Cathleen Quotes in The Last of the High Kings (1996)

Frankie: [Frankie wakes up hungover after partying to celebrate the end of classes] Seventeen years I've been waitin' for this day. Freedom. The oyster of my life about to open. Instead, it feels like a badger died in my stomach. And I've an awful feeling that nothing will ever change.

[His mother enters the boys' bedroom]

Cathleen: You, Frankie Griffin, are a useless article. You don't do a hand's turn from one end of the day to the other. Look at the state of ya! Eyes fallin' out of your head with the drink. And, and, and the smell of ya! You'd never think of helpin' out around the place, not in a million years. What do you think? You think your shirts and trousers get washed by magic, and march down the path, and throw themselves up on the line? Do you? And what about these socks I keep findin' under your bed? Stained with what, I'd like to know?

[She indicates his younger brother in the bed opposite]

Cathleen: Ray's the only one of you with any decency! I was too soft to use the wooden spoon on your arse when you were growin' up. Shoulda had you put to sleep.

Cathleen: Did you commit sex with a Protestant?

Cathleen: There are plenty of good Protestants.

Frankie: Yeah?

Cathleen: Yeah. It's a shame they're all dead

Cathleen: Have you forgotten about the Famine?

Dawn Griffin: [trying to get his attention, as his mail has arrived] Frankie?

Cathleen: How the Brits starved millions of our innocent people just so they could make cakes for that fat bitch Queen across the water? What about 1916? They shot down thousands of innocent Irish revolutionaries! Think of Parnell and Wolfe Tone and poor old Robert Emmet! And now you, you've become a Proddy lover!

Dawn Griffin: [still trying to get his attention] Frankie.

Frankie: [Frankie finally gets angry with his Ma's lecture and shouts] Most of the Irish revolutionaries were Protestant! Emmet, Parnell, Wolfe Tone - all Protestant! Half of the so-called heroes who you think of as havin' noble blood were Protestant!

[She looks astounded. She looks over to Father Michael for help, but he nods apologetically. Frankie is right]

Cathleen: [trying to rally her own spirits] I suppose Pearse was a Prod. And DeValera!

Frankie: No. DeValera was American. That's how he missed gettin' shot in 1916!

Cathleen: Romy Thomas. Her and the other one she runs around with. All hair and legs.

Frankie: At least they aren't hairy legs.

Cathleen: Ha. Watch it, mister. You know what those two girls are? Protestants! You stay away from them. There's an international conspiracy between Communists and Protestants, and I'm not havin' you in the middle of it!

[Cathleen Griffin furiously confronts her next-door neighbor after he shoo'ed her youngest daughter off their adjoining wall]

Cathleen: You! You! Yes, you with the head on ya! Get over here! How dare you order my child down from her own family wall!

Mr. Figgis: Mrs. Griffin, I have no desire to be confrontational...

Cathleen: This is our wall and my children have every right to walk on it whenever they wish!

Mr. Figgis: All I'm saying is that my wife and family deserve a little privacy. This little girl is walking the wall, making gestures at my children. Now, surely you can see that this is...

Cathleen: Let me tell you something. These are Griffin children. Pure Irish blood, descended from the High Kings of Ireland! They can walk their Celtic wall any time they want, day or night! We're a free people now! No thanks to the likes of you. Why don't you hump off back to Britain!

Mr. Figgis: You seem to be under a misconception as to my nationality.

Cathleen: You're a Proddy, aren't you!

Mr. Figgis: I am Protestant; I am not British!

Cathleen: Well, let me tell you something. My country has been a Republic for nearly thirty years and I'm not about to let our sovereignty be undermined by a bunch of blow-ins.

Mr. Figgis: Madam, I was born and raised in Ireland. I am Irish through-and-through. I am not British, and I did not order this little girl down from her precious wall! I merely requested politely that she refrain from spying on my family.

Cathleen: Spying! Spying, is it?

Mr. Figgis: Well, all I meant...

Cathleen: Oh, yes! The Brits accusing the Irish of spying! Well, this is one family you'll never conquer, you Proddy blood-sucker.

[Jim Davern has unexpectedly come to the house party to celebrate his political victory. He begins flirting with Cathleen, to Frankie's disgust]

Cathleen: Victory is ours! Frankie, Ray, drinks for everyone! Drinks! Jim, come and meet everyone.

[Frankie and Ray retreat to the kitchen to search the cabinets for alcohol]

Frankie: Here we are. For you.

[Ray takes the bottles and reads their labels as Frankie hands them down from the top shelf: "Irish Mist" and so on]

Ray Griffin: Just a tiny bit of bottle.

Frankie: Uh-oh. We've struck gold. There's a couple of full ones here.

[He opens an unlabeled bottle and takes a swig]

Frankie: Aaughh! Poitín.

Ray Griffin: [appreciatively] Firewater. Moonshine. Hooch. That stuff can drive a man crazy as a cactus.

Frankie: Exactly.

[He grins, thinking of getting all the adults drunk]

Ray Griffin: I don't think it's quite what Ma had in mind. Da said it's for rubbing on the greyhound.

Frankie: Ray, my brother, we don't have a greyhound. It's time for victory punch.

Cathleen: Up with the Republic! Up with the Republic!

[Ray has finished reading to the family a Western story he'd himself written. Da stands, and while orating he leans to pick up a toy dog with hideous orange wheels]

Jack Griffin: Silence! As Foreman of this year's Jury, I have great pleasure in presenting you with the Golden Dog for Literature Par Excellence. Outstanding. Congratulations.

Dawn Griffin: Bleedin' stupid.

Jack Griffin: It is not stupid.

Cathleen: The boy's a genius, that's all there is to it.