Legendary Scenes That Are More Famous Than The Films They Appear In

Certain scenes have a special something that helps them transcend the movies around them, making for moments that have lives of their own. To work out exactly how and why this happens is a bit like trying to capture forked lightning in a bottle. Classic and forgotten films alike have brought us moments that seem to grab us by the collective collar and make it clear that when everything else about this movie has faded from our minds, we will remember them.

Such scenes are a rare breed, and they appear to have an instinctive understanding of their own brilliance. They may not be all that relevant to the plot, or they may bring together all the movie's themes in one elegant moment. Whatever their nature, you can bet your bottom dollar they'll get under your skin and be the subject of endless impersonations, recreations, and memes. Even though these movies are classics in their own right, it's these particular scenes that are burned into our memories.

Written by Budd Schulberg and directed by Elia Kazan, "On the Waterfront" is a classic movie about corruption, regret, second chances, and redemption. Its most famous scene poignantly conveys all those themes with a masterclass in acting from Rod Steiger as Charley Mallor and Marlon Brando as his brother Terry. The scene begins in the back of a cab with down-on-his-luck prizefighter Terry being forced at gunpoint by mobster Charley to comply with the wishes of his gangster boss. After gently pushing the gun away and leaning back in world-weary despair, Terry listens to Charley attempt to explain his actions with a spiel about how some crooked manager ruined his kid brother's chances at being a successful pro fighter. With a face full of regret and accusation, Terry gently says, "It wasn't him, Charley ... it was you."

The floodgates open as Terry asks his brother to remember when he got him to throw an important fight. He then adds, "You was my brother Charley, you should have looked out for me a little bit. You should have taken care of me a little." When his brother half-heartedly suggests they both made some money by betting on the fixed fights, Terry erupts and delivers the knockout punch, "You don't understand! I could have had class. I could have been a contender. I could have been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am, let's face it." The cab journey ultimately transforms both characters, and the scene itself would be given a new life years later in Martin Scorsese's "Raging Bull."

Any film featuring the antichrist as a slightly smug-looking kid who boasts a haircut from hell, rides their trike like a toddler possessed, and smiles like they have a pet serpent who once knew a woman called Eve is going to feature some disturbing scenes. Yet they don't come much more unsettling than when Damien Thorn's nanny jumps off a roof and hangs herself in a twisted tribute to the son of Satan. The antichrist's childminder, seemingly given messages from Lucifer via a lazy-looking German Shepard, appears to believe that a celebratory self-hanging will be a perfect way to make sure her young charge's birthday party ends with the bang it deserves.

As the jolly little scamp takes time out from preparing for the end days by fearlessly enjoying himself with the rest of the youngsters on the merry-go-round, we hear a sing-song voice call, "Damien! Damien!" At first, there's nothing in that voice to suggest that the owner has brought anything other than a perfectly innocent surprise to the party — maybe a clown who makes balloon animals. Yet things get a little demonic when we see the nanny standing with a noose around her neck on the roof of the sprawling mansion, happily shouting, "Look at me, Damien! It's all for you!" She then throws herself off the roof and hangs in silent witness to some unseen and terrible evil. Way to ruin a party!

In director Taylor Hackford's "An Officer and a Gentleman," aviation candidate Zachary "Zack" Mayo (Richard Gere) is not exactly officer material. He comes from the wrong side of the tracks and his troubled background has left him with a huge problem when it comes to respecting authority figures and trusting others. He's a lone wolf and a rebel who can't function as a team player and has big-time commitment issues. He also sees no problem in manipulating and trampling over others to get what he wants and where he needs to be. Yet when he meets Marine Gunnery Sergeant Emil Foley, played with just the right balance of genuine sincerity and psychopathic authoritarianism by Louis Gossett Jr., he finds someone who sees right through his act to the man he could be.

This complicated relationship reaches its zenith in the scene when the drill instructor punishes Zack for various infringements by putting him through a series of grueling exercises and constantly asking for his D.O.R. (drop on resignation). After repeatedly refusing to quit, Foley goes ahead and boots Mayo, who he describes as a "slick little hustler," out of the training camp. Finally reaching his breaking point, an emotionally exhausted Mayo cries, "Don't you do it!" He then adds in a choked-up voice, "I got nowhere else to go. I got nothing else." It's a stunning moment of self-realization and the no-holds-barred honesty of the confession is enough for Foley to give Mayo a second chance.

