Coco2017

Miguel:
[finishing his opening narration] Sometimes I look at de la Cruz, a-and I get this feeling, like we're connected somehow. Like… if he could play music… maybe someday, I-I could too! [Cuts to him at the plaza revealing he's actually talking to a mariachi guy.] If it wasn't for my family.

Mariachi:
[impatient] Ay, ay, ay, muchacho.

Miguel:
Huh?

Mariachi:
I asked for a shoe shine, not your life story!

Miguel:
Oh yeah, sorry. [shines his shoes] I just can't really talk about any of this at home, so...

Mariachi:
Look, if I were you, I'd march right up to my family and say, "Hey! I'm a musician, deal with it!"

Miguel:
I could never say that.

Mariachi:
You are a musician, no?

Miguel:
I-I-I don't know. I mean... I only really play for myself.

Mariachi:
Nah! Did de la Cruz become the world's best musician by hiding his sweet, sweet skills? No! He walked out onto that plaza and he played out loud! [spots something] Ah, mira, mira! They're setting up for tonight! The music competition for Día de Muertos! You wanna be like your hero? You should sign up!

Miguel:
Uh-uh, my family would freak!

Mariachi:
Look, if you're too scared, then, well...have fun making shoes! [pauses] Come on, what did de la Cruz always say?

Miguel:
"Seize your moment"?

Mariachi:
[showing his guitar] Show me what you got, muchacho. I'll be your first audience.

[Miguel takes the guitar and is about to play when...]

Abuelita:
[in the distance, furious] MIGUEL!

Miguel:
Ah! [gives the guitar back and Abuelita is stomping up the street with Rosa and Berto following.] Abuelita!

Abuelita:
What are you doing here?!

Miguel:
Um... oh... uh...

Abuelita:
[thrusts her shoe in the mariachi's face] You leave my grandson alone!

Mariachi:
Doña, please! I was just getting a shine!

Abuelita:
I know your tricks, mariachi! [to Miguel] What did he say to you?

Miguel:
He was just showing me his guitar.

[Berto and Rosa gasp]

Berto:
Shame on you!

Abuelita:
[pushing her shoe further] My grandson is a [childishly] sweet, little angelito, perrito, cielito! [furiously, pushes him off the bench] He wants no part of your music, mariachi. You keep away from him. [The marachi crawls away and takes his hat with him.] [to Miguel, childishly] Ay, pobrecito! [hugs him] Estas bien, mijo. [kisses his head; furiously] You know better than to be here in this place! You will come home, NOW.