Stranger Than Fiction

It's amazing how a movie one just grabbed from a rental store by accident would turn out to be exceptionally terrific. It's the type of film that I would certainly watch over and over again.

It's so profound that I'd rather just post some of my favorite quotes from the movie than give it a wordy review. And since Will Ferrell plays the main character, there's a bit of comedy in it. Enjoy!

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Kay Eiffel: [narrating] This is a story about a man named Harold Crick and his wristwatch. Harold Crick was a man of infinite numbers, endless calculations, and remarkably few words. And his wristwatch said even less. Every weekday, for twelve years, Harold would brush each of his thirty-two teeth seventy-six times. Thirty-eight times back and forth, thirty-eight times up and down. Every weekday, for twelve years, Harold would tie his tie in a single Windsor knot instead of the double, thereby saving up to forty-three seconds. His wristwatch thought the single Windsor made his neck look fat, but said nothing.

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Dr. Mittag-Leffler: I'm afraid what you're describing is schizophrenia.
Harold Crick: No, no. It's not schizophrenia. It's just a voice in my head. I mean, the voice isn't telling me to do anything. It's telling me what I've already done... accurately, and with a better vocabulary.
Dr. Mittag-Leffler: Mr. Crick, you have a voice speaking to you.
Harold Crick: No, not TO me. ABOUT me. I'm somehow involved in some sort of story. Like I'm a character in my own life. But the problem is that the voice comes and goes...
Dr. Mittag-Leffler: Mr. Crick, I hate to sound like a broken record, but that's schizophrenia.

*********

Harold Crick: Am I OK?
Doctor Mercator: [with facial indifference] Well, you're not dead. On the other hand, it looks like you cracked your head, you broke three bones in your leg and foot, you suffered four broken ribs, fractured your left arm, and severed an artery in your right arm, which should've killed you in a matter of minutes, but amazingly, a shard of metal from your watch obstructed the artery, keeping the blood loss low enough to keep you alive... which is pretty cool.
Harold Crick: Wow.

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Harold Crick: [after his wall has just been demolished by construction workers] Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey hey hey hey hey hey! What're you doing?
Construction Worker #1: Holy crap and hell!
Construction Worker #2: What the hell is that?
Construction Worker #1, Construction Worker #2, Construction Worker #3, Construction Worker #4: [repeating after each other] Stop the crane!
Construction Worker #1: Hey!
Harold Crick: Hey, what are you doing?
Construction Worker #1: Us? What are YOU doing?
Harold Crick: I was watching TV!
Construction Worker #1: Well, we're demolishing this place.
Harold Crick: Are you nuts? I live here!
Construction Worker #1: Is that a TV?
Harold Crick: Yes, that's a TV! It's MY TV!
Construction Worker #1: Well, what's your TV doing in there?
Harold Crick: I said I live here, stupid! It's where I keep my stuff! My name's on the goddamn buzzer! Harold Crick, Apartment 2B eighteen ninety-three, McCarthy!
Construction Worker #1: [pause] Did you say eighteen NINETY-three?
Harold Crick: Yes!
Construction Worker #1: [another pause] Oh. Woops.

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Kay Eiffel: [narrating Harold's thoughts on the guitars in the shop] Unfortunately, THIS guitar said, 'When I get back to Georgia, that woman gonna feel my pain.'
Kay Eiffel: THIS one said something along the lines of, 'Why yes, these pants ARE lycra.'
Kay Eiffel: THESE said, 'I'm very sensitive, very caring, and I have absolutely no idea how to play the guitar.'

*********

Harold Crick: [Ana has just brought out a huge box totally stuffed with a mess of papers] What's this?
Ana Pascal: [Very pleased with herself] My tax files and receipts for the last three years.
Harold Crick: [Horrified] You keep your files like this?
Ana Pascal: No. Actually I'm quite fastidious. I put them in this box just to screw with you.

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Ana Pascal: [Hurt and annoyed that Harold refuses to just take the cookies and has offered to buy them] Go home Harold.
Harold Crick: Okay.
[starts for the door and realizes he's dissappointed her]
Harold Crick: Did- You made those cookies for me, didn't you.
[She looks at him sadly]
Harold Crick: You were just trying to be nice, and I blew it.
[reaches into his briefcase and retrieves the little black book where he's tracking his comedy vs tragedy tallies, and there are a lot of marks under tragedy. Sadly]
Harold Crick: This may sound like gibberish to you, but I think I'm in a tragedy.

