Full Metal Jacket

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Full Metal Jacket is a 1987 film that follows a group of recruits through Marine training and their tour of duty in Vietnam.

Written and directed by Stanley Kubrick, based on the novel The Short-Timers by Gustav Hasford.
In Vietnam, the wind doesn't blow. It sucks. taglines
Today, you people are no longer maggots. Today, you are Marines. You're part of a brotherhood. From now on, until the day you die, wherever you are, every Marine is your brother. Most of you will go to Vietnam. Some of you will not come back. But always remember this: Marines die. That's what we're here for. But the Marine Corps lives forever and that means you live forever.
The deadliest weapon in the world is a Marine and his rifle. It is your killer instinct which must be harnessed if you expect to survive in combat. Your rifle is only a tool. It is a hard heart that kills. If your killer instincts are not clean and strong, you will hesitate at the moment of truth. You will not kill. You will become dead Marines. And then you will be in a world of shit. Because Marines are not allowed to die without permission!
These are great days we're living, bros. We are jolly green giants, walking the Earth with guns. These people we wasted here today are the finest human beings we will ever know. After we rotate back to the world, we're gonna miss not having anyone around that's worth shooting.
I am so happy that I am alive, in one piece and short. I'm in a world of shit. Yes. But I am alive. And I am not afraid.

Dialogue[edit]

Hartman: I am Gunnery Sergeant Hartman, your senior drill instructor. From now on, you will speak only when spoken to, and the first and last words out of your filthy sewers will be "sir." Do you maggots understand that?
Recruits: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Bullshit! I can't hear you. Sound off like you got a pair.
Recruits: SIR, YES, SIR!
Hartman: If you ladies leave my island, if you survive recruit training, you will be a weapon. You will be a minister of death, praying for war. But until that day, you are pukes. You are the lowest form of life on Earth. You are not even human fucking beings. You are nothing but unorganized, grab-asstic pieces of amphibian shit. Because I am hard, you will not like me. But the more you hate me, the more you will learn. I am hard but I am fair. There is no racial bigotry here. I do not look down on niggers, kikes, wops, or greasers. Here, you are all equally worthless. And my orders are to weed out all non-hackers who do not pack the gear to serve in my beloved Corps!

Hartman: What's your excuse?
Cowboy: Sir, excuse for what, sir?
Hartman: I'm asking the fuckin' questions here, Private! Do you understand?
Cowboy: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Well, thank you very much! Can I be in charge for a while?
Cowboy: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Are you shook up? Are you nervous?
Cowboy: Sir, I am, sir!
Hartman: Do I make you nervous?
Cowboy: Sir!
Hartman: "Sir" what? Are you about to call me an asshole?
Cowboy: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: How tall are you, Private?
Cowboy: Sir, five-foot-nine, sir!
Hartman: Five-foot-nine! I didn’t know they stacked shit that high! You trying to squeeze an inch in on me somewhere, huh?!
Cowboy: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: Bullshit! It looks to me like the best part of you ran down the crack of your mama's ass and ended up as a brown stain on the mattress! I think you’ve been cheated! Where in the Hell are you from anyway, Private?
Cowboy: Sir, Texas, sir!
Hartman: Holy dogshit! Texas? Only steers and queers come from Texas, Private Cowboy, and you don’t much look like a steer to me, so that kinda narrows it down. Do you suck dicks?
Cowboy: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: Are you a Peter puffer?!
Cowboy: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: I’ll bet you're the kinda guy that would fuck a person in the ass, and not even have the Goddamn common courtesy to give him a reach-around. I'll be watching you.

Hartman: Left shoulder, hut! [Lawrence briefly hikes his rifle to his right shoulder, but corrects himself though Hartman notices and realizes what has happened] Private Pyle, what are you trying to do to my beloved Corps?!
Lawrence: Sir, I don't know, sir!
Hartman: You are dumb, Private Pyle, but do you expect me to believe that you don't know left from right?!
Lawrence: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: Then you did that on purpose! You wanna be different!
Lawrence: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: [slaps Private Lawrence's left cheek] What side was that, Private Pyle?
Lawrence: Sir, left side, sir!
Hartman: Are you sure, Private Pyle?!
Lawrence: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: [slaps Private Lawrence's right cheek; knocking his cover off] What side was that, Private Pyle?!
Lawrence: [about to fall apart] Sir, right side, sir!
Hartman: Don't fuck with me again, Pyle! Pick up your fuckin' cover.
Lawrence: Sir, yes, sir!

Hartman: Tonight, you pukes will sleep with your rifles. You are going to give your rifle a girl's name, because this is the only pussy you people are going to get. Your days of finger-banging ol' Mary Jane Rottencrotch through her purty pink panties are over! You're married to this piece. This weapon of iron and wood. And you will be faithful! Port, hut! [Recruits grab their rifles] Prepare to mount! [Recruits step back towards their bunks.] Mount! [Recruits quickly hop onto their bunks] Port, hut! [Recruits grab their rifles and hold them up] Pray!
Recruits: [simultaneously] This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my rifle is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will. Before God I swear this creed: My rifle and myself are defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviors of my life. So be it, until there is no enemy, but peace. Amen.
Hartman: Order, hut! [Recruits lay their rifles at their sides] At ease! [He turns the barrack lights off] Good night, ladies.
Recruits: Good night, sir!
Hartman: [to Night Watchman] Hit it, sweetheart.
Night Watchman: Sir, aye-aye, sir!

