I'm sorry, Mr Donnelly, but your wife passed away at 3:00 this morning.
Would you like to see her?
Oh. Yes. Please. Thank you.
Erm, I'd like to stay with you longer, Mr Donnelly, but we're awful busy.
Are you run off your feet, you are?
Two cot deaths and a woman.
Her son sh*t the poor head off her.
No! Is she alive or is she dead?
Ah, dead, dead. She had no head left on her, like.
I'll leave you to it.
I don't know what to say to you, babe.
I don't know what to say.
I brought you the photo of David.
I don't know what to say.
I don't know where you are now.
Anyone sitting here?
Oh, aye, there's hundreds of fellas, like. Look at them.
-It was a simple question. -It was, aye.
Them are the best type of questions. It's them hard f*ckers I can't stand.
(WOMAN SNIFFLING)
You! Here, you! What's the matter with you?
-You seem a bit down in the dumps, like. -Just mind your own business.
Do you hear this one? Sure, I'm only after a bit of a chat, like.
-Chat with someone you know. -I don't know anybody.
I haven't a friend in the world.
He's a bit huffy.
KID: Hey, fella? Why is it you never get tall jockeys?
Huh?
Why is it you never get tall jockeys? They're always sort of midgety sort of fellas.
-The weight. -I know ''the weight''!
Jesus, the weight, eh? The weight.
But what do you do if you're a tall fella and you want to be a jockey?
It isn't fair on you, so it isn't.
Me mam always used tell us that everybody could grow up to be anything they wanted to be.
Now, in the case of tall fellas who want to be jockeys, that's patently f*cking untrue.
-You could show jump. -You could show jump!
You're just clutching at f*cking straws now.
You could show jump. Jesus. You could show jump!
Dressage. There's another c**t that gets on me f*cking nerves.
Would you mind watching your bloody language?
Eh? This fella...
Jeez.
Well, I'm off to the buffet car to get away from ye dull yokes.
Anybody want anything? Cry Baby? No? Old fella?
-A cup of tea? -A cup of tea, uh-huh.
No, don't get your money out 'cause if you think I can be arsed lugging cups of tea up and down for you, you've got another think coming, boy. Oh, aye.
-Are you okay? -No, I'm not okay.
Is anything the matter?
-Our son d*ed last night. Cot death. -Yeah. Tell everybody.
I'm sorry.
50p for a bag of Taytos.
I cannot believe the gall of the ginger little bitch.
-Oh, how much do I owe you? -Skip it.
-No, really. -I said, skip it.
Where's the old smiley twins?
-Their son d*ed last night. -Did he?
Oh, my God.
Did they k*ll it?
-No, they didn't k*ll it. -Maybe they banged it on something.
It was a cot death.
That's what they all say. I'll bet they banged it on something.
I would if I had a kid. Just keep banging it, like.
On something. If he was getting on me nerves, like.
Like Marvin Gaye's dad.
I'd have sh*t Marvin Gaye if I'd been Marvin Gaye's dad.
Get the c**t to shut up.
I'm surprised mams and dads don't k*ll their kids more often.
'Cause most kids are f*cking rotten. I certainly am. I'm a f*cking rotten kid.
-Have you got kids? -No.
Will you have? In the future, like?
'Cause it doesn't matter how old you are nowadays.
Tony Curtis, he's f*cking ancient and he's still having kids.
Not Tony Curtis, who? Rod Steiger. I'm always getting them c**ts mixed up.
Rod Steiger, aye. And he's f*cking 1 00, like. Ah, sheep.
Did you ever shout at a sheep?
No.
Oh.
Oh, aye, here's Fred and Rosemary.
-Where are you headed? Dublin? -Dublin, aye.
The city that never sweeps.
See, I needed some heroin and a shite accent, so I thought I'd head straight to the source, like.
If you use that language one more time, I'm going to come over there and b*at the sh*t out of you.
What language? Sure ''shite'' isn't swearing.
-It is. -It's f*cking not, like!
-Pato! -I'm not taking any more of this sh*t today!
Sure, let him hit me. I don't give a f*ck, like.
-Move somewhere else. -You move somewhere else!
-I was here before all you spas. -Pato, sit down.
Just one more cr*ck. One more!
Listen, I'm not defending you no more, okay? I've got me own troubles.
Here, I've this great story about a cow with trapped wind, -do you want to hear it? -No! Jesus!
Ar, ye's are no fun.
-You're not supposed to go up and down, no? -No.
Do you have Pringles?
No. We got no call for fancy crisps round here. We've Taytos or we've Ripples.
-You don't sell spirits, no? -It's 1 1 :00 in the morning.
Oh, did I ask you what time it was?
What I thought I asked you was, ''Do you sell spirits?''