At some point or another in this great adventure called life, you might have experienced someone shouting in your face with great gusto, "Show me the money!" It could be the jubilant in-law you've just lost at cards to, the sullen sales assistant at the local supermarket, or the office joker whose pride in their constant impersonations of movie characters is woefully misplaced. Nevertheless, no one does it better than Tom Cruise when he's taught by Cuba Gooding Jr. to say the legendary line with feeling and fury for the first time in director Cameron Crowe's "Jerry Maguire."

When sports agent Maguire (Cruise) asks NFL superstar Rod Tidwell (Gooding Jr.) what he can do for him, Tidwell replies, "It's a very personal and very important thing. Hell, it's a family motto." Tidwell then asks Maguire if he's ready, does a little dance, and then says, "Show me the money!" Before jumping up and down and exclaiming loudly like he's just scored the winning touchdown at the Super Bowl. He then implores Maguire to say it with him one time, loud and proud. In a tribute to restrained conservatism, Maguire offers a rather limp and toothless, "Show me the money!" Yet thanks to Tidwell's infectious enthusiasm and hearty encouragement, Maguire is soon screaming like the heart and soul of unregulated capitalism depends on it.

As one of the most famous and mysterious self-made men in all of literature, F. Scott Fitzgerald's Jay Gatsby has an otherworldly charm and tragic charisma that is an integral part of the book's enduring popularity. Gatsby's wide-eyed belief in the power of romance and refusal to let anything as drab and dismal as reality taint it has made him a larger-than-life character in the imaginations of readers for generations. Taking the character from the page and making him as accessible, enchanting, and engaging to cinema-goers was a big ask, but director Baz Luhrmann proved he was more than up for the challenge when he introduced the mysterious Mr. Gatsby in his 2013 film.

The scene when Nick Carraway (Tobey Maguire) attends one of Gatsby's extravagant parties at his Long Island mansion has all the lavish and opulent spectacle you'd expect when a director like Luhrmann is given free rein to play around with the excess and flamboyance of the roaring twenties. When Leonardo DiCaprio finally turns around with a twinkle in his eye and says, "I'm afraid I haven't been a very good host, old sport. You see, I'm Gatsby," fireworks go off in every sense of the word. As Gastby raises his champagne flute, Carraway muses, "His smile was one of those rare smiles that you may come across four or five times in life. It seems to understand and believe in you just as you'd like to be understood and believed in."

The Adolf Hitler portrayed in Oliver Hirschbiegel's "Downfall" is at times a withdrawn and pitiful creature, even if he's still capable of using his demonic charm to win the confidence of others. Yet it's when his mask of civility and restraint drops that we catch a glimpse of the twisted tyrant's true self. During the momentous scene in which the fanatical Fuhrer's emotions finally spill over in a torrent of abuse, accusation, rage, and lunacy, the true monster behind the Third Reich steps from out of the shadows and takes center stage. The spotlight reveals a man defined by destruction and motivated by sheer hatred, and it's a credit to Bruno Ganz's talent as an actor that he keeps the powerhouse performance from slipping into farce.

The scene begins with Hitler being briefed in his bunker by his generals. It's the last days of the war and the news is not good. Studying the maps in a kind of detached haze, Hitler simply waves his hand and insists, "If Steiner attacks, everything will be all right." Hitler's then given the news that Steiner is lacking the forces to attack. He doesn't take it well. After a period of brooding and uncomfortable silence, he takes off his glasses with trembling hands, dismisses all but his leading generals, and then proceeds to let loose. Ranting and roaming around the room like a demented gargoyle, Hitler can barely contain his fury as it pours from him incessantly like a volcano made of self-pity. There's a reason why this scene has been parodied into infinity.

