Imagined Dialogue For: Tom Cruise in ‘Jack Reacher: Never Go Back’

‘Imagined Dialogue For’ is our new series by the hilarious and talented Chris Scott, of Reviews of Movies I Haven’t Seen fame. Next? Chris takes a stab at guessing what happens in Tom Cruise’s new thriller, Jack Reacher: Never Go Back

Jack Reacher: Never Go Back.

Jack Reacher: Never Go Back. Paramount Pictures

EXT. ALLEYWAY. NIGHT.

JACK REACHER: Talk. Now.

HENCHMAN: Screw you.

JACK REACHER: Start talking, or I will shoot you.

HENCHMAN: Then shoot me, Reacher. I’m not going to say it.

JACK REACHER: Yes you are.

HENCHMAN: Even if I said it, I wouldn’t mean it. So what does it matter? It’s so preposterous. Surely you know that.

JACK REACHER: How preposterous would it be if I blew out one of your kneecaps right now? Now I want to hear you say it. [PULLS DOWN GUN’S HAMMER] The Michelin Man and the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man are brothers.

HENCHMAN: Jesus Christ, Reacher, they are most certainly not. It doesn’t make any sense. Come on, dude.

JACK REACHER: They look exactly alike. Both of their last names is “Man.”

HENCHMAN: For the last time, their last name is not “Man.” They’re both men. And hell, they’re not even men. One’s a mascot for a tire company. The other is the villain in a popular ‘80s sci-fi/comedy. They have nothing — NOTHING — to do with one another.

[JACK PUNCHES HENCHMAN IN FACE AND PINS HIM TO BRICK WALL]

JACK REACHER: You think you’re smarter than me? You think I’m too stupid to see what’s right in front of my own eyes? You know what I think? I think you’re the stupid one. Brainwashed by the media and Hollywood just like everyone else. The Michelin Man and the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man are siblings. They always have been. And you’re gonna say it, or you’ll be crawling home to your wife tonight.

HENCHMAN: Jack, please. Listen to me. One of them is made of tires. The other is made of sugar. One appears in commercials. The other in a movie. And all of this is beside the point anyway because neither of them are real.

JACK REACHER: What’s your name?

HENCHMAN: What?

[JACK PUTS GUN TO HENCHMAN’S TEMPLE]

JACK REACHER: I said What. Is. Your. Name.

HENCHMAN: Ben. It’s Ben.

JACK REACHER: You ever seen a white tire, Ben? Because I sure as shit haven’t. Now I’m gonna count to three.

HENCHMAN: Reacher, please.

JACK REACHER: One.

HENCHMAN: Don’t do this.

JACK REACHER: Two.

HENCHMAN: It doesn’t have to be like this, man.

JACK REACHER: Three.

[CLICK]

JACK REACHER: Shit I forgot to load this thing again. Alright, well, just think about what I said, ok?

////////////////////////////////////////

INT. BATHROOM. IN MIRROR.

LOVE INTEREST: Last night was… really something.

JACK REACHER [SMILING, BRUSHING TEETH]: Yeah. Yeah, it was.

LOVE INTEREST: I’m worried about you, Jack.

JACK REACHER: Don’t be. They’re the ones who should be worried.

LOVE INTEREST: They’re gonna come at you with everything they’ve got. You know that, right? I’m just saying that — Whoa. What was that about?

JACK REACHER: What was what about?

LOVE INTEREST: Did you just… swallow your toothpaste?

JACK REACHER: Uh, yeah. And?

LOVE INTEREST: I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone do that before. Most people spit it out.

JACK REACHER [LAUGHING]: No they don’t.

LOVE INTEREST: Yeah, Jack, they do.

JACK REACHER: Nobody spits out their toothpaste when they’re done brushing their teeth. That’s disgusting.

LOVE INTEREST: No, swallowing it is disgusting. I’m sorry, this is common knowledge, Jack. Have you seriously been doing this your entire life?

JACK REACHER: I really don’t see what the big deal is. I’ve never gotten a cavity. My teeth are great.

[JACK TAKES SWIG OF MOUTHWASH]

LOVE INTEREST: Yeah but your stomach can’t be doing too great. Maybe you should try to just — Holy Christ, Jack, did you seriously just swallow the mouthwash too? That’s lunacy.

JACK REACHER: You ever stop to think maybe you’re the weird one here? Huh? I’m not bothering anybody. I’ll drink this whole bottle of mouthwash right now, I don’t give a shit.

LOVE INTEREST: Please don’t.

[JACK DOWNS ENTIRE BOTTLE OF MOUTHWASH]

LOVE INTEREST: Are you ok?

JACK REACHER: That hurt. That wasn’t good.

LOVE INTEREST: Yeah Jack, you can’t do that.

JACK REACHER: I’m just gonna lay on the floor for a little bit.

////////////////////////////////////////

INT. LONG JOHN SILVER’S. NIGHT.

[JACK IS BRUISED, BLOODIED, EXHAUSTED AFTER DEFEATING THE BAD GUYS.]

EMPLOYEE: Welcome to Long John Silver’s. What’ll it be tonight?

JACK REACHER: Honestly I don’t know. I’m too tired to think straight. Hey, why don’t you pick.

EMPLOYEE: Uh, really?

JACK REACHER: Yeah, anything sounds good right now.

EMPLOYEE: Ok! Here’s one corn on the cob. That’ll be $1.29.

JACK REACHER: Seriously? Are you seriously gonna be a jerk to me about this right now?

EMPLOYEE: Oh I’m sorry, you said I could–

JACK REACHER: Don’t be a smartass. Anyone with even the smallest fraction of common sense would reasonably presume I wanted a meal and not this measly piece of shit corn on the cob. Look at my face. Look at the blood on my jacket. You know how many people I had to kill tonight? Like, 20. I knew a grand total of maybe three of their names. You think I liked doing that?

EMPLOYEE: I’m sorry, man. Let me–

JACK REACHER: You think I wanted any of this? I wanted to be a history teacher. I’ve always loved history. I got my degree. I was so excited to make a difference in kids’ lives, to really touch their hearts and souls, you know? And you know what happened? It was hell. Pure hell. The kids didn’t respect me. That’s what happens, the first scent of blood, the first perceived weakness, and they exploit the hell out of it. I grew to hate them and they grew to hate me just as much. By the end of the year I wanted each and every one of them to have miserable lives. I honestly did.

EMPLOYEE: Can I just–

JACK REACHER: I never know what’s going on in my life. I get a call “Ooooh you gotta get revenge for so-and-so” or “some evil guy is planning x, y, and z” or whatever and then I go shoot bad guys. That’s the whole deal. What is happening? What am I doing? I haven’t the slightest clue. I should be in Montana or something. I should be living alone in the mountains writing poems and short stories. Literally anything else. My mind is a hurricane of radioactive hornets nests circling a black hole that’s circling an even bigger black hole that’s circling an even BIGGER black hole. There’s no end, no beginning. Just every day, unceasing, constant chaos. So for the love of God, please, one popcorn shrimp combo.

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