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Deadwood: The Movie

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Deadwood: The Movie is a 2019 American film about the residents of Deadwood gathering to commemorate Dakota's statehood in 1889, with saloon owner Al Swearengen and Marshal Seth Bullock clash with Senator George Hearst.

Directed by Daniel Minahan and written by David Milch and Bryan Law.
Welcome the fuck back.(taglines)

Al Swearengen

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  • We're all of us haunted by our own fucking thoughts. So make friends with the ghost, it ain't going fuckin' anywhere.
  • It's a sad night. Something's afire. Christ, I do have feelings.
  • Does brevity exist in your repertoire, sir?
  • No, not being either to say you have to run women. I strongly endorse that.

Doc Cochran

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  • All bleeding stops eventually.

Calamity Jane

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  • Ten years gone, 'proaching that same-self hill I thought to lay me down and rise no more... oof. Gimme wide berth, that's just passed wind! Possibly worse... Before eyes close for good an' all, I'd once again see my Joanie Stubbs... show her a sign of lovin' regret from Calamity Jane to her darlin'. And, too, at the grave of Wild Bill. Oof, I've a left-cheek ass-blister's a percolatin' sonofabitch.
  • Any soul on the grounds bearing mortal likeness to a walrus, raise up your right hand or whistle.

Charlie Utter

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  • Few years back, Mrs. Ellsworth, bad manners like that woulda led to a lesson in courtesy!
  • I'd say Joanie Stubbs... collecting her portion of gloom and dismay just like any of us

Trixie

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  • For ain't it so sir, it's the thieving and throat-cutting, them's bloodied and dead in the mud, as still stiffens the member in your long-johns? Nor, ought I fail to remark the semblance from this vantage twixt your very mug and a snatch has gone haired-over-sideways!

Drunk Number Two

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  • [To Hearst] I hope you die in the street. Like my dad did!

