1. Bogart drunk goes off on Bergman for leaving him in Casablanca. As far as he’s concerned she’s nothing but a whore, freedom fighting husband and all.
Well, I guess neither one of our stories is very funny. Tell me, who was it you left me for? Was it Lazlo, or were there others in between or… aren’t you the kind that tells?
2. Walter Matthau drunk tells Tatum O’Neal he’s been using her for her baseball skills and has no interest in socializing with her after the baseball season in The Bad News Bears.
Goddamn it! Can’t you get it through your thick head…that I don’t want your company?
If I did, I would have looked you up two years ago.
I wouldn’t have waited two goddamn years.
Did you ever think of that?
It’s alright, neither of them really mean it, which is why they are both devastating..
Ilsa: Rick, I have to talk to you.
Rick: [Rick is drunk] Uh-huh. I saved my first drink to have with you. Here.
[passes her a drink]
Ilsa: No. No, Rick, not tonight.
Rick: *Especially* tonight.
[he pours a drink]
Rick: Why did you have to come to Casablanca? There are other places.
Ilsa: I wouldn’t have come if I’d known that you were here. Believe me Rick, it’s true I didn’t know…
Rick: It’s funny about your voice, how it hasn’t changed. I can still hear it. “Richard, dear, I’ll go with you anyplace. We’ll get on a train together and never stop – ”
Ilsa: Don’t, Rick! I can understand how you feel.
Rick: [scoffs] You understand how I feel. How long was it we had, honey?
Ilsa: [on the verge of tears] I didn’t count the days.
Rick: Well, I did. Every one of ’em. Mostly I remember the last one. The wild finish. A guy standing on a station platform in the rain with a comical look in his face because his insides have been kicked out.
Ilsa: Can I tell you a story, Rick?
Rick: Has it got a wild finish?
Ilsa: I don’t know the finish yet.
Rick: Well, go on. Tell it – maybe one will come to you as you go along.
Ilsa: It’s about a girl who had just come to Paris from her home in Oslo. At the house of some friends, she met a man about whom she’d heard her whole life. A very great and courageous man. He opened up for her a whole beautiful world full of knowledge and thoughts and ideals. Everything she knew or ever became was because of him. And she looked up to him and worshiped him… with a feeling she supposed was love.
Rick: [bitterly] Yes, it’s very pretty. I heard a story once – as a matter of fact, I’ve heard a lot of stories in my time. They went along with the sound of a tinny piano playing in the parlor downstairs. “Mister, I met a man once when I was a kid,” it always began.
Rick: Well, I guess neither one of our stories is very funny. Tell me, who was it you left me for? Was it Lazlo, or were there others in between or… aren’t you the kind that tells?
[Ilsa tearfully and silently leaves. Rick’s face falls in his hands sadly, knowing that he’s said all the wrong things]
you’re a terrific kid.
You shouldn’t be
hanging around with me.
I’m an old, broken-down,
I like to drink too much.
I like to smoke my cigars…
without anybody bothering me,
I’m happy that way.
I’m a bum.
No, you’re not.
You taught me how to pitch.
Goddamn it! Can’t you get it
through your thick head…
that I don’t want your company?
If I did, I would have
looked you up two years ago.
I wouldn’t have waited
two goddamn years.
Did you ever think of that?