The Making of 'The Condemned' Page #2

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through Africa.

Set fire to a village in Rwanda.

Executed 17 men, raped nine women."

Torture. Mutilation. Good stuff.

You ladies should

get along real good.

What in the f*** is wrong with you?

All in a day's work, Rasta.

Get this top off her.

We're in show business,

not a soup kitchen.

Where's my new guy?

The American.

Right over there.

Hey. I'm Ian Breckel.

- I produce television.

- Well, good for you.

Maybe you heard of me.

Bud, I ain't been watchin'

too much TV lately.

Why don't you have a seat?

You and the others

will be taken to an island...

where you'll fight against each other.

If you're the last one

left alive after 30 hours...

I will set you free

with a pocket full of cash.

- How's that sound?

- What's this got to do with TV?

Not TV.

The Internet.

I'll be streaming the entire event

live across the World Wide Web.

Your rap sheet's a little thin.

"Jack Conrad, American.

Blew up a building in El Salvador,

killing three men."

- What were you doing in El Salvador?

- Workin' on my tan.

- Why'd you blow the building up?

- It was blockin' my sun.

- What do you do for a living, Jack?

- I'm an interior decorator.

Okay. I see.

Well, where are you from

back in the States then, huh?

- Alaska.

- Alaska. Whereabouts?

About 80 miles north of Anchorage.

Little fishing town.

You probably heard of it.

It's called F*** Your Mama.

Babe, do me a favor.

Why don't you write a bio for this redneck.

Let's say he's from Arkansas.

An arsonist, a racist,

a KKK Klansman.

Blew up a Baptist church.

Fugitive from the FBI.

Ended up in Central America...

where he blew up a clinic for retards

and handicapped people, killing dozens.

Women, children, blah, blah.

Do it right now. Get it to Bella.

I don't know who you are,

and I don't care.

But I don't play games.

You don't have to win...

but everybody plays.

Come on.

Hey, boss.

How about something to eat?

Oh, yeah. Husband and wife.

Lovers.

You know, you can stick together,

fight as a team...

but the fact of the matter is, only one

of you will get off the island alive.

Easy. Easy.

Easy.

Hope you can run your feet

as fast as you run your mouth.

Easy, Rosa.

Let's get out of here.

Okay. Listen up, gang.

On your ankle you all have a rig...

packed with 20 ounces

of plastic explosive.

Twenty ounces.

That's enough

to incinerate you, your dog...

and the small house you may be

residing in at the time.

In exactly 30 hours from now...

that plastic explosive

will do what it does best.

You want that rig

removed from your ankle...

simply be the sole survivor

in 30 hours from now.

There are two other ways

to detonate an ankle rig.

One:

You see that red pull tab?

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