pair of black socks?

- Sir.
- One black jacket?

- Sir.
- $300 personal burial money?

Yes, sir.

All right.

You're too old, fat man.

Your tits are too big.
Get the fuck off my porch.

Bob! Bob!

Like a monkey ready to be shot into space.

Space monkey.

Ready to sacrifice himself
for the greater good.

You are too fucking old, fatty!

And you... You're too fucking blond!

Get out of here, the both of you!

And so it went.

Listen up, maggots.

You are not special.

You are not
a beautiful or unique snowflake.

You are the same decaying organic matter
as everything else.

Tyler built himself an army.

We are the all-singing,
all-dancing crap of the world.

We are all part of the same compost heap.

Why was Tyler Durden building an army?

To what purpose? For what greater good?

In Tyler we trusted.

When he was like,
"You are not your job," I was like, "Yeah!"

- Hey, what's all this?
- Hey!

Okay!

- What's going on?
- We're celebrating.

- What are we celebrating?
- Go on.

- Hey.
- Let me get that for you.

Same great taste.
Pepsi. Generation Next.

Investigators are on the scene right now.
Hold on, Police Commissioner Jacobs has just arrived.

Commissioner, could you please tell us
what you think has happened here?

We believe this is one of many
recent acts of vandalism around the city

somehow related to
underground boxing clubs.

We will be coordinating
a rigorous investigation.

That was Police Commissioner Jacobs
who just arrived on the scene here

- of a four-alarm fire that broke out about an hour ago...
- She's hot.

Back to you in the studio.

- Yeah!
- Yeah!

- Holy shit!
- Yeah!

What the fuck did you guys do?

Arson investigators
are on the premises...

Sir, the first rule of Project Mayhem
is you do not ask questions, sir.

The victory in the war against crime
will not come overnight.

It will take dedication and commitment
and, most of all, cooperation.

Streets are safer now.
There is hope in the inner city.

- However, this is only the beginning.
- I gotta take a piss.

These are the first steps
in a long journey.

That is why we have
created Project Hope...

Bob.

...helping others
with prevention and enforcement.

Project Hope will be a joint effort

between the police
and community leaders.

It will be a powerful new weapon
in the war against crime.

- Wrap it around the top of his Hacky Sack, Bob.
- Man! His balls are ice-cold.

Hi. You're gonna call off
your rigorous investigation.

You're gonna publicly state that
there is no underground group

or these guys are gonna take your balls.

They're gonna send one to the New York Times
and one to the LA Times press release style.

Look, the people you are after
are the people you depend on.

We cook your meals. We haul your trash.
We connect your calls.

We drive your ambulances.
We guard you while you sleep.

Do not fuck with us.

Ball check!

Bob, this way.

Let's go.

I am Jack's inflamed sense of rejection.

Hey!

Yeah!

I felt like putting a bullet between the eyes of
every panda that wouldn't screw to save its species.

I wanted to open
the dump valves on oil tankers

and smother all those French beaches
I'd never see.

I wanted to breathe smoke.

Where did you go, psycho boy?

I felt like destroying something beautiful.

- Get him to a fucking hospital.
- Yeah.

Don't worry, Mr. Durden.
Airport parking. Long term.

After you, Mr. Durden.

After you.

- Something on your mind, dear?
- No.

All right, yeah. Why wasn't I told
about Project Mayhem?

First rule of Project Mayhem
is you do not ask questions.

What are you talking about?

- Why didn't you include me in the beginning?
- Fight Club was the beginning.

Now it's moved out of the basements
and it's called Project Mayhem.

You and I started Fight Club together.
Do you remember that?

It's as much mine as it is yours, you know.

Is this about you and me?

- Yeah. I thought we were doing this together.
- You're missing the point.

This does not belong to us.

- We are not special.
- Fuck that. You should have told me.

Hey, Tyler!

- Goddamn it, Tyler!
- What do you want?

A statement of purpose? Should I email you?
Should I put this on your action item list?

- Aw, look...
- You decide your own level of involvement!

I will! I wanna know certain things first!

- The first rule of Project Mayhem...
- Shut up!

I wanna know what you're thinking.

Fuck what you know! You need to forget
about what you know. That's your problem.

