Elf (film)

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Elf is a 2003 film about a man (Will Ferrell) raised by Santa's elves at the North Pole is sent to the America in search of his true identity.

Directed by Jon Favreau. Written by David Berenbaum.
This holiday, discover your inner elf.


Buddy: [gasps] Wow! What's this?
Gimbel's Manager: This is the North Pole.
Buddy: No, it's not.
Gimbel's Manager: Yes, it is.
Buddy: No, it's not.
Gimbel's Manager: Yes, it is.
Buddy: No, it isn't.
Gimbel's Manager: Yes, it is.
Buddy: No, it's not. Where's the snow? [smiles]
Gimbel's Manager: Why are you smiling like that?
Buddy: I just like to smile! Smiling's my favorite!
Gimbel's Manager: [pause] Make work your favorite, okay?
Buddy: Okay.
Gimbel's Manager: Work is your new favorite.
Buddy: Fine.
Gimbel's Manager: It's time for an announcement. [to the employees] Okay, people! Tomorrow morning, 10:00am, Santa's comin' to town!
Buddy: SANTA!!! OH, MY GOD!!! [excitedly, to the manager] Santa, here? I know him! I know him!
Gimbel's Manager: He'll be here to take pictures with all of the children. 10:00am tomorrow.
Buddy: 10:00am tomorrow!
Gimbel's Manager: Santa's comin' to town.

Buddy: Uh-oh. Sounds like somebody needs to sing a Christmas carol.
Jovie: No way.
Buddy: The best way to spread Christmas cheer, is singing loud for all to hear.
Jovie: Thanks, but I don't sing.
Buddy: Oh, well, it's just like talking, except longer and louder, and you move your voice up and down.
Jovie: I can sing, I just choose not to sing. Especially in front of other people.
Buddy: If you can sing alone, you sing in front of other people. There's no difference.
Jovie: Actually, there's a BIG difference.
Buddy: No... no... no, there isn't. Wait... [Starts singing loud and off-key] I'm singing!/I'm in a store and I'm singing! [adeptly] I'm in a store and I'm singing!
Gimbel's Manager: HEY! There's no singin' in the North Pole!
Buddy: Yes, there is!
Gimbel's Manager: No, there's not!
Buddy: We sing all the time!
Gimbel's Manager: No, there's not!
Buddy: Especially when we make toys! [to Jovie] See?

Deb: [over intercom] Mr. Hobbes? It's me on the intercom?
Walter Hobbes: Yeah?
Deb: I think someone sent you a Christmas gram. [escorts Buddy in]
Buddy: [excitedly] DAD!!!!

Jovie: How come you were in the women's locker room this morning?
Buddy: I heard you singing.
Jovie: You sure had it nothing to do with the fact that I was naked and in the shower?
Buddy: I didn't know you were naked. Why were you here so early?
Jovie: They shut my water off. What were you doing here?
Buddy: Building this.
Jovie: You built this? They're kinda pissed about this.
Gimbel's Manager: [appears] Hey, guys. Have you seen the place? It's pretty good. It's a little "too good". Corporate must have sent in a professional. I don't know why somebody's gunning for my job. But look, let's remain a team, okay? Cause if I go, we all go. If you get wind of anything, call me on my radio. Channel three. Code word is "Santa's got a brand new bag." Okay? [to Jovie] Six inch ribbon curls, honey.
Jovie: [rolls her eyes] But that's impossible.
Gimbel's Manager: [interrupting] SIX... inches. [storms away]
Buddy: By the way, you have the most beautiful singing voice in the whole wide world.

