Fight Club

Fight Club is a 1999 American film directed by David Fincher, and starring Brad Pitt, Edward Norton and Helena Bonham Carter. It is based on the 1996 novel by Chuck Palahniuk. Norton plays the unnamed narrator, who is discontented with his white-collar job. He forms a "fight club" with soap salesman Tyler Durden (Pitt), and becomes embroiled in a relationship with an impoverished but beguilingly attractive woman, Marla Singer (Bonham Carter). Palahniuk's novel was optioned by Fox 2000 Pictures producer Laura Ziskin, who hired Jim Uhls to write the film adaptation. Fincher was selected because of his enthusiasm for the story. He developed the script with Uhls and sought screenwriting advice from the cast and others in the film industry. It was filmed in and around Los Angeles from July to December 1998. He and the cast compared the film to Rebel Without a Cause (1955) and The Graduate (1967), with a theme of conflict between Generation X and the value system of advertising. Studio executives did not like the film, and they restructured Fincher's intended marketing campaign to try to reduce anticipated losses. Fight Club premiered at the 56th Venice International Film Festival on September 10, 1999, and was released in the United States on October 15, 1999 by 20th Century Fox. The film failed to meet the studio's expectations at the box office and received polarized reactions from critics. It was ranked as one of the most controversial and talked-about films of the 1990s. However, Fight Club later found commercial success with its home video release, establishing it as a cult classic and causing media to revisit the film. In 2009, on its tenth anniversary, The New York Times dubbed it the "defining cult movie of our time."

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Turn off the jukebox. Lock the back.

Fight Club

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Every week, Tyler gave the rules that he and I decided. Gentlemen, welcome to Fight Club.

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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 2 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.

Fight Club

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This kid from work, Rick y, couldn't remember whether you ordered pens with blue ink or black...

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Come on, man! But Ricky was a god for 10 minutes when the trounced the maitre d' of a local food court.

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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. The guy who 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? It doesn't matter. Who'd be tough? Hemingway. You? Shatner. I'd fight William Shatner.

Fight Club

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We all started seeing things differently. Everywhere we went, we were sizing things up.

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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? Ahh. Self-improvement is masturbation. And self-destruction. Excuse me.

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Kick his ass! Hit him again, man! Come on! Hit him!

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Fight Club wasn't about winning or losing. It wasn't about words. The hysterical shouting was in tongues, Like in a Pentecostal church.

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- Is that it? - Stop! When the fight was over, nothing was solved, but nothing mattered. Hey, cool. Afterwards, we all felt saved. Hey, man, how about next week? How about next month? I hear you. Irwin, you're in the middle. New guy. You, too.

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Sometimes, Tyler spoke for me. He fell down some stairs. I fell down some stairs.

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Fight Club became the reason to cut your hair short or trim your fingernails. OK. Any historical figure. I'd fight Gandhi. Good answer. How about you? Lincoln. Lincoln? Mm. Big guy, big reach. Skinny guys fight till they're burger. Fuck. Hey. Even the Mona Lisa's falling apart.

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Hello. Where have you been the last 8 weeks? Marla?

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How'd you find me? You left that forwarding number. I haven't seen you in any support groups. We split them 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? Waaah!

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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. But 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?

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Have you ever heard a death rattle before?

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Tyler's door was closed. I'd been living here for 2 months, and Tyler's door was never closed.

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You won't believe this dream I had last night. Yeah, I can hardly believe anything about last night.

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What-What are you doing here? What? This is my house. What are you doing in my house? Fuck you.

Fight Club