based on a novel by
People were always asking me, did I
know Tyler Durden.
INT. SOCIAL ROOM - TOP FLOOR OF HIGH RISE -- NIGHT
TYLER has one arm around Jack's shoulder; the other hand
holds a HANDGUN with the barrel lodged in JACK'S MOUTH.
Tyler is sitting in Jack's lap.
They are both sweating and disheveled, both around 30; Tyler
is blond, handsome; and Jack, brunette, is appealing in a
dry sort of way. Tyler looks at his watch.
(looking out window)
This is the beginning. We're at
ground zero. Maybe you should say a
few words, to mark the occasion.
... i... ann....iinn.. ff....nnyin...
With a gun barrel between your teeth,
you only speak in vowels.
Jack tongues the barrel to the side of his mouth.
I can't think of anything.
With my tongue, I can feel the
rifling in the barrel. For a second,
I totally forgot about Tyler's whole
controlled demolition thing and I
wondered how clean this gun is.
Tyler checks his watch.
It's getting exciting now.
That old saying, how you always hurt
the one you love, well, it works both
Jack turns so that he can see down -- 31 STORIES.
We have front row seats for this
Theater of Mass Destruction. The
Demolitions Committee of Project
Mayhem wrapped the foundation columns
of ten buildings with blasting
gelatin. In two minutes, primary
charges will blow base charges, and
those buildings will be reduced to
smoldering rubble. I know this
because Tyler knows this.
Look what we've accomplised.
Somehow, I realize all of this -- the
gun, the bombs, the revolution -- is
really about Marla Singer.
PULL BACK from Jack's face. It's pressed against TWO LARGE
BREASTS that belong to...BOB, 45, a moose of a man. Jack is
engulfed by Bob in an intense embrace. Bob weeps openly.
Bob had bitch tits.
PULL BACK to wide on...
INT. CHURCH MEETING ROOM - NIGHT
Men are paired off, hugging, talking in emotional tones.
Near the door, a SIGN on a stand: "REMAINING MEN TOGETHER."
This was a support group for men with
testicular cancer. The big moosie
slobbering all over me was Bob.
We're still men.
Yes. We're men. Men is what we are.
Six months ago, Bob's testicles were
removed. Then hormone therapy. He
developed bitch tits because his
testosterone was too high and his
body upped the estrogen. That was
where my head fit -- into his huge,
sweating tits that hung enormous, the
way we think of God's as big.
They're gonna have to open my pec's
again to drain the fluid.
Bob hugs tighter; then looks with empathy into Jack's eyes.
Okay. You cry now.
Jack looks at Bob.
Wait. Back up. Let me start earlier.
INT. JACK'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
Jack lies in bed, staring at the ceiling.
For six months. I could not sleep.
INT. COPY ROOM - DAY
Jack, sleepy, stands over a copy machine. His Starbucks cup
sits on the lid, moving back and forth as the machine copies.
With insomnia, nothing is real.
Everything is far away. Everything
is a copy of a copy of a copy.
Other people make copies, all with Starbucks cups, sipping.
Jack picks up his cup and his copies and leaves.