All language subtitles for Stars.And.Stripes.Forever.1952.1080p.BluRay.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

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This is your best quality
of kid?
Yes, sir. Genuine mocha.

And the price?
Five dollars a pair.

Very well. I'll take them.
With you, sir,
or shall I send them?

Perhaps you better send them
since I'll require 100 dozen.

One hundred dozen?

On second thought,
make it 110 dozen.

I never like to wear
a pair of gloves
more than once.

Superstition, you know.
110-

Dozen. You have my address.
Sands Point, Long Island.

The name's Sousa.
John Philip Sousa.

Thank you. Good day.

Yes, sir.

That, of course,
was a much later Sousa-

the Sousa of the '20s.

Composer, leader of
the most famous band
in the world.

At the moment, however,
we are concerned
with another Sousa-

the Sousa of the '90s who was
a leader of the Marine Corps
band in Washington.

Doubtless considered himself
lucky to possess even one pair
of cotton gloves.

Eyes... right!

Mr. Sousa's here, sir.
Send him in.

John Philip Sousa,
principal musician,
reporting, sir.

How long have you been
bandmaster here, Sousa?
Twelve years, sir.

Isn't that long enough
to knock some sense into
that bunch of German dukes...

and Italian counts you have
in that band of yours?

Begging the major's pardon,
sir, what have we done now?
Bring that man in here!.

What is your name?
Private Little, sir.
Private Willie Little.

Little, what have you got
to say for yourself?

Well, sir, it was like this.
The major knows
how hot it was-

Never mind how hot it was.
We're not running the
Marine Corps for your comfort.

What I meant to say, sir,
was while I was sitting there
in my quarters shooting craps...

when I got to thinking
how nice a cold bottle
of beer would-

Stand at attention!.
Yes, sir.

So I went out to the corporal
of the guard, and I said,

"I'd like to speak to
the officer of the day to get
permission to leave the post."

But he said, "Nothing doing."
And for me to get my tail
on back to my quarters.

So I went back
to my quarters again, sir.

Only by now I was
getting hotter and hotter
and thirstier and thirstier.

So you jumped over the wall
and filled your belly full
of rotgut liquor.

I wouldn't say I filled my belly
exactly full, sir, if the major
will excuse the expression.

At least I could still walk
when I came back.

Only I've got to admit,
I didn't feel much like climbing
over the wall again.

So I decided to come in
through the main gate.

And that's where you made
your big mistake?
Yes, sir.

Because when the corporal
saw me, he said something
I don't let anybody say to me.

So I said, "I beg your pardon."
And then I hit him
and he hit me back.

First thing I knew, it seemed
like the whole battalion
was hitting somebody.

Who won?
They did, sir.

Never mind that.
Have him wait outside.
Yes, sir.

Now by George, there's
a real, old-time marine for you,
even if he is only in the band.

But of course, we can't
let him get away with it.

He'll be confined to quarters
on company punishment
till further notice.

Yes, sir. But begging
the major's pardon, sir,
there must be some mistake.

That man's not in my band.
How's that?

I never saw him
before in my life.

Bring that man
back in here!

What's this I hear about
your not being in the band?

Begging the major's pardon, sir,
I didn't say I was in the band.
At least not exactly.

All I said was I only joined up
so's I could be in the band.

Oh. Well, that's all.

Yes, sir.

All right, so there's
been a little mistake.

But that doesn't change what I
said about knocking some sense
into that outfit of yours.

Yes, sir.
That's all, Sousa.

Uh, just a minute.

What was that new march
you played at retreat
last night?

"The Washington Post" march,
sir.
You write it?

Yes, sir.
It's not a bad tune.

But that doesn't mean that
you can waste all your time
writing music.

Remember, you've got
a real job to do here.
Yes, sir.

Thank you, sir.
That's all.

If it's not asking too much,
just what instrument do you
propose to play in the band?

The sousaphone,
of course.

The sousa what?
The sousaphone.

I named it after you.
You don't say?

Well, that's certainly very
flattering. What in heaven's
name is a sousaphone?

Well, I guess you'd say
it's a kind of tuba, sir,
only it goes more like this.

Oh, yes, sounds delightful.
Yes, sir.

Let's hope you can think up
some other improvements
for the band...

while you're confined
to your quarters
for the next four days.

Me, sir?
Except, of course, while you're
marching eight hours a day...

in a circle
under full field pack.
But, sir-

I believe those are
the major's intentions.

Yes, sir.

Yes, that was the Sousa
of the '90s.

Sergeant Major Sousa
of the Marine Corps.

But there was another Sousa
who, although an enlisted man,

lived in his own home
apart from the base.

Sousa, the husband,
Sousa, the father,
Sousa, the citizen.

Jennie?

Jennie?
Coming.

What in the name
of all get-out's been
keeping you so long?

I was hearing the
children's prayers.
Does that take all night?

They were praying for you.

Well, that's very thoughtful
of them, but there's
no need to overdo it.

Jennie, I want you to hear this.
It's a ballad- the best
I've ever written.

By George, they won't be able
to change this into a march.

Now stop throwing off
on your marches, dear.
I think they're wonderful.

Of course they're wonderful.
But to hear people talk, you'd
think they were all I can write.

Sit down, dear.
I'll sing it for you.

No, dear,
you play and I'll sing.
I want you to hear this right.

Uh-huh.
But please, dear,
not too loudly.

I don't want to alarm
the neighborhood.
The neighborhood be hanged!

Come on.
Just sit down and play.

Now-

Hmph! Start at
the same place, dear.
Yes.

Oh, I'm sorry, dear.
I can't help it.

I'd like to remind you
that when I was a boy I was
considered a very good singer.