Forget about what you think you know
about life, about friendship,

and especially about you and me.

What is that supposed to mean? What...

What are you doing?

Guys, what'll you wish you'd done
before you die?

- Paint a self-portrait.
- Build a house.

- And you?
- I don't know. Nothing.

- Get in the right lane.
- You have to know the answer to this question!

If you were to die right now,
how would you feel about your life?

I don't know! I wouldn't feel anything good about
my life. Is that what you want to hear me say?

- Come on!
- Not good enough.

Stop fucking around! Tyler!

Jesus Christ!

Goddamn it! Goddamn it! Fuck you!

Fuck Fight Club. Fuck Marla!
I am sick of all your shit!

Okay, man. Okay.

- Quit screwing around. Take the wheel!
- Look at you!

- Take the wheel!
- Look at you! You're fucking pathetic!

- Why? Why? What are you talking about?
- Why do you think I blew up your condo?

What?

Hitting bottom isn't a weekend retreat.
It's not a goddamn seminar.

Stop trying to control everything
and just let go!

- Let go!
- All right. Fine.

Fine.

I'd never been in a car accident.

This must have been
what all those people felt like

before I filed them
as statistics in my reports.

Goddamn!

We've just had a near-life experience!

In the world I see, you're stalking elk
through the Grand Canyon forests

around the ruins of Rockefeller Centre.

You'll wear leather clothes
that will last you the rest of your life.

You'll climb the great thick kudzu vines
that wrap the Sears Tower.

And when you look down,
you'll see tiny figures pounding corn,

laying strips of venison

in the empty car-pool lane
of some abandoned superhighway.

Feel better, champ.

And then...

Tyler?

...Tyler was gone.

Was I asleep?

Had I slept?

You are not a beautiful, unique
snowflake, you understand me?

The house had become a living thing,

wet inside from so many people
sweating and breathing.

We are all part
of the same compost heap...

So many people moving, the house moved.

Planet Tyler.

I had to hug the walls, trapped inside
this clockwork of space monkeys.

You can't be smoking in here! You know
how much ether we have in this fucking house?

Cooking and working
and sleeping in teams.

Hang on a second.

It's under control, sir.

Where's Tyler?

Sir, the first rule of Project Mayhem
is you do not...

Right. Okay.

I'm all alone.

My father dumped me. Tyler dumped me.

I am Jack's broken heart.

What comes next in Project Mayhem
only Tyler knows.

The second rule is
you do not ask questions.

Get the fuck away from me!
Get the fuck away from me!

Who are all these people?

The Paper Street Soap Company.

Can I come in?

He's not here.

What?

Tyler isn't here.

Tyler went away.

Tyler's gone.

Jesus! Get some help!

Two gunshot wounds coming through!
Make some fucking room!

What happened? What happened?

We were on assignment.

We were supposed to kill
two birds with one stone.

Destroy a piece of corporate art...

Operation Latte Thunder. Go!

...and trash a franchise coffee bar.

We had it all worked out, sir.

- It went smooth until...
- Police! Freeze!

- What?
- They shot Bob.

- They shot him in the head.
- Fucking pigs!

Oh, God!

- Those motherfuckers!
- You morons.

You run around in ski masks
trying to blow things up?

What did you think was gonna happen?

Okay, quick! We gotta get rid of the
evidence. We gotta get rid of his body!

- Bury him.
- What?

Take him to the garden and bury him.

- Come on, people, let's go!
- Get the fuck off! Get away from him!

What are you talking about?

This isn't fucking piece of evidence.
This is a person.

He's a friend of mine and you're not
gonna bury him in the fucking garden!

He was killed serving Project Mayhem, sir.

- This is Bob.
- But, sir, in...

In Project Mayhem, we have no names.

Now, you listen to me.

This is a man and he has a name,
and it's Robert Paulsen, okay?

Robert Paulsen?

He's a man,
and he's dead now because of us.

All right? Do you understand that?

I understand.

In death, a member of Project Mayhem
has a name.

His name is Robert Paulsen.

His name is Robert Paulsen.

His name is Robert Paulsen.

His name is Robert Paulsen.

