Quigley Down Under
- PG-13
- Year:
- 1990
- 119 min
- 1,844 Views
Watch yourselves. Watch out there!
Hello, hello.
Either hurry up or let the man pass.
Partner, these people
have come a long way, too,
so I know you won't mind
them going ahead. Ma'am.
- Watch your step, ma'am.
- Excuse me. I'm next.
or get the hell out of the way.
I'm so sorry, Mr. Quigley.
We seem to be holding that man up.
No, ma'am. I just spoke to him, and
he ain't in that big a hurry after all.
Come on!
- Where are you from, mate?
- Wyoming.
- That near Sydney?
- Bit further north.
Hey. I can tell you're a bloke
who's looking for somebody.
- No? Something?
- I could use a good horse.
It's a gentleman from the land of
the free and the home of the brave.
A drink, sir?
A place to rest your bones?
A woman, perhaps?
Ow!
Oh!
You're asking for bloody trouble
mixing in with this lot.
I don't reckon the lady's
all that anxious to get in your wagon.
Roy? Oh, Roy, it's you!
- I'm not Roy, lady.
- Every time there's a ship from America
I come down here looking for you.
Thank God you've come for me!
I'm sorry, Roy. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for everything.
Does Crazy Cora belong to you?
Didn't say that. I said
she don't wanna get in your wagon.
The boss says we can
'cause we're sick of black ladies.
So you just tell Cora to come quiet, and
we'll feed her regular and everything.
Please take me home, Roy.
Bugger off, mate.
Excuse me.
I'm new here,
so I ain't rightly certain.
Is everybody in this country
as butt ugly as you three?
What do you want?
Give him another one!
Don't let the bugger
get behind you, mate!
Back for more, he is?
Look out, Roy.
Sorry, Roy!
- You stay out of this!
- I'm sorry, Roy.
My name ain't Roy.
It's Matthew Quigley.
You?
You're the fella Marston
sent us to bring back.
We sure showed 'em.
Didn't we, Roy?
You got somethin' against
ridin' horses in this country?
We ride 'em when it suits us.
Bullocks eat and drink rougher.
You can put your saddle
on one of them, if you like.
Riding in the back of the wagon
with the women.
I should've known to bring my own horse.
- I wasn't talking to you.
- Don't worry, Roy.
Everything's gonna turn out just fine.
- What are you doing?
- I'm gonna bandage your head.
- No you're not.
- It must hurt real bad.
- I wanna help it get better.
- Quit!
You've helped me enough already.
I'm much obliged.
I don't know why you're being
such a big baby about this, Roy.
Just hold still.
Quit! Now who the hell
is this Roy, anyway?
Hey! Do you need a hand
with Crazy Cora?
Here.
Thank you.
Look, lady. I don't know no Roy,
so you just leave me alone.
Go on.
Yoo-hoo.
Good night, Roy.
Good night, lady.
- What the bloody hell is it?
- Redcoats.
Mr. Ashley-Bloody-Pitt and his heroes.
- Friends of yours?
- They're British.
Get that bloody thing
away from my team!
Why are you taking the body back?
- The bugger's dead.
- The trial will not be lengthy.
- Carry on, sergeant.
- We're looking for two deserters.
- Can't say I blame 'em.
- Have you seen 'em?
- No.
- New distractions?
Who's this chap on the back here?
- The Yank Marston's brought out.
- Yank?
Come to do for Marston what these
bog-lrish convicts obviously can't.
Well, you just do yourjob
and stay out of trouble.
In our experience,
Americans are uncouth misfits
who have been run out
of their own barbaric country.
- Well, lieutenant...
- Major!
Major, we already run
the misfits out of our country.
We sent 'em back to England.
What are they, koala bears?
Kangaroos, I reckon.
Well, whatever they are, Roy, nature
sure played an awful trick on 'em.
I am fed up with you.
And I am fed up with Roy, whoever he is.
- My name is Matthew.
- Well, pardon the hell outta me.
I can't believe you would
talk to me like that, Roy.
with soap if I had some.
Lady, you are about
half a bubble off the plumb,
and that's for sure and for certain.
Just because the road is rocky, doesn't
mean your spirits should get rocky, too.
When do we get to Marston's ranch?
Been on his bloody land
for the last two days.
Things seem different here.
They say God made Australia last,
don't you know?
After he got tired of making
everything else the same.
Well, I've seen some pretty country,
that's for certain.
What are you doing so far from home?
There hasn't been anyone else but you.
You know that, don't you?
You can take me if you want to, Roy.
God Almighty, lady. Go to sleep.
Whoo-hoo!
Hey, look at that.
Hey-up!
Good to see you.
Get back to work.
Here you go, lads.
Wait till you see
what we've got for you.
Matthew Quigley.
Elliott Marston. Welcome to Australia.
Well, sir, your men already welcomed me.
Coogan, Mr. Quigley's luggage.
Take it to the lodge.
Mr. Marston, you said you'd
pay me 50 dollars in gold coin
- just for showing up.
- You don't waste much time.
I spent three months on a boat
just gettin' here.
You intrigued me, Mr. Quigley.
Twenty-one men answered my
advertisement, from all over the world.
Canada, India, England.
They just wrote letters.
But you... had a way with words.
My advertisement stated that I wanted to
hire the finest marksman in the world.
Have I?
Uh-huh.
The legendary Sharp.
You know your weapons.
It's a lever-action breech loader.
Usual barrel length's 30 inches.
This one has an extra four.
It's converted to use a special
.45-caliber, 110-grain metal cartridge
with a 540-grain paper-patched bullet.
It's fitted with double set triggers
and a vernier sight.
It's marked up to 1200 yards.
This one shoots a mite further.
An experimental weapon
with experimental ammunition.
You could call it that.
Let's experiment.
Whitey, take that bucket
and ride out until I signal.
Tell me when you want him to stop.
Your man able to hit
something that far away?
I don't know him.
I never saw him before.
He'd have to be a good shot all right.
'Bout there'll do.
Bullshit.
Are you quite certain, Mr. Quigley,
that you wouldn't like
the bucket a bit closer?
Jesus Christ!
Quite certain.
Told you. Only my Roy could
hit a coyote from that distance.
Very impressive. You're hired.
Would you excuse me for a minute?
There's some business
I have to attend to.
You might find this interesting.
Nice shootin', Roy.
Mr. Marston?
I think there's been a mistake.
The one they call Crazy Cora.
I'd appreciate it
if your men leave her alone
- till you and I have a chance to talk.
- Whatever you want.
You are deserters from
Her Majesty's armed forces.
The penalty for your crime is death.
You were caught on my land.
I could have you shot for trespassing.
Look, you let us stay here,
guv'nor, we'll serve you proper.
Better than this
convict scum you've got.
Well, unfortunately, your commanding
officer Major Ashley-Pitt and I
have an understanding,
and so, I'm afraid,
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