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Burn After Reading

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Burn After Reading is a 2008 dark comedy film about the misadventures of an ex-intelligence analyst, a treasury agent and a woman who is trying to "re-invent" herself.

Directed by and written by Joel and Ethan Coen.
Intelligence is relative. (taglines)

Osbourne Cox

[edit]
  • What the fuck is this?
  • I have a drinking problem? Fuck you, Peck! You're a Mormon! Next to you, we all have a drinking problem!
  • I know who you are, fucker!
  • [on the phone] I'm sorry, I don't know the number to, uh, my savings account because, believe it or not, I don't spend my entire day sitting around trying to memorize the fucking numbers to my fucking bank accounts! MORON!

Harry Pfarrer

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  • [panicking, after having reflexively shot Chad in the head] Oh, my fuck! I shot a fucking spook! Who the fuck are you, you fucker?!

CIA Supervisor

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  • Report back to me... when it makes sense.

Dialogue

[edit]
Palmer: In fact, we're moving you out of Sigint entirely.
Osbourne: Just no discussion? Just, you're out?
Palmer: Well, we're having the discussion now. Look, um, Oz. This doesn't have to be unpleasant. Uh...
Osbourne: Palmer, with all due respect. What the fuck are you talking about? [looks at Olsen] And why is Olsen here?
Palmer: Uh, look, Ozzie, look...
Osbourne: What the fuck is this?! I know it's not my work.
Palmer: Ozzie...
Osbourne: I'm a great fucking analyst.
Palmer: Okay, Ozzie...
Osbourne: Is - is it my...
Palmer: Ozzie, things have not been going well, as you know.
Peck: You have a drinking problem.
[Osbourne looks at Peck. Short pause]
Osbourne: I have a drinking problem?
Osbourne: This is an assault. I have a drinking problem? Fuck you, Peck. You're a Mormon!
Peck: Ozzie...
Osbourne: Next to you, we all have a drinking problem! What the fuck is this! Whose ass didn't I kiss! Huh?! Let's be honest!
Palmer: Okay, uh...
Osbourne: I mean, let us be fucking honest. This is a crucifixion! This is political! And don't tell me it's not! [opens the door] "I have a drinking problem." [leaves]
Osbourne: What did Kathleen say?
Katie: What?
Osbourne: When you left the message.
Katie: That she would give you the message!
Harry: Is this goat cheese?
Osbourne: Chevre, yes, that is a goat cheese.
Harry: Because I have lactose reflux. I can—
Osbourne: You're lactose intolerant? Or you have acid reflux? They're two different things.
Harry: I know what they are.
Osbourne: Then you misspoke.
Harry: [sarcastic] Well thank you for correcting me.
Katie: [walking up] Try the chevre, Harry, it's very good.
Harry: Oh, yeah, I can eat goat cheese.
Chad: Throw it out?!
Linda: You can't do that! You should put a note up in the ladies' locker room.
Chad: Put a note up? "Highly classified shit found, Signals Intelligence shit, CIA shit? Hello? Did you lose your secret CIA shit?" I don't think so.
Osbourne: [sleepily] Hello?
Chad: Uhhh... Osbourne?... Osbourne Cox?
Osbourne: Yes?... Uh... Who is this?
Chad: Ummm... This ummm... Is this Osbourne Cox?
Osbourne: [still sleepy] Who is this?.. What time is it?.. Who is?
Chad: Um... I'm a Good Samaritan... I'm sorry I'm calling at such an hour... But I thought you might be worried...
Osbourne: Worried?
Chad: About the security...... Of your shit.
Katie: What is going on?
Osbourne: Some clown—a couple of clowns got ahold of my memoirs.
Katie: Your what?
Osbourne: Stole it or... I have no idea how they—
Katie: Your what?
Osbourne: My memoirs... the book I'm writing.
Katie: Why in God's name would they think that's worth anything?!
Harry: [Leading Linda downstairs] Yeah, I tell ya. I saw an ad for this in a gentlemen's magazine. Twelve hundred bucks, TWELVE HUNDRED BUCKS. I'm lookin' at this thing and I think, "You gotta be kiddin' me." I'm a hobbyist. Thing's basically nothing but speed rails. I figure I'd go down to Home Depot and whip this up myself for... a hundred bucks. [Pulls the tarp off the machine]
Linda: ...What is it?
Harry: What is it?? [Points to the chair] You sit down there, make yourself comfortable, put your feet in the stirrups, and...
