Michael Waters at 2016-02-28 09:34:41:

Frank: You get up two and a half million dollars, any asshole in the world knows what to do. You get a house with a 25 year roof, an indestructible jap economy shitbox. You put the rest into the system of 3 - 5 percent to pay your taxes and that's your base, get me. That's your fortress of fucking solitude. That puts you, for the rest of your life, at a level of fuck you. Somebody wants you to do something, fuck you. Boss pisses you off, fuck you. Own your house, have a couple of bucks in the bank, don't drink. That's all I have to say to anybody at any social level. Did your grandfather take risks? Jim: Yes Frank: I guarantee he did it from a position of fuck you. A wise man's life is based around fuck you. The United States of America is based on fuck you. You're a king, you have an army, the greatest navy in the history of the world, fuck you, blow me. We fuck it up ourselves, which we have done, our beautiful fuck you position lost forever. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xdfeXqHFmPI John Goodman's character (Frank the loan shark) has a meet with Jim Bennett (Marky Mark Wahlberg) set up by Big Ernie (played by Domenick Lombardozzi). Jim needs a bigger loan to pay off another loan shark. Essentially this monologue is Frank's character introduction but it's also a warning about a threshold the P is going to cross. Trivia: Remake of The Gambler (1974)

David Proenza at 2016-02-28 17:25:48:

SWINGERS (1996) written by: John Favreau [Mike is at a blackjack table with Trent at his side. The game has paused to observe the newcomers as Mike draws a billfold out of his breast pocket. They're pulling it off with only slightly noticeable effort.] MIKE: I don't know, I guess I'll start with three hundred in, uh, blacks. [Mike tries to hand the DEALER a handful of twenties after counting them twice.] DEALER: On the table. MIKE: Sorry? DEALER: You have to lay it on the table. MIKE: Uh, I don't want to bet it all. [The other players grow impatient.] DEALER: You're not allowed to hand me money, sir. You'll have to lay it on the table if you want me to change it. MIKE: (hastily laying down the bills) Oh... right. [The dealer lays out the bills such that the amount is visible to the camera encased in the black glass globe overhead. Trent and Mike look up at it open-mouthed like turkeys in the rain.] DEALER: Blacks? [Mike's attention is recaptured by the dealer, but Trent continues trying to peer through the smoked glass.] MIKE: Huh? DEALER: You want this in black chips. MIKE: Sure, that'll be fine. [The dealer chirps out an unintelligible formality and the PIT BOSS chirps the response. Trent's focus whips away from the camera as both he and Mike stare at the pit boss ten feet away.] [The dealer plunks down the measly THREE CHIPS which represent Mike's entire cash reserve. Not quite the effect he had hoped for.] [The swingers stare at the chips. The players stare at the swingers. The dealer stares at the pit boss.] MIKE: Do you have anything smaller? DEALER: Yes, but I'm afraid this table has a hundred-dollar-minimum bet. Perhaps you'd be more comfortable at one of our lower stakes tables. [The dealer indicates a FIVE-DOLLAR TABLE across the room where an Hispanic woman deals to a BLUEHAIR, a BIKER, and a COUPLE in matching Siegfried and Roy T-shirts.] [The swingers look back to the dealer who is now flanked by the pit boss.] [The tense silence is broken by...] WAITRESS: Drinks? (then to Trent) How about you, Cap'n? [Trent looks over to see that it's the same WAITRESS who flashed him a smile earlier. At first he begins to smile, then, remembering that he is locked in a high stakes battle of wills, subtly shakes her off. She smirks and starts to leave until she is interrupted by Mike holding up a finger. It's a balsy move, but everyone's watching. The kid's going for broke.] MIKE: (to the waitress, but never breaking eye contact with the dealer) I'll have a vodka martini, straight up, shaken not stirred, very dry. [Smooth. Trent is impressed, but masks his pride.] WAITRESS: (under her breath cynically as she writes it down) One "James Bond". [Ow. She exits.] MIKE: (regaining composure) No. Blacks will be fine. [Mike throws a chip in the circle. Trent is shocked. That's a hundred bucks. Mike and Trent share a look. The dealer and the pit boss exchange glances. Bets are all down and the cards are meticulously dealt.] [The dealer has a two showing. Mike has been dealt a five and a six- eleven.] TRENT: (hushed tones) Double down. MIKE: (even husheder) What?!? TRENT: Double down, baby. You gotta double down on an eleven. MIKE: I know, but... TRENT: You gotta do it. MIKE: ...but that's two hundred dollars. This is blood money... TRENT: If we don't look like we know what we're doing, then we may as well... [Everyone's waiting for them.] MIKE: I know. [The dealer, the pit boss, and all the players look on as Mike drops ANOTHER BLACK CHIP in the circle with a barely audible, yet deafening, thud.] MIKE: (with all the nonchalance he can muster) Double down. [A bead of sweat.] [The sharp snap of a dealt card.] [It's a seven. Eighteen.] [Disappointment twists their faces.] [Finally the dealer flips over his card.] [It's a king! Twelve. Here comes the bust... Flick - four. Sixteen! Here comes the bust... Flick - five. Twenty one. Groans all around, except for the swingers who watch their chips slide away in silence.] [Mike breaks the spell with a plucky smile from the pit of his stomach.] MIKE: (to the pit boss) Sure could use some dinner about now. SMASH CUT TO: [Trent and Mike are wedged between the BLUEHAIR and the BIKER at the FIVE DOLLAR TABLE. They share a pile of red chips.] TRENT: I'm telling you, baby, you always double down on an eleven. MIKE: Yeah? Well obviously not always! TRENT: Always, baby. MIKE: I'm just saying, not in this particular case. TRENT: Always. MIKE: But I lost! How can you say always?!? [In the meantime, the Bluehair has been dealt an eleven. This captures the swinger's attention.] BLUEHAIR: Hit. [Four. Fifteen all together.] BLUEHAIR: Oh... I don't know... Hit. [Two. Seventeen. Dealer has a seven showing.] BLUEHAIR: What the hell- hit. [Four! Twenty one.] DEALER: (with a warm smile) Twenty one. [Polite applause from around the table which the Bluehair humbly waves off. Mike looks at Trent. Daggers. Trent shrugs.] [A different PIT BOSS approaches.] PIT BOSS: Would you care for some breakfast, ma'am? BLUEHAIR: Well...? No, I shouldn't. Maybe later. Thank you, though. MIKE: (to Trent, under his breath) I'm gonna fuckin kill you. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7KBCYKW3Gyo On Dialogue: who's never envisioned walking into a casino with the hope of being the big dick at the tables? this perfectly captures that moment and then some. and, of course, ALWAYS double down on 11, baby.