The Runaways (2010)
Joan Jett: Hey, what kinda amps do you guys got?
Guitar Teacher: Um, I think for now we'll remain... unplugged.
Joan Jett: No man, I wanna play, like Chuck Berry. "Johnny B. Goode", you know?
Guitar Teacher: We'll get there. We'll get to Johnny. But for now... 'On top of Old Smoky. All covered with snow. I lost my true sweetheart. From a-courtin' too slow... '
Joan Jett: "Old Smoky"? That's goofy, man. How 'bout "Smoke on the Water"? Come on, I know you know that one.
Guitar Teacher: Finger the E chord, like so. 'On top of Old Smoky... '
Joan Jett: 'All covered in blow... I dumped my poor sweetheart... for screwin' too slow.'
Kim Fowley: Joan! This is Joan Jett. And you are?
Cherie Currie: Cherie.
Kim Fowley: Cherie? Cherie what?
Cherie Currie: Currie.
Kim Fowley: Cherie Currie. That's your real name? Tell me, Cherie Currie, can you sing or play a musical instrument?
Cherie Currie: Yeah. Yeah, I can sing. I won a talent show lip-syncing David Bowie. Why?
Kim Fowley: "Why?" ask the maybe-great Cherie Currie. Read my lips. We love your look. We're choosing you to become a part of rock 'n' roll history. Do you want to be in the band?
Cherie Currie: Are you kidding?
Kim Fowley: How old are you?
Cherie Currie: Fifteen.
Kim Fowley: Jail fucking bait. Jack fucking pot!
Marie Currie: You took Mom's black heels?
Cherie Currie: Like, she's ever worn anything twice? Anyway, you should be more worried about her finding out about how old your skanky boyfriend is.
Marie Currie: I'm sorry. Does your boyfriend have a car? I'm sorry, do you even have a boyfriend?
Kim Fowley: Dog shit! Urine-stained dog shit! Rock 'n' roll is a blood sport, a sport of men. It's for the people in the dark, the death cats, the masturbators, the outcasts who have no voice, no way of saying "I hate this world, my father's a faggot, fuck you, fuck authority - I want an orgasm!" Now, growl! Moan! This ain't women's lib, kiddies - this is women's libido! I wanna see the scratch marks down their fucking backs! Now, do it again. Again. Like your boyfriend just fucked your sister in your parent's bed. Like you want a fucking orgasm!
Cherie Currie: What is this?
Sandy West: It ain't baby shampoo. I call it the dirty sink. A little bit of everything from my parent's liquor cabinet. Just a little, so they can't tell I'm dipping into their stash.
Cherie Currie: My dad would notice - he likes his booze.
Sandy West: Is he an alcoholic?
Cherie Currie: No, he just likes it. He says that's the difference. He likes to drink, he doesn't need to drink.
Sandy West: I like to drink.
Joan Jett: The dirty sink is where we're gonna be puking that shit up tomorrow.
Sandy West: Hey, Salt 'n' Pepper - race you down the hill.
Joan Jett: You're fucking on.
Kim Fowley: You hear that? That's the sound of hormones raging.
Sandy West: It's still not working. Dicks aren't even hard.
Joan Jett: Are you rubbing?
Sandy West: Yeah. I think I'm doing it wrong.
Joan Jett: Try using the shower head. Now, think about someone you really have a crush on.
Sandy West: Still not working.
Joan Jett: How about Farrah Fawcett? Do you like her?
Sandy West: Yeah, who doesn't? Oh. Wait, I think I feel something!
Sandy West: Oh shit! Oh God!
Kim Fowley: Joan, come here. Bring your guitar. We have to do it for her, I guess. Cherie? Cherie.
[listens to Joan's guitar]
Kim Fowley: She's a wild child. She's a wild girl.
Joan Jett: Yeah.
Kim Fowley: She's a wild girl. She's a, oh she's a firecracker. Give me something else. Something else. Firecracker, rocket, bomb, bomb. Cherry bomb! Cherry bomb.
[Joan changes guitar riff]
Kim Fowley: Do it again. She's a ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb! Ahh!
Joan Jett: [laughs] That's good!
Kim Fowley: Yeah. Cherry bomb, right. Hello daddy.
Joan Jett: Hello mom? I'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb! That's good!
Kim Fowley: Right? Yeah!
Marie Currie: You know how many new bands think they're gonna make it?
Cherie Currie: Kim thinks we got a real shot.