Oh, I'm sure of it, dear,
but you're a big boy now.
Maybe your voice has changed.

Very funny. Very funny,
indeed. There. Take that.
Thank you.

You're quite welcome. Now just
do as you're told. Play.
Yes, dear.

Jennie.
Sorry.

It's really a lovely tune,
Philip.

I'm not sure it
isn't your best... ballad.

Not bad.
Not bad at all.

If only your public
could see you now.

The very dignified
and proper Mr. Sousa.

Stonewall Jackson danced
by himself, and he was not
only dignified and proper, but-

Oh, just put it down here,
Nora. But pious as well.

Which is more than anyone
can say for you.
Thank you, Nora.

No sarcasm, please.
Just keep playing.
I need exercise.

I've been cooped up
in this confounded house
for the past four days,

and from the look of this storm
it'll be four more.

Hello. Mr. Sousa in?
Who's calling?

Oh, just a friend of his.
Is he expecting you?

No, but he'll want to see me.
Kind of damp outside tonight,
isn't it?

Ought to be.
It's raining.
You know what this is?

What?
Well, I guess some people
might call it a tuba,

only it's really
not a tuba at all, because...

between you and me
and the lamppost,
I never did like the tuba...

and wouldn't play one
if I had to.
What you got against the tuba?

Well, for one thing, it's-
it's too loud.

So I had this one made
with a big, upright bell
that lets the sound come out...

evenly over the whole band.

What the devil's
going on out here?

Hello, Mr. Sousa.
Remember me? Private Little.

I just dropped by
to show you that sousaphone
I was telling you about.

Listen.
Don't do that again.
You'll wake up the children.

I'm sorry.
It's quite all right,
Mr. Little.

The children are accustomed
to strange noises
in this house.

I'm Mrs. Sousa.
How do you do?

I'm fine, ma'am. And I hope
I didn't scare anybody.

I just wanted Mr. Sousa
to hear how good
it'll sound in his band.

Do you mean to say you
came out in all this rain
just for that?

Not altogether. What I really
came by for was to see if you
could go to a concert with me.

To a what?
To a concert, dear.

That's right.
On a night like this?

I always say a concert
sounds better if it's raining.

Well, there may be something
to that. Hmm, what kind
of a concert?

Oh, just a concert.
Some fellow's going to sing
some of your songs.

What fellow?
You wouldn't know him,
Mr. Sousa.

But when I told him I was
gonna bring you with me, he
gave me a couple of passes.

The deuce he did.
Yes, sir, right down
in front too.

Oh, imagine that, Philip.
Right down in front.

Really, dear, you know
you can't afford to miss that.

Yes, but how can I go? Didn't
you say Professor Estaban was
coming over to play pinochle?

Oh, I'll take care of him.
You know how
absent-minded he is.

He won't know whether
you're here or not.

Now tell me, did this fellow
mention of what songs of mine
he was going to sing?

No, sir. He just said,
"Songs by John Ph. Sousa."

Did he? Well, well.
I'll get your coat.

- Now, wait a minute, Jennie.
- What was that funny noise,
Daddy?

Never mind.
Now run back to bed,
all of you.

What's that thing he's
got around his neck?
A monstrosity. Now, scoot.

Nora, will you see that
they get back to bed
before they catch cold?

Should I give them a dose
of something, just in case?
I don't think that's necessary.

Just see that
they're covered up.
What's his name?

Come on now, children.
Willie Little.
What's yours?

Priscilla Jane.
Who's the big fellow
next to you?

- John.
- John what?

John Philip.
John Philip what?

Sousa.
Junior. She's Helen.

- I'm Helen.
- Hello, Helen.

Say good night to Mr. Little,
darlings, and go along with Nora
like good children.

Good night, Mr. Little.
Good night.

Sweet dreams.
Good night.

What time does the concert
start, Mr. Little?

Regular time- 8:30.
Oh, then you'd
better hurry, Philip.

But, Jennie,
I haven't made up my mind-
Slip into this and button up.

If you're worried about
his getting wet, Mrs. Sousa,
you needn't.

I've got a cab
waiting outside.

You appear to have thought
of everything, young man.
Just about, sir.

There now.
Go along and enjoy yourself.
Very well, dear.

But I warn you, if they start
playing my marches
instead of my songs, I-

You just get up and
walk right out, dear.

Yes'm.
Good night, Mr. Little.

Thanks for letting us
know in time.
And do come again.

Thank you, ma'am. I will.
Good night.
Good night.

Philip, whatever it's like,
please let the singer
do his own singing.

You sure this driver knows
where he's going?
Yes, sir. We're there now. Look.

This is a concert hall?
Well, sir, they've
got other acts too.

Young man, you lied to me.
You deliberately enticed me
to this den of iniquity.

Huh. However, since we're here,
I suppose we might
as well go in.

You just pay the man
and come along.
Yes, sir.

Get your tickets now,
and later on-
Hurry, hurry, hurry.

Come inside, folks.
See the girls, the dancers-

Here you are, driver.
Step right up and buy
your ticket, folks.

I've got the tickets,
Mr. Sousa.

There's no waiting
on the inside. No confusion.

See the gigantic and
enthralling entertainment.

I congratulate you
on your taste, Mr. Little.

Which, I might add,
is right up my avenue.

Get the hook and
bring on the show!

Get that undertaker
out of here!

Don't pay any attention
to them, Mr. Sousa.
I like it.

Then you're an idiot too.
That fellow's voice
is atrocious.

He's not singing it.
He's belching it.

Quicken the tempo, man.
Bring up the music.
Aw, button up.

You think I'm enjoying this
any more than you are?

Throw him out of here!

