Almost Famous Monologues

A high-school boy in the early 1970s is given the chance to write a story for Rolling Stone magazine about an up-and-coming rock band as he accompanies them on their concert tour.

Hey, mom! It's Russell Hammond. I play guitar in Stillwater. Hey, how does it feel to be the mother of the greatest rock journalist we've met? Hello? Hello...? Look, you've got a really great kid here. There's nothing to worry about. We're taking good care of him, and you should come to the show sometime - join the circus...

From here on out, I'm only interested in what is real. Real people, real feelings, that's it, that's all I'm interested in, from here on out.

Hey William, we showed you America. Did everything but get you laid.

You know, I think we both wanted to, uh, to be with her. I guess she wanted us to be together.

You, Aaron, are what it's all about. You're real. Your room is real. Your friends are real. Real, man, real. You know? Real. You're more important than all the silly machinery. Silly machinery. And you know it! In eleven years its going to be 1984, man. Think about that!

Oh, my God. Holy shit. Fuck! I grew up with that lampshade. I love this kitchen. I fucking love this kitchen!

They say you're dangerous. You see everything. Most people... are just waitin' to talk, but you listen.

I never said I was a golden god... or did I?

I grew up with these guys, but I can't play all that I can play. I'm past 'em, as musicians; but the more popular we get, the bigger their houses get, the more responsibilities, the pressure, you know - the harder it gets for me to walk out on them. What am I doing? I'm telling secrets to the *one* guy you don't tell secrets to.

Don't worry, no one's getting hurt here. She knows Leslie's coming to New York tomorrow. This is the circus, everybody's trying not to go home. Stop looking at me like that.

iI doesn't sound like music anymore, you know, it sounds like… lifestyle maintenance, or something.

Well, tell your friend, Miss Penny Lane, to call me. Tell her it ain't California without her. We want her around, like last summer. Say it just like that.

We play for the fans, not the critics.

Come on, man. Come on. Come on. Come on. Let's go find something *real*.