[Harry pushes the chair back, and when it comes forward, a dildo pushes up through a hole in the seat of the chair. The chair continues to rock back and forth, with the dildo going up and down]
Linda: Oh my God!...[Hushed voice] THAT'S FANTASTIC.
Harry: Something, isn't it? Hundred bucks, all in; not counting the labor and...the cost of the dildo; those things aren't cheap. See, I like to...I'm not set up to mold hard rubber.
Linda: Where's the money?
Chad: He hit me.
Linda: Where's the money?!
Chad: [Pause] He didn't give it to me.
[Palmer enters his CIA supervisor's office]
CIA Supervisor: Palmer? What's up?
Palmer: Ah, not quite certain, sir, but it's...messy.
[Palmer hands his supervisor a classified file]
Palmer: Kalima 2 tells us they have computer files from an ex-analyst of mine, Osbourne Cox.
CIA Supervisor: Kalima 2...?
Palmer: Our man in the Russian embassy.
CIA Supervisor: Hmm.
Palmer: They were brought in to them by a woman--
CIA Supervisor: [interrupting] The Russians?
Palmer: Yeah. It was, ah, brought in by a woman named Linda Litzke, an associate of a guy named Harry Pfarrer. Her picture's in the file, with Pfarrer's.
CIA Supervisor: The Russians?
CIA Supervisor: And this, uh, analyst--ex-analyst--uh...
Palmer: Cox.
CIA Supervisor: Yeah. What's his clearance level?
Palmer: Three.
CIA Supervisor: [shrugging] ...okay. No biggie.
[closes the file and hands it back to Palmer]
CIA Supervisor: Just...for now, just keep an eye on everyone, see what they do.
Palmer: Yes sir. And we'll interface with the FBI on this, ah, dead body.
CIA Supervisor: No, no! God, no! We don't want those idiots bumbling around in this! Burn the body. Get rid of it. And, uh, keep an eye on everyone...see what they do. Report back to me, when, uh...I dunno. When it makes sense.
CIA Supervisor: Where is the Treasury guy, Pfarrer?
Palmer: Right now?
CIA Supervisor: Right now.
Palmer: Um, he is in a detention room in Washington Dulles.
CIA Supervisor: Why?
Palmer: He was trying to board a flight to Venezuela. We had his name on a hot list, ah, CBP pulled him in. Um...don't know why he was trying to go to Venezuela.
CIA Supervisor: ...you don't know?
Palmer: No, sir.
CIA Supervisor: We have no extradition with Venezuela.
Palmer: ...oh. So what should we do with him?
CIA Supervisor: Fuck's sake, put him on the next flight to Venezuela!
Palmer: Well, um, this analyst--Cox--was attacking the gym guy. Um, it was in broad daylight, on the street, and our man did not know what to do, felt he had to step in.
CIA Supervisor: ...yes?
Palmer: He, um, he shot the analyst. He shot Cox.
CIA Supervisor: Good.
[Palmer reacts with a surprised look on his face]
CIA Supervisor: Great! Is he dead?
Palmer: No sir, he's in a coma.
[the CIA Supervisor reacts with a disappointed look on his face]
Palmer: Um, they don't think he's gonna make it. They--they--they don't think--they're pretty sure that he has no, ah, no brain function.
CIA Supervisor: [sighing] Okay. Okay. If he wakes up, we'll worry about it then.
Palmer: Um, there is--
CIA Supervisor: What?
Palmer: Um--
CIA Supervisor: What?
Palmer: There is the woman, the gym woman, Linda Litzke--
CIA Supervisor: [exasperatedly] Oh, fuck, yeah! God! Where is she?
Palmer: Oh, we picked her up, we, we have her.
CIA Supervisor: "We have her"? To-to-to do what with?
Palmer: She says she'll, uh, "play ball", if we pay for, um, some--I know this sounds odd--some surgeries that she wants. Cosmetic surgery. She says she'll sit on everything.
CIA Supervisor: How much?
Palmer: There were several procedures, altogether they--
CIA Supervisor: [dismissively] Pay it.
CIA Supervisor: Jesus Fucking Christ.
Palmer: Yeah.
CIA Supervisor: What did we learn, Palmer?
Palmer: I don't know, sir.
CIA Supervisor: I don't fucking know either. I guess we learned not to do it again.
Palmer: Yes, sir.
CIA Supervisor: I'm fucked if I know what we did.
Palmer: Yes, sir. It's, uh ... hard to say.
CIA Supervisor: Jesus Fucking Christ.

Taglines

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  • Intelligence is relative.
  • A high stakes love life and Jewel CIA shelter.
  • Intelligence is only their job.

Cast

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[edit]
Wikipedia
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