-Don't you be getting ratty with me. -Yeah, well, don't you be getting ratty with me.
-How was I getting ratty with you? -Your general face was ratty.
-Me face? -Your general manner was ratty.
Well, would you like to work on a train?
Well, is it my fault that you have a shite job?
I didn't say I had a shite job. I was saying it wasn't all I'd hoped for meself.
Are you getting me my booze or am I just going to stand here, like?
Are you not supposed to go up and down, no?
-What can I get you? -A couple of teas, please.
Would he be Ret*rded, do you think? The young fella?
I wouldn't have said Ret*rded, no. He knows what dressage is.
No harm in him?
That's what I was trying to say to you, like.
Is that your dead kid? Give us a look.
He looks like your man off of Bronski b*at.
You remember your man off of Bronski b*at? He looks like him.
-No wonder you banged it on something. -He was a cot death!
That's what all you mams say.
Everyone knows if you're lumped with an ugly baby who'll disgrace you.
Well, don't blame that on me.
Hey, missus, your fella's back that way!
Was that a bit much now?
I think you might have gone a bit overboard there, fella.
-Did you see where my wife went to? -I did, aye.
She flung herself off the train five minute back, dashed her brains to muck against a wall there.
He is Ret*rded. I'm going to look for my wife.
Sure, just look out along the train. She's dripping down the half of it.
Don't look at me. I told you that five minutes ago.
KID: I mean, she was acting like an oddball from as soon as she sat down, like.
All crying all over the place like a mad thing, she was.
Wasn't she all crying all over the place like a mad thing, fella?
-Her son had just d*ed. -He had, aye.
Write that down 'cause that might've had something to do with it.
That's him. Brutal-looking baby.
He looks like your man off of Bronski b*at.
-Your man off of where? -Your man off of Bronski b*at.
The gay man?
Aye, the gay man, the gay man, the gay man. Aye, the gay man.
-Can I keep this? -Work away, aye.
Put it in your dead baby/Bronski b*at lookalike file.
-Do I know you from somewhere? -Me? No.
Okay, what were you and Mrs Dooley talking about before she left the carriage?
I was telling her me story about this cow with trapped wind.
Aw, jeez, that wouldn't have sent her over the edge, would it, mister?
Ah, no, I'm sure it was just some sad things going on in her own mind.
Thanks for your time, lads.
And me thinking Freud had d*ed long since.
Get that train stopped! And tell the boys to get their g*ns out!
Jeez, you're so f*cking maudlin. You didn't even know the woman.
-Have you no respect for the dead, no? -I haven't, no.
A black fella stole mine.
Admit it, fella, she was getting on your nerves, too, with her bawling.
Sure, my mam got m*rder*d last night, but you don't see me off wailing like a spa.
You're codding me?
Oh, aye. I'm forever codding people me mam's just been m*rder*d.
Oh, a great source of amusement to me, it is.
You don't seem upset about it.
Well, she wasn't the most pleasant of women, and sure, life goes on.
-My wife d*ed last night. -Did she?
-Did she get m*rder*d, too? -No, no.
Thank f*ck. I thought we had a f*cking serial k*ller on the loose.
Ah, now, don't cry, old fella.
She's up with God now. She's up with God now.
-I don't believe in God. Not no more. -Eh? Of course you believe in God.
-You're an old fella. -No. Today was the last straw.
Why, what happened today... Oh, aye, your wife and now Mrs Train-surf woman.
Well, sure, that wasn't God's fault. He can't be everywhere at once, like.
What?
Nothing.
Well, at last, a f*cking smile out of you.
Here, do you want to hear me story about the cow with trapped wind?
It's a f*cking deadly story.
I would. I would like to hear it.
Would you? f*ck me!
And the thing is, it's f*cking true, like. That's the mad thing.
So I was at this cattle fair with me da when I was seven.
All these f*cking cows around, as you get at cattle fairs.
And then this one cow got this trapped wind, like.
There's a technical name for it, but I don't know what the f*ck it is.
Anyways, this cow starts expanding like a mad thing, starts f*cking ballooning up, and that's really dangerous 'cause they can die like that.
And nobody knew what to do till this short, tiny fella popped up.
He was just passing by, like.
And he takes out a f*cking screwdriver and jumps into the pen, and everybody's going, ''Oh, f*ck, no, '' like, and the short fella starts stabbing big f*cking holes in the side of this cow, like.
And we all thought he was mental, going stabbing a cow, like.
But then the cow started deflating back to normal, 'cause that's what you're supposed to do with a cow with trapped wind.
s*ab the fucker.
So everybody gave this short fella a round of applause for being so on the ball, like.
But then he starts giving us his whole life story about what an expert he is on f*cking cows.