[Buddy sees Santa in the store]
Buddy: Santa.
Gimbel's Santa: Hey! Ho, ho, ho!
[the children cheer excitedly]
Buddy: Santa! It's me, Buddy! It's me!
Gimbel's Santa: Hey, buddy. How you doing?
[an elf places a child on his lap]
Buddy: Santa, it's me! [but his excitement and enthusiasm fades away as he grimaces at him] Who the heck are you?
Gimbel's Santa: What are you talking about? I'm Santa Claus.
Buddy: No, you're not.
Gimbel's Santa: Uh... Why of course I am! Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho.
Buddy: Well, if you're Santa, what song did I sing for you on your birthday this year?
Gimbel's Santa: Um... Well, Happy Birthday, of course! Ho, ho, ho! So, uh, how old are you son?
Paul: Four.
Gimbel's Santa: You're a big boy. What's your name?
Paul: Paul.
Gimbel's Santa: And, uh, what can I get you for Christmas?
Buddy: [quietly] Paul, don't tell him what you want. He's a liar!
Gimbel's Santa: [to Buddy] Let the kid talk.
Buddy: You disgust me. How can you live with yourself?
Gimbel's Santa: Just cool it, zippy!
Buddy: You sit on a throne of lies.
Gimbel's Santa: Look, I'm not kidding.
Buddy: You're a fake.
Gimbel's Santa: I'm a fake?
Buddy: Yes.
Gimbel's Santa: How'd you like to be dead?! Huh?
Paul: Fake.
Gimbel's Santa: No, he's kidding.
Buddy: [sniffs] You stink.
Gimbel's Santa: [as the elf takes Paul off his lap after a picture] I think you're gonna have a good Christmas, all right?
Buddy: You smell like beef and cheese, you don`t smell like Santa.
Gimbel's Santa: OK.
[Buddy accidentally rips off the beard of Gimbel's Santa, and gasps. The kids scream in horror]
[they get into a fight]
Buddy: He's a fake! He's a fake! I saw!
Gimbel's Santa: Come here! Come here!
Buddy: He's a fake!
Gimbel's Santa: Where are you goin' now? Where are you goin' now?
[he angrily smashes Buddy's designs; the manager starts tackling the fake Santa to protect Buddy]
Buddy: He's not Santa Claus! He's not Santa!

Emily: You sure like sugar, huh?
Buddy: Is there sugar in syrup?
Emily: Yes.
Buddy: Then YES! We elves try to stick to the four main food groups: candy, candy canes, candy corns, and syrup.
Emily: So, Would You Be Staying With Us Then?

Buddy: [out of breath from stalking Michael] Wow, you're fast. I'm glad I caught up to you. I waited five hours for you. Why is your coat so big? So, good news - I saw a dog today. Have you seen a dog? You probably have. How was school? Was it fun? Did you get a lot of homework? Huh? Do you have any friends? Do you have a best friend? Does he have a big coat, too?
Michael: Go away!

Buddy: [drunk] I know I sound like a broken record but we are buddies, you're my best friend, that's it.
Mailroom Guy: You know, I have really great ideas, but no one around here listens to me.
Buddy: I listen to your ideas, you have great ideas.
Mailroom Guy: I got to go with the flow.
Buddy: Then go with the flow.
Mailroom Guy: No! I got to get out of the flow, that's what got me here.
Buddy: Then get out of the flow.
Mailroom Guy: I mean I'm 26 years old, I've got nothing to show for it.
Buddy: You're young, you're so young...You know my papa, he didn't make master tinker till he was 490.
Mailroom Guy: [chuckles] 490...
Buddy: Tickle fight! [tickles the mailroom guy, who laughs hysterically]

[Buddy and Jovie are ice skating at Rockfeller Center. Buddy kisses Jovie on the cheek.]
Buddy: Sorry.
Jovie: You missed.
Buddy: What do you mean I missed?
Jovie: You missed. [kisses Buddy]

Miles Finch: It's just one of those ideas, I'm just psyched out of my mind about...ya' know, it's just one of those ideas where you're like, YES!
Eugene: [brainstorming for a new book] What about this: a tribe of asparagus children, but they're self-conscious about the way their pee smells. [hand movements]

Gimbel's Worker: Passion Fruit spray?
Buddy: Fruit spray? Sure. [takes bottle and sprays it in his mouth, then reacts in surprise and disgust]

Walter: [whispering] I think we should call security.
Deb: [whispering] Good idea.
Buddy: [whispering] I like to whisper too!

Walter: Are you crazy? He can't stay here.
Emily: We can't just throw him out in the snow.
Walter: Why not? He loves the snow. He's told me 15 times.
Emily: Walter, he's your son.

Buddy: He must be a South Pole elf.
Walter: [Angry] You get the hell outta here.
Buddy: Where do you want me to go?
Walter: [furiously] I don't care where you go. [starts yelling] I don't care that you're an elf! I don't care that you're NUTS! I DON’T CARE THAT YOU’RE MY SON!! GET OUT OF MY LIFE!!! NOW!!!
[Heartbroken, Buddy runs out of the office while the clients look at Walter in disappointment.]

Buddy: Hey! You found it.
Michael: Buddy!
Buddy: I need to tell you something.
Walter: No, no Buddy, there's something I have to tell you right now. Um, I didn't mean anything I said back there, not one word. I know you be a little, um, um… Uh, chemically imbalanced, But you've been right about a lot of things. I… I don't want you to leave. You're my son, and I… love you.


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