Mr. Brown: Quentin Tarantino
Mr. White: Harvey Keitel
Mr. Blonde: Michael Madsen
Mr. Orange: Tim Roth
Mr. Pink: Steve Buscemi
Mr. Blue: Edward Bunker
Nice Guy Eddie: Chris Penn
Joe: Lawrence Tierney
Tarantino, aka Mr. Brown, finishes his “Like a Virgin” monologue at the diner as Reservoir Dogs opens.
Hence… Like a Virgin.
Mr. Brown looks around at the table feeling very proud of his interpretation and explanation.
The other gangsters look at each other, raise their eyebrows, sigh, and mutter as the waitress clears the plates at the table.
What… you guys think I’m off? You think “Like a Virgin” wasn’t about a “fuck machine” feeling the pain of a giant dick…? Reminding her—…
Nice Guy Eddie interrupts before Mr. Brown goes off on another rant.
Nice Guy Eddie
Do I look like a fucking idiot?
For that matter, do we look like fucking idiots?
Or that English is our second fucking language?
Next thing you’re gonna tell us, is that Jimmy Cliff’s “I Can See Clearly Now” is about a guy that just had a personal fucking breakthrough.
Table laughs, Mr. White, Mr. Orange, and Mr. Pink find it quite amusing.
Or that “New York ‘New York” is about Sinatra realizing he made it in the Big Apple.
It just occurred to me in the song, “That’s Life,” Frank was actually singing about the ups and downs of living!
Fuck me! This whole time, I thought he was singing about that terrible fucking cereal!”
The whole table is laughing, except for Mr. Brown, who is trying to take the mocking with a smile, but it is forced. He waits for the laughter to subside to rebut their ridicule.
Laugh it up… laugh all you want, but I’m telling ya, my theory is deep—
As deep as that John Holmes muthafucka?
More laughter and louder, other tables around the diner notice.
Sounds like you found that theory in one of those tunnels that ole Johnny Holmes was digg’n into the Material Girl.
Laughter, Mr. White bangs on the table, he is next to tears and trying to catch his breath. Mr. Orange, smiling, lights another cigarette.
(Holding out his coffee cup)
Anyone see that waitress?
There is a palpable silence at the table now.
Most of the men light cigarettes, Joe continues to look through his little black book. Waitress drops off the check and ignores Mr. Pink holding out his coffee cup.
Mr. Blonde has been leaning back in his chair enjoying the banter from afar, smoking a cigarette and enjoying his coffee. He continues to smile, he chuckles to himself, and stares directly at Mr. Brown.
Mr. Brown notices.
What the fuck you staring at?
The silence at the table turns to stillness.
Except for Mr. Blonde who smiles a bit more, and seems amused to be put on the spot, but not intimidated one bit.
Mr. Blonde has been sitting at the table the entire time, but even when he’s present within the group, he always seems to be on his own island.
He leans forward and puts out his cigarette. Looks at the waitress passing and raises his cup. She comes by and fills his cup, as Mr. Blonde prepares some sugar packets. Mr. Pink holds out his cup and the waitress leaves.
The table still silent, everyone except for Joe has their attention focused on Mr. Blonde. Joe, the boss of the entire crew, is lost in his little black book.
Bet me what?
Mr. Blonde continues to prepare the cocktail of sweetener and milk for his coffee.
Mr. Blonde pours in his last container of table creamer, as he takes a long pull off his cigarette.
Anyone here a bookie?
I know a guy.
Mr. Blonde exhales a cloud of smoke.
I betcha ya didn’t know… that Three Dog Night actually knew a bullfrog named Jeremiah.
Some at the table chuckle. Mr. Brown sighs a bit, almost in relief but also in disbelief, as he was anticipating a much heavier, more challenging statement from the always unpredictable Mr. Blonde.
Mr. Brown slightly regroups and gathers himself into a cool and cold gangster, readying himself to verbally spar with Mr. Blonde.
Not surprised. So, the band had a fucking bullfrog for a pet. So what.
It wasn’t a pet. He was a very close associate; despite the fact he didn’t speak English.
That’s why they never understood a single word he said!
Mr. White and Eddie find this very funny. Mr. Blonde waits for the laughter to die down.
Bingo. ‘Cause the frog spoke Hebrew.
Table erupts in laughter.
The frog was Jewish? What was he, their agent?
Mr. White and Nice Guy Eddie are in hysterics.
Mr. Brown is slightly amused.
Wasn’t their agent, though I think he may have produced one of their albums. He’s produced others.
I guess you’re gonna tell me they were all best pals, and the frog lived in a vineyard where he made fucking chardonnay.
Yep—in the Valley, though…
(pulls on his cigarette)
he made merlot.
Mr. White and Eddie still laughing.
Mr. Blonde, neither amused nor unamused, drinks his coffee and lights another cigarette.
Okay, yeah real fuck’n funny. I get it. I get it. I’ll keep my theories to myself from now on. Fuck you, guys.
This isn’t a theory. This is a fact.
Mr. White still chuckling a bit but trying to assess if Mr. Blonde is joking or not.
He toured with them for a while mainly as a roadie.
Mr. White and Eddie start to laugh but see how serious Mr. Blonde has become at the moment. Mr. Blonde smokes his cigarette, and just stares at Mr. Brown.
Mr. Brown looks back, but also glances around at everyone else, trying to feel out if Mr. Blonde is serious or if Mr. Brown is the butt of a practical joke.
(to Joe, referring to Mr. Blonde and Mr. Brown)
These guys? Really?
Joe, not paying attention, sitting next to Mr. Pink, looks up from his little black book.
So, what’s the name of this amphibious merlot? If I stop at a store on the way home, what’s the name on the bottle I’m looking for? “High flyer?” “Rainbow Rider?” Some shit like that?
Oooh! Deep Blue Sea!
Eddie and Mr. White laugh.
Mighty Fine. Mighty Fine wine—right, because he always had some “mighty fine wine.” Of course, right, right, right.
I’ve never had it. But I’ve heard it’s good.
Must be—it inspired a classic from Three Dog fucking Night.
I’ve seen those bottles at a few stores, come to think of it.
Yeah, me too…
Eddie nods, as does Mr. Blue while pulling off his cigarette.
The rest of the table is quiet, some amused, but also confused as to what is behind Mr. Blonde’s motivation right now.
Good to know. Good to know. Good to fucking know that my theory was skinned and filleted but Mr. Blonde’s story about a bullfrog, that just happens to be an Israeli immigrant, former Three Dog Night roadie, record producer and the proprietor of Napa vineyard was basically unchallenged. Good to fucking know.
Mr. Blonde chuckles, pleased with Mr. Brown’s reaction, continues to stare at Mr. Brown. Mr. Brown briefly looks at Mr. Blonde, then back down at his coffee.
The rest of the table is quiet, looking down at their respective cups as well, or just staring ahead.
Also, “Like a Virgin” is about being in love again.
How do you know?
Frog told me.
You speak Hebrew?
Mr. Blonde smiles, while Mr. Brown just stares in disbelief. Other members exchange glances.
Thanks, Joe. Thanks for bringing me along with this fucking crew.
(looks up from little black book)