Snatch

My name is Turkish.

Funny name for an Englishman, I know.

My parents were on the same plane

when it crashed. That's how they met.

They named me after the plane.

Not many people are

named after a plane crash.

That's Tommy.

He tells people

he was named after a gun.

But I know he was really named after

a famous 19th century ballet dancer.

Known him for as long as I can

remember. He's my partner.

Doesn't mean we hold hands

or take walks.

It means I try to keep him out of

as much trouble as he inflicts on me.

I give him a hard time.

Keeps him in check.

But really, he's like my brother.

What do I know about diamonds?

I'm a boxing promoter.

I was a happy boxing promoter

until a week ago, and then...

What do I know about diamonds?

Don't they come from Antwerp?

-Himy, would you listen to this?

-Do we have a choice?

It wasn't meant to be taken literally.

It's a nice story, Adam and Eve.

It's bound with moral fibre...

...but asking a grown man

to believe it?

What is it?

Well, what is it?

What you want I should do,

drop my pants?

Okay, go through.

It's a nice story.

It's just that. Just a story.

Catholic religion is based

on a mistranslation.

Enough already. Ruben, say something.

Listen. Are you busy?

I'll tell you the whole story.

The Septuagint scholars mistranslated

the Hebrew word for "young woman"...

...into the Greek word for "virgin."

It was an easy mistake to make...

...because there was only a subtle

difference in the spelling.

So, they came up with a prophecy.:

"Behold, the virgin shall conceive

and bear us a son. "

You understand? It was "virgin"

that caught people's attention.

It's not everyday a virgin conceives

and bears a son.

But leave that for a couple

of hundred years to stew...

...and next thing you know you have

the Holy Catholic Church.

Oy vay, what are you saying?

I'm saying, just because

it's written...

...doesn't make it so.

Gives them hope. It's not important

whether it's fact or fiction.

-People like to believe.

-I don't want to hear anymore.

Anyway, who is it that we're seeing?

-Michael.

-Hello?

Mutti.

Rudy! Rud, Rud, let them in, please.

Rud, it's okay, let them through.

-Michael.

-Mutti.

You've kept us waiting for half an hour.

Are you trying to give me heartburn?

Lie down on the floor.

Get on the floor!

Lie on the floor!

Get on the f***ing floor!

-Get down!

-Get f***ing down!

Down on the floor! Get down!

On the ground!

Get down, I say!

-Time.

-Seven minutes!

Where is the stone?

Where is the stone?

Where is the stone?

Michael, where is the stone?

When does your plane leave?

Twenty minutes.

Give me your gun.

When you get to London...

...if you want a gun...

...call this number.

-Boris.

-Boris.

He can get you anything you need.

Is he allowed to do that?

It's an unlicensed boxing match.

It's not a tickling competition.

These lads are out

to hurt each other.

What's with those sausages,

Charlie?

Two minutes, Turkish.

Look at it. How am I supposed

to run this thing from that?

We'll need a proper office.

I want a new one.

You're going to buy it for me.

Why me?

Well, you know about caravans.

How's that?

You spent a summer in one.

Which means you know more than me.

And I don't want to have me pants

pulled down over the price.

What's wrong with this one?

Oh, nothing, Tommy.

It's tiptop.

I'm just not sure about the colour.

It's all arranged.

You just got to pick it up.

Here's an address.

It's a campsite.

You've got 10 grand, and

it would be nice to see change.

-What's happening with them sausages?

-Five minutes.

It was two minutes five minutes ago.

They ain't pikeys, are they?

I f***ing hate pikeys.

You're a sensitive boy, Tommy.

F*** me. Hold tight.

-What's that?

-It's me belt.

No, Tommy. There's a gun

in your trousers.

-What's a gun doing in your trousers?

-It's for protection.

Protection from what?

"Zee" Germans?

What's to stop it blowing your

bollocks off when you sit?

-Where did you get it?

-Boris The Blade.

You mean Boris the sneaky,

f***ing Russian.

Heavy, isn't it?

Heavy is good.

Heavy is reliable.

If it doesn't work,

you can always hit him with it.

Boris The Blade,

or Boris The Bullet-Dodger.

Bent as the Soviet sickle and

hard as the hammer that crosses it.

Apparently, it's just impossible

to kill the bastard.

Back to my partner, Tommy.

Tommy runs the other business...

...the slot machines...

...which keeps rain off our heads

and gloves on Gorgeous' hands.

However, Tommy's a little preoccupied

with protection at present.

All right, I'll take it.

There's a reason for Tommy's newfound

enthusiasm for firearms.

Sooner or later, in unlicensed boxing,

you have to deal with that reason:

Brick Top.

If that's not worth a bet,

I don't know what is.

-He doesn't look bad, does he?

-No, he looks great.

He'll do you proud.

You reckon that's what people should

do for me, Gary? Do me proud?

It's what you deserve.

Pull your tongue out of my arsehole.

Dogs do that.

You're not a dog, are you?

No. No, I'm not.

However...

...you do have all the characteristics

of a dog, Gary.

All except loyalty.

It's rumoured that his favourite means

of dispatch involves a stun gun...

...a plastic bag, a roll of tape

and a pack of hungry pigs.

You're a ruthless little c*nt, Liam.

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