Red Eye (2005 American film)

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Red Eye is a 2005 thriller film about a woman who is kidnapped by a stranger on a routine flight. Threatened by the potential murder of her father, she is pulled into a plot to assist her captor in offing a politician.

Directed by Wes Craven. Written by Carl Ellsworth.
Fear Takes Flight.

Jackson Rippner[edit]

  • Sometimes bad things happen to good people.
  • Pretty clear thinking given the circumstances. Wait, let me guess, some stress management courses? They're really paying off. When we get out of this, I may have to steal you.
  • I never lied to you, Leese. You know why? 'Cause it doesn't serve me.
  • Lisa, whatever female-driven, emotion-based dilemma you may be dealing with right now, you have my sympathy. But for the sake of time and sanity, let's break this down into a little male-driven fact-based logic. One simple phone call saves your dad's life.

Lisa Reisert[edit]

  • Where's your male-driven fact-based logic now Jack?
  • Not in my house!


[in the airport, waiting for their flight]
Jackson: What will you have?
Lisa: Um… no, it’s… I’m okay.
Jackson: If I can guess.
Lisa: Okay.
Jackson: Um… I’m feeling vodka. Definitely sweetened. Um… Cosmo. No, way too common, um… Screwdriver. No, way too boring. So that leaves me with the simplicity of the grapefruit or the complexity of the pineapple. Grapefruit, Sea Breeze.

Jackson: Are you all right?
Lisa: If I say yes, are you gonna ask me if I’m sure?
Jackson: No, no, that’s your dad’s department.
Lisa: Yeah, I’m fine, I… earlier today I had some cheap wine at the funeral, and combined with the cheap vodka… I blame you for that part.
Jackson: Well, I feel terrible now.
Lisa: You should.
Jackson: Oh, I do.

Lisa Reisert: So what is it you do?
Jackson Rippner: Government overthrows, flashy high-profile assassinations. The usual.
Lisa Reisert: O.K. Why don't you just tell me what you do?
Jackson Rippner: I already did.

Lisa Reisert: Is it Jack for short?
Jackson Rippner: No. I haven't gone by Jack since I was ten years old. [pause] Last name's Rippner.
Lisa Reisert: Jack Rippner... Jack theee... oooohhhh.
Jackson Rippner: There you go.
Lisa Reisert: That wasn't very nice of your parents.
Jackson Rippner: That's what I told them. Before I killed them.

[Lisa has finally convinced Jackson to let her go to the lavatory]
Jackson: Okay. I trust you.
Lisa: And I need my purse.
Jackson: Not that much!

Lisa: Whatever you say.
Jackson: What, no questions?
Lisa: What good have they done me so far?
Jackson: Best question you’ve asked all night.

Lisa: It happened in a parking lot, the scar, two years ago, in the middle of the day. He held a knife to my throat the whole time. Ever since I've been trying to convince myself of one thing over and over.
Jackson: That it was beyond your control.
Lisa: No, that it would never happen again. [she stabs him in the neck with a pen]

Lisa Reisert: Please, just stop whoever's outside my dad's house!
Jackson Rippner: I already have, by twice intercepting these little communiques! You know, if they'd have fallen into the hands of a by-the-book stewardess, she'd have gone straight to the cockpit and we'd have landed somewhere else! If that happens, Leese, our guy in the BMW's gonna know about it, so do Dad a favor and stop gambling with his life!

[after the bomb incident at Lux Atlantic]
Marianne Taylor: Lisa! Do you have any idea what we've been through? First, there was no reservation. [smiles forcedly at Cynthia] Then, our ceiling exploded. I got chunks of plaster all over me. I could get asthma.
Lisa Reisert: I'm so sorry, Mrs. Taylor. Is there anything we can do to make it up to you?
Marianne Taylor: Yes. Start by cleaning house. Get rid of her. She is completely useless.
Bob Taylor: Absolutely. And cheeky, too.
Lisa Reisert: I see. Well... [she looks over at Cynthia, then to the Taylors] Here's what you can do. You can fill out a comment card at our front desk.
Marianne Taylor: A comment card? [indignantly to Bob] She asked us to fill out a comment card.
Bob Taylor: You want us to fill out a comment card?
Lisa Reisert: Yes, I do. And after you've finished, you can go ahead and just shove it up your ass.
[both Taylors are struck dumb by this sentence]
Cynthia: Yeah. [as she walks away with Lisa, arm in arm] You are so my hero.
Lisa Reisert: Let's open the bar.
Cynthia: Champagne?
Lisa Reisert: Oh, anything but a bay breeze.


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