People don't belong in sewers, and clowns in particular have no business lurking beneath the streets. Introducing the world to Pennywise the Dancing Clown as he appears in his hidey hole in a storm drain is a stroke of genius. Juxtaposing all the colorful whimsy of a circus with the dark rot of a sewer is only the very beginning of the horror in Stephen King's classic novel "IT," but what an introduction to one of the most memorable monsters in history. That's equally true whether you're watching Tim Curry in director Tommy Lee Wallace's 1990 miniseries or Bill Skarsgård in Andy Muschietti's 2017 film adaptation.

After six-year-old Georgie Denbrough loses his paper sailboat to the sewer, things take a turn for the worse in a big way. When he attempts to retrieve it he's greeted by a jolly clown with a voice that's just ... wrong. And that's because he's a psychotic and ancient creature from another dimension who eats flesh and claims souls. Although most people would run a mile when confronted with a carnivorous-looking clown who hangs around in sewers, young children have a different way of looking at the world and haven't developed that healthy degree of mistrust most adults have when it comes to loitering strangers and over-friendly clowns. Georgie's big mistake is to get too close as the fangs come out and the true horror begins.

Watching a bunch of guys having a few drinks, telling war stories, and busting one another's balls isn't ever going to be that engaging. But throw one of the most unhinged cinematic psychopaths into the mix and you've got a scene that builds tension like a purpose-built machine. In "Goodfellas," Martin Scorsese's 1990 saga of wiseguys and made men, Joe Pesci gives a performance as little Tommy DeVito that exudes menace and drips venom. He's a wisecracking joker who loves his dear old mom's cooking, but he also loves shooting people for his own amusement. As capable of charming the birds from the trees as he is flying into an incandescent rage on a dime, you never know what Tommy you're going to get.

That's on full display in what may be the movie's most iconic scene. The guys are all sitting around a table as Tommy is holding court and spinning a yarn that has the assembled mobsters in stitches. Then, Henry Hill (Ray Liotta) makes an off-the-cuff remark about Tommy being funny, and suddenly he's on it like a shark sniffing out blood. Like all the best barroom psychopaths, Tommy takes an innocent comment and turns it into an insult of epic proportions. He stares dead-eyed at Hill and begins to aggressively interrogate him on the subject of just what's so funny about him. Watching Hill squirm and shrink under the nuclear stare of DeVito makes for uncomfortable viewing, and when the bomb is finally diffused as being a wind-up the relief is tangible and the laughter hysterical.

Being the sole inhabitant of a remote desert island would be an endurance test even for the most antisocial soul. No matter how much you enjoy your own company, there's a good chance your psyche might get a little fractured. It would be perfectly understandable if you, say, befriended a washed-up volleyball. And who would have the right to judge if you named that volleyball Wilson and gave it a personality and a character? Stranger things have happened at sea. When Chuck Noland (Tom Hanks) loses his volleyball comrade to the ocean in Robert Zemeckis' "Cast Away," it's a surprisingly emotional scene that should be comedic but has all the gravitas of love lost.

Noland risks life and limb to try and save Wilson as he's slowly carried away from the raft by the tides. The audience wills Noland to save his pumped-up little buddy from disappearing into the horizon and the great beyond, but somehow you know deep down that Wilson must walk a different path. Watching Noland repeatedly cry Wilson's name in anguish is genuinely moving, particularly when he begins to tell Wilson he's sorry. Of course, Noland is not really saying a pained goodbye to a volleyball — he's saying goodbye to a part of himself that he has lost forever. As such, the scene is a true testament to the transformative power of the human imagination and the mind's wondrous capacity to adapt and survive.

Courtroom action on the big screen has never been more dramatic than in the culmination of a showdown between a stone-faced Jack Nicholson and wide-eyed Tom Cruise in director Rob Reiner's "A Few Good Men." The scene in which Colonel Jessup (Nicholson) is being cross-examined in the witness box by Lieutenant Kaffee (Cruise) during a court martial has all the cut and thrust you'd expect from these two very different types of military men — not to mention powerhouse actors — going toe-to-toe. Kaffee believes Jessup ordered the killing of a soldier in his care and is determined to get to the truth. Jessup plays it cool and deftly parries Kaffee's every attack until things boil over and the center cannot hold.