Hartman: Next two privates, go! Quickly! [To Lawrence as he struggles on an obstacle course] Get your fat ass over there, Private Pyle. Oh, that's right, Private Pyle. Don't make any fucking effort to get up to the top of the fucking obstacle! If God wanted you up there, He would've miracled your ass up there by now, wouldn't he?
Lawrence: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Get your fat ass up there, Pyle!
Lawrence: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: What the hell is the matter with you anyway? I'll bet you if there was some pussy up there on top of that obstacle...
Lawrence: [falling off again] Shit!
Hartman: ...you could get up there, couldn't you?
Lawrence: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Your ass looks like about 150 pounds of chewed bubble gum, Pyle! You know that?
Lawrence: Sir, yes, sir!

Hartman: [To Privates Joker and Cowboy] As soon as you finish your bunks, I want you two turds to clean the head.
Joker & Cowboy: Sir, aye aye, sir!
Hartman: I want that head so sanitary and squared away that the Virgin Mary herself would be proud to go in there and take a dump.
Joker & Cowboy: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Private Joker, do you believe in The Virgin Mary?
Joker: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: Well, Private Joker, I don't believe I heard you correctly.
Joker: Sir, the private said "No, sir" sir!
Hartman: Why, you little maggot! YOU MAKE ME WANNA VOMIT! [Slaps Joker across the face] You Goddamn communist heathen. You had best sound off that you love The Virgin Mary or I'm gonna stomp your guts out! Now, you do love The Virgin Mary, don't you?
Joker: Sir, negative, sir!
Hartman: Private Joker, are you trying to offend me?
Joker: Sir, negative, sir! Sir, the private believes that any answer he gives will be wrong and the Senior Drill Instructor will beat him harder if reverses himself, sir!
Hartman: Who's your squad leader, Scumbag?
Joker: Sir, the private's squad leader is Private Snowball, sir!
Hartman: Private Snowball!
Snowball: Sir, Private Snowball reporting as ordered, sir!
Hartman: Private Snowball, You're fired. Private Joker is promoted to squad leader.

Hartman: [inspecting recruits' finger/toenails, as they stand on their footlockers] Trim 'em. Toe jam. Pop that blister. [sees Lawrence's footlocker is not secured] Jesus H. Christ. Private Pyle! WHY is your footlocker unlocked?
Lawrence: Sir, I don't know, sir!
Hartman: Private Pyle, if there is one thing in this world that I hate, it is an unlocked footlocker! You know that, don't you?
Lawrence: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: If it wasn't for dickheads like you, there wouldn't be any thievery in this world, would there?
Lawrence: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: GET DOWN!
[Lawrence steps down; Hartman opens the footlocker]
Hartman: Well, now! Let's just see if there's anything missing! [rummages through it; finds a jelly doughnut] Holy Jesus. What is that? What the fuck is that? [holds it up in Lawrence's face] WHAT IS THAT, PRIVATE PYLE?!
Lawrence: Sir, a jelly doughnut, sir!
Hartman: A jelly doughnut?!
Lawrence: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: How did it get here?
Lawrence: Sir, I took it from the mess hall, sir!
Hartman: Is chow allowed in the barracks, Private Pyle?
Lawrence: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: Are you allowed to eat jelly doughnuts, Private Pyle?
Lawrence: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: And why not, Private Pyle?
Lawrence: Sir, because I'm too heavy, sir!
Hartman: Because you are a disgusting fat body, Private Pyle!
Lawrence: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Then why did you hide a jelly doughnut in your footlocker, Private Pyle?
Lawrence: Sir, because I was hungry, sir!
Hartman: Because you were hungry. [pacing the barracks, still holding the doughnut] Private Pyle has dishonored himself and dishonored the platoon! I have tried to help him, but I have failed! I have failed because you have not helped me! You people have not given Private Pyle the proper motivation! So, from now on, whenever Private Pyle fucks up, I will not punish him! I will punish all of you! And the way I see it, ladies, you owe me for one jelly doughnut! Now get on your faces! [to Lawrence] Open your mouth! [Lawrence does so and Hartman shoves the doughnut into his mouth] They're payin' for it, you eat it! [to recruits] Ready, exercise!
Recruits beside Pyle: [doing push-ups] 1-2-3-4! I love Marine Corps! 1-2-3-4! I love Marine Corps! 1-2-3-4! I love Marine Corps! 1-2-3-4! I love Marine Corps! 1-2-3-4!

Hartman: [referring to Lee Harvey Oswald and Charles Whitman] Do any of you people know where these individuals learned how to shoot? [Joker raises his hand] Private Joker?
Joker: [stands up] Sir, in the Marines, sir!
Hartman: [impressed] In the Marines! Outstanding! Those individuals showed what one motivated Marine and his rifle can do! And before you ladies leave my island, you will all be able to do the same thing!

