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Ringo: I demand to see my soliciter.
Constable: Oh, what's his name?
Ringo: Well, if you want to be technical about it...
Constable: Oh, what's his name?
Ringo: Well, if you want to be technical about it...
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Ringo: I don't snore.
George: You do, repeatedly.
Ringo: Do I snore, John?
John: Yeah, you're a window rattler, son.
Ringo: That's just your opinion. Do I snore, Paul?
Paul: With a trombone hooter like yours, it would be unnatural if you didn't.
Grandfather: Now, Paulie... don't mock the afflicted.
Paul: Ah, come off it, it's only a joke.
Grandfather: Aye, it may be a joke to you, but it's his nose. He can't help having a hideous great hooter. And the poor little head, trembling under the weight of it.
George: You do, repeatedly.
Ringo: Do I snore, John?
John: Yeah, you're a window rattler, son.
Ringo: That's just your opinion. Do I snore, Paul?
Paul: With a trombone hooter like yours, it would be unnatural if you didn't.
Grandfather: Now, Paulie... don't mock the afflicted.
Paul: Ah, come off it, it's only a joke.
Grandfather: Aye, it may be a joke to you, but it's his nose. He can't help having a hideous great hooter. And the poor little head, trembling under the weight of it.
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Simon Marshall: We'd like you to give us your opinion on some clothes for teenagers.
George: Oh, by all means. I'd be quite prepared for that eventuality.
Simon Marshall: Well, not your real opinion, naturally. It'll be written out, and you'll learn it. Can he read?
George: 'Course I can.
Simon Marshall: I mean lines, ducky, can you handle lines?
George: Well, I'll have a bash.
Simon Marshall: Good. Give him whatever it is they drink, uh, Coke-a-rama?
George: Ta.
Simon Marshall: Well, at least he's polite. Show him the shirts, Adrian. [Adrian, Simon's assistant, hands George some shirts] Now, you'll like these. You'll really "dig" them. They're "fab," and all the other pimply hyperboles.
George: [Gives the shirts to Dolly, the secretary, unimpressed] I wouldn't be seen dead in them. They're dead grotty.
Simon Marshall: "Grotty"?
George: Yeah, grotesque.
Simon Marshall: [To Dolly] Make a note of that word and give it to Susan. It's rather touching, really. Here's this kid, trying to give me his utterly valueless opinion, when I know for a fact that within a month, he'll be suffering from a violent inferiority complex and loss of status, because he isn't wearing one of these nasty things. Of course they're grotty, you wretched nit. That's why they were designed. But that's what you'll want.
George: I won't.
Simon Marshall: You can be replaced, chickie baby.
George: I don't care.
Simon Marshall: And that pose is out too, Sonny Jim. The new thing is to care passionately and be right-wing. Anyway, if you don't cooperate, you won't meet Susan.
George: And who's this Susan when she's at home?
Simon Marshall: Only Susan Canby, our resident teenager. You'll have to love her, she's your symbol.
George: Oh, you mean that posh bird who gets everything wrong?
Simon Marshall: I beg your pardon?
George: Oh, yeah. The lads frequently sit 'round the television and watch her for a giggle. In fact, once, we all sat down and wrote these letters, saying how gear she was and all that rubbish.
Simon Marshall: She's a trendsetter. It's her profession.
George: She's a drag - a well-known drag. We turn the sound down on her and say rude things.
Simon Marshall: [horrified] Get him out of here...
George: Have I said something amiss?
Simon Marshall: Get him out. He's knocking the program's image.
George: Sorry about the shirts.
Simon Marshall: Get him out!
George: Oh, by all means. I'd be quite prepared for that eventuality.
Simon Marshall: Well, not your real opinion, naturally. It'll be written out, and you'll learn it. Can he read?
George: 'Course I can.
Simon Marshall: I mean lines, ducky, can you handle lines?
George: Well, I'll have a bash.
Simon Marshall: Good. Give him whatever it is they drink, uh, Coke-a-rama?
George: Ta.
Simon Marshall: Well, at least he's polite. Show him the shirts, Adrian. [Adrian, Simon's assistant, hands George some shirts] Now, you'll like these. You'll really "dig" them. They're "fab," and all the other pimply hyperboles.
George: [Gives the shirts to Dolly, the secretary, unimpressed] I wouldn't be seen dead in them. They're dead grotty.
Simon Marshall: "Grotty"?
George: Yeah, grotesque.
Simon Marshall: [To Dolly] Make a note of that word and give it to Susan. It's rather touching, really. Here's this kid, trying to give me his utterly valueless opinion, when I know for a fact that within a month, he'll be suffering from a violent inferiority complex and loss of status, because he isn't wearing one of these nasty things. Of course they're grotty, you wretched nit. That's why they were designed. But that's what you'll want.
George: I won't.
Simon Marshall: You can be replaced, chickie baby.
George: I don't care.
Simon Marshall: And that pose is out too, Sonny Jim. The new thing is to care passionately and be right-wing. Anyway, if you don't cooperate, you won't meet Susan.