Jessup snaps, "You want answers?" A righteous Kaffee replies, "I want the truth!" The groundwork is laid for one of the most imitated lines in movie history when Jessup roars, "You can't handle the truth!" It's one hell of a statement, but the drama just keeps rising as Jessup launches into a tirade that defends his position, declaring that truth always comes at a cost. As he tells Kaffee, "You have the luxury of not knowing what I know ... You don't want the truth, because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that pool." Saving the best for last, Jessup barks, "I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom that I provide." It's powerful dialogue, superbly acted, resulting in a thought-provoking and gripping scene.

On paper, there shouldn't be anything particularly scandalous about a confident woman smoking while she crosses and uncrosses her legs. Yet when the woman in question is under police interrogation as a suspect in the murder of her rock star boyfriend and is seemingly enjoying being a little provocative in custody, things take on a different slant. Playing bisexual psychopath Catherine Tramell in director Paul Verhoeven's "Basic Instinct," Sharon Stone appears to relish playing a femme fatale who has a perpetually mischievous glint in her eye and reels out lines such as, "I've nothing to hide."

Yet it's when Tramell takes a seat in the interrogation room, crosses her long legs, and lights a cigarette, that a legendary scene is born. In a room with five pale, stale, suited, and booted middle-aged cops, Traemal talks about enjoying experimental intimacy with her boyfriend. Tramell is the epitome of cool under pressure and remains playful despite the conviction of the police that she is a stone-cold killer. It's when she asks Michael Douglas' character out of the blue if he's ever had intercourse on cocaine that things become more than a little heated. Things are turned up a notch when she crosses and uncrosses her legs to reveal a lack of underwear and softly croons, "It's nice." Way back in 1992, this scene caused a lot of controversy, and although it has since become a part of Hollywood history, Sharon Stone wrote in her memoir (via Insider) that she was tricked into revealing so much of herself in the scene. For his part, Verhoeven claimed to Variety that he and Stone were equal collaborators in crafting the scene.

"Here's looking at you, kid" is one of those lines that has slipped into popular usage, while its origins slowly fade into the mist and murk of time with every passing year. Even if you haven't seen director Michael Curtiz's 1942 film "Casablanca," its most famous scene remains familiar to millions. When Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart) tells Ilsa Lund (Ingrid Bergman) she must take the plane to Lisbon and leave him to carry on the fight against fascism, it's impossibly romantic. The tale of star-crossed lovers who have been driven apart by circumstances beyond their control has no happy ending, but it does have a scene that seers itself into your very soul.

Despite the line recurring throughout the film, it's not until the grand finale that Bogart infuses it with a weight that stands the test of time. What could have been a simple throwaway line becomes five words that encapsulate the fundamentally inarticulate nature of love. Before Bogart delivers his trademark line we get a wave of other memorable quotes — "You'll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life." "We'll always have Paris." "Where I'm going you can't follow. What I got to do you can't be any part of." How much more bang do you want for your buck?

It's hard to imagine the impact that watching that Meg Ryan scene on cinema-goers had way back in 1989. For some it would have made for excruciatingly uncomfortable viewing. For others, it would have been hilariously refreshing. And for a few who didn't get out much, it would have bordered on the pornographic. Harry Burns (Billy Crystal) is the everyman womanizer who believes that no lady has ever faked a climax in his arms, and if they did he'd be able to tell the difference. Sally Albright (Meg Ryan) sets out to prove him wrong in show-stopping style, and to make matters worse, in a busy diner.

Sally starts slow and steady with a few soft moans, leading Harry to quizzically ask, "Are you okay?" As if she's eaten a bit of undercooked fish. However, things escalate fast. Sally clutches her hair, moans, "Oh God!" And throws her head back in wild abandon, leaving Harry in no doubt he's got one confident lady on his hands, and all he can do is put on a brave face and enjoy the ride. As Sally gets in the zone and starts thrashing around in an ecstatic frenzy, she silences all conversation in the diner, before she abruptly stops and continues eating her food. All that's left is for director Rob Reiner's mother Estelle to deliver the classic line, "I'll have what she's having."

