Script Band Quotes

Music shouldn't be just a tune, it should be a touch.

Music is the fastest motivator in the world.

Somewhere along the line, she finally finished her dissertation, which argued that computer programs are like theater: they both have scripts, and neither perform, or are performed, the same way twice.

As part of the deal, Dylan appeared in a television ad for the iPod, featuring his new album, Modern Times. This was one of the most astonishing cases of flipping the script since Tom Sawyer persuaded his friends to whitewash the fence. In the past, getting celebrities to do an ad required paying them a lot of money. But by 2006 the tables were turned. Major artists wanted to appear in iPod ads; the exposure would guarantee success. James Vincent had predicted this a few years earlier, when Jobs had said he had contacts with many musicians and could pay them to appear in ads. "No, things are going to soon change,' Vincent replied. "Apple is a different kind of brand, and it's cooler than the brand of most artists. We should talk about the opportunity we offer the bands, not pay them.

I was in Nebraska yesterday and when I said I was going to San Francisco, people started talking about AIDS,” Kurtis said, smiling. “Somebody said, ‘What’s the hardest part about having AIDS?’” Kurtis paused for his punch line: “It’s trying to convince your wife you’re Haitian.” An uncomfortable laugh skimmed the surface of the crowd. Most people did not think it was funny. Several reporters nodded knowingly to each other, as if to say, “This is what you can expect from somebody who lives in New York.” Kurtis clearly had misjudged his audience. Nevertheless, the joke reflected the dormant feeling among national news organizations, all of which were headquartered in Manhattan. AIDS remained something of a dirty little joke. Moreover, it was something you could josh about in crowds of reporters because you could safely assume that the disease had not touched the lives of the people who wrote the news and scripted the nightly newscasts. Homosexual reporters, particularly in New York, tended to know their place and keep their mouths shut, if they wanted to survive in the news business.

He was hired at WOR in March 1925 and a few months later was asked to fill in for Bernarr MacFadden, who had a calisthentics program. Gambling’s smooth baritone voice contrasted well with MacFadden’s gravelly, authoritarian approach, and he got the job permanently when MacFadden left the station a few months later. The original show was 90 minutes long, beginning at 6:30 A.M. Colgate Toothpaste became a sponsor soon after Gambling took over, and in 1927 he interspersed some husband-wife chatter. He missed being the first such breakfast show only by the fact that he was not married to the actress who played his opposite. The skits were scripted, thus fictitious. In the late 1920s he was joined by Vincent Sorey’s three-piece band. Later his permanent musicians were Sorey on violin, Michael Rosco (“Rudolph” on the air) on piano, Pietra “Froz” Frosini on accordion, and Louis Biamonte on saxophone and other instruments. The physical fitness craze ended in the mid-1930s; Gambling then concentrated on talk.

The theme of music making the dancer dance turns up everywhere in Astaire’s work. It is his most fundamental creative impulse. Following this theme also helps connect Astaire to trends in popular music and jazz, highlighting his desire to meet the changing tastes of his audience. His comic partner dance with Marjorie Reynolds to the Irving Berlin song “I Can’t Tell a Lie” in Holiday Inn (1942) provides a revealing example. Performed in eighteenth-century costumes and wigs for a Washington’s birthday–themed floor show, the dance is built around abrupt musical shifts between the light classical sound of flute, strings, and harpsichord and four contrasting popular music styles played on the soundtrack by Bob Crosby and His Orchestra, a popular dance band. Moderate swing, a bluesy trumpet shuffle, hot flag-waving swing, and the Conga take turns interrupting what would have been a graceful, if effete, gavotte. The script supervisor heard these contrasts on the set during filming to playback. In her notes, she used commonplace musical terms to describe the action: “going through routine to La Conga music, then music changing back and forth from minuet to jazz—cutting as he holds her hand and she whirls doing minuet.”13 Astaire and Reynolds play professional dancers who are expected to respond correctly and instantaneously to the musical cues being given by the band. In an era when variety was a hallmark of popular music, different dance rhythms and tempos cued different dances. Competency on the dance floor meant a working knowledge of different dance styles and the ability to match these moves to the shifting musical program of the bands that played in ballrooms large and small. The constant stylistic shifts in “I Can’t Tell a Lie” are all to the popular music point. The joke isn’t only that the classical-sounding music that matches the couple’s costumes keeps being interrupted by pop sounds; it’s that the interruptions reference real varieties of popular music heard everywhere outside the movie theaters where Holiday Inn first played to capacity audiences. The routine runs through a veritable catalog of popular dance music circa 1942. The brief bit of Conga was a particularly poignant joke at the time. A huge hit in the late 1930s, the Conga during the war became an invitation to controlled mayhem, a crazy release of energy in a time of crisis when the dance floor was an important place of escape. A regular feature at servicemen’s canteens, the Conga was an old novelty dance everybody knew, so its intrusion into “I Can’t Tell a Lie” can perhaps be imagined as something like hearing the mid-1990s hit “Macarena” after the 2001 terrorist attacks—old party music echoing from a less complicated time.14 If today we miss these finer points, in 1942 audiences—who flocked to this movie—certainly got them all. “I Can’t Tell a Lie” was funnier then, and for specifically musical reasons that had everything to do with the larger world of popular music and dance. As subsequent chapters will demonstrate, many such musical jokes or references can be recovered by listening to Astaire’s films in the context of the popular music marketplace.

At one point Booth was cornered by the assistant treasurer of one big customer, who angrily grabbed his arm and snarled, “I want you to know you’re the worst performing manager we have in any asset class. Do you still believe that small-cap stocks have higher expected returns?” Booth stuck to the DFA script and replied, “We believe small-cap stocks are riskier than big-cap stocks and risk and return are related. Which part of the argument are you no longer comfortable with?”14 DFA eventually did make it through the lean years, but not without casualties.