- Come on, guys. Please. Stop it.
- His name is Robert Paulsen.

His name is Robert Paulsen.

- His name is Robert Paulsen.
- Shut up! This is all over with!

His name is Robert Paulsen.

His name is Robert Paulsen.

His name is Robert Paulsen.

His name is Robert Paulsen.

His name is Robert Paulsen.

Tyler?

No, this is Detective Stern
of the Arson Unit.

I need to see you in my office...

I went to all the cities
on Tyler's used ticket stubs, bar-hopping.

I didn't know how, of why

but I could look at 50 different bars,
and somehow I just knew.

I'm looking for Tyler Durden.
It's very important that I talk to him.

I wish I could help you,

sir.

Every city I went to,

as soon as I set foot off the plane,

I knew a Fight Club was close.

Hey! Hey!

Taxi!

Look at my face. I'm a member.

Now, I just need to know
if you've seen Tyler.

I'm not exposed to bespeak
any such information to you,

nor would I, even if I had said information
you want at this juncture, be able.

- You're a moron.
- I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you to leave.

Tyler had been busy,
setting up franchises all over the country.

Was I asleep? Had I slept?

Is Tyler my bad dream, or am I Tyler's?

- We've just heard the stories.
- What kind of stories?

- Nobody knows what he looks like.
- He has facial reconstructive surgery every three years.

That's the stupidest thing I ever heard.

- Is it true about Fight Club in Miami?
- Is Mr. Durden building an army?

I was living in a state
of perpetual déjà vu.

Everywhere I went,
I felt I'd already been there.

It was like following an invisible man.

The smell of dried blood.

Dirty, bare footprints circling each other.

That aroma of old sweat,
like fried chicken.

The feel of a floor still warm
from a fight the night before.

I was always just one step behind Tyler.

His name is Robert Paulsen.
His name is Robert Paulsen. His...

Welcome back, sir.

How have you been?

Do you know me?

- Is this a test, sir?
- No. This is not a test.

You were in here last Thursday.

Thursday?

You were standing where you are now,
asking how good security is.

It's tight as a drum, sir.

Who do you think I am?

- Are you sure this isn't a test?
- No, this is not a test.

You're Mr. Durden.

You're the one who gave me this.

Please return your seat backs
to their full upright and locked position.

- Yeah?
- Marla, it's me.

- Have we ever done it?
- Done what?

- Have we ever had sex.
- What kind of stupid question is that?

Stupid because the answer's yes
or because the answer's no?

- Is this a trick?
- No, Marla. I need to know...

You wanna know if I think
we were just having sex or making love?

- We did make love?
- Is that what you're calling it?

Just answer the question, Marla, please!
Did we do it or not?

You fuck me, then snub me.
You love me, you hate me.

You show me a sensitive side,
then you turn into a total asshole.

Is that a pretty accurate description
of our relationship, Tyler?

We have just lost cabin pressure.

- What did you just say?
- What is wrong with you?

- What did you just call me? Say my name!
- Tyler Durden.

Tyler Durden, you fucking freak!
What's going on?

- I'm coming over!
- No, wait, Marla, I'm not there!

You broke your promise.

- Jesus, Tyler.
- You fucking talked to her about me.

- Tyler, what the fuck is going on here?
- I ask you for one thing. One simple thing.

Why do people think that I'm you?

Answer me!

Sit.

Answer me. Why do people
think that I'm you?

I think you know.

- No, I don't.
- Yes, you do.

Why would anyone
possibly confuse you with me?

I... I don't know.

- You got it.
- No.

- Do not fuck with us!
- Say it.

Because...

Say it!

Because we're the same person.

That's right.

We are the all-singing, all-dancing...

- I don't understand this.
- You were looking for a way to change your life.

You could not do this on your own.

All the ways you wish you could be,
that's me.

I look like you wanna look,
fuck like you wanna fuck,

I am smart, capable and, most importantly,
I'm free in all the ways that you are not.

Oh, no.

- Tyler's not here. Tyler went away. Tyler's gone.
- What?

- This isn't possible. This is crazy.
- People do it every day.

They talk to themselves.
They see themselves as they'd like to be.

They don't have the courage you have
to just run with it.