Dialogue

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Trixie: Oh, Senator Hearst! Your Honor! Yoo-hoo! On this tenth anniversary of them being butchered, I convey to you memorial greetings from the miner Ellsworth and the prostitute Jen. But two of the who knows how many you've done for while making your moneyed progress.
George Hearst: Have I missed word of your appointment to some position of authority?
Trixie: Have I missed word of yours, you bald-pated cunt?
Alma Ellsworth: [As Trixie screams profanely at George Hearst from her balcony] Trixie hasn't lost her gift.
Charlie Utter: She ain't for a fact. Time can't touch that.
George Hearst: These placer acres that you own, Mr. Utter, captured my attention.
Charlie Utter: Scouts you sent previous made that clear.
George Hearst: People whose judgment I respect assay this property's market value at $3,500.
Charlie Utter: Seems I'm the lone holdout on the path of progress. [Charlie motions to other side of stream where men are erecting telephone poles]
George Hearst: By way of abbreviating our back and forth and, and maybe generating some good will, I'd go five hundred above. Offer you $4,000 even, cash money.
Charlie Utter: My father taught his boy, uh, "beat hell into him" might maybe be more accurate... [both men chuckle] how if, uh, early enough on, you credited the settlements was coming, bought acreage reasonable, developed 'em sensible, hung onto 'em until the market come right, of a day you might could wake up and find you made yourself a respectable investment.
George Hearst: Forward-thinking was your father then. And now, here's his boy to confirm his papa's prediction.
Charlie Utter: Contrary-wise, man might could come to certain special feelings. Partial, say, to a piece of ground. A river bending through the forest like so. [Charlie motions downstream where both men see Samuel Fields fishing] I decline your offer, Mr. Hearst, thanking you for your time and attention. [Takes swig from flask]
George Hearst: My experience over time has come to be: Customarily, I am he who starts a negotiation. Names its finish, too.
Charlie Utter: Maybe getting mother-fucked this morning in the thoroughfare, by a woman in the bargain, has somewhat got your back up. Not the accolade you'd looked for out your return to fuckin' camp.
George Hearst: Proffering that assessment, sir, is hardly your proper bailiwick.
Charlie Utter: Far as that, I went and proffered it any fuckin' way.
Doc Cochran: Name the day of the week, Al.
Al Swearengen: Fuck difference does the day make?
Doc Cochran: I'd have you but say the name.
Al Swearengen: Tuesday, then, you half-a-scarecrow-looking cocksucker.
Doc Cochran: Friday it is.
Al Swearengen: Oh, mistaking Friday for Tuesday. Well, secure my burial plot.
Al Swearengen: Ah... produce George Hearst Esquire, colossus of commerce, junior senator from California, who since our paths last crossed has went from strength to stronger strength still.
George Hearst: Even as you name me, a figure to be reckoned with in this camp, Mr. Swearengen, I have been made this morning, more than somewhat, to look an incompetent.
Al Swearengen: An incompetent? Now, how would that ever be?
George Hearst: These years now past, I'd have you recall my having been attacked. Shot, and near as not, done in by a whore, whose name, if I ever knew it, has now been lost to me.
Al Swearengen: I dimly recall the matter. The nameless whore embarked on a program of vengeance, and, by God, she nearly brought off.
George Hearst: Referring to her attempt to murder me.
Al Swearengen: Not to pretty the picture.
George Hearst: I have lived believing the matter had been settled. And I was satisfied in that belief. But now, I realize I was tricked. The whore you presented in the box was not the shooter at all.
Al Swearengen: Ah, you're going for the long, larger minded view... Senator.
George Hearst: Which depends on running telephone lines across the claims. On recognizing common ground, bringing the future to it. A brief illustration of my point...
Al Swearengen: [Cutting off Hearst] Does brevity exist in your repertoire, sir?
George Hearst: I am making an offer on Charlie Utter's land. Lumber for construction arrived this morning.
Al Swearengen: Confident, are we?
George Hearst: Back my bid to buy Utter's land. Use your position in the town to sway others and I will drop any counteraction against the whore... The pregnant whore.
Al Swearengen: Uncharacteristically straightforward, sir.
George Hearst: Discover your deepest nature, Mr. Swearengen. Walk with the future.
Al Swearengen: You ever think, Bullock, of not going straight at a thing?
Seth Bullock: [Pause] No.
Al Swearengen: Well, if it ain't for Hearst to follow the law, why the fuck should it be for you? [Bullock's eyes narrow] Now, how should I construe that look on your mug, Bullock?
Seth Bullock: My job ain't to follow the law, Al. My job is to interpret it, then enforce it accordingly.
Al Swearengen: You'd best counsel your partner proper. The safety of mother and child...
Seth Bullock: Sol and me'll see to it.
Al Swearengen: Hearst won't take long before he honors the rigors of his putrid fuckin' nature. He'll want an answer.
Seth Bullock: [Turns and walks out] I'll deliver your fuckin' answer. [Swearengen smiles knowingly]
Al Swearengen: Maybe you oughta think about running for office? Outnumbered, as we are, by shit-birds.
Sol Star: Food for thought, Mr. Swearengen.
George Hearst: What is wrong with you, goddamn it, to be shifting your feet so incessantly?
E.B. Farnum: Uh, the procession of years, wanton leakage.
George Hearst: You are a vile creature.
E.B. Farnum: Nor are you first to say so.
George Hearst: I'm coming for you, Marshal.
Seth Bullock: I expect you will, Senator.
Samuel Fields: The Good Book, Marshal... says... the Lord chooses amongst His witnesses... them'd be thought least likely.
Seth Bullock: Is that so?
Samuel Fields: You might should outa know... before what happened... Mr. Utter... seemed to me... a different man. Like a weight had come off his shoulders. What else they say about the Lord's witnesses?
Seth Bullock: What else?
Samuel Fields: Their defects... notwithstanding, they testify to His wond'rous glory. Singing, he was, at the end, Marshal, 'bout walking the valley. Joyful to hear and behold. [Bullock begins crying] Singing.
[Last lines]
Trixie: Our Father, which art in Heaven...
Al Swearengen: Let Him... fucking... stay there.

Cast

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