Chicken Run

Bunty: [loud whispering] Shush! Babs: [whimpers] Bunty: I'm stuck! Ginger: Get back! Melisha Tweedy: [her first words] Mr. Tweedy. Willard Tweedy: Eh? Melisha Tweedy: What is that chicken doing outside the fence? Willard Tweedy: [his first words] Oh. [giggles] I don't know, love. Melisha Tweedy: Just deal with it. Now! Willard Tweedy: [to Ginger] I'll teach you to make a fool out of me. [He throws Ginger inside, then closes the top and turns to the other chickens] Now let that be a lesson to the lot of you! NO CHICKEN ESCAPES (clenches his right fist) FROM (with point) TWEEDY'S FARM! [He walks away & ready for bed]

Chicken Run, CC BY-SA 4.0

Ginger: Oh no. Edwina. Bunty, why didn't you give her some of yours? Bunty: I would have. She didn't tell me. She didn't tell anyone.

Chicken Run, CC BY-SA 4.0

Babs: Ohh! Nick: You called? Nick and-- Fetcher: Fetcher. Nick: At your service. Ginger: Over here! Ginger: We need some more things. Nick: Right you are, Miss! [opens a lunchbox and holds up a couple of thimbles] How about this quality, hand-crafted tea set? Ginger: Um, no... Fetcher: [holds up a drain plug on a chain] Or this lovely necklace and pendant? Ginger: Well, it's lovely... Nick: [holds up a badminton birdie] Or how about this little number that's all the rage in the most fashionable coops in Paris. Simply pop it on like so... [pops it on Ginger's head, feathers side up so that she looks like an Indian] And as the French hens say, "Voilà!" Fetcher: That IS French. Nick: And that's two hats in one, Miss. For parties... [turns the birdie over, making it look like a wedding veil] ...For weddings! Uh, madame! This makes you look like a vision, like a dream. Fetcher: Like a duck! Ginger: No, thank you. [takes off the birdie and shows a diagram of a catapult] We're making this. We

Chicken Run, CC BY-SA 4.0

Melisha Tweedy: [muttering under her breath] Fourteen shillings and threepence..seven and sixpence...two and nine...fourpence ha‘penny... DOH! [crumpling her paper] Stupid, worthless creatures. I'm sick and tired of making miniscule profits. Willard Tweedy: Oh, yes. Those chickens are up to something. Melisha Tweedy: Quiet. I’m onto something. Willard Tweedy: They're organized. I know it. Melisha Tweedy: I said quiet. Willard Tweedy: [whispering] That ginger one - I reckon she's their leader. Melisha Tweedy: [She slams her fist down on the desk] Mr. Tweedy! Willard Tweedy: Ah! Melisha Tweedy: I may finally have found a way to make us some real money around here, and what are you on about? Ridiculous notions of escaping chickens. Willard Tweedy: B-b-but... Melisha Tweedy: It’s all in your head, Mr. Tweedy. Say it! Willard Tweedy: It’s all in me head, it’s all in me head... Melisha Tweedy: Now, you keep telling yourself that because I don’t want to hear another word about it. Is that cle

Chicken Run, CC BY-SA 4.0

Ginger: Think everyone, think. What haven't we tried yet? Babs: Uh... Bunty: We haven't tried NOT trying to escape. Babs: [happily] Hmm. That might work. Ginger: What about Edwina? How many more empty nests will it take? Bunty: Well, perhaps it wouldn't be empty if she'd spent more time laying and less time escaping! Ginger: So laying eggs all your life and then getting plucked, stuffed and roasted is good enough for you; it is guilty? Babs: It's a living. Ginger: Do you know what the problem is? The fences aren't just around the farm; they're up here [Points to head]. There is a better place out there, beyond on the hill, outdoors, trees and grass. You imagine it. Cool grass green. Chicken: And who feeds us? Ginger: We feed ourselves. Chicken: Where is the farm? Ginger: There is no farm. Babs: Then where does the farmer live? Ginger: There is no farmer, Babs. Babs: Is he on holiday? Ginger: He isn't anywhere! Don't you get it? There's no morning head count, no farmers, no dogs, no coo

Chicken Run, CC BY-SA 4.0

Rocky: Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Whoa! Let's back up and start from the top. Where am I? Ginger: Uh, you're right, how rude of us. We're just very exci– [clears throat] This is a chicken farm. Babs: And we're the chickens. [winks] Rocky: Ah, I'm with you so far. Chicken farm, chickens… Fowler: [about Rocky] I don't like the look of this one. His eyes are too close together. Ginger: Fowler, please! Fowler: And he's a yank! Rocky: Easy, pops. Cockfighting's illegal where I come from. Bunty: And where is that, exactly? Rocky: Ah, just a little place I call The Land of the Free, and the Home of the Brave. Mac: Scotland! Rocky: No! America! Chickens: Oooh! America! Fowler: Poppycock! Pushy Americans, always showing up late for every war. Overpaid, oversexed, and over here! [exits Hut 17] Rocky: Hey, what's eatin' Grandpa? Ginger: Uh, don't mind him, mister… Mister…? Rocky: The name's Rocky. Rocky the Rhode Island Red. "Rhodes" for short. Agnes: "Rocky Rhodes"? Rocky: Catchy, ain't it? Ginger:

Chicken Run, CC BY-SA 4.0