George: And who's this Susan when she's at home?
Simon Marshall: Only Susan Canby, our resident teenager. You'll have to love her, she's your symbol.
George: Oh, you mean that posh bird who gets everything wrong?
Simon Marshall: I beg your pardon?
George: Oh, yeah. The lads frequently sit 'round the television and watch her for a giggle. In fact, once, we all sat down and wrote these letters, saying how gear she was and all that rubbish.
Simon Marshall: She's a trendsetter. It's her profession.
George: She's a drag - a well-known drag. We turn the sound down on her and say rude things.
Simon Marshall: [horrified] Get him out of here...
George: Have I said something amiss?
Simon Marshall: Get him out. He's knocking the program's image.
George: Sorry about the shirts.
Simon Marshall: Get him out!
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T.V. Director: [Approaches the Beatles] Now, look. If you think I'm unsuitable, let's have it out in the open. I can't stand these backstage politics.
John: Aren't you turning to black-and-white the situation somewhat?
T.V. Director: Well, quite honestly, I wasn't expecting a musical arranger to question my ability, picture-wise.
John: [To the others] I could listen to him for hours.
John: Aren't you turning to black-and-white the situation somewhat?
T.V. Director: Well, quite honestly, I wasn't expecting a musical arranger to question my ability, picture-wise.
John: [To the others] I could listen to him for hours.
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[John walks towards some stairs, a woman, Millie, notices him]
Millie: Hello.
John: Hello.
Millie: Oh, no, wait. You are-
John: I'm not.
Millie: Yes, you are, I know you are.
John: I'm not, no.
Millie: You look just like him.
John: Do I? You're the first one that's said that, ever.
Millie: Yes, you do, look. [Shines an overhead light to a mirror on the wall for John to look at]
John: [After looking in the mirror] Nah, my eyes are lighter. See, me nose...
Millie: No, I think your nose is very...
John: Is it?
Millie: Well, I would have said so.
John: You know him better, though.
Millie: I do not. He's only a casual aquaintance.
John: That's what you say.
Millie: What have you heard.
John: [Whispers in her ear] It's all over the place.
Millie: Is it? Is it really?
John: Mmmhmm. But I wouldn´t have it. I stuck up for you.
Millie: I knew I could rely on you.
John: Thanks.
Millie: [Looks at John with her glasses, then nods] You don't look like him at all.
[John shyly nods, puts his hat on and walks up the stairs, briefly looking back]
John: She looks more like him than I do.
Millie: Hello.
John: Hello.
Millie: Oh, no, wait. You are-
John: I'm not.
Millie: Yes, you are, I know you are.
John: I'm not, no.
Millie: You look just like him.
John: Do I? You're the first one that's said that, ever.
Millie: Yes, you do, look. [Shines an overhead light to a mirror on the wall for John to look at]
John: [After looking in the mirror] Nah, my eyes are lighter. See, me nose...
Millie: No, I think your nose is very...
John: Is it?
Millie: Well, I would have said so.
John: You know him better, though.
Millie: I do not. He's only a casual aquaintance.
John: That's what you say.
Millie: What have you heard.
John: [Whispers in her ear] It's all over the place.
Millie: Is it? Is it really?
John: Mmmhmm. But I wouldn´t have it. I stuck up for you.
Millie: I knew I could rely on you.
John: Thanks.
Millie: [Looks at John with her glasses, then nods] You don't look like him at all.
[John shyly nods, puts his hat on and walks up the stairs, briefly looking back]
John: She looks more like him than I do.
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[Ringo goes to the closet to put his jacket away, opens the door, then promptly closes it and walks back to the others.]
Ringo: Hey, any of you put a man in the cupboard?
George: Nah.
John: Don't be soft.
Ringo: Well, somebody did.
[George goes to the closet, opens it, seeing the man inside, closes the door and comes back.]
George: He's right, you know.
John: There ya go.
Ringo: Hey, any of you put a man in the cupboard?
George: Nah.
John: Don't be soft.
Ringo: Well, somebody did.
[George goes to the closet, opens it, seeing the man inside, closes the door and comes back.]
George: He's right, you know.
John: There ya go.
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[Ringo has gone missing.]
Paul: Split up and look for him.
John: Right.
[Paul goes one way, John and George follow him. Paul turns around, sees them right behind him.]
John: We've become a limited company.
Paul: Split up and look for him.
John: Right.
[Paul goes one way, John and George follow him. Paul turns around, sees them right behind him.]
John: We've become a limited company.
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[In a female voice] I now declare this bridge open.
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[Regarding Ringo] He's very fussy about his drums, you know. They loom large in his legend.
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[Sees Ringo reading a magazine while wearing a Queen's guard bearskin hat] Hey, he's reading the Queen. That's an in-joke, you know.
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[Wearing a beard, looking into a mirror] My name's Betty.
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Come in, number seven, your time's up!
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Control yourself, you'll spurt.