The Witches of Eastwick (film)

The Witches of Eastwick is a 1987 film about three single women in a picturesque village who have their wishes granted - at a cost - when a mysterious and flamboyant man arrives in their lives.

Directed by George Miller. Written by Michael Cristofer, based on the novel by John Updike.
Something wicked this way comes. (taglines)


Daryl Van HorneEdit

  • I see men, sixty, seventy years old breaking their balls to stay fit! What for? When I die, I want to be sick, not healthy.
  • Men are such cocksuckers aren't they? You don't have to answer that. It's true. They're scared. Their dicks get limp when confronted by a woman of obvious power and what do they do about it? Call them witches, burn them, torture them, until every woman is afraid. Afraid of herself... afraid of men... and all for what? Fear of losing their hard-on.
  • Sorry, uh, just having a little trouble, a little trouble at home. A little domestic problem. Nothing to be alarmed at. Just a little female problem. Hi. [he vomits] Don't pay any attention. It's a cheap trick. Anybody can do it. I taught it to them myself. Ungrateful little bitches, aren't they?

    May I ask you something? You're all church-going folk. I really want to ask you something. Do you think God knew what He was doing when He created woman? Huh? No shit! I really want to know. Or do you think it was just another one of his minor mistakes like tidal waves, earthquakes, floods! Do you think women are like that? [he pukes again] What's the matter? You don't think God makes mistakes? Of course He does. We all make mistakes! Of course, when we make mistakes, they call it evil! When God makes mistakes, they call it nature! [laughs]

    So whaddya think? Women. A mistake?! Or did He DO IT TO US ON PURPOSE!? Because I really want to know! Because if it's a mistake, maybe we can do somethin' about it! Find a cure! Invent a vaccine! Build up our immune systems! (More chuckling) Get a little exercise! You know, twenty push-ups a day, and you never have to be afflicted with women EVER AGAIN!

DialogueEdit

Alexandra Medford: I don't think that men are the answer to everything.
Sukie Ridgemont: No.
Jane Spofford: Then why do we always end up talking about them?

[constructing their ideal man]
Sukie Ridgemont: Huge.
Jane Spofford: I prefer small.
Sukie Ridgemont: Oh, yeah, right...
Jane Spofford: No, no, no, Sam was huge, and there were times when I just could not face it.
Alexandra Medford: Really? Well, I'm sort of in the middle myself. But hey, as long as it works, it's in.
Sukie Ridgemont, Alexandra Medford, Jane Spofford: It's in.
[they clink glasses]

Daryl Van Horne: Of course, I wouldn't know a snowy egret if I were pissing on one. Lunch?
Alexandra Medford: I think it's a little late in the season.
Daryl Van Horne: For lunch?
Alexandra Medford: No, pissing on birds.

Daryl Van Horne: I see men running around, trying to put their dicks into everything, trying to make something happen. But it's women who are the source, the only power. Nature. Birth. Rebirth. Cliché. Cliché, sure, but true.
Alexandra Medford: Why are you telling me this?
Daryl Van Horne: Because you're an honest woman and I'm being honest with you. [he stands] I like women. I admire them. But if you want me to treat you like a dumb twit, I will. But what's the point? You have brains, Alex, more than brains. And you don't even know it, do you? Well, most women do not.
Alexandra Medford: Are you married?
Daryl Van Horne: Good question! You see? Brains. The answer is no. I don't believe in it. Good for the man. Lousy for the woman. She dies. She suffocates. I've seen it. And then the husband runs around complaining to everyone that he's fucking a dead person. And he's the one who killed her. [laughs] Where is your husband?
Alexandra Medford: Dead.
Daryl Van Horne: Well, sorry, but you're one of the lucky ones. When a woman unloads a husband, or a husband unloads a woman, however it happens - death, desertion, divorce - the three D's - when that happens, a woman blooms. She blossoms. Like flowers. Like fruit. She is ripe. That's the woman for me. [he lights a cigar] Would you like to see my house?...In case anybody ever needed any exercise, the uh, pool's right over there, past the piano, where the, uh, ballroom used to be. Interesting word - 'ballroom.'... And, uh, over there is, uh, my study. Ah, this is my bedroom...The Borgias once owned the bed. Of course, you have to pay for it with your soul, but, uh, what the hell, I deserve a little luxury. You have to take care of yourself. No one's gonna do that for you, are they, hmm? [he reclines on the bed]
Alexandra Medford: What is it that you think you're doing?
Daryl Van Horne: Being as direct with you as I know how. I thought you might appreciate it. And, uhm, anyway, I always like a little pussy after lunch. Whaddya say?
Alexandra Medford: Are you trying to seduce me?
Daryl Van Horne: I wouldn't dream of seducing you, Alexandra. I wouldn't insult your intelligence with anything as trivial as seduction. But, uh, I would love to fuck you.
Alexandra Medford: Well, you know, I have to admit that I appreciate your directness, Daryl. And I will try and be as direct and honest with you as I possibly can be. Uh, I think - no, I-I am positive that you are the most unattractive man I have ever met in my entire life. You know, in the short time we've been together, you have demonstrated every loathsome characteristic of the male personality and even discovered a few new ones. You are physically repulsive, intellectually retarded. You're morally reprehensible, vulgar, insensitive, selfish, stupid. You have no taste, a lousy sense of humor and you smell. You're, you're not even interesting enough to make me sick.
Daryl Van Horne: Uhm, would you like to be on the top or the bottom?
Alexandra Medford: Good-bye Daryl, and thank you for a lovely lunch.

Alexandra Medford: Who are you?
Daryl Van Horne: Just your average, horny little devil.

Felicia Alden: [after being dragged out of the church] There once was a paradise, and then a serpent came into that garden.
Clyde Alden: Oh, for christ sakes, Felicia, would you stop? Please, just stop, stop.
Felicia Alden: Oh, Clyde, I have nothing against a good fuck, but there is danger here and somebody has to do something about it.

Felicia Alden: [while being fed oatmeal in the hospital] You know, you sit there in that pathetic excuse for an office, reporting gossip, while under your very nose, evil is doing its worst. You have no spine, Clyde. Not one ounce of morality. Versed, even common sense. Nuclear holocaust, rape, murder, apartheid. Why these words they mean nothing to you.
Clyde Alden: It's a local newspaper, Honey.
Felicia Alden: It's local turpitude. You are a failure, Clyde. You know you should be strung up with that son-of-a-bitch who bought that house.

TaglinesEdit

  • Something wicked this way comes.
  • Three beautiful Witches, One lucky Devil
  • Three Beautiful Women. One Lucky Devil.

CastEdit

External linksEdit

Last modified on 25 January 2013, at 21:31