Naturally, you're still wrestling with it,
so sometimes you're still you.

We should do this again sometime.

Other times,
you imagine yourself watching me.

If this is your first
time, you have to fight.

Little by little,
you're just letting yourself become...

Tyler Durden.

You are not your job
or how much money you have in the bank!

- No. You have a house.
- Rented in your name.

- You have jobs, you have a whole life.
- You have night jobs because you can't sleep.

- Or you stay up and make soap.
- Marla- you're fucking Marla, Tyler.

Technically, you're fucking Marla.
But it's all the same to her.

Oh, my God.

Now you see our dilemma.

She knows too much.

I think we're gonna have to talk about
how this might compromise our goals.

What... What are you saying?

This is... This is bullshit. This is bullshit!
I'm not listening to this.

- You are insane!
- No. You're insane.

And we simply
do not have time for this crap.

It's called a changeover.

The movie goes on,
and nobody in the audience has any idea.

- Sir! Are you checking out?
- Yeah. Bill me.

I need you to initial
this list of phone calls, please.

- When were these made?
- It says right there, sir. Between 2:00 and 3:30 this morning.

Have I been going to bed earlier
every night?

Have I been sleeping later?

Have I been Tyler longer and longer?

Is anybody here?

Déjà vu, all over again.

Yeah, with enough soap,
one could blow up just about anything.

Oh, my God.

- 1888.
- Who am I calling?

1888 Franklin. This is maintenance.

Hello? Hello?

Franklin Street?

Yes. Can I help you?

- Hello?
- Yeah, yeah.

I need to talk to your supervisor
right away.

- Speaking.
- Okay, listen to me.

I think something really terrible
is about to happen to your building.

It's under control, sir.

- Excuse me?
- Don't worry about us, sir. We're solid.

2160.

Marla! Marla! Hey, Marla, wait!

Marla, wait! I gotta talk to you! Marla! Marla!

Your whacked-out bald freaks
hit me with a fucking broom!

They almost broke my arm!

They were burning
their fingertips with lye.

- The stink was unbelievable.
- Look- Look, listen to me.

it'll take a tremendous act of faith on your part,
but you gotta hear me out.

- Oh, here comes an avalanche of bullshit.
- A little more faith than that.

Listen, I don't wanna hear
anything you have to say.

You have every right to be...

I'll just have a coffee, thanks.

Sir, anything you order
is free of charge, sir.

- Why is it free of charge?
- Don't- Don't ask.

Whatever.

I'll have the clam chowder,

fried chicken with a baked potato with
everything and chocolate chiffon pie.

Clean food, please.

In that case, sir, may I advise against
the lady eating the clam chowder?

No clam chowder. Thank you.

You got about 30 seconds.

I know I've been acting
very very strange, okay?

I know that it's gotta seem
like there's two sides to me...

Two sides?
You're Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Jackass.

I deserved that. But I've come to
realise something very very important.

What?

The full extent of our relationship
wasn't really clear to me up until now,

for reasons I'm not gonna go into,
but the important thing is-

- I know that I haven't been treating you so nice.
- Whatever.

No, no. 15 seconds, 15 seconds please!
Fifteen seconds, don't open your mouth.

I'm trying to tell you that I'm sorry.

Because what I've come to realize
is that I really like you, Marla.

- You do?
- I really do.

I care about you and I don't want anything
bad to happen to you because of me.

Marla, your life is in danger.

- What?
- You need to leave town for a while.

Get out of any major city.
And just go camping...

You're an insane person.

- No, no, I've involved you in something terrible that's about to happen.
- No. Shut up!

- You're not safe.
- Shut up!

- Listen, I tried, Tyler. I really tried.
- I know you did.

There are things about you I like. You're
smart, you're funny, you're spectacular in bed.

But... you're intolerable.

You have very serious emotional problems,
deep-seeded problems

for which you should seek
professional help.

- I know, and I'm sorry.
- You're sorry, I'm sorry, everyone's sorry, but...

I can't do this anymore.

I can't. I won't.

I'm gone.

You can't leave, Marla! You're not safe!

- Marla, wait you don't understand!
- Leave me alone!

I am trying to protect you!

- I don't ever want to see you again!
- That's fine, if that's what it takes...