Get the hook
and bring on the girls!
The hook! The hook!

The scoundrel. Nincompoop.

Let's get out of here before
that ass makes an even
bigger ass of himself.

But, Mr. Sousa,
maybe the next number
will be better.

Mutilating my songs.
He ought to be drawn
and quartered.

Couldn't we see just
a little bit of this,
Mr. Sousa?

No.
Oh, just the beginning,
Mr. Sousa.

We could sit right here.
Oh, very well.

I suppose there's no harm in
waiting till my blood pressure
goes down a bit.

Keep your eye on this.

What did I tell you?
Maybe it was an accident,
Joe.

That was no accident.
The same thing happens
every performance. Come on!

Everybody, keep your seats.
This theater's pinched.

Me? Pinched?
Unless we hurry.
Come on.

Where are we going?
Why don't we go this way?
Come on. Quick.

Come on.
Let's get out of here.

Where are you taking me?
This way, sir.

Hey, here I am.
Here, take my coat.

Come on, Mr. Sousa.
This way. Let's go.

Cab. Cab!

Well, Lil,
looks like we made it.
Lil?

You know this young lady?
Sure, this is
Miss Lily Becker.

Lil, this is that friend of mine
I was telling you about-
Mr. Sousa.

Oh, I'm glad to meet you,
Mr. Sousa.
Thank you, Miss Becker.

It's always a pleasure
to meet young ladies whom
I find sitting on my lap.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Good night, Professor.
Oh, good night.

Philip.
It's been very nice.

Good night, John.
It's been nice to have
seen you again.

Oh, wait, Professor.
Your umbrella.

Oh, yes.
Let me help you, Professor.

Oh, thank you.

Get inside. Go on.

Philip, what are you
doing home so early?

I didn't expect you
for another hour.

It was either come home
or go to jail.
Jail?

That's what I said.
But for the agility
of my good friend here,

we all might be in the calaboose
at this moment.

Please come in.
But why? What happened?

I believe the police considered
it an indecent performance,
my dear.

I beg your pardon.
What was indecent about it?
In my opinion, not a thing.

I considered the exhibition
as delightfully innocent
as a butterfly.

But apparently the bile
of the sedate was upset...

when one of
the young ladies' tights
had the misfortune to split.

Philip, what on earth
are you talking about?

About tights, my dear.
Tights.
At a concert?

Oh, this was a very
extraordinary concert,
Jennie.

You should have been there.
King Solomon gave a big blowout,
the like of which you never saw.

Cleopatra went
sailing down the Nile
to call on Caesar-

By the way, this is one
of the handmaidens of the queen,
Miss Lily Becker.

Miss Becker, my wife.
How do you do, Miss Becker?
And don't mind my husband.

He's just teasing.
It's all right.

I know he thinks it's funny,
but I don't happen to.

And I don't have to stay
anywhere and be insulted.
Come on, Willie.

No, no, please.
Philip, tell her you're sorry.
And behave yourself.

I'm sorry, Miss Becker.
I apologize.

You needn't bother.
Wait a minute.

Hadn't you better go upstairs
with my wife first and see if
you can find something less,

uh, shall we say,
revealing to put on?

I'm not ashamed
of what I'm wearing!
Here's your coat! Good night!

Lil, you can't go out like that!
You're liable to get arrested
or something!

What if I do? What business
is it of yours?
It's plenty of my business,

especially after all the trouble
I went to just to introduce
you to Mr. Sousa.

Look, nobody asked you
to introduce me to him.
It was your big idea, not mine.

But how did I know
the show was gonna be raided?

All I was gonna do was bring him
backstage so's we could fix it
up for him to hear you sing.

Oh, so that's what
you were up to, eh?
Yes, sir.

I couldn't tell you because
how'd I know you wouldn't get
on your high horse...

and maybe not come at all?
True. True.
It was a gamble.

Do me a favor.
Go jump in the river
and don't come up!

Lil.
I don't blame you for
being angry, Miss Becker.

If I were in your place,
I'd be perfectly furious.

But I'm sure Mr. Little
didn't mean any harm.

And as to hearing you sing,
my husband would be delighted.
Won't you, Philip?

If you say so, dear.
When?

Well, I might say that-
Well, whenever
Miss Becker wishes.

Then how 'bout now?
Come on, Lil, while he's in
the mood. I'll play for you.

Like- Like this?
Why, I think you look
charming like this.

Do you mind if we push
the furniture back
a little bit, Mrs. Sousa?

Oh, uh, not at all.
Then how about giving
me a hand, Mr. Sousa?

Certainly, young man.
Nothing would give me
more pleasure.

We can put this
right over here, sir.
How much space does she need?

Not too much, sir.
I'm glad of that.

I'm not used to having
exhibitions in this room.
Wait. I'll give you a hand.

Kind of heavy.

You ready?
Yeah.

Oh, thank you, Miss Becker.
That was very nice.

Wasn't it-
Wasn't it, Philip?
Uh, yes, yes.

Very, very pretty indeed.

I see no reason why, if Miss
Becker devotes herself to study
for the next four or five years,

she shouldn't earn a very
fair living in the theater.

But of course, as our young
friend here probably forgot to
tell her, I'm really no judge.

After all, I'm only
the leader of a brass band.

Come along with me, my dear.
I think I have a dress that
will look very nice on you.

Shall we rearrange the stage
for the next act, young man?
What?

Oh, yes, sir. Sure.
That's right.

Since the days
of John Adams, second president
of the United States,

the Marine Band has been known
as the President's Own.

As leader of that band,
it was Sousa's privilege...

to serve under no fewer
than five chief executives:

Rutherford B. Hayes,
James A. Garfield,
Chester Arthur,

Grover Cleveland
and Benjamin Harrison.