Joker: [narrating] Our last night on the island. I draw fire watch.
[Joker goes into the head to find Private Lawrence sitting on a toilet, loading his rifle]
Lawrence: [eerily] Hiii... Joker.
[Lawrence loads the bullets into the magazine as Joker turns off his flashlight]
Joker: [alarmed] Are those... live rounds?
Lawrence: Seven-six-two millimeter. [loads another bullet into the magazine] Full metal jacket.
Joker: [shaken and worried] Leonard... if Hartman comes in here and catches us... we'll both be in a world of shit.
Lawrence: I AM... in a world... of shit! [loads the last bullet into the magazine and begins drilling loudly] Left shoulder, hut! Right shoulder, hut! Lock and load! [inserts magazine into the rifle, chambers a round] Order, hut! [smartly brings the rifle down to the "order arms" position] This is my rifle! There are many like it but this one is mine! My rifle is my best friend! It is my life!
Hartman: [storms out of his bedroom; angrily, to the other recruits, who have gotten out of bed to see what the noise is] Get back in your bunks!
Lawrence: I must master it as I must master my life! Without me, my rifle is useless!
Hartman: [storms into the head] What is this Mickey Mouse shit? What in the name of Jesus H. Christ are you animals doing in my head? [to Joker] Why is Private Pyle out of his bunk after lights-out? Why is Private Pyle holding that weapon? Why aren't you stomping Private Pyle's guts out?
Joker: Sir, it is the private's duty to inform the senior drill instructor that Private Pyle has a full magazine and has locked and loaded, sir!
Hartman: [calmly, to Lawrence] Now you listen to me, Private Pyle, and you listen good. I want that weapon, and I want it now. You will place that rifle on the deck at your feet and step back away from it.
[Lawrence aims at Hartman's chest]
Hartman: [full voice] What is your major malfunction, numbnuts? Didn't Mommy and Daddy show you enough attention when you were a child?
[Lawrence shoots and kills him, then swings the barrel slowly up toward Joker]
Joker: Easy, Leonard. Go easy, man.
[Lawrence lowers it, sits on a toilet, and puts the muzzle in his mouth]
Joker: NO!!
[Lawrence pulls the trigger, killing himself and splattering his brains across the wall]

Da Nang Hooker: Hey, baby. You got girlfriend Vietnam?
Joker: Not just this minute.
Hooker: Well, baby, me so horny. Me so horny! Me love you long time. You party?
Joker: Yeah, we might party. How much?

[Helicopter Door Gunner opens fire, and Rafterman is uncomfortably nauseous]
Door Gunner: Get some! Get some! [continues firing] Get some! Get some! Yeah! Yeah! Get some! Get some! Come on! Come on! [continues firing] Get some! [continues firing] Ha-ha! Get some, baby! Get some! Get some! Get some! Get some! Get some! Come on! Get it! Come on! Get some! Get some! Yeah-yeah-yeah! I've got you, mother! [stops firing] Ha-ha! [looks at Joker and Raftman] Anyone who runs is a VC! Anyone who stands still is a well-disciplined VC! [laughs] You guys oughta do a story about me sometime!
Joker: Why should we do a story about you?!
Door Gunner: 'Cause I'm so fuckin' good! That ain't no shit, neither! I've done got me 157 dead gooks killed. And 50 water buffaloes, too! Them're all certified!
Joker: Any women or children?!
Door Gunner: Sometimes!
Joker: How can you shoot women and children?!
[Rafterman gags in disgust]
Door Gunner: Easy! You just don't lead 'em so much! [laughs] Ain't war Hell?

Colonel: Marine, what is that button on your body armor?
Joker: A peace symbol, sir.
Colonel: Where'd you get it?
Joker: I don't remember, sir.
Colonel: What is that you've got written on your helmet?
Joker: "Born to kill", sir.
Colonel: You write "born to kill" on your helmet, and you wear a peace button. What's that supposed to be, some kind of sick joke?
Joker: No, sir.
Colonel: What is it supposed to mean?
Joker: I don't know, sir.
Colonel: You don't know very much, do you?
Joker: No, sir.
Colonel: You better get your head and your ass wired together, or I will take a giant shit on you!
Joker: Yes, sir.
Colonel: Now answer my question or you'll be standing tall before the man!
Joker: I think I was trying to suggest something about the duality of man, sir.
Colonel: The what?
Joker: The duality of man; The Jungian thing, sir.
Colonel: Whose side are you on, son?
Joker: Our side, sir.
Colonel: Don't you love your country?
Joker: Yes, sir.
Colonel: Then how 'bout getting with the program? Why don't you jump on the team and come on in for the big win?
Joker: Yes, sir.
Colonel: Son, all I've ever asked of my Marines is for them to obey my orders as they would the word of God. We are here to help the Vietnamese, because inside every gook there is an American trying to get out. It's a hard-ball world, son. We've gotta try to keep our heads until this peace craze blows over!
Joker: [salutes] Aye-aye, sir.

Taglines[edit]

  • In Vietnam, the wind doesn't blow. It sucks.
  • Vietnam can kill me, but it can't make me care.

Cast[edit]

External links[edit]

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