And he says this gas that's coming out of the cow, it's the exact same gas as the gas in your oven back home, and everybody said, ''f*ck off, is it the same.''
But the short fella said, ''It is. Watch.''
And he lights the f*cking gas, like, so there's this stream of f*cking fire sh**ting out of this cow, and we were so impressed, like, and we gave him another round of applause.
But then the gas must've backed up inside or something
'cause the cow f*cking exploded.
Best day of me f*cking life, that cow exploding.
-This is me. -You're off here, are you?
Fair enough, so. You were starting to bore the tits off me.
Good luck to you.
Fella?
Sorry to hear about your dead missus and all.
Oh.
Yeah. Thank you.
-Sorry about your mam. -Ah, no loss.
(TRAIN WHEELS SCREECHING)
DOCTOR: Two cot deaths and a woman. Her son sh*t the poor head off her.
No!
No!
I didn't hit one of them.
That was f*cking woeful sh**ting. f*cking woeful, like. You know, like?
Do you know what I mean, like? Like... Like, just f*cking woeful.
(SIRENS WAILING)
I hope I'll see you soon, babe.
If I don't, I don't.
(SCRATCHING)
There, there, there.
There, there, David.
There's one for the each of us.
I'll be following you shortly.
(g*n FIRES)
(g*n FIRES)
Oh, Jesus.
What a f*cking day.
Anyone sitting here?
Oh, aye, there's hundreds of fellas, like. Look at them.
-It was a simple question. -It was, aye.
Them are the best type of questions. It's them hard f*ckers I can't stand.
It's about the train journey, and all sorts of mad things that happen on that journey.
And I play the strange young man who we meet.
50p for a bag of Taytos.
I cannot believe the gall of the ginger little bitch.
Martin McDonagh's writing has always been a source of great pleasure to me, I have to say.
And I guess it was the prospect of working with him.
When I took it on, there were a number of questions I had to ask him first about it.
Well, I've been working with Martin McDonagh, I suppose, since he began writing and I had done all of his plays with the Druid Theatre Company.
And so when he decided to sh**t it in Ireland, which wasn't necessarily where he was always going to sh**t it.
When he did decide to sh**t here, we decided to do it with an Irish cast.
Rod Steiger. I'm always getting them c**ts mixed up.
Rod Steiger, aye. And he's f*cking 1 00, like. Ah, sheep.
I learned a lot about his writing in general just from that experience.
Um, you know, it's so dark and so irreverent and everything else, but there's a lot of love in it and there's a lot of obvious pain and grief.
But there's a joy in the nonsense of the human condition, too.
It's quite complex.
Well, I had the script for a long time. I got the script eight years ago.
And, well, Martin wrote it, that would be the first thing. That's really good.
And it's a really good part.
And... Yeah, that would be basically it, really.
That's him. Brutal-looking baby.
He looks like your man off of Bronski b*at.
-Your man off of where? -Your man off of Bronski b*at.
The gay man?
Aye, the gay man, the gay man, the gay man. Aye, the gay man.
-Can I keep this? -Work away, aye.
Put it in your dead baby/Bronski b*at lookalike file.
I think Ruaidhri Conroy, who plays the lead in it, was always very much a first instinct for the role.
In fact, I'd hazard a guess and say that Martin probably had Ruaidhri in mind when he was writing the script.
The character's kind of loosely based on me, I think.
But I didn't do any research, no. No. I try and avoid research, when I can, at all costs. But no, no, it's just...
He's not really a very... It's not necessarily a very realistic character anyway, so...
No, I just pulled him out of thin air.
Ruaidhri started in the business as a kid actor, you know.
He's been on film sets, I'd say, since he was the age of eight.
And obviously played a huge lead in a major movie when he was 1 3, which was Into the West.
He's also a huge fan of action films, so that helped, I'm sure.
GLEESON: Well, I worked with him on Into the West, which was the first big part I got in a film.
You know, a part of any significance that I got in any film, really, was Into the West, and Ruaidhri was the star... One of the stars there.
Ciar�n Fitzgerald... So I knew him when he was a nipper.
He was... He was fun. He's always fun. He's always interesting to work with, Ruaidhri.
It was quite difficult to know whether or not somebody like Brendan Gleeson would lend his name to a short film.
I mean, his career at the time we were doing Six sh**t was seriously in its ascendance, so it was quite a coup, actually, to get Brendan to agree to play the role.
Her son sh*t the poor head off her.
No! Is she alive or is she dead?
Ah, dead, dead. She had no head left on her, like.
HUGHES: Being nominated for an Oscar is obviously an incredible feeling.
I was happy, I suppose, but I wasn't really all that surprised.
I had a feeling it was going to win.
(g*n f*ring)
Six sh**t (2004)
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