Senator and Mrs. Shaw.
Senator.

His Excellency,
Lord and Lady Blair.
Lord Blair.

Lady Barkley.
Good evening, Lord Blair.

Senator and Mrs. Kipling.
Good evening, ma'am.

Mighty fine party you're having.
Sure beats anything you see out
in my neck of the woods.

Oh, say, have you had
a chance to think over
that postmaster business...

we were talking about
last week, Mr. President?

Not yet, Senator, but I-
You couldn't pick a better man
for the job.

He votes right every time,
and he's got a heap of kinfolk
that votes too. Oh, and say-

Excuse me, Mr. Sousa.
Yes?

The president wonders
if the band could play something
a little more lively tonight?

Why, of course.
We'll be delighted.
Thank you.

I was under the impression
he preferred chamber music.

He does as a rule,
but there's so many long-winded
office seekers here tonight-

I understand.
Tell the president...

we'll do what we can
to alleviate the situation.
Thank you, sir.

Gentlemen, number 11.

Drums, trombones,
cymbals, sousaphone.

Wonderful. Wonderful.
The president says
keep it up.

And with even more spirit.
Certainly.

Excuse me, Mrs. Sousa.
Would you mind telling me
what that tune is?

It's Mr. Sousa's
latest ballad.
Thank you. Ballad?

Dedicated to the Marine Corps
and entitled "Semper Fidelis" -
Always Faithful.

Well, it's just wonderful.
Tell him he's saved the day.

Mr. Sousa, as secretary
of the navy, it gives me
great pleasure...

to present to you
this special award...

in recognition
of your new march,
"Semper Fidelis."

It may interest you
to know...

that yours is the only musical
composition in the history
of our country...

which has received
the official recognition
of the government.

Thank you, sir.

Splendid march, Mr. Sousa.
Thank you, Mr. Secretary.

At ease, Sousa.
I hope this little medal
will put a stop...

to all the talk
I've been hearing about you
planning to leave the corps.

How's that?
You're not thinking of leaving
the Marine Corps, Sousa?

Yes, sir.
But why, man? Why?

Because I have five
hungry mouths to feed, sir.
I have no choice.

But great guns, the Marine Corps
won't be the corps
without Sousa.

I'm sure there must be
some very sound arguments
against that statement, sir.

But for the life of me,
I can't think of a single one
at the moment.

Well, what are you
planning to do, Sousa?

Go to New York, sir,
and organize my own band.

But that's
the most ridiculous thing
I've ever heard of.

With every band in the country
already driving people crazy
with your marches,

you ought to be able
to live right here
in any style you want.

I wish that were true, sir,
but the melancholy fact is...

that for my three
best known marches-

the "Washington Post,"
"High School Cadets"
and "Semper Fidelis"-

I've received the grand total
of exactly $105.

The devil you say.
Exactly, sir.

Well, but, uh-

What about taking
the marine band
on tour again this year?

I'm sure the tour
will be as successful
as ever without me, sir.

When do you want to leave?
My enlistment will be up
in 10 days, Mr. Secretary.

As soon after that
as possible.
Very well.

In the meantime, if there
is anything we can do...

to show our appreciation
of what you've done here,
let me know.

What was that?

That, sir, was
a peculiar instrument
known as the sousaphone,

which is not only unique,
but in the opinion of the young
man who plays it, indispensable.

I suspect he was
reminding me that if he
also could be discharged-

He'd like to go
with you?
Yes, sir.

You'd like to have him?
With certain misgivings,
yes, sir.

How about it, Major?
Do you think we can spare
this indispensable young man?

Well, if that sound
he just made is an example
of his ability as a musician,

I think we might very well
make an exception in his case.

Then by all means,
let us do so.
Thank you, sir.

That will be all, Sousa.

Thank you, sir.

- Good morning, gentlemen.
- Good morning.

Before beginning our auditions,
let's be sure that we understand
each other thoroughly.

This is to be no ordinary
brass band, bound by outmoded
precedents and traditions.

Our job- our only job-
will be to put on a good show,

which means that if
our audiences prefer "Turkey
in the Straw" to "Parsifal,"

we'll play
"Turkey in the Straw."

And let there be no mistake
about this.

I shall be the leader
of this band, which means
that if your interpretation...

of a score turns counter
to mine, mine will prevail.

Thank you, sir.

While ours will be
a civilian organization,

we'll live and work
under what may strike you
as military discipline.

A great part of our time
will be spent on tour,
both here and abroad.

You will, therefore,
accommodate your domestic
arrangements...

to the demands of the band.

In plain language, this means
that under no circumstances...

will wives be permitted
to travel with husbands.

Now then, are there
any questions? Huh?

Very well. We'll take
the cornets first.

Will you kindly step on
the stage, please, gentlemen?
Thank you.

Mr. Sousa.
Yes?

Excuse me, sir, but what
about a singer with the band?
What singer?

Surely, sir, you're gonna
have a singer with the band.
Am I?

Surely, sir, if you're gonna
break precedents and traditions,
you've got to be progressive.

And how can a band
be more progressive
than by using singers?

Of the fair sex, I take it,
and not too unattractive
to look at?

Well, naturally not, sir.

You wouldn't by any chance
have some candidate in mind
for this progressive role?

Come to think of it, sir,
I have. I'll be right back.

Come on, Lil.
He's crazy about the idea.

I know exactly how crazy
he is about it.
You do?

Yes. And I also know
you lied to me again.

Why, he hadn't the faintest
idea of hiring a singer
for his band.

How do you know he hadn't?
I listened through the crack
in the door, that's how.

