|The Football Factory|
Promotional poster for The Football Factory.
|Directed by||Nick Love|
|Produced by||Allan Niblo
|Written by||John King (author) (novel)
|Music by||Ivor Guest|
|Editing by||Stuart Gazzard|
|Distributed by||Vertigo Films|
|Release date(s)||May 14, 2004 (UK)|
|Running time||91 min. (approx.)|
The film is the first foray into film-making by video game producers Rockstar Games, credited as Executive Producers.
"The Football Factory" focuses on two different groups of English football supporters -- the Headhunters, who support Chelsea F.C., and the Bushwackers, who support Millwall F.C. Throughout the movie, the Headhunters fight with other English groups such as those supporting Tottenham Hotspur F.C., Liverpool F.C., and Stoke City F.C..
The film follows Tommy Johnson (Dyer), a football hooligan in his mid 20s who has begun to question his morals and the morals of those around him. Tommy's major conflict in the film stems from his inevitable aging. Although he loves his weekend 'meets', he knows he cannot possibly play forever.
While enjoying a night out with his pal Rod, they meet a couple of young women in a bar and both end up back at one of the girls' houses. In the morning, Tommy awakes to a man sitting over him with a knife against his throat. Rod arrives at the scene, hits the man over the head with a cricket bat, and they both are able to run home alive. It then emerges that the cuckolded householder is in fact Millwall Fred's (Hassan) brother.
The remainder of the film focuses on Tommy trying to evade the Millwall gang who are seeking retribution for the attack while trying to decipher the meaning behind strange dreams that have plagued him throughout the film.
Based on the best selling novel by John King, the "Football Factory" is a study of middle England, football violence and male culture. The story centers around Tommy Johnson, a bored twenty something who lives for the weekend, casual sex, watered down lager, heavily cut drugs....And occasionally kicking the fuck out of someone.
Tommy's life ambies along untill a violent encounter with a rival firm top boy starts a tit for tat war and a series of nightmares that force him to ask himself the question about his life; is it worth it?
Told through Tommy's eyes and linked together by his relationships with three other generations of males, The Football Factory is a drug fuelled adrenaline rush of a story about friendship, revenge, and violence.
This is Englands worst nightmare. Enjoy it.
- "Don't fuck about, ping him!"
- "Are you tryin' to mug me off in front of my pals?"
- "C'mon, *jog on*!"
- "We'll get the beers safe and then we'll outflank 'em, yeah?"
- "I've never fucking liked you, you little cunt. Do you know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking I should take you outside and open you up."
- "You fucking little mug!"
- "Are you gonna sit in some poxy office with a cunt for a boss telling you what to do as you count your pennies trying to make ends meet in a country that's sinking into strikes and wars and at the end of the day you go home to your cosy little flat in 'nowheresville' and pull your IKEA curtains shut to hide from the big bad world and pretend it's not happening? Or are you gonna stand up and be counted, make a difference and feel the rush? Just for once say "fuck it". I'm coiled up like a spring and I'm ready to burst and wanking ain't doing it anymore. I need violence to make me feel I'm still alive. I know what I'd rather do, mate. Tottenham away. Love it!"
- "Kicked half to death, florists, cabbies, nightmares and visions; one of the old soldiers gone forever; Bright gone for a seven; and bollocks so ruptured that the only thing I'll be pulling for months is a chain. After all that you really do have to ask yourself if it was all worth it... course it fucking was!"
- "Jesus! I was expecting a bowl of cornflakes and a quick wank..."
- "There's nothing different about me. I'm just another bored male, approaching 30, in a dead-end job, who lives for the weekend. Casual sex, watered-down lager, heavily cut drugs. And occasionally kicking fuck out of someone."
- "What else are you gonna do on a Saturday? Sit in your fuckin' armchair wankin' off to Pop Idols? Then try and avoid your wife's gaze as you struggle to come to terms with your sexless marriage? Then go and spunk your wages on kebabs, fruit machines and brasses? Fuck that for a laugh! I know what I'd rather do. Tottenham away, love it! "
- "Problem was, he'd taken so many beatings on the terraces that he weren't scared of anyone. And the correct medical term for that is a "total fuckin' psycho"."
- "I'm gonna smash the fuckin' granny out of that."
- "Getting beaten up by football hooligans is like having V.D. The fucking pain goes on forever. But that's what makes it so exciting."
- "My granddad, old Bill Farrell, drove us to drink with his stories about the war and how he fought to put the "Great" into Britain. He said fighting at football was nothing compared to fighting with the Germans... Although, he was right. We're an island race. It's what we do best. It's not about color or race, it's just the buzz of being in the frontline. Truth is, I just love to fight."
- "The next best thing to violence is sex. And seeing as there's nearly 500,000 single women in London, I must be in with half a chance. Especially as I'd fuck anything that's breathing."
Fred: "Don't get lemon Bill, it don't suit ya."
Billy Bright: "Spell it, you cunt."
Fred: "C-u-n-t, Cunt."
Billy Bright: "I meant "lemon", soppy bollocks."
Tamara: "So... What do you do, then, Thomas?"
Tommy Johnson: [Thomas? I kick people's fuckin' heads in for a laugh. And you should know, div. You read the charges out] "Me? I work long and hard."
Tamara's Father: [Rod meets his girlfriend's parents] "Tell me
more about the air conditioning, Rodney. I'm fascinated.
Rod: Air conditioning?"
Tamara's Father: "You told me you run an air conditioning firm."
Rod: "Oh, we have a few vans out on jobs most of the time. Yeah, sure it's always busier in the summer, of course. Nothing like a soaring temperature to help the work, you know what I mean? Anyway, most of the time I just sit around the office waiting for the weekend. Don't get me wrong, I love the money the job pays. But my real passion lies in kicking people's fucking heads in at football. See, I got to channel it somewhere. As you can probably tell by my bulging stomach, I don't participate in too many sporting activities. And I don't do drugs. Well, that's not entirely true, but not a lot. So I got to have my release in something, and a good fucking fight seems like the best way. Wouldn't you agree? Maybe not. At least I wouldn't be walking around like you lot, fucking horrible cunts with sticks shoved up your asses trying to pretend your little suburban nightmare's all right. Then again, I suppose it just depends which way you look at it."
Bill Farrell: "Don't you ever get the itch?"
Tommy Johnson: "Yeah. I can see myself on a sun lounger in my back garden, couple of kids running about. Sipping my Pimm's quietly."
Bill Farrell: "Kids, eh?"
Tommy Johnson: "Yeah, why not?"
Bill Farrell: "Well, what's their names?"
Tommy Johnson: "Dorian, after me mate."
Bill Farrell: "Dorian? Both of them?"
Tommy Johnson: "Yeah, probably."
Bill Farrell: "Well, what if they're girls?"
Tommy Johnson: "Dorian."
Tamara: "Don't tell me you'd rather go to football."
Rod: "Well, I am male."
Rod: "Let’s get out of here Bill, there’s six Stoke fans staring
right at us."
Billy Bright: "Right, which one's staring at me."
Rod: "The one with the hat on. Please don't start Bill."
Billy Bright: [pointing at fan] "Right see you you cunt, I'll cut you first."