When Hugh Grant stands in front of Julia Roberts like an abandoned puppy in "Notting Hill" and turns her down for all time because she's a world-famous actress and he's a guy who owns a bookstore, that could be the end of that. But this is not the time for doomed romance – it's a time to set the stage for epic declarations of love, uplifting music, and goosebumps. As Will Thacker, Grant is an all-apologetic English gentleman who is only ever one sentence away from becoming incomprehensible. As Anna Scott, Roberts is the woman who knows what she wants.

Will defends his lack of conviction to jump into another relationship with Anna because the whole world adores her face and knows her name and he fears becoming just a bit part in her life. He's playing hard to get and his role as a sort of fair lady is a refreshing role reversal from the conventional norms. Anna diminishes any fears on Will's behalf with the classic line, "The fame thing isn't really real, you know." And then she acts the hell out of the killer line, "Don't forget I'm just a girl standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her." This doesn't appear to cut any mustard with Will, who lets the lady leave the shop in silence except for the annoying tinkle of the bell hanging over the door. Yet who but an animated corpse could resist such a naked and honest declaration of love? Before the film ends, Cupid has his cherub-cheeked little way.

When two lovers who have known one another for a long time begin to argue, it's never pretty. They know each other's weak points and don't hesitate to hit where it hurts and cause maximum damage. There's a thin line between love and hate, and in "Marriage Story" Nicole Barber (Scarlett Johansson) and Charlie Barber (Adam Driver) explore both sides of that divide during the scene in which Charlie snaps, "Do not compare me to my father!" To couples watching everywhere, it's a familiar, petty opening gambit in an argument that leads to all the familiar dark and lonely places.

Soon after being compared to her mother by Charlie, Nicole rants, "I may be like my father but I am not like my mother!" To which Charlie replies, "You are. And you're like my father, you're also like my mother. You're all the bad things about all these people, but mostly your mother." From there it just builds into an incessant litany of accusations and insults. It culminates with Charlie hitting a wall and then wishing death upon the woman he once loved. This is obviously a step too far, and what was previously a curious hybrid of the comic and the tragic ends in tears. The embittered lovers end up embracing, each finding solace in the person who knows them better than anyone else in the world. It's an honest and unflinching scene that's not afraid to reveal the complexity of a love not made in Hollywood, but forged in reality.

"Put the bunny back in the box" sounds like it could have a multi-layered meaning. In the wrong mouth, it could be a code for something both sinister and unsavory. Yet when Nicholas Cage says it in an Alabama drawl in "Con Air," you know it simply means "Put the bunny back in the box, or you die!" Former Army Ranger Cameron Poe is coming to the end of a long sentence for accidentally killing one of the three men who assaulted his wife. While he's been in the big house his wife has given birth to a daughter, and now all he wants is for the plane he's on to land so he can see Casey for the first time and give her a stuffed bunny. Naturally, things don't go to plan, and the plane is hijacked by a gang of dangerous convicts. It's up to Poe to stop them if he ever wants to see Casey and give her the toy rabbit, which increasingly takes on mythical proportions in Poe's mind.

The bunny represents Poe's second shot at the good life. It symbolizes redemption and innocence, and remains untouched and untainted by the horror that Poe's life has become. It would take a pretty dumb Elmer Fudd to mess with Poe's bunny, but Billy Bedlam (Nick Chinlund) is exactly that. When he stumbles across Bedlam going through his gear and discarding the bunny like it's a worthless trinket, he whispers with an epic rage, "Put the bunny back in the box." It should sound funny, instead, it's become a legendary line, and Poe follows it up with the sort of action that personifies why you should never mess with the hopes and dreams of a desperate man.

There are a lot of ways to make a grand entrance, but one surefire way to make sure the spotlight is securely upon you is to destroy a door with an ax, stick your head through, and snarl with a wolfish grin, "Here's Johnny!" Watching a maniacal Jack Nicholson doing that strange sort of half-dazed gait around the corridors of the Overlook Hotel with a huge ax in his hand never gets boring. He's not just a man on the edge — he's fallen off it, banged his head, and awoken in a twilight world of shadows, bloodlust, and insanity, where he has been crowned the Prince Regent. When Jack Torrance calls out in his sing-song voice, "Come out, come out, wherever you are," it's a game of hide-and-seek from hell.