You mean to say
you've been eavesdropping?
To every word you said!

Here I let you talk me
into giving up a perfectly
good job in Washington...

to come to New York, only
to find out you hadn't even
mentioned the subject to him.

You didn't have
to kick so hard.

You haven't felt anything yet
if this turns out to be another
one of your wild-goose chases.

Thank you, madame. Thank you.
That was splendid.

Ah, Mr. Little.
Good morning, Miss Becker.

How nice of you to come
for our tryout.

We'll endeavor to get to you
a little later on.

Meanwhile, let me introduce
you to Madame Estelle Liebling
of the Metropolitan Opera,

whom I engaged several days ago
to sing with the band.

- Several days ago?
- Yes. In one of my more
progressive moments.

How do you do?
Thank you, madame.

Oh, yes, the cornets.
Now, uh, what is
your name, please?

- Herman Brautisch.
- Herman Brautisch.

A passage of triple tonguing,
please.
It's all right, my dear.

Thank you, sir.
That was very good.

But what I really had in mind
was something more like this.

Would you care
to try again?

Whether it was
triple tonguing on the trumpet,
or a simple roll of the timpani,

Sousa had but one standard-
the best.

From all corners of the earth
they were assembled.

Such men as Arthur Smith,
solo cornetist of London's
elite Coldstream Guard.

Henry Koch, America's
great French horn player.

A youthful Arthur Pryor,
trombonist,

who, a few years later,
would lead his own
distinguished band.

Monsieur Jambon, bassoonist
of the Paris Conservatory.

John S. Cox, Scotch flutist.

Richard Messenger, oboist.

Herr Schmidt, bass drummer
and timpanist from the
Garde du Corps of Berlin.

All coming together
at the opening of the great
World's Fair in Chicago...

to form the most famous band
the world has ever known-
Sousa's Band.

This was
the beginning of Sousa's first
grand tour with his own band-

the first of many grand tours-
which would take him
and his band...

to almost every city
and hamlet in America...

and eventually to almost
every country in the world,

and which would win for him
the title the "March King."

Where do you think
you are going?
Home!

If you're not-a prepared
to do as I tell you, why do you
bother coming here at all?

I've been wondering
about that myself.
Oh, wicked, ungrateful girl!

Wait till I tell Mr. Sousa
how he's been rewarded...

for all the time and money
he's-a wasted on your lessons.

You won't have to tell him.
I'll tell him myself!
Ooh!

Why you through so early?
I'm not through so early.
I'm through for good.

How's that?
I'm tired of trying to make
myself into something I'm not.

From now on, if you or anybody
else doesn't like the way I
sing, you don't have to listen.

Who said anything about
not liking the way-

I could take lessons from now
till doomsday and never be able
to sing the sort of stuff...

that man wants me to sing.
What sort of stuff?

Who does he think I am-
Jenny Lind?

What the-

Ooh!

Excuse me, ma'am.
A Miss Becker's
here to see you.

Miss Becker? Oh, Lily.

Show her in. And bring
another cup, please.

Yes, ma'am.

Why, Lily,
what a pleasant surprise.

Hello, Mrs. Sousa.
Mr. Sousa and I were
talking about you today.

He's very pleased with
the progress you're making.
He is?

In fact, though it's still
supposed to be a secret,

he's planning to take you
on his next tour.

That'll be very nice.
Thank you.

But I'll let him tell
you that himself.
Sit down.

You're sure
I'm not intruding?
I mean, if Mr. Sousa's-

Mr. Sousa's upstairs in
his study with his publisher.

They'll probably
be at it for hours.
Thank you, Thelma.

I always take cream,
but if you'd prefer lemon.

Oh, no, cream's fine.

You're upset
about something.
What is it?

Mrs. Sousa, how do
you get to be a lady?

A what?
A lady, like you.

Well, I- I don't know.
I'd never thought about it.

- I- I'm not always sure
I am a lady.
- Oh, yes, you are.

How do you know?

- You never raise your voice
or get mad, and you-
- And you do?

All the time.

- Well, what about Willie?
Doesn't he think you're a lady?
- Not anymore.

Why not?
What happened?
He kissed me.

Oh, he did.
He did.

And what did you do?

I slapped his face.
Then I kicked him.
Hard?

Hard as I could.
But-But that's not
what's worrying me.

It's that he knows
I liked being kissed.

Oh. And you don't think
a lady should like that?

Not when she knows
nothing can come of it,
that she can't get married.

But who says
you can't get married?

You know how Mr. Sousa feels
about members of the band
taking their wives on tour.

And- And when I get married,
I'm not staying home for anyone.

Has it ever
occurred to you...

that what
Mr. Sousa doesn't know
won't hurt him?

- As to being a lady-
- Confound it!
This is the last straw!

Let me try to explain!
You don't like it, you'll get no
more music of any kind from me.

All I said was-
I heard what you said.

The best ballad
I ever wrote in my life too.

Do you have to come through
here shouting like that?
I'm not shouting!

Can't you see I'm busy?
I'm busy too. Do you suppose
I'm playing tiddledywinks-

Now, what was I
talking about?

Oh, yes,
as to being a lady.

Isn't it really
a matter of what goes on
inside of you...

and not whether you raise
your voice occasionally,
or get mad,

or like to be kissed?

As a matter of fact,
I know some grand ladies
who like to be kissed.

Indeed, they insist
on it... regularly.

It's just being yourself
that counts.

So if you want my advice,
I'd say the next time
Willie kisses you,

you forget
all about slapping his face
and just kiss him back.

Hard?
As hard as you can.

And I'd waste no time
finding an opportunity
to do it either.

