Brian Epstein of a Liverpool record store is asking around about the Beat Brothers. We are supposed to gape and gawk at the idea of The Beatles ever languishing in that kind of obscurity. Brian's lackey corrects him that it's The Beatles, and the band plays every lunch hour at The Cavern Club. He decides to have a listen.
The Cavern Club is crammed with humanity, mostly of the female variety. The Beatles sing "Love is Strange." Epstein wades through the crowd and watches people's enraptured faces. Fat Johnny is sweating again. John and Paul do a bit about chewing gum, and the crowd goes wild. Epstein is so entranced that his eyes bulge, he turns red and a vein in his forehead throbs. Lordy, imagine what he'd do during orgasm. Wait, no -- don't imagine that. Epstein has the look of love in his eye, which changes to startled pleasure when the club owner singles him out and draws the crowd's attention to his presence. Lennon asks him to wave, which he does. Lackey Girl spots him and whispers, "They're great, aren't they?" Epstein says Lennon is especially compelling, calling him "marvelous" and slobbering all over himself in the process.
Epstein gathers The Beatles in his office and asks to become their manager. "You guys are enormously talented, underpaid, and underexposed," Epstein insists. John replies, "Give us more money, and we'd be happy to expose ourselves." I have a flashback to the scene of Fat Johnny in his boxers, and I pray hard for Epstein to cut their pay instead. Epstein blathers on about national publicity and scoring a recording contract, but Paul would rather find out why Epstein's so qualified to run a band. "Because I'm a successful businessman with contacts everywhere in music," Epstein says. He blahs about how special they are, blah snore blah teamwork, blah zzzz "make England stand up and take notice." Paul raises his eyebrows, wondering how many standing-up-and-taking-notice Englishmen could fit inside his flaring snout. John, oh-so desperate to fulfill the "teamwork" obligation, agrees to sign the papers without conferring with the other guys.
Oh, and by the way, somewhere amid these non-compelling vignettes and nose-pickings, John Lennon and Paul McCartney started penning songs, birthing one of music history's best song collections and one of its most heated love-hate partnerships. But, whatever -- the world would rather know why Cynthia dyed her hair and whether Aunt Mimi disliked George. Way more enthralling.