Florence Foster Jenkins Page #3

Mr McMoon.

- Could we speak, Mr Bayfield?

- Yes, of course. What is it?

Well, uh, I thought I was being hired

to accompany Madam Florence's lessons.

Hm-hm.

I'll be honest with you, Mr Bayfield,

I think Madam Florence

might need a little more preparation

before she sings in public.

- We've been rehearsing for a month.

- Well, I know.

But from time to time,

she can be a little...

- Hmm?

- ..flat.

- Flat?

- A tad. Well, just a tad.

Carlo Edwards

didn't mention any flatness,

and he is the leading vocal coach

in the city.

Jeez, Mr Bayfield, we can't be talking

about the same singer.

I mean, her vocal cords,

they don't phonate freely.

Her phrasing is haphazard.

As for her subglottal pressure...

it defies medical science.

Is her instrument quite what it was?

Perhaps not.

But as Beethoven said,

a few wrong notes may be forgiven,

but singing without feeling cannot.

Mr Bayfield, is there any way I could do

the lessons but not the concerts?

- No, I'm afraid not.

- But I have my reputation to think of.

Oh, really? And what reputation is that?

If you want to go back to playing

for tips in a steakhouse, be my guest.

Oh, Cosm, Florence is very fond of you,

she's paying you well and she knows,

well, she knows everyone.

But, Mr Bayfield...

And she has sung

in dozens of sell-out concerts.

She has a magnetism

that her followers adore.

I understand that, but what if less

educated members of the public show up?

No, you're right, we must exclude

the hoodlum element

and ensure that only

true music lovers gain entry.

These events take

all kinds of careful preparation.

So, five down and two to go.

And have you attended

one of Madam Florence's concerts before?

No, but I heard all about her.

(chuckles)

Well, I'm afraid we're giving priority

to Verdi Club members at the moment.

But I came all the way from Brooklyn.

I'm so sorry. Next, please.

- (phone rings)

- Not a music lover.

You take over. Two dollars a pop.

Mr Stark, how very nice.

That's Mr Bayfield.

Yes, thank you for calling back.

The poster.

"President and founder,

Florence Foster Jenkins",

that should be larger, 28 point.

If asked, your favourite composers

are Mozart, Verdi and Beethoven.

Phineas, try to get this

through your fat head.

I am not interested

in your bullshit music club, OK?

Agnes, please.

My God.

June 4th, Saturday night at 8pm.

Oh, I do so hope you can be there.

Well, unfortunately we are rehearsing.

- Oh, on Saturday night?

- Well, we rehearse all the time.

Oh, my God.

It's Toscanini, the conductor.

Hmm, I thought it was Toscanini,

the anchovy paste salesman. Huh?

Finally, the line below that

should read:

"Directed by St Clair Bayfield,

eminent actor and monologist."

"Eminent", yes.

Kisses for Mommy.

Kiss monster.

Thank you, Mr Lipshitz.

Thank you very much.

St Clair, who is that vulgar woman?

- The new Mrs Stark, I imagine.

- What happened to the last one?

- Who is that man, anyway?

- Phineas?

- Hmm.

- He sells meat in cans.

- Very wealthy. Very generous.

- Oh.

I understand Agnes isn't a member.

She's new to the world

of classical music.

But she's very keen to learn.

Well, in that case,

I think we can make an exception.

- Four dollars, please.

- Thank you so much.

A whole world of pleasure

awaits you, Mrs Stark.

Well, you can never have

too much pleasure.

Right?

Oh, right.

So, that is two tickets for the Levis

and a dollar change.

- Thank you.

- Now, then.

Oh, Mr Bayfield. I am so excited.

Well, we all are.

I have put you in row E, Mrs Vanderbilt.

E for elegance. Four dollars if I may.

- Excuse me.

- Thank you.

They're getting through the potato salad

like gannets. Is there any more?

Let me check.

How's it going, Kitty?

Are we running low?

I think we should be fine, Mr Bayfield.

- Very good. I'll take that.

- Thank you, Mr Bayfield.

There's an Earl Wilson here.

Send him in. Thank you, Kitty.

(Kitty) Through there.

- Earl Wilson of the New York Post.

- How do you do, Mr Bayfield?

How do you do?

I read your column. It's great fun.

- Thank you.

- What brings you here?

I was hoping

I could get a ticket for the concert.

Oh, well, I'm afraid we're all sold out.

Oh? Carlton Smith

from the Musical Courier has got one.

So has Stubbs from World Bugle.

I'm not sure it's an event

that would interest the readers

of the New York Post.

My editor would disagree. There's

quite a buzz around town about it.

He sent me down here himself.

So, can I get that ticket?

Why not?

Thank you.

Voil.

I just need the ticket.

It's both or neither, Mr Wilson.

Then I'll trouble you no more.

- Good evening.

- Good evening.

(woman laughs) Yes.

(woman) Darling. Augustus is here.

Ah, what a surprise.

- How are you, Augustus?

- (Augustus) Couldn't be better.

I hear your play was a triumph.

I am a second-rate playwright

and we all know that.

But I'm a first-rate friend, the latter

outweighing the former, I feel.

With knobs on.

- So, is it really true?

- What's that?

Madam Florence

is taking to the stage once more?

- Yes.

- Ah, it's been too long.

- How much are tickets?

- I'm afraid we've already sold out.

- You can't be sold out.

- I'm so sorry.

- St Clair, don't be a silly arse.

- Yes, don't be a silly arse, St Clair.

The concert is for true music lovers,

not mockers and scoffers

like you and your artistic friends.

When have I ever mocked or scoffed?

The lady is an eloquent lesson

in fidelity and courage,

and that's why we love her.

Please, St Clair.

Do you want to see a grown man cry?

Be a sport, darling,

and I'll make it up to you.

- No, I'm sorry.

- Please.

No. Non. Nyet.

(man) Tickets, please.

Thank you. Tickets, please.

You're very lucky to be here.

You've made promises

and I'm holding you to them.

I've brought some friends. Music lovers.

We'll see. I'm watching them carefully.

Carlton Smith. And Mr Stubbs.

We're greatly honoured.

I hope you enjoy the evening.

- We will, St Clair.

- Fingers crossed.

Tell the ushers that absolutely no one

gets in without a ticket. No exceptions.

And if Earl Wilson turns up from the

Post, they politely show him the door.

Mr and Mrs Stark. How very nice.

Will you forgive me?

I have an important nose to powder.

This is beautiful, isn't it?

Oh, God.

- All set?

- I guess.

They are going to adore you.

You have my word.

(whimpers)

(groans)

Too many? Too many feathers you think?

The perfect number of feathers.

Restrained and elegant.

- I'm so nervous, Whitey.

- Oh, don't be.

- Are you nervous, Mr McMoon?

- Somewhat.

You have a full and very warm house

and you are both

going to be sensational.

Ready?

Hm-hm. Yes.

Break a leg.

House lights, please.

This is what we live for, isn't it?

This moment.

(applause)

Oh, my God.

( "Adele's Laughing Song"

from "Die Fledermaus")

O noble sir

How far you err

You're really not discreet

Therefore my advice

is that you look twice

When judging those you meet

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