That's what I did when
Mr. Sousa first kissed me,
and look where it got me.

Come on.
I'll sing it for you myself
just to prove it.

Oh, no. No, dear. No, Philip.
That will ruin everything.

Philip! Philip!

Do you rent boats?
Boats? What do we
want with boats?

Do you?
What does that sign say,
"Keep off the grass"?

Come on, Willie.
Twenty-five cents.

What do we want with boats?
Please, Willie.
Come on. Get in.

Well, I'll be doggoned.
Hmm?

I never would have believed it.
Believed what?

That you'd deliberately go
to all of this trouble-

douse yourself with a whole
bottle of perfume- just to
get me to kiss you again.

I didn't!
Oh, yes, you did.

I did nothing of the sort!
You're crazy.

There was something fishy
about you wanting to come to
Central Park, hiring a boat,

when you know very well
you've never been in a boat
before in your life.

That's not true, and I
won't stay and listen to
another word. Take me back.

If that's what you want,
I don't mind.
I'd just as soon kiss you.

Don't you dare touch me!
I'll kick you again,
right out of this boat.

Go ahead and kick.
I'm used to it by now.
I'm warning you-

I didn't use
a whole bottle of perfume.
How much did you use?

Half a bottle.
Who cares?

It worked, didn't it?

Hey, I've got an idea.
What?

Why don't we get married
so's we can keep on doing this?
When?

I don't know.
The sooner, the better.
Willie, that's wonderful.

But we can't.
Who says we can't?

You know Mr. Sousa's rule
about wives traveling
with the band.

Oh, yeah.
I forgot about that.
No, it's all right.

Mrs. Sousa told me
he's going to take me
on his next tour anyway,

and, well, everyone knows
the rule only says husbands
can't take their wives.

There's nothing about wives
taking their husbands.

Anyway,
what he doesn't know
won't hurt him.

Thank you. Thank you.

With your permission,
we will now play
"The Washington Post" march,

the tune with which you have
chosen to introduce your
new dance, the two-step,

a dance which,
I am reliably informed,

is going to knock Mr. Strauss's
waltzes into a cocked hat.

Ladies and gentlemen,
Miss Lily Becker
and Monsieur Bonnet.

Now then, everybody
dance the two-step.

Miss Bellis,
may I have the pleasure
of this dance?

Oh, thank you, Mr. Sousa.
I'd be delighted.

Confound it, Blakely!

Can't whatever's agitating you
wait until I finish
dancing with my wife?

This telegram- It's from John
Purvis, manager of the Cotton
States Exposition in Atlanta.

It says we're canceled.
Really?
Does he say why?

The other two bands they've
had haven't drawn 10 cents.
What are we going to do?

We're going
to inform Mr. Purvis
that, like Caesar,

Sousa expects him
to render unto Sousa
that which is Sousa's.

After which it might be
advisable to get in touch
with our friends in Atlanta...

and wait
for the fur to fly.

Right.
Come, dear. We're missing
the best part of the dance.

Attend to that right away,
Blakely, please.

Mr. Little.
Oh, Mr. Sousa.
Nice dance, isn't it?

Yes, very nice indeed,
but the music sounds
a little thin.

That's only because you're
not conducting it, sir.

Upon my word, ma'am, I've
never danced with so charming
and graceful a two-stepper.

And upon mine, sir, I've never
danced with so charming
and flattering a liar.

Oh, porter.
Yes, sir.

Who's in that
drawing room
down there?

You mean the one the lady
who sings in your band's in?

That drawing room right there.
Yes, sir. That's the one
I mean. Miss Lily's.

You're sure of that?
Why, yes, sir.

I just made up her berth
about 10 minutes ago.

Do you want
to talk with her?
No. No, no, thanks.

No, it's all right.
Thank you.

Yes, sir.
Yes, sir, Mr. Sousa.
Good night.

Jennie. Do you know
what I just saw?
I'd say a ghost.

Worse than that.
I've never been
so shocked in my life.

Why, that boy's been
just like a son to me,
and that girl-

What boy, dear? What girl?
Willie Little
and Lily Becker.

Right under
our very noses too.

And after all the trouble
I've gone to to prevent
just this sort of thing.

What are you
talking about, dear?
What sort of thing?

You'll never believe it.
I hesitate even to mention it,
but something has to be done.

I just saw him
slipping into her room,
with my own eyes.

Really? What's the youth
of this country coming to?
Tsk, tsk, tsk.

You mean you condone
such conduct?

I'm highly in favor of it.
Jennie!

He's been slipping
into her room for weeks now.
What?

And why not? After all,
they're married.
Married?

Yes, dear.
Till death do them part.
But that's impossible.

They know how I feel
about husbands and wives
going on tour together.

Well, that's why you mustn't
let on you suspect a thing.

Next time,
just look the other way.

You sure no one saw you
come in here?

I didn't come in here.
I snuck in here.

That's what I don't like-
all this sneaking business.
We ought to tell Mr. Sousa.

Uh-uh.
That's part of the fun.
Suppose he finds out?

We can always say
I was walking in my sleep.

You mean you'd lie to Mr. Sousa
after he's been so wonderful
to both of us?

Listen, Mr. Sousa's got
other things to worry about
besides us.

He doesn't notice
little things like-

So you call being married
to me a little thing?

Oh! Oh!
Where's it hurt?
Honey, I'm sorry.

My ankle.
I'm sorry.
I shouldn't have jumped.

If it'll make it
feel any better,
go on and kick me.

Sandoval, the Strong Man!

Ah, good morning,
Mr. Purvis.
Morning, Colonel.

And how are things
going, huh?
Kind of slow.

Frankly, I'm sorry I ever
got mixed up with this job.

