Veronica Guerin

Synopsis: Based on a true story, this is about the Irish journalist Veronica Guerin (Cate Blanchett), a reporter for The Sunday Independent, who exposed some of Dublin's most powerful crime barons and drug lords in 1996. But later that year she was gunned down by assasins hired by the same criminal drug lords she exposed.
Director(s): Joel Schumacher
Production: Buena Vista Distribution Compa
  Nominated for 1 Golden Globe. Another 3 wins & 13 nominations.
Rotten Tomatoes:
98 min

Father, look kindly on your children|who put their trust in you.

Bless them and keep them from all harm.

Strengthen them against|the attacks of the devil.

May they never offend you,|but seek to love you in all they do.

May Almighty God bless you,|the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

The Mass has ended.|Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.

Thanks be to God.

Good morning, Mary. How are you?

Good morning, Elizabeth. How are you?

Good morning, Bernie.

Father, would you say a prayer|to Our Lady for an intervention?

- What's wrong? Is someone sick?|- No.

I just want us to pray for my daughter|to lose her driving licence.

Case number 37 422: Veronica Guerin.

Almost 1 200 parking tickets.

March 1 0th, speeding ticket.

Just last month another speeding ticket|for driving at 1 04 miles per hour.

Well, now, I think that shows|some improvement by my client, Judge.

I'll alert mothers it's safe|to let their children back on the streets.

I... I deserve to lose this case, Judge.|That's fair enough, you know.

But if I can't drive, I can't do my job. I'm|a journalist with the Sunday Independent.

We all know who you are, Miss Guerin.|That does not grant you immunity.

This is Bernie Guerin. I can't take your call|at the moment. Please leave a message.

Mum, I'm driving!|Can you believe it? He let me off.

He actually let me off.|I love you, Mum. Talk to you.

Ah, no! You're having me on.

No, I swear to God. Just a 1 00 fine|and a warning. I'm behind the wheel again.

- It's your ma, the criminal.|- Hi, Ma.

Well, I hope you've learned a lesson|and reformed your ways, young lady.

- Hey, you're not speeding now, are you?|- No, of course I'm not.

Well, maybe a little.

What did you say to that daft judge?

I told him I was guilty as sin.

And he let you off?|Pleads a great case for judicial reform.

Yeah. Another repeat offender|returned to decent society.

This is Garda detective Chris Mulligan.|Please leave a message.

You didn't get me this time, Chris.|Still got the wheels.

I was fined - you're gonna love this -|1 00 quid. Can you believe it?

You owe me lunch. You said wherever|I want, and I'm expensive, don't forget.



The f***ing eagle has landed.

How are you, boss?

Push off, you little scum.

Come on, get your money ready. 5.

How are you?

The name's Veronica.|I write for the Sunday Independent.

May I ask you some questions?|D'you mind?

How much d'you pay for one of those?

A few quid. Anyway, it's cheaper|to rent someone else's needle.

What about the score?

- First one's free.|- Well, I heard 5.

- Where d'you get the cash for all this?|- I just say to some broad like you:

''Give me your money|or I'll inject you with AlDS.''

- How old are you?|- What's it to you?

I'm writing a piece for the paper.|I wanna know where you get the gear.

I'll do your work for you.|Come back when you got some money.

- Fatso, don't be spending that on food.|- I'll check it later.

- Lost, are we?|- Who might you be?

- Neighbourhood watch.|- Yeah, well, better keep an eye out.

I hear there's some dodgy scangers about.

I f***ing swear to God...

Ah, Jamey, Jamey, Jamey, Jamey.

You're an awful man, do you know that?

What'd you have to go and shoot|your mouth off to the Gards about me for?

Did you think I wouldn't find out it was you?

You know, I was thinking about killing you.

And then I thought to myself,|people get killed every day,

and nobody gives a shite.

So I've decided|I'm going to have to hurt you a bit.

Actually, I'm going to hurt you an awful lot.

But the good news is that I'm going to|do you meself. Oh, yeah. Personally.

I mean, you don't want people thinking,

just because I got me name|in the papers and all that,

that Martin Cahill is too posh to do|his own dirty work, now, do you, huh?

For f***'s sake...

Take the gag out of his mouth.

Let the little scumbag squeal.|It's what he's good at, isn't it? Squeal!


- I'm sorry!|- How are you?

- You made lunch. Aren't you great?|- I must be.

- Hi.|- Hi, Jimmy.

Off to a big news story, are we?

Come on, Ronnie. Give us a scoop.|Who's the scumbag of the week?

Go and buy the paper, little brother.|You ready for me?

- Did I say something?|- Don't look at me. She's your sister.

- Warm enough?|- Yeah.

Night. Night, darling.|I'm in the other room if you need me.


He won't have any trouble sleeping tonight.

That's cos you wore him out|on the football pitch.


- What's up?|- Nothing.

Nothing or something?

It's bollocks, what I'm writing.

- Give yourself a bit of credit for a change.|- Whatever. So it's half-decent bollocks.

It's light. It's human interest.

It's bollocks.

What a state, on the street.|There were needles everywhere.

- Right where the kids were playing.|- Jesus.

You should have seen these wankers.|Standing there with their new Mercedes.

How many 5 hits of dope do you need|to shift in order to buy a new Mercedes?

Do the math. How many kids is that?

Nobody's writing about it. Nobody cares.

Somebody needs|to get after these bastards.

They're making megabucks.|That's what I should be writing about.

That wouldn't be bollocks.

The pushers are using the underage kids|to do their business.

They know the Gards won't touch the kids.|Everyone knows what goes on here.

Eight kids from this block alone|died from drugs last year. Eight.

All of them under 15.|Four of them were me sister Iris's kids.

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Carol Doyle

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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