Torrance's transformation from a loving husband and father to a slavering murderer by the demonic powers of the Overlook is unsettling enough for the audience, but imagine what it must have been like for his poor wife Wendy (Shelley Duvall). When he starts chanting, "Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in," you know things have pretty much reached the point of no return. Each blow of that ax against the door shatters the remnants of reason and hope that Torrance can be saved. He's now a plaything of whatever diabolical madness possesses him.

Posing with guns and talking to yourself in the mirror has never been socially acceptable, particularly in 1976 before social media was a thing. So when a heavily tooled-up Travis Bickle (Robert DeNiro) starts getting a bit edgy with the man in the mirror, it's bound to make an impression on the audience. They say time diminishes everything, but watching Bickle in his apartment getting his groove on is still like being given a personal invite to a ringside seat in one of Dante's circles of hell. The scene has lost none of its power and it poignantly proves that the mind's descent into paranoia, fantasy, and prejudice doesn't happen with bells, whistles, or warning alarms — it creeps insidiously up on an individual behind closed doors and in darkened rooms where their isolation is complete.

When DeNiro stares intensely at himself while playing with a gun and muttering lines like, "Faster than you," "Saw you coming," and "I'm standing here. You make the move." It's like watching a man possessed. After asking repeatedly, "You talking to me?" the money moment comes when DeNiro looks around, quizzically points at himself, and says, "Well I'm the only one here. Who the f*** do you think you're talking to?" The scene has been much parodied but there's nothing comical about the original. It captures a mind fragmenting and a person losing their identity to an indifferent world.

If you've ever found yourself lost in the woods, or ventured into some hostile hillside community off the beaten track, you may well have subconsciously whistled the first few notes of "Dueling Banjos" from John Boorman's "Deliverance." It's feel-good and homegrown music, but thanks to the themes of the film it carries certain hellish connotations of being lost in an unforgiving and alien world that neither accepts nor likes you. The scene involving city slicker Drew Ballinger (Ronny Cox) picking guitar with a young banjo-playing prodigy at a ramshackle gas station in the Georgia wilderness has a gentle and hypnotic quality. It's a homely introduction that in another film could unfold as a pastoral homage to a forgotten community where no one has to squeal like a pig or fight for their life against a gang of killers in dungarees with bad teeth.

Yet despite the tranquil nature of the scene, certain clues indicate all is not well. For a start, banjo boy Lonnie (Billy Redden) looks curiously like Charles Xavier from the X-Men. Even more disturbing is when one of the locals starts tap-dancing like he dresses up as a clown and tortures people in his spare time. Most sinister of all is when one of the locals starts whistling along like a cat lacking in all musical talent, which oddly only seems to unnerve Burt Reynolds' character. However, the biggest reveal is when the music's over and Ballinger enthuses to banjo boy whilst holding out his hand, "G****** you play a mean banjo." Lonnie refuses to shake it and turns away in contempt. It's an omen for things to come, but one that sadly goes unheeded.

Tony Montana was never going to, in the words of Dylan Thomas, "go gentle into that good night." Yet even by the standards of a self-made Miami gangster in the 1980s, Montana's last stand is the sort of epic shoot-out that makes the Valentine's Day Massacre look like a teddy bear's picnic. When Sosa's henchmen come for Al Pacino's character in his gaudy mansion, you know Montana has plans to go big. Aided and abetted by a big bowl of drugs, a frantic Montana watches his enemies approach his office on his security cameras while grabbing ammo and muttering, "You wanna play games?"

When he's finally good to go, Montana stands in front of his office door and snarls, "You wanna play rough? Okay! Say hello to my little friend!" It transpires that Montana's little friend is a massive machine gun featuring a handy grenade launcher, which Sosa's crew finds out when he blows them to kingdom come. A trigger-happy Montana then goes into full-on Rambo mode as he sprays death everywhere and screams like a cocaine-fueled King Kong. Riddled with bullets and crazed on adrenaline, Montana keeps snarling his defiance like Satan's very own puppet, but in the end, a shotgun blast to the back silences all the sound and fury and Montana goes the way of all mortals.