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turning to page one
turning to page one
Andrew sits in the corner of the hall, the “WHIPLASH” sheet music in his hand. Tries desperately to count the beats...
ANDREW
Five-six-seven... Six-two-two-five...
He scribbles on the page, trying to compute the patterns: “7/9 + 7/4 = 7/18”. “1/64 X 7/9”... We see feet pass by, and hear--
STUDIO CORE MEMBER #1 **
Stein won’t last a week. He doesn’t have
the lips. **
STUDIO CORE MEMBER #2 **
Fudd lasted longer than he should have...
STUDIO CORE MEMBER #3 **
Maybe if he spent half the time **
practicing that he does to polishing off **
cheeseburgers... **
STUDIO CORE MEMBER #4 **
(laughs) **
You got that right. **
Andrew’s eyes follow the PLAYERS. They’re tall, built. Next to them Andrew feels like a scrawny teen.
Pink (9/10/2013)
Just then -- a PAIR OF DRESS SHOES reach Andrew’s side. Startled, Andrew looks up. It’s Fletcher. Andrew scrambles to his feet, as Fletcher puts his arm over him and -- earnestly, back to the warm tone he displayed days ago --
FLETCHER
(walking Andrew down the hall)
Listen, Andrew. I know what you saw in
there is worrying you, but there’s a big
difference. This is your first day.
Pink (9/10/2013)
FLETCHER (CONT'D)
Metz had been dragging mud for two years.
(comes to a stop, looks straight at Andrew--)
Besides, you’re no Elmer Fudd. This is a
huge opportunity for you. You know that,
right?
ANDREW
Yeah...
FLETCHER
Your parents musicians?
ANDREW
No, not really...
FLETCHER
What do they do?
ANDREW
Well, my dad’s a writer.
FLETCHER
What’s he written?
ANDREW
Well he’s...I guess he’s mainly a
teacher.
FLETCHER
College?
ANDREW
Pennington High.
FLETCHER
And your mom?
ANDREW
I don’t know... She left when I was a
baby.
FLETCHER
So no musicians in the family.
ANDREW
...No, I guess not...
FLETCHER
Well, you’ve just got to listen to the
greats then. Jo Jones, Buddy Rich. You
know, Charlie Parker became “Bird”
because Jones threw a cymbal at his head.
Pink (9/10/2013)
FLETCHER (CONT'D)
You see what I’m saying?
(Andrew nods)
Pink (9/10/2013)
FLETCHER (CONT'D)
The key is -- relax. Don’t worry about
the numbers or what the other players
think. You’re here for a reason. You
believe that, don’t you?
(Andrew nods)
Say it.
ANDREW
I’m here for a reason.
FLETCHER
Good.
A beat. And, finally--
FLETCHER (CONT’D)
Now have fun.
He pats Andrew on the back -- then promptly walks off.