A Hard Day's Night1964

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 for you, and you'll learn it. Can you 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. Get him whatever it is they drink, uh, coke-a-rama?

George:
Ta.

Simon Marshall:
Well, at least he'd 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 quite touching, really. Here's this kid, giving 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:
No, I won't.

Simon Marshall:
You can be replaced, chickie baby.

George:
I don't care.