Too bad you had to
cancel Sousa's band.
Things might be different.

Now, listen, Colonel.

Brass bands don't draw flies,
especially brass bands
from up North.

Excuse me, Colonel. I got
a heap of things to do inside.
You go right ahead.

Yeow! It's Sousa!

Sousa?

Ladies and gentlemen,

let me introduce to you...

the most famous band leader
in the world today,

Mr. John Philip Sousa!

I am authorized
by Mr. Sousa
to announce...

that he will give
two concerts daily...

in the ballroom
of this building-
50 cents admission.

All receipts over and above
the actual expenses...

will be turned over
to the United Confederate
Veterans...

to do with
as they see fit!

- Ah, Mr. Pickering,
you have a word to add?
- Yes, Colonel.

Uh, Mr. Sousa has
asked me to read a sample
of the sort of programs...

you may expect to hear
inside this building.

"Overture to William Tell"
by Rossini.

Song: "Dixie."

Waltz: "The Blue Danube"
by Strauss.

Song: "Dixie."

"King Cotton" march
by Sousa.

Song: "Dixie."

I am further authorized
to state...

that all encores
will be "Dixie."

Yee-hoo!

Thank you, sir.

Before retiring
to the ballroom
for our first concert,

we would like,
with your permission,

to play one more selection.

Col. Randolph tells me it's long
been a source of satisfaction
here in the South...

that on the night
of General Lee's visit...

to General Grant
at Appomattox,

the Marine Band
in Washington-

of which I later had
the honor to be leader-

marched to the White House
to serenade President Lincoln.

On this occasion, one of
jubilation for the North,

of defeat and despair
for the South,

Mr. Lincoln asked for
only one tune-

that which you
have just heard, "Dixie."

In return
for that compliment,
we will now play,

assisted by the Stone Mountain
Church Choir of Atlanta,

another tune which has
come to be identified
almost exclusively...

with our late president.

Now the really fabulous years
were beginning,

and as he went
up and down the country,
back and forth across the seas,

marches, ballads, overtures-

gushing from
his fertile brain,

the whole world seemed bent
on doing Sousa honor.

From England came
the Victoria medal.

From France
the Palm of the Academy.

From Wilhelm of Germany,

Franz Joseph of Austria,

the tzar of all the Russians.

At home cigars
were named for him.

Every vaudeville theater
had its imitator.

Press and public alike
vied with each other to make
his name a household word-

every birthday
a national event.

Would you mind telling us
how old you are today,
Mr. Sousa?

Not at all.
Like the young lady in
Mr. Oscar Wilde's new play,

I became permanently 35
as soon as I reached 40.

How did you ever decide
to be a musician in the
first place, Mr. Sousa?

When I was young,
I had a fondness for rolling
a ball around the floor.

One day
a celebrated musician
suggested to my father...

that music lessons
would break me of
this unfortunate habit.

So I became a musician.
For you.

What's that?
Philip, come. Look!

Well, what is it, Jennie?

Bravo! Bravo!
Come on inside, boys,
and have a piece of my cake.

Always new- that was Sousa.

Always progressive,
as he had promised to be.

Forever seeking
new and diverting ways
of entertaining...

his vast and worshipful
audiences.

Gentlemen, it's quite possible
that very shortly you'll be
hissed out of the theater...

if, indeed, you're not hung
from the nearest lamppost.

But whatever happens,
you will have the satisfaction
of knowing...

that you acted strictly
in the line of duty.

I personally guarantee
that each of your widows will
receive a suitable pension.

Wow!

Bravo! Bravo!

Ladies and gentlemen,
I have just been informed...

that at exactly 49 minutes
past 9:00 this evening,

the battleship Maine
was blown up in Havana Harbor
and sunk.

Between 200 and 300
officers and men...

are reported to
have lost their lives
in the explosion.

While President McKinley
has urged the people
to remain calm,

well-informed sources
in Washington expressed
the opinion...

that only a miracle
can prevent war with Spain.

The army and navy have both
been ordered to be ready
for any emergency.

A call for volunteers
is expected momentarily.

Why do you, of all people,
have to be a hero?

Me? I'm shaking already.
John L. Sullivan's right.

If Spain wants to fight,
why doesn't she challenge
somebody her own weight...

and get a reputation first?

I'll mention that if I
run into any of them down
in Cuba, heaven forbid.

In the meanwhile, we'll-
Governor!

Well, good morning,
Willie, Lily.
What are you doing here?

Enlisting, sir.
What are you doing?

They still have bands
in the Marine Corps.

Sure, sir, but I thought
that you were too, uh-

That I was too old?
Oh, no, sir.
I just thought that-

Never mind.
Whatever it is, you're wrong.
Right, sir.

Well, hello, young fellow.
You got the war fever too?

All right. Now don't hurry me.
I know what you're after.
Let me see.

Oh, sorry. Not a penny.

Here you are, sir.
Oh, thanks very much, Willie.
Here you are, boy.

What's wrong?
You don't like spaghetti?
Sure, we love it.

Too much garlic?
No, it's fine.

You want
some more Chianti?
No, thanks.

If you want something else,
you better order because
we close 11:00.

Nothing else, thank you.
We just want to sit here
a little longer.

I've only got
a few more minutes.

Hey, listen.
Why don't you get married
so you have someplace to go?

We are married.
That's why we can't
be seen together.

Oh.

You'll probably
never write me.
Only every day.

I suppose we better go.
Not yet.

I'm going to
kiss you- just once-
then we're going.

In here?
In here.

Good night.
Good night.

Good night.
Thank you.

Why they don't get divorced
and marry each other-

Yes, Sousa was a volunteer, too,
but he was not to serve.