Wait right here.

Hold it right there! Shut up! Shut up!

Take this money and get on this bus. And I promise you
I will never bother you again if that's what you want.

Shut up!

Please get on the bus.
Please get on the bus.

- Why are you doing this?
- 'Cause they think you're some kind of a threat.

I can't explain it right now. Just trust me.

If I see where you're going,
you'll not be safe.

I'm not paying this back.
I consider it asshole tax.

That's fine. Remember, stay out of major cities
for at least a couple of days, okay?

Tyler...

You're the worst thing
that ever happened to me.

Hello. I need you to arrest me.

I am the leader of a terrorist organization

responsible for numerous acts of vandalism
and assault all over this city.

In the metropolitan area, we had
probably a couple hundred members.

Chapters have sprung up
in five or six other major cities already.

This is a tightly regimented organization

with many cells capable of operating
completely independent of central leadership.

Go to the house, okay? 1537 Paper Street.

That's our headquarters.

In the back, buried in the garden,
you'll find the body of Robert Paulsen.

In the basement, you're gonna find some bathtubs

that have been used very recently
to make large quantities of nitroglycerin.

I believe the plan is
to blow up the headquarters

of these credit-card companies

and the TRW building.

Why these buildings?
Why credit-card companies?

If you erase the debt record,
then we all go back to zero.

You'll create total chaos.

Keep him talking.
I need to make a phone call.

I really admire what you're doing.

- What?
- You're a brave man to order this.

You're a genius, sir.

You said if anyone ever interferes
with Project Mayhem, even you,

we gotta get his balls.

- It's useless to fight.
- It's really a powerful gesture, Mr. Durden.

- It'll set quite an example.
- You're making a big mistake fellas!

- You said you'd say that.
- I'm not Tyler Durden!

You told us you'd say that too.

All right. I am Tyler Durden.

Listen to me. I'm giving you a direct
order. We're aborting this mission right now.

You said you would definitely say that.

Let me go!

Are you fucking out of your minds?
You're police officers!

Is somebody timing this?

Keep your mouth shut.

Shit!

- Hey, you know, some of this information checks out.
- Uh-huh?

- Let's go over to that house on Paper Street.
- Be right there.

Hey, wait!

- You got him?
- I got him.

Sir, we have to do this.

- Stop fighting!
- Where's the rubber band?

Get away from me!
Drop that fucking knife! Drop it!

Back up. Face down on the
floor, both of you, right now!

Get down on the floor!

First person that comes out this door
gets a lead salad! You understand?

Get away! Stay away!

I ran.

I ran until my muscles burned
and my veins pumped battery acid.

Then I ran some more.

What the fuck are you doing,
running around in your underpants?

Man, you look like a crazy person.

No. I'm onto you.
I know what's going on here.

Come on, then. I got us a great place
to watch from. it'll be like pay-per-view.

Oh, Christ.

Now what are you doing?

- I'm stopping this.
- Why?

- The greatest thing you've ever done, man.
- No, I can't let this happen.

You know there are 10 other bombs
in 10 other buildings.

Goddamn it! Since when is Project Mayhem
about murder?

The buildings are empty. Security,
maintenance, all our people.

We're not killing anyone, man.
We're setting them free!

Bob is dead. They shot him in the head.

You wanna make an omelet,
you gotta break some eggs.

No. I'm not listening to you.
You're not even there.

Wouldn't do that.
Not unless I knew which wires were what.

If you know, then I know.

Or... maybe I knew you'd know, so I spent
the whole day thinking about the wrong ones.

You think?

Oh, heavens, no. Not the green one.

Pull any one but the green one.

I asked you not to do that!

Fuck!

Tyler, get away from the van.

Tyler, I'm not kidding!
Get away from the van!

Goddamn it!

Okay.

You are now firing a gun
at your imaginary friend

near 400 gallons of nitroglycerin!

Cool it, Tyler! Tyler!

Aw, come on! Don't go!

What?

Three minutes. This is it.

The beginning.

Ground zero.

- I think this is about where we came in.
- Would you like to say a few words to mark the occasion?

I'm sorry?

I still can't think of anything.

Ah. Flashback humour.

