Be Kind Rewind

Everyone thinks Harlem

was the capital of jazz in the 1930s.

That all of New York flooded uptown

at night to party till dawn.

Nice story, but unfortunately,

it's just not true.

It was all happening in the little town

of Passaic, New Jersey.

Passaic was the capital of jazz

in the '20s and '30s...

... because of its own native son...

... Thomas "Fats" Waller...

... one of the greatest entertainers

of all time.

Chapter 1, the birth of Fats Waller.

It all began right here,

a hundred years ago...

... in Passaic, New Jersey.

Right here, on this block.

It was a different neighborhood then,

but look here...

... he was born at 261 Main Street.

When he was young, he used to follow

his father around the streets...

... because his father

was a street minister.

He started playing piano, as I understand,

out in the streets here in Passaic...

... on a harmonium.

Poor boy put on pounds

faster than the price of aluminum.

One-forty-seven.

Thomas, you're gonna break

Dr. Benton 's scale.

You're getting worse.

Maybe that's why he would have to play

a very huge instrument.

So he would spend nights here,

at the great organ.

Fats used the church

as his training ground.

And soon, all of Passaic

would know his name.

Fats lived his life all in excess.

Loads of music, loads of food

and loads of women.

Who would expect a simple influenza virus

would get him in his bed?

A sleeping-train bed, though.

But still, the train had been stopped

in the freezing cold winter...

... in the train station in Kansas City.

Fats, are you okay? Fats? You okay?

Is there a doctor on the train?

Fats was the star

that made the whole town shine.

Hey, Jerry, hand me Number 9.

I will give you

- Okay. All right.

- Number 9

Handing you number

- Would you shut up?

- Number 9

Could you just paint

and be quiet, please?

Knock it off.

It's terrible.

- What the duck, Jerry?

- What?

I asked you to give me Number 9,

the nose.

Yeah, that's what I did.

No, you didn't. This is Number 6.

This is the eye.

All right, well, how am I supposed to tell

the difference between a six and a nine?

Because we did both the eyes already,

you doofus.

Come on, get organized.

I told you, put the finished ones

in a separate pile.

Look, what's the difference, man?

A nostril and an upside-down eye

are the same anyway. It looks fine.

Oh, is that supposed to be funny?

Are you trying to say Fats had big nostrils?

- Jerry.

- Hi, officer, how's it going?

Look what happened. Last night,

some hoodlums came and did...

- Oh, really?

...all this stuff here, this...

- Here we go again.

- It's disgusting.

- I hate graffiti.

- Yeah, they even left the ladder.

That's, like, evidence.

We should confiscate it.

- Catch them.

- Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sure.

You're getting on my nerves.

You keep this up,

you'll be spending the night in jail.

- Okay.

- Moron.

If... If they come back for the ladder,

we'll catch them.

Hey, fellas, is that supposed to be

Biggie Smalls or something?

No, man, that's that dead old blues guy,

Louis Armstrong.

No, my ignorant little buddies,

this is Fats Waller.

- Really?

- Famous jazz musician.

He was born in my building

about a hundred years ago.

- Ice cream, anyone?

- Oh, yeah.

That's what I'm talking about.

Mr. Fletcher, you know,

really, seriously...

...if you don't like the painting,

you can... You can tell me.

I know that there's something wrong

with the nose, I don't know if you noticed.

What about the authorities, Mike?

The city already has issues

with the building as it is.

Mr. Fletcher, you don't have

to worry about the police.

- I worked my magic on them.

- Yeah, he did confuse them.

Okay, they think some gangsters did it.

- And you confused them?

- Yeah, with my finesse.

Yeah, I feel great. You sure

this is gonna bring us more customers?

I hope so. I mean, anyway, don't you think

it's time the people around here...

...started to learn a bit little about, you

know, the history of their neighborhood?

I mean, people don't even know

who Fats is.

- It's a little embarrassing.

- Hey. Hey. That's not true.

- We know who Fats Waller is.

- Is that right?

Bet you can't sing a jazz song.

- Oh, challenge.

- Uh-oh. Uh-oh.

That's not jazz.

Fuzzy, oh, oh

Fuzzy wuzzy was a bear

Fuzzy jazzy had no hair

Fuzzy wuzzy wasn't fuzzy, was he?

Yes, he was, he was Fuzzy

Had a fuzzy face

Check this out and let me say

One thing to you

Watch me play my fuzzy bass

Standup bass.

I'm sorry, Mr. Fletcher.

It's all right, Jerry. I got it.

Actually, you gotta go back to work.

Duty calls. You gotta

go back to the microwave.

I think I saw one of your creations

just roll by.

- Turn the microwave on high.

- You think it's a joke?

Let me tell you, you're gonna

be responsible for my brain tumor.

- All of you guys are.

- Where the hell is Jerry?

Man, what's her problem?

She said she wanted a sporty car,

now she's freaking out.

You did that?

- I don't want this.

- Don't forget your salad bowl.

I told you she wouldn't be

into them big pipes.

Polish or not, she's still a girl.

Come on, Wilson.

She couldn't get the doors open.

Well, she could have went through

the window.

These damn helmets.

I don't think they're helping

with the microwaves at all.

Oh, you'll thank me.

- All right, I'll see you in the morning.

- All right, thanks.

Good night, Mike.

Don't forget to turn out the lights.

Good night, Mr. Fletcher.

A rent party was the place to be

in the '20s and '30s.

They were jumping.

If you didn't have enough money

to cover your rent...

...you'd invite a few musicians,

charge for drinks, and you'd get it on.

Everybody would throw

just a little bit in the pot.

A dollar, whatever they could spare.

Jerry doesn't believe you've ever been

to a rent party, Mr. Fletcher.

What are you talking about?

I never said that.

Oh, man, I used to go to all of them.

That's where I'd meet

all the girls on Saturday night.

I can't imagine you with a girl,

Mr. Fletcher.

Oh, nice, that's great. That's perfect.

Yeah, what about you, Jerry?

I don't see much action

coming out of your trailer at night.

When I was your age,

my balls were flapping so hard...

... I had to scrape them off the ground

and beg them to come home with me.

- Come on, balls.

- Yeah, come on.

Come on. That's hilarious.

What about you, Mike?

When was the last time you heard

some action coming out of his room?

Why are you all worried about me for?

I heard some action sometime.

Now, it's more like a trumpet solo.

Trumpet solo.

Could you close your mouth

when you chew? Thanks.

How come you never got married,

Mr. Fletcher?

Well, the common story is...

...the girl that you was gonna ask,

you waited too long to ask...

...and she went on

and married somebody else.

And then you can't find anybody

that compared to her.

So, what happens? You get old.

Obviously we're looking

at a real improvement in quality of life.

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