Marie Currie: Kim Fowley? That guy's a total creep. Seriously, I heard he has a coat made out of dog fur.
Cherie Currie: Well, excuse me if I don't wanna work at the Pup 'n' Fry for the rest of my life.
Cherie's Mom: Places everybody! Places! Come quickly, I have the most wonderful news!
Marie Currie: What's all the commotion about?
Cherie's Mom: Well, we're moving to Indonesia!
Marie Currie: What? What do you mean?
Cherie Currie: What do you mean, "we"?
Marie Currie: You're leaving? You're leaving us?
Cherie's Mom: No. No. Nobody's leaving anybody! We're a family. We'll always be a family. This is just something that we have to do right now.
Cherie Currie: Why?
Cherie's Mom: Wolfgang and I are getting married and, and he lives in Indonesia. You girls are welcome to come along. I've spoken to your father and he says you're more than welcome to stay with him at Aunt Evie's.
Cherie Currie: Well, where exactly are we gonna sleep at Aunt Evie's?
Cherie's Mom: He bought you a brand new sleeper sofa. Top of the line! It's really not that bad.
Cherie Currie: Why can't we at least just stay here?
Cherie's Mom: Because you're 15 years old. Just calm down. This is a transition, not a tragedy. We're all gonna be fine!
Cherie Currie: Stop saying "we". There's obviously no "we" there's a "you". There hasn't been a "we" since you kicked Dad out for leaving water rings on the furniture!
Cherie's Mom: Don't be so dramatic, Cherie.
Cherie Currie: Oh, coming from the actress. Places, places everyone!
Kim Fowley: Pig stink! They'll eat you alive out there! Rock 'n' roll is tough music played in tough venues! Men don't like to seem women anywhere but in their kitchens or on their knees - let alone on stage with guitars. Now, buckle up and get ready for boot camp, babies - you're gonna be trained like the Viet fucking Cong.
Kim Fowley: Bring it in!
[Guys filter in carrying crates filled with junk]
Kim Fowley: Okay, filthy pussies, today is heckler's drill. These degenerates here are not your fans. They're not here to tell you how pretty you look, they don't want your fucking autographs. They want to hurt you. They want you to retreat. Do not.
[the girls look at each other wearily]
Kim Fowley: Now, move it, move it - I wanna see you bitches to the death dance. Play!
[Guys start throwing bottles and bricks and garbage]
Kim Fowley: Incoming!
Kim Fowley: Cherie Currie. Cherry bomb. Sex kitten. Brigitte Bardot in a trailer park. Joan Jett. The rock 'n' roll heart, street tough brunette. Sandy West. Miss California with a joint in her mouth and a chip on her shoulder. Lita Ford. The love child of Sophia Loren and Ritchie Blackmore. You do not wanna fuck with Lita.
Joan Jett: Hey, fuckin' heckler's drill really worked. This girl threw a bottle at my face... smashed it right back at her!
Kim Fowley: You girls did the death dance in there. Showed those little punks how to cock fight.
Cherie Currie: I love you.
Marie Currie: I love you, too. Don't forget about the little people.
Cherie Currie: You're taller.
Joan Jett: [to Cherie] Open up, ya filthy varmint. This is compliments of your non-alcoholic father.
Joan Jett: Hey, what the fuck? Plug me back in!
Band Member: Watch your mouth, kid, or we'll have to turn you over to child services.
Joan Jett: Fuck you, old man!
Sandy West: [band member throws a cigarette at Joan] Hey, what's your fucking problem, man?
Joan Jett: Hey man, I wouldn't. It's a lose-lose situation.
Band Member: How's that?
Joan Jett: Well, if you win, you beat up a girl. If you lose, you get beat up by two.
Sandy West: Teenage ones.
Band Member: All right, sound check is canceled. Maybe if you ever headline, you'll get one. Now why don't you go to your rooms, and do your fucking homework or something?
Joan Jett: Like, we need a sound check.
Sandy West: Pretty soon, you'll be opening for us!
Band Member: Opening your legs, maybe.
Joan Jett: Hey kid, wake up, we got some bad news.
Cherie Currie: [tired] What?
Joan Jett: Fuckin' Kim, man. He snaked us.
Cherie Currie: What?
Joan Jett: Remember how he was all, you gotta pay your dues, that's how we're gonna get a record deal, blah-fucking-blah? Well, he was right. We fucking did it!
Cherie Currie: What?
