Cappelletti, the football player?
- Something like that.
- That's what I mean.
- Where's his application?
- He doesn't have one.
Well, get him one.
- What do you call that?
- Wicked.
Thou art thyself.
Thou art not a Montagoo-
Montagazz- Who knows?
This is the last day of auditions. We've
seen a lot of students. We're punchy.
We're gonna take a break. Go next door
to Mrs. Shime. Have her audition you.
- Right next door.
- I tell her that you sent me?
- Yeah.
- All right.
By the way...
- ... you were reading the girl's part.
- Shit.
- You're not into high school, remember?
- I'm into dancing.
You're into ass, you mean. You don't
have to go to high school for that.
- I was doing you a favor, remember?
- Some fat fucking favor.
Take your things to the third floor.
Give your forms to the senior there.
Okay, you go downstairs, change
in the girls' room and wait for him.
I'm through?
I don't have to dance anymore?
Where you going, Leroy?
He's in and I'm out, right?
Fuck you, Leroy! This was my audition,
remember? You're not into high school.
We were rehearsing to get me into this
school, not you, you fucker! It's not fair!
I didn't want to come here anyway.
This school sucks.
You've done me a favor, shithead.
You saved me four fucking years
from this ass-licking school!
You looking at one happy lady!
Who wants to go to a fucking school
to learn to dance, anyway?
Yeah, hello?
No, it isn't. This is Naomi Finsecker
speaking. Her mother. Who is this?
Replacement?
What do you mean, replacement?
So is she in or is she out?
I got in! I got in!
I got into Performing Arts!
Doris, we're in!
Get her out of there!
- Hey, later on.
- All right. All right!
See y'all later.
- Hello.
- Hey, mama, get in the car!
Come on, baby, come on.
Don't go to school.
- Martelli, Bruno.
- Bruno. Come on.
Garcia, Raul.
- Garcia, Raul?
- It's Ralph.
- It says Raul.
- I don't relate to that.
- Garcia, Ralph.
- It's Garci.
Ralph Garci. I think they
spelled it wrong on the application.
- Garci, Ralph.
- Here.
- MacNeil, Montgomery.
- Here.
- Monroe, Lisa.
- Yes?
Johnson, Leroy.
Johnson, Leroy?
In future, Mr. Johnson, I'd like you to
leave your ghetto blaster at home.
I'd have left it home
if it wasn't so goddamn boring in here.
This is a classroom, Mr. Johnson. You're
going to be here for four years...
...with your eyes open,
homework done, pencils sharpened...
...and all food, cigarettes and radios
outside. Do you understand me?
- Why are you here, Mr. Johnson?
- Because I's young and single...
- ... and I loves to mingle.
- Speak English.
- I speak like I likes.
- This is my room. You'll speak as I like.
I teach English. Now, if that's
a foreign language, you're gonna learn it.
This is no Mickey Mouse school. You
won't get off easy because of talent.
- I don't care how well you dance...
- Bitch run her fucking mouth.
...or how many colored tutus you have.
If you don't give academic subjects...
- ... equal time, you're out.
- Bullshit.
You have to arrive earlier
to get dressed and warmed up.
You have to take outside classes
in your major field...
...and study ballet, modern, folk,
jazz, tap and historical dance here...
...as well as dance history,
supported adagio...
...variation class, makeup, hairstyling
and even acting for dancers.
50,000 people call themselves actors,
and maybe 500 are making a living at it.
Most of those do commercials to
pay the rent. The rest wait tables...
...clean other people's apartments,
living on welfare and hope.
Don't think talent's enough
to get you through.
You gotta have a strong technique,
a good agent, and most of all, thick skin.
Now you're part of an underprivileged
minority, and you're going to suffer.
Pulled tendons, shin splints,
swollen toes, smelly tights...
Cattle calls, the humiliation,
the rejection...
Melodic dictation theory, keyboard
harmony, piano, piano literature...
...music history,