Flying Down to Rio

Dismissed.

Boys.

Remember this, when Mr. Butterbass

calls you to attention...

...I want to see every eyelid snap.

- Yes, sir.

Take your posts.

- Good morning, young ladies.

- Good morning, Mr. Hammerstein.

About face.

That is one thing

I will not tolerate in this hotel.

Dismissed.

And now, the band.

Right over here.

Good morning, Popeye.

How dare you speak

when I have not asked you a question.

Now then, I have had several complaints

about all of you.

That's funny.

No one has complained me.

Silence.

I will dismiss, discharge and disqualify...

...any employee

who gets familiar with the guests.

But what happens

if the guests get familiar with us?

- Quiet.

- Please.

I have been imported from Switzerland

by the management of this hotel...

...to enforce discipline...

...and I will.

Where is the boss of this outfit?

Where is that loafer, Roger Bond,

and his assistant loafer, Fred Ayres?

Coming right down.

Yeah.

- How do you feel, boy?

- Yeah.

Well, this is all in one piece.

That's more than we'll be if we don't

get to that hotel in 29 seconds.

Come on, kid, will you?

Well, why don't he put

a kitchenette and bath in here?

- Crazy, I guess.

- Crazy nothing. That guy writes songs.

Well, that's screwy, ain't it?

It's so screwy

that he can buy a plane just like this.

No touch.

In just 10 seconds they go on the air.

If those two loafers aren't here

I'm going to fire them.

One, to make ready...

...two, to go...

Five, six, pick up sticks.

Afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.

This is Roger Bond and his Yankee Clippers

from the Date Grove of the Hotel Hibiscus...

...at Miami, Florida.

We offer for your pleasure

as our first selection...

..."Music Makes Me,"

with a complete vocalization...

...by that charming, bubbling,

effervescent little lady...

...Miss Honey Hale. Contact.

In me you see a sinner

And dancing is my crime

It seems a sin I've got to give in

To syncopated time

It makes me lose my dignity

It makes me lose my poise

Some folks call it music

My folks call it noise

I like music, old and new

But music makes me do the things

I never should do

Oh, I like music, sweet and blue

But music makes me do the things

I never should do

My self-control

was something to brag about

Now it's a gag about town

The things I do are never forgiven

And just when I'm living them down

I hear music, then I'm through

'Cause music makes me do the things

I never should do

I like music

I like it old

I like it new

But it makes me do the things

I never should do

I like music

I like it sweet

I like it blue

But it makes me do the things

I never should do

My self-control

was something to brag about

Now it's a gag about town

The things I do are never forgiven

And just when I'm living them down

I hear music, then I'm through

'Cause music makes me do the things

I never should do

When I hear music

Hey, Rog.

Go easy, will you?

Don't bite the job that feeds you.

Just what am I doing?

That Swiss bell ringer is on the level

about not fooling with the cash customers.

Hold your hats, boys.

Here we go again.

The Latin type.

Belinha, my head aches so badly.

I think I will go and eat an aspirin.

You will excuse me.

Do not rise.

- Titia, shall I go with you?

- No, stay.

But while I am gone

please do not introduce to Belinha...

...too many American customs.

Rog.

Hey, Rog.

The last time you had that look...

...all we had to live on for two weeks

was a can of prepared dog food.

His father owns

the sunny side of Wall Street.

And writes the preferred list.

They say if he'd only give up airplanes,

songwriting and leading orchestras...

...that he could name his own figure.

He could name mine any time.

You know, if a Brazilian girl

was half as interested in him as you are...

...and had half your freedom...

...she'd...

- She'd what?

- She'd get him over here, just for you.

- Oh, yeah?

You mean, she'd try?

Watch me.

Oh, Rog.

What is he doing now?

He just fell into the trombone.

You'd better have a heart, Belinha.

You'll break up the whole orchestra.

Whenever a Brazilian girl starts something,

she must finish it.

- Yes, madam?

- A pencil.

Yes.

Thank you.

Remember the dog food.

And it was the kind

they made out of fish.

Mr. Bond?

For you, sir.

From the lady, sir. The dark one.

After all, look at her.

What have I got to lose?

Only 20 jobs.

Since when is dancing a familiarity?

Perhaps it's a formal resignation.

She's smiling at him.

What have these South Americans got

below the equator that we haven't?

- Excuse me, sir...

- Tell Senhora De Rezende...

...that her niece is dancing

with the orchestra leader.

Hurry, please.

Oh, waiter, tell De Rezende

that Belinha is dancing with a musician.

- Yes, sir.

- Go on. Make it snappy.

Here, boy, tell Rezende

the kid is dancing with the drummer.

Okay, pop.

Tell the old sea lion that baby

is hoofing with a piccolo player.

- Oh, madam. Oh, madam.

- Yes?

Mademoiselle is going in a big way

for a gigolo.

Belinha? A gigolo?

My niece.

Is it possible?

The flower of the womanhood of the

Alves Lima De Castro Pimenta De Rezende.

Isn't it terrible?

Titia.

- This is my aunt.

- Oh, how do you do?

My niece thanks you for your politeness,

young man.

She will not require

any more of your services this afternoon.

Is the usual rate higher?

I am not familiar with such matters.

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