He opened the velvet box he carried and dropped to one knee. Jasminda’s eyes widened and her lips began to tremble. He presented her with a traditional Elsiran engagement ring of two interlocking bands engraved with her name and his in curling script.

Because of the picture's constant theatrical circulation all during the forties, two presentations on the Lux Radio Theatre, and finally as a staple of early television, the tale was familiar to almost two generations of moviegoers. Hart's task was to preserve the potent appeal of this Hollywood myth while making it viable for a modern-day audience. The problem was complicated by the necessity of rewriting the part of Esther/Vicki to suit Judy Garland. The original film had walked a delicate dramatic path in interweaving the lives and careers of Vicki and Norman Maine. In emphasizing the "star power" of Lester/Garland, more screen time would have to be devoted to her, thus altering the careful balance of the original. Hart later recalled: "It was a difficult story to do because the original was so famous and when you tamper with the original, you're inviting all sorts of unfavorable criticism. It had to be changed because I had to say new things about Hollywood-which is quite a feat in itself as the subject has been worn pretty thin. The attitude of the original was more naive because it was made in the days when there was a more wide-eyed feeling about the movies ... (and) the emphasis had to be shifted to the woman, rather than the original emphasis on the Fredric March character. Add to that the necessity of making this a musical drama, and you'll understand the immediate problems." To make sure that his retelling accurately reflected the Garland persona, Hart had a series of informal conversations with her and Luft regarding experiences of hers that he might be able to incorporate into the script. Luft recalls: "We were having dinner with Moss and Kitty [Carlisle], and Judy was throwing ideas at Moss, cautiously, and so was I. I remember Judy telling the story of when she was a kid, she was on tour with a band and they were in Kansas City at the Mulebach Hotel-all the singers and performers stayed there. And I think her mother ran into a big producer who was traveling through and she invited him to come and see the act, and supposedly afterward he was very interested in Judy's career. Nothing happened, though. Judy thought it would be a kind of a cute idea to lay onto Moss-that maybe it might be something he could use in his writing.

There was one idea that might have turned out pretty interesting. Hunter S. Thompson had written a book called Songs of the Doomed, and in the first few pages he mentions sitting around and listening to something off The Caution Horses, then he mentions the band later on in there, too. He's always been one of our favourite wackos, so we decided to call him up and see if we could maybe work on something together. It took a while to get him on the phone, because he'd wake up at midnight, stay up all night, drinking and watching sports, then sleep through the day. But we ended up having a bunch of weird phone conversations with him. His idea was we'd go to his ranch out in Colorado, get a camera crew, no script and 'just go crazy, man!' That didn't really fit what we had in mind; we wanted a little more structure than that. Going crazy isn't what we do. But he wasn't into that, at all. He didnt want to write anything, he just wanted this wacked-out thing. Eventually he got really pissed off for some reason. He sent us a fax, saying 'If you guys show up here, you're going home in body bags!' What did we do to piss him off that much?

It was,” he says. “And maybe the whole time I was here I felt like I was borrowing this. Like I didn’t deserve to keep it.” “This?” I say, motioning to the rotting porch decking and the rusted chain on the swing. “No, this,” he says and squeezes my hand. He kisses me, and it’s all back in a second- the dizzy swirly flood of happiness and excitement. It’s last year again, and Leo’s kissing me on the porch. Except it’s not last year. It’s this year, and I’m Me 2.0. He pulls away but doesn’t let go of my hand. “So I want to leave today and then come back. Like, here.” “Okay,” I say. Okay! I mean. “Like, I want you to know I’m coming back. And if you think I’m not coming back, then I want you to say, ‘Hey, asshole, how come it seems like you’re not coming back?’ Like a normal woman.” I nod. “I should have said that. Would have saved a lot of trouble.” “We lost a lot of time. And it was horrible. No more of this stoic crap.” It’s so nice to be sitting next to him on this swing that I’m doing a lot more feeling than listening. Leo wants me to know he’s coming back. Leo’s coming back. “Okay,” I say. “You know what? I don’t trust you. Here.” Leo grabs my left hand and shoves a thin gold band on my finger. This is less like a romantic gesture and more like the handcuffing of a fugitive. “We’re married now, okay? Like in your head, just get that straight. This is happening.” I laugh because it’s so absurd, and also because I am so light. A thousand pounds of hurt have been lifted off my chest. “Okay, we’re married,” I say, and then he kisses me again. I can’t help but think this is better than any wedding I could imagine. “That’s my mom’s ring,” he says. “It was the best I could do in the last three hours. But wear it till I get back, and then I’ll get you a new big gross one if you want. To go with your marble countertops.” He tilts his head to my new kitchen. There’s a car pulling into the driveway. Leo gives the driver a wave and makes no move to get up. “So you’re coming back here? Like to live in Laurel Ridge?” I ask. Suddenly, the whole thing makes no sense. “Sure. And everywhere else. We can figure it out. We’re going to be together, wherever we need to be. I don’t want any other life but that life.

...and CUES THE FINAL NOTE. The whole band roars it out, horns hitting their highest C’s, and Andrew rolling around his drum set like a madman, cymbals and snare and toms and the entire apparatus about to burst, as WE DIVE IN CLOSE TO HIM, his instrument, his sticks, his face, all sweat and eyes about to pop, the next Buddy Rich, the next Charlie Parker-- Fletcher’s only Charlie Parker -- decking the stage with a climactic crash of cymbals right as, on that very last hit of hits, we- SMASH CUT TO BLACK.