It's getting exciting now.

Two and a half. Think of everything
we've accomplished, man.

Out these windows, we will view
the collapse of financial history.

One step closer to economic equilibrium.

- Why is she here?
- Tying up loose ends.

Put me down, you bald-headed fuck!

- I'm begging you, please don't do this.
- I'm not doing this. We are doing this.

- This is what we want.
- No. I don't want this.

Right. Except "you" is meaningless now.
We have to forget about you.

- You're a voice in my head.
- You're a voice in mine!

- You're a fucking hallucination. Why can't I get rid of you?
- You need me.

No. I don't. I really don't anymore.

You created me. I didn't create some
loser alter ego to make myself feel better.

- Take some responsibility.
- I do.

I am responsible for all of it,
and I accept that.

So, please, I'm begging you,
please call this off.

Have I ever let us down?

How far have you come because of me?

I will bring us through this.

As always, I will carry you
kicking and screaming,

and in the end you will thank me.

Tyler. Tyler.

I'm grateful to you
for everything that you've done for me.

But this is too much. I don't want this.

What do you want? You wanna go back to the shit job?
Fucking condo world, watching sitcoms?

Fuck you! I won't do it.

- This can't be happening.
- It's already done, so shut up!

- 60 seconds till CRI.
- No.

I can figure this out. I can figure this out.
This isn't even real.

You're not real. That gun isn't...
That gun isn't even in your hand.

The gun's in my hand.

Hey, good for you. Doesn't change a thing.

Why do you wanna put a gun to your head?

Not my head, Tyler.

Our head.

Interesting.

Where are you going with this, IKEA boy?

Hey. It's you and me.

Friends?

Tyler,

I want you to really listen to me.

Okay.

My eyes are open.

What's that smell?

- Where is everybody?
- Oh, no. What's going on?

Mr. Durden!

Oh, my God!

Sir!

Are you... Are you all right, sir?

- Oh, yeah, I'm okay.
- You look terrible, sir. What happened?

- Oh, nothing, it's no problem.
- No, no, no, sir. He's not kidding.

- You look really awful. You need medical assistance.
- I'm fine.

Look, I'm fine. Everything's fine.

Ow! Stop it!

- Let, let her go.
- Christ Almighty!

You!

Hi, Marla.

- Leave her with me. Get your stuff. Meet me downstairs.
- Are you sure?

Yes, I'm sure.

You fucker! What kind of sick fucking game
are you playing at, putting me on a fucking bu...

Oh, my God, your face!

Yeah, I know.

- What happened?
- Don't ask.

- You're shot.
- Yes, I'm shot.

Oh, my God.

- I can't believe he's standing.
- Tough motherfucker.

Who did this?

I did, actually.

Find some gauze.

- You shot yourself?
- Yes, but it's okay. Marla, look at me.

I'm really okay.

Trust me. Everything's gonna be fine.

You met me at
a very strange time in my life.

♪ With your feet on the air
And your head on the ground ♪

♪ Try this trick and spin it ♪

♪ Yeah ♪

♪ Your head will collapse
But there's nothing in it ♪

♪ And you'll ask yourself ♪

♪ Where is my mind? ♪

♪ Where is my mind? ♪

♪ Where is my mind? ♪

♪ Way out in the water ♪

♪ See it swimming? ♪

♪ I was swimming in the Caribbean ♪

♪ Animals were hiding behind a rock ♪

♪ Except the little fish ♪

♪ When they told me east is west ♪

♪ Trying to talk to me, coy koi ♪

♪ Where is my mind? ♪

♪ Where is my mind? ♪

♪ Where is my mind? ♪

♪ Way out in the water ♪

♪ See it swimming? ♪

♪ With your feet on the air
And your head on the ground ♪

♪ Try this trick and spin it ♪

♪ Yeah ♪

♪ Your head will collapse ♪

♪ If there's nothing in it ♪

♪ And you'll ask yourself ♪

♪ Where is my mind? ♪

♪ Where is my mind? ♪

♪ Where is my mind? ♪

♪ Way out in the water ♪

♪ See it swimming? ♪

♪ Your feet are on the air
And your head on the ground ♪

♪ Try this trick and spin it ♪