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Harold Crick: [Runs to Ana the baker with a box of 10 paper bags in it] I'm glad I caught you. I wanted to give you these
Ana Pascal: Wait, you can give presents, but not receive them? That sounds awfully inconsistent, Mr. Crick.
Harold Crick: Yes, but...
Ana Pascal: Wait, I know, I'll purchase them! Yeah, I'll purchase them.
[Reaches into her bag to grab her wallet]
Harold Crick: No, no, no, no.
Ana Pascal: [With wallet in hand, stops to actually look at the box] What are they?
Harold Crick: [quietly] Flours.
Ana Pascal: What?
Harold Crick: I brought you flours.
Ana Pascal: [See the sweetness of the gesture, then realizing he's carried 10 bags of flours] Wait, you carried them all the way here?
Harold Crick: Miss Pascal, I've been odd. I know I've been odd, and I know that there are many forces at work telling me to bring these down here to you, but I brought these for you because... I want you.
Ana Pascal: [a bit taken aback, and ready to be really offended] Excuse me?
Harold Crick: I want you.
Ana Pascal: You want me?
Harold Crick: In no uncertain terms.
Ana Pascal: [realizing that he's really not being a creep and just a guy who's not used to saying what he feels] But isn't there some... I don't rule about fraternization...
Harold Crick: Auditor / Auditee protocols, yes, but I don't care.
Ana Pascal: Why not?
Harold Crick: Because I want you.
Ana Pascal: [Contemplates him for a second, and looks back at the box] Can you carry those a little bit further.
Harold Crick: Okay.

*********

Ana Pascal: [to cast-covered Harold] So what happened?
Harold Crick: I stepped in front of a bus.
Ana Pascal: What? Why?
Harold Crick: There was a boy I had to pull out of the way?
Ana Pascal: What?
Harold Crick: There was this boy, I had to...
Ana Pascal: You stepped in front of a bus to save a boy?
Harold Crick: I had to. I didn't have a choice.

*********

Dr. Jules Hilbert: Because he's real?
Kay Eiffel: Because it's a book about a man who doesn't know he's about to die. And then dies. But if a man does know he's about to die and dies anyway. Dies- dies willingly, knowing that he could stop it, then- I mean, isn't that the type of man who you want to keep alive?

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Harold Crick: It says, in the file, that you only paid part of your taxes for last year.
Ana Pascal: That's right.
Harold Crick: Looks like only 78 percent.
Ana Pascal: Yep.
Harold Crick: So you did it on purpose?
Ana Pascal: Yep.
Harold Crick: So you must've been expecting an audit.
Ana Pascal: Um, I was expecting a fine, or a sharp reprimand.
Harold Crick: A reprimand? This isn't boarding school, Miss Pascal. You stole from the government.
Ana Pascal: No I didn't steal from the government. I just didn't pay you *entirely*.

*********

Harold Crick: Miss Pascal, you can't just not pay your taxes.
Ana Pascal: Yes, I can.
Harold Crick: You can if you want to get audited.
Ana Pascal: Only if I recognize your right to audit me, Mr. Crick.
Harold Crick: Miss Pascal, I'm right here auditing you.

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Ana Pascal: Listen, I'm a big supporter of fixing potholes and erecting swing sets and building shelters. I am *more* than happy to pay those taxes. I'm just not such a big fan of the percentage that the government uses for national defense, corporate bailouts, and campaign discretionary funds. So, I didn't pay those taxes. I think I sent a letter to that effect with my return.
Harold Crick: Would it be the letter that beings "Dear Imperialist Swine"?

*********

Harold Crick: Miss Pascal, what you're describing is anarchy. Are you an anarchist?
Ana Pascal: You mean, am I a member of...
Harold Crick: An anarchist group, yes.
Ana Pascal: Anarchists have a group?
Harold Crick: I believe so, sure.
Ana Pascal: They assemble?
Harold Crick: I don't know.
Ana Pascal: Wouldn't that completely defeat the purpose?

*********

Harold Crick: How are you?
Ana Pascal: I'm lousy. I'm being audited.
Harold Crick: Of course.
Ana Pascal: By a real creep, too.