Joan Jett: That Frankenstein-looking, crazy motherfucker did it! Mercury fucking Records! Mercury fucking Records!
Cherie Currie: We got signed?
Joan Jett: Yep! We're going to Hollywood in like an hour, we're gonna tell the rest of the girls. Get your little ass ready!
Scottie: [to Cherie] Wake up, we're almost there. Hey, if you're holding any drugs, get rid of them... Now.
Joan Jett: What the hell are you wearing?
Cherie Currie: I'm thinking with my cock.
Joan Jett: More like, a boner, man.
Cherie Currie: I think I'm gonna wear it.
Joan Jett: Where? To the strip club?
Cherie Currie: What the fuck is this?
Sandy West: That was pretty nasty, Kim.
Kim Fowley: That - is what we call controversy. That - is what we call publicity. That - is what we call a juicy story. And you're welcome. Because of me, that piece is twice as long and half of it is about you! This is press, my budding young starlet - not prestige. Get used to it. Now get in the booth and finish the song. I got this place on lock-out and I'm paying through the fucking nose. So let's go, let's go. Sing. Sing!
Cherie Currie: No.
Kim Fowley: No?
Joan Jett: Come on, Cherie, let's just finish and go home.
Lita Ford: Yeah, get in the booth, Cherie.
Joan Jett: Shut the fuck up, Lita. Shut the fuck up!
Lita Ford: You shut up.
Cherie Currie: I'm not singing.
Kim Fowley: Of course you're singing. You're a singer, Cherie! That's what you do. You sing and you strut around in your underwear. You do what I tell you to do. And right now, I'm telling you to get in the booth. So get in the booth.
Cherie Currie: No.
Kim Fowley: Mm. Get in the booth, Cherie.
Cherie Currie: No.
Kim Fowley: Get in the booth.
Cherie Currie: No.
Kim Fowley: Get in the booth before I lose my patience and send you back where I rescued you from.
Cherie Currie: Good! Send me back, I don't give a shit! I wanna go back!
Kim Fowley: Careful... Get in the booth.
Cherie Currie: No!
Kim Fowley: Get in the booth!
Cherie Currie: No! I'm not gonna be your little lap dog anymore! You've been speaking for me this whole time! You get in the fucking booth! I'm done!
Lita Ford: What's the matter? No flash bulbs? No one to fall over, while you sing?
Joan Jett: That's enough! Cherie, come on, we need to finish. Just bring the bottle. Cherie!
Lita Ford: Cherie? Hey, Cherie! I gotta take a piss. Would that be okay with you? 'Cause if not, I could just hold it in!
Cherie Currie: You can piss your fucking pants for all I care!
Lita Ford: I am gonna piss down your fucking throat!
Joan Jett: Lita! Calm down! That's enough! Calm down!
Lita Ford: Why? Why are you always defending her, Joan?
Kim Fowley: Cherie Currie! Welcome. You look great. What song are you going to sing for us today?
Cherie Currie: Um, "Fever".
Kim Fowley: "Fever"?
Lita Ford: A Peggy Lee song?
Sandy West: Who's Peggy Lee?
Joan Jett: My mom likes Peggy Lee.
Lita Ford: Kim, you should have told her. We don't play that shit.
Cherie Currie: Suzi Quatro covered "Fever".
Lita Ford: It's a slow song. We don't play slow songs.
Joan Jett: Well, can you do a different song?
Cherie Currie: Yeah, it's just the only one I learned for today.
Kim Fowley: [interrupts] Go! Wait outside. Go. Go!
Lita Ford: [throws magazines at Cherie] What is this?
Cherie Currie: What's your problem?
Lita Ford: What's your fucking problem?
Joan Jett: Lita, that is cool.
Lita Ford: It's not cool! Did you know about this?
Cherie Currie: Kim sent them over. They just showed up at my house with cameras. What was I supposed to say?
Joan Jett: Well, you could say no. You could say "I'm a singer in a band, not Linda fucking Lovelace." Look at this! When did you do this? This is exactly what Kim wants. He's gonna be really happy! But this is all they're gonna say about us! Do you think anybody's gonna take us seriously?
Cherie Currie: Son of a bitch, it's just publicity. It helps everyone.
Joan Jett: Well, what were you thinking? Publicize the music! Not your crotch!
Kim Fowley: What in the fuck have you girls been doing over there?
Joan Jett: We've been practicing, man! Like you said.