A severe case of typhoid fever
sent him to sea instead,

there to write the music
for De Wolf Hopper's new
comic opera, El Capitan.

But even at sea there was a war
to think about, and he-

But let him tell
in his own words
what happened.

Suddenly, as I paced the deck,

I began to sense
the rhythmic beat of a band
playing within my head-

ceaselessly playing- echoing and
reechoing the most distinct melody.

Though I did not know it then,
my brain band was composing
my most popular march,

not one note of which,
once I had transferred it to paper,

would ever be changed.

As you can see,
we're very busy.
Yes. I know, dear.

This just came
in the morning mail.

Thank you,
ladies and gentlemen.
That was splendid.

Uh, Lily, may I speak to you
a moment, please?

Ask Mr. Hopper if he'd like
to run through the "El Capitan"
march again, will you?

Yes, sir.
Hello, Lily, dear.

Hello, Mrs. Sousa.
I have a surprise
for you.

I've just had a letter
from Willie.
From Cuba?

Yes. Let's go over there and
find out what the young rascal
has to say for himself, hmm?

Sit down, dear.

Shall I read it,
or would you rather
read it yourself?

It's for you.
You read it.

"Dear Mrs. Sousa,
I'm writing to you
instead of to Lily...

"because you know what
a flibbertigibbet she is...

and how she starts carrying on
like a chicken with its head cut
off at the least little thing."

Lily, a flibbertigibbet?
He's out of his mind.

"I guess you know more
about the war back there
than we do down here,

"but I thought I'd tell you
about a little scrap we had
at Cuzco Well the other day,

"in case the newspapers
didn't figure out it was
big enough to write home about.

"Cuzco Well was the enemy's
only water supply...

"and naturally we wanted
to get them out of there.

"So 'C' Company
and 'D' Company-
That's me-

"started out early one morning
along with about 50 Cubans.

"It was only six miles
from camp, but in this heat
it seemed like 60.

Boy, was it hot.
Just like Washington in July."

I don't remember
that Washington
was so hot in July.

Then you have a short memory,
dear. Washington can be
unbearable in July.

Hmm. Never mind.
Go on, Jennie.

"Well, anyhow, it wasn't long
before the Spaniards caught on
to what we were up to...

"and cut loose on us.

"Luckily, one of our gunboats,
The Dolphin,

"was just offshore,
and so we signaled them
to start shelling.

"But I guess they must
have got mixed up,

"because instead of
shelling the enemy,
they began shooting at us.

"Sergeant Quirk, who is one
of the real heroes of this war,
if you ask me,

"stood up in clear sight
of everyone...

"and wigwagged to them
to cut it out, which they did.

But not quickly enough,
I guess, because that's
when I got it."

He's all right, Lily.
Don't worry.

Uh, you read
the rest of it, dear.

"I guess I'm the A-number-one
lucky fellow of this war...

"because I only got it
in the knee,

"when I might just as well
have got it where it would
be really bad.

"Anyhow, as I was telling
the doc last night,

"if worse comes to worst
and he does take it off-
which he won't-

"one leg's enough for anybody
who aims to sit around as much
as I do from now on.

"Besides, like a fellow
from West Virginia
was telling me,

"'You can't tell wooden legs
today from the real thing.'

"He says he's gonna get
a mahogany one so's he
can keep it polished up.

"But another fellow
I know from Mississippi
says that's crazy...

"and he's gonna get himself
a nice, soft pine one,

"so's when he gets bored,
at least he can do a little whittling.

"Tell Lily I said that
if she starts bawling...

"or gets any crazy ideas
about coming down here,

"I'm gonna head for
the tall timbers.

"The thing for her to do now
is to go on and be a big hit
in that show...

"because from now on,
she's liable to have to
support me-

and I mean in the style
I'm accustomed to."

- We should have told you.
We're married.
- Yes, we know.

You know?
Almost from the beginning.

It's been pretty difficult at times,
I can tell you, not to let on.

Shall I finish?

"I hope you and Mr. Sousa
and the children are fine...

"and that El Capitan's
as good as everything else
the governor's written-

"or better,
if that's possible.

"Well, I guess this will
have to be about all now,

"Love to all, Willie.

Tell Lily I said howdy."

Golly, that DeWolf Hopper's
sure got a powerful voice,
hasn't he?

Yes, the war was over
and, as from every war,

men were coming home-
the well and the strong,

the sick and the wounded,
the halt and the lame.

You can go right in,
Mrs. Little.

Hello.

Mr. Little, wake up.
You have company.

Lily.

Well, what a coincidence.

I was just dreaming about some
of those señoritas in Cuba...

when all of a sudden
I look up and-

I don't guarantee
this show.

Usually just
some of the fellows-
kind of amateurish.

We'll soon find out.

Did you know about this?
Of course.

I don't have to tell
everything I know, do I?

Good evening,
ladies and gentlemen.

It's a great privilege
and pleasure to be here
with you tonight,

and with your permission,
I'd like to play a new march...

which I've written
especially for you men
who fought this war.

Unhappily,
we are missing one musician,

a young man who plays not only
a unique but an indispensable
instrument in the band.

By a strange coincidence,
however,

I understand
that this young man
is here tonight.

I'm hoping he'll come up here
and help his old friends out
on this occasion.

- How 'bout it, Willie?
- Go on, Willie.

Hello, Willie.
Hello, Mr. Sousa.

Can you still read music?
I can read your music
in my sleep.

All right. Come on up,
young fellow. There's the old
monstrosity waiting for you.

Get over and let's see.

Hi, boy!
How's the old kid, huh?

Willie, it's good
to see you.

English - US - PSDH