School of Rock

- All right, rockers, time for a little freestyle jam sesh.

Freddy, you ready to pound those skins?

Locked and loaded.

- Zack, Tomika, you fools ready to shred?

- Bring it. - Let's do this.

Oh.

You both scare me, and I dig it.

Lawrence, you all set to tickle those keys?

- Oh, come on, they get to pound and shred,

and I have to tickle?

Fair point.

Wail on those keys like they just called your mama "stupid."

- That woman does the best she can

with the tools she was given.

- Yeah. Yeah, that's right, rock--

- Summer, banging on the tambo.

Okay, Summer.

Double tamb!

- Okay. You can--

[music ends, tambourines continue playing off-key]

Sweet jam sesh.

I think we're ready to lay that track down.

- Summer, the tambourine

is a subtle instrument.

It makes more of an impact when it makes less of an impact.

You feel me?

- I think. So you're saying I should do less?

Well, if you say so.

As a matter of fact,

let's get you a brand-new, slightly more quiet instrument.

Bang these together, hard as you want.

Just feel the music.

But how will anybody--

Two, three, four!

- Yeah, there we go, people. Now we're jamming.

- Five, four, three, two, one.

No?

Okay.

He's late, again.

- I don't get it. How much time does it take to not shower?

- Here is today's bulletin, Mr. Fi--Mr.--

Class, where is Mr. Finn?

Is he tardy? - Shh.

- Principal Mullins, I'm so glad you're here.

Oh. Why?

Uh, I'm not sure.

- We wanted to show you our class hamster.

Oh, my gosh. Nibbles escaped.

- And he took his cage with him.

My homework too.

- Before we look for hamsters, let's find Mr. Fi--

- Oh, hello, Principal Mullins.

I didn't hear you come in.

- But I-- I mean, you--

I know.

We're all at a loss for words about Nibbles.

But life goes on.

- Well, don't worry, children.

I'm sure your hamster will turn up.

You know, I have some extras in my office.

Black or brown?

Black, please.

Whew!

Thanks for covering for me, guys.

- You need to be careful, Mr. Finn.

You've been late a lot,

and Principal Mullins hates tardiness.

- What? When have I ever been late before?

Good morning, students.

Good work, guys.

You nailed it.

Great effort.

See you guys tomorrow!

Okay, fine.

But let's get started.

We still need to find one more amazing, original song

to end our set at the Battle of the Bands.

- What about our poetry homework?

Songwriting is poetry.

If you'd ever listen to AC/DC, you'd know that.

Great bands can't exist without great songwriting.

So who's our songwriter?

- We don't have one but don't worry.

I put an ad online, so I'm sure we'll find a great songwriter,

and hopefully, I'll sell that futon.

I'll be our songwriter.

- Have you ever written a song before?

- No, but I do write our family's newsletter.

Uncle Mark went to Peru.

- Oh, well, felicidades to Uncle Mark.

But it isn't that easy.

Songwriting is a craft you have to work at.

It takes time.

You got to write hundreds of songs

before you can master the art.

What's this?

- 100 songs. I wrote them.

- Since yesterday? - I know.

I would've written more, except I had to do my algebra homework,

which was the motivation for my song "Algebra Homework."

"Y equals five.

Why, oh, why must Y equal five?"

Instant classic.

Mm-hmm.

There's another song here, "Grocery List,"

that looks like it's just a grocery list.

"Apples, paper towels, bread, bread, bread."

"Bread" is the chorus.

- Ah, ha ha. - Yeah.

Um...

Summer, I respect you too much to lie to you,

so I'm gonna give you some constructive criticism.

- Okay. - These songs are awful.

Like, crazy bad.

- Mr. Finn, constructive criticism

is supposed to be about specific things.

- Well, specifically, this...

is terrible.

- I get it. I'm not good enough for anything in this band.

Oh, come on.

If you really want to write a song,

look at some of your favorite artists

and find out how they do it.

- You mean like a research project?

- I call it sitting around and listening to music,

but whatever works.

- Thanks, Mr. Finn. I'm on it.

Anytime.

Just 'cause I'm singing it doesn't mean it's good.

Pop quiz--

Van Halen with David Lee Roth or Van Halen with Sammy Hagar?

- Trick question. Both. - Oh, Mr. Finn, Mr. Finn.

I'm glad I ran into you.

Hello, Principal Mullins.

Lovely day, isn't it?

You look very principal-y.

Thank you.

Mr. Finn, there's something I'd like to speak

to you about in private.

Can you meet me in my office this afternoon at 3:00?

Oh, private meeting.

What are we gonna do--

talk smack about all the teachers we can't stand?

Love it.

I'll bring snacks.

Pound it.

- I don't know what's happening right now.

Yeah.

What's up, fellas?

Why are your mouths open like that?

- Principal Mullins said she wanted to speak with you,

in private.

- You don't think she wants to date, do you?

I really don't need the drama of a workplace romance right now.

- When Principal Mullins speaks to a teacher,

it's almost always to fire them.

- Wait. You think she wants to fire me?

I hope not.

This school would stink without you here.

It would just be like...school.

It's true, Mr. Finn.

Thanks to you, I've got confidence.

Plus, you helped me work on my game with the ladies.

- Hi, Lawrence. - What's up, Esme?

I'm falling.

In the old days, that would have gone badly.

- You have to impress Principal Mullins in the meeting

and keep your job.

So far, you've only had to deal with Mullins

for five minutes, tops.

- This is an actual meeting.

You're looking at a full half hour of good behavior.

- You're right, my record for good behavior is 11 minutes.

I'm toast.

No, we can help you.

I know what it takes to impress adults.

I've been fooling my friends' moms into thinking

I'm a good influence for years.

- It's true. My mom's all, "Why can't you be more like Freddy?"

She brought a picture of him to my last haircut.

Mm. That's just weird.

And the barber didn't even come close.

- You've taught us how to be rock stars.

Now let us teach you how to behave like an adult.

- Okay, mold me. - Lesson one--

at the meeting, don't wear flip-flops.