Kim Fowley: Well, get back to it. You bitches are gonna be bigger than the fucking Beatles!
Kim Fowley: You dog cunts'll be lucky getting your next gig singing in the fucking shower.
Kim Fowley: The Runaways were... a conceptual rock project that failed. Do I regret that they turned on me? No, I'm glad they turned on me. It shows spirit. If I'm training a wild dog, and it bites my hand, I know I've trained it well... My hand is made of iron... That's all it took, that's all it took. 16 years old and she's already a creep. Am I worried about them? No, they'll be fine. In a few years, they'll all be living in a trailer park in the valley. Fat, pregnant and happy as fleas on a dog. But me, poor me, I'm on my way to becoming Rock and Roll Legend.
Tammy: I wish I could play. I'd be in a band with you.
Joan Jett: Yeah, well you can't.
Tammy: I hear Cherie's trying the acting thing. You don't need her. You should go solo. Like Bowie. Bowie's just Bowie, he doesn't need any band.
Joan Jett: They were my songs. I wrote them. She just sang them.
Tammy: Yeah, but people always remember the singer.
Cashier: [Cherie tries to purchase a handle of vodka] Um, I can't sell you this.
Cherie Currie: I have my ID.
Grocery Store Manager: Yes, what can I do? Uh, I'm sorry, but, we won't be able to sell you that.
Cherie Currie: I'll have you fired. Replaced. Just like that.
Grocery Store Manager: I'm gonna have to ask you to leave, please. Right now.
Cherie Currie: You're nothing but dog shit, Mister. And you. You're just a filthy... pussy.
Joan Jett: [singing] Acting tough with looks that kill. You got me going and I can't stand still. My arms are dying to hold ya tight. You're my little dark dynamite, you know. I love playing with fire, and I don't wanna get burned. I love playing with fire, and I don't think I'll ever learn.
Cherie Currie: Hey Derek, did Marie tell you she's not wearing any underwear?
Tammy: My brother says guys don't like girls who are tough. He says guys like girls to be soft and flirty.
Joan Jett: He would say that, he's a pussy.
Tammy: He does spend a lot of time doing his bangs.
Joan Jett: Uh, are you Kim Fowley?
Kim Fowley: Lemme guess. You sing in a band. And it's the greatest fucking band in the world. And I'm the luckiest dogfucker because I get to hear it first.
Joan Jett: I'm, uh... I'm Joan Jett. I play guitar. Electric guitar.
Kim Fowley: Joan Jett, that's a cool name. You guys got a demo?
Joan Jett: No... No guys, man. I want to start an all-girl rock band.
Kim Fowley: Really. Well, maybe I am the luckiest dogfucker after all... Sandy! Sandy the drummer, this is Joan Jett. She claims to be some sort of guitar goddess.
Joan Jett: Well, I didn't say that... that "goddess" thing.
Sandy West: It's cool.
Kim Fowley: Repeat after me: 'I'll give ya something to live for. Have ya, grab ya until you're sore.'
Cherie Currie: I can't say that.
Kim Fowley: What? Oh, Okay. Goodbye. Go sell girl scout cookies. Who's next?
Kim Fowley: [to Cherie] I like your style. A little Bowie, a little Bardot, and a look on your face that says I could kick the shit out of a truck driver.
Joan Jett: No man, I like "Airplane" better. "Jefferson Starship" sounds like a fucking Disney ride or something.
Cherie Currie: My mother's gonna kill me. She's gonna take a gun and kill me. Don't you guys have any kind of curfew?
Joan Jett: Nah, my dad split. He was the strict one.
Cherie Currie: Yeah? Mine left, too. Well, he didn't really leave, ah, he was kicked out and replaced.
Joan Jett: Do you take the garbage out now?
Cherie Currie: Yeah. Well, me and my sister.
Joan Jett: Yeah, me too.
Sandy West: What the fuck?
Cherie Currie: What, we're supposed to all share one bed?
Lita Ford: Fuckin' Kim, man!
Kim Fowley: Yeah, I was gonna form a band of dwarves, you know, but their hands were too small. They couldn't hold their instruments.
Record Executive: Well, these girls can certainly hold their instruments.
Kim Fowley: And their liquor.
Kim Fowley: Girls nowadays, they don't have any role models. This band is self-empowerment, man - Aphrodite, Cleopatra, Eurydice! No more second-class status, sitting at concerts with asshole boyfriends who worship bands from a Popular Mechanics evalutation of amplifiers. The Runaways have the most chance of any group I've seen... To do with the Beatles did. To tear this world apart.