*********

Harold Crick: Dave, can I pose a somewhat abstract, purely hypothetical question?
Dave: Sure.
Harold Crick: If you knew you were gonna die, possibly soon, what would you do?
Dave: Wow, I don't know. Am I the richest man in the world?
Harold Crick: No, you're you.
Dave: Do I have a superpower?
Harold Crick: No, you're *you*.
Dave: I know I'm me, but do I have a superpower?
Harold Crick: No, why would you have a superpower?
Dave: I don't know, you said it was hypothetical.
Harold Crick: Fine, yes, you're really good at math.
Dave: That's not a power, that's a skill.
Harold Crick: Okay, you're good at math and you're invisible. And you know you're gonna die. Dave: Okay, okay. That's easy, I'd go to space camp.
Harold Crick: Space camp?
Dave: Yeah, it's in Alabama. It's where kids go to learn how to become astronauts. I've always wanted to go since I was nine.
Harold Crick: You're invisible and you'd go to space camp?
Dave: I didn't pick invisible, you picked invisible.
Harold Crick: Aren't you too old to go to space camp?
Dave: You're *never* too old to go to space camp, dude.

*********

Harold Crick: IRS agents, we're given rigorous aptitude tests before we can work. Unfortunately for you we aren't tested on tact or good manners.

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Kay Eiffel: [narrating] Little did he know that this simple seemingly innocuous act would result in his imminent death.
Harold Crick: What? What? Hey! HELLOOO! What? Why? Why MY death? HELLO? Excuse me? WHEN?

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Kay Eiffel: [narrating] And so he did what countless punk-rock songs had told him to do so many times before: he lived his life.

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Ana Pascal: It was a really awful day. I know, I made sure of it. So pick up the cookie, dip it in the milk, and eat it.

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Ana Pascal: Apology accepted. But only because you stammered.

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Dr. Jules Hilbert: Little did he know. That means there's something he doesn't know, which means there's something you don't know, did you know that?

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Harold Crick: This may sound like gibberish to you, but I think I'm in a tragedy.

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Ana Pascal: Did you like the cookies?
Harold Crick: Yes. Thank you for forcing me to eat them.

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Dr. Jules Hilbert: Let me ask you this. On a scale of one to ten, what are the chances that you'll be assassinated - one being highly unlikely, ten being you're expecting it around every corner?

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Dr. Jules Hilbert: Let's start with ridiculous and work backwards.

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Dr. Mittag-Leffler: You have a voice speaking to you.
Harold Crick: About me. Accurately... and with a better vocabulary.

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Penny Escher: And I suppose you smoked all these cigarettes?
Kay Eiffel: No, they came pre-smoked.

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Dr. Jules Hilbert: It's been a very revealing ten seconds.

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Dr. Jules Hilbert: Hell Harold, you could just eat nothing but pancakes if you wanted.
Harold Crick: What is wrong with you? Hey, I don't want to eat nothing but pancakes, I want to live! I mean, who in their right mind in a choice between pancakes and living chooses pancakes?
Dr. Jules Hilbert: Harold, if you pause to think, you'd realize that that answer is inextricably contingent upon the type of life being led... and, of course, the quality of the pancakes.

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[outside, Harold gets very exasperated by the voice]
Harold Crick: SHUT UP!
Kay Eiffel: [voice only] Cursing the heavens in futility.
Harold Crick: [extremely annoyed] No I'm not! I'm cursing you, you stupid voice so SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE!

*********

Kay Eiffel: As Harold took a bite of Bavarian sugar cookie, he finally felt as if everything was going to be ok. Sometimes, when we lose ourselves in fear and despair, in routine and constancy, in hopelessness and tragedy, we can thank God for Bavarian sugar cookies. And, fortunately, when there aren't any cookies, we can still find reassurance in a familiar hand on our skin, or a kind and loving gesture, or subtle encouragement, or a loving embrace, or an offer of comfort, not to mention hospital gurneys and nose plugs, an uneaten Danish, soft-spoken secrets, and Fender Stratocasters, and maybe the occasional piece of fiction. And we must remember that all these things, the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties, which we assume only accessorize our days, are effective for a much larger and nobler cause. They are here to save our lives. I know the idea seems strange, but I also know that it just so happens to be true. And, so it was, a wristwatch saved Harold Crick.