Cherie Currie: I'm taking a break.
Lita Ford: Again?
Kim Fowley: No, you're not. You dogs wanna stay up all night, eating pussy, sucking cock, chewing Quaaludes, that's fine. But not until you get this song down. Now, do it again: One! Two! Three!
[the girls start playing]
Kim Fowley: Horse shit! Horse shit!
Kim Fowley: What are you laughing at? You think you can sing like that in front of people? In front of customers? You bitches need to start thinking like men. No snips, no snails, no puppy dog tails - men wanna fuck! Men want this! Filthy pussy! And you're gonna give it to them. You're gonna put it in their faces and then take it away, just to break their fucking hearts. What's wrong, Cherie, are you tired?
Cherie Currie: Yeah.
Kim Fowley: Yeah, are you bored?
Cherie Currie: Yeah, I am, actually.
Kim Fowley: Well, guess what? You're not allowed to be tired, you're not permitted to be bored. You're an employee. You are my property, and you'll do as I say or you can go flip tacos with your better-looking sister.
Cherie Currie: Fuck you, Kim. I'm losing my voice. I'm taking a break.
Kim Fowley: Hey! News flash, diva: This ain't the opera. They're not coming to hear your chops. They're not coming to hear you bang on your drum. We are in the music business. You wanna be artists, cut off your fucking ears and mail them to your boyfriends. You wanna be rock stars, listen up. Now, Cherie's lack of greatness - her lack of rock 'n' roll authority - is getting in the way of our product. What is that product? Sex! Violence! Revolt!
Kim Fowley: Are you becoming one with Japan?
Joan Jett: Well, I dunno - I learned how to use chop sticks.
Marie Currie: Hello? Cherie, can you hear me?
Cherie Currie: What?
Marie Currie: It's me! Marie. Dad's sick. You gotta come home.
Cherie Currie: Who?
Marie Currie: Dad. He's sick. You gotta come home, okay? Turn the music down.
Cherie Currie: Who? I don't have a home. Do you have a home?
Scottie: [to Cherie] Don't worry about them... You're the one they want. You're voice. It's your face on the T-shirts.
Joan Jett: There's an all-girl rock band in Korea now.
Cherie Currie: Yeah?
Joan Jett: Yeah, the singer thinks she's you. They're shit.
Cherie Currie: Did Marie call?
Marie Currie: Well, if it isn't Mary, mother of God. What, no disciples? No cameras?
Cherie Currie: Just me.
Cherie Currie: So, uh... Do I have to actually say all the things I want to say or do we still have the, you know - sister thing?
Cherie Currie: Hi, Daddy.
Cherie's Dad: Hi, Kitten.
Cherie Currie: We have money, okay? You have money. We're gonna be fine.
Cherie Currie: I think I just need a break... From the band.
Joan Jett: If you haven't noticed, Cherie, we're in the middle of cutting a record.
Cherie Currie: I just gotta spend time with my family, you know?
Joan Jett: Who? Your mom in Indonesia? Your drunk dad? Are we not your fucked up family now?
Cherie Currie: I can't do this anymore. I need my life back, you know?
Joan Jett: This is my life.
Cherie Currie: [intoxicated on the phone] Hola mana! I'm... gonna need you to come pick me up.
Marie Currie: I can't, I'm at work. I have to go.
Cherie Currie: Places everyone! Places! Places! Places...
Joan Jett: It's too perfect!
[breaks into dressing room]
Sandy West: Hey! These jerk-offs had better food than we did. Well, you gotta pee right? Pee in this shit.
[holds out a cup]
Sandy West: Hey, what are you doing man? You can't pee on their guitars!
Joan Jett: I don't give a fuck. No, I do actually. It will probably add to their sound.
Kim Fowley: [to Sandy and Joan while rehearsing] Halt! I know what we're missing. I know what we need.
[He shows them a picture of Brigitte Bardot on a motorcycle]
Kim Fowley: Huh?
Joan Jett: Yeah.
Sandy West: Bitchin!
Kim Fowley: Vroom Vroom!
Cherie Currie: [singing] Hey street boy, what's your style? Your dead end dreams don't make you smile. I'll give ya something to live for. Have ya, grab ya till you're sore! Hello daddy, hello mom, I'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb! Hello world, I'm your wild girl, I'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb!