conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a plot for a story about Jones, Emperor, Brutus entitled The Emperor Jones.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Emperor Jones (1933 film): At a Baptist prayer meeting, the preacher leads a prayer for Brutus Jones, who has just been hired as a Pullman Porter, a job that served the upward mobility of thousands of African-American men in the first half of the 20th century.\nJones proudly shows off his uniform to his girlfriend Dolly (and the film\'s audience, setting up the contrast with the later scenes in which "the Emperor Jones" parades around in overdone military garb) before joining the congregation for a spiritual.\nBut Jones is quickly corrupted by the lures of the big city, taking up with fast women and gamblers.\nOne boisterous crap game leads to a fight in which he inadvertently stabs Jeff, the man who had introduced him to the fast-life and from whom he had stolen the affections of the beautiful Undine (played by Fredi Washington).\nJones was imprisoned and sent to do hard labor.\n(A stint on the chain gang allows the film its first opportunity to show Robeson without his shirt on, an exposure of male nudity unusual for 1933 and certainly for a black actor.\nHere and later the director plays on Robeson\'s sexual power and, implicitly, on cultural stereotypes about the libidinal power of black men) Jones escapes the convict\'s life after striking a white guard who was torturing and beating another prisoner.\nMaking his way home, he briefly receives the assistance of his girlfriend Dolly before taking a job stoking coal on a steamer headed for the Caribbean.\nOne day, he catches sight of a remote island and jumps ship, swimming to the island.\nThe island is under the crude rule of a top-hatted black despot who receives merchandise from Smithers, the dilapidated white colonial merchant who is the sole Caucasian on the island.\nJones rises to become Smithers\' partner and eventually "Emperor".\nHe dethrones his predecessor with a trick that allows him to survive what appears to be a fusillade of bullets, creating the myth that he can only be slain by a silver one.\nJones\'s rule of the island involves increasing taxes on the poor natives and pocketing the proceeds.\nThe highlight is a twelve-minute spoken monologue taken directly from O\'Neill\'s play, in which Brutus Jones (Robeson), hunted by natives in revolt, flees through the jungle and slowly disintegrates psychologically, becoming a shrieking hysteric who runs right into the path of his pursuers.\nThis section was written as a nearly autobiographical account by O\'Neill, who had gone off to Honduras the year after his graduation from Princeton and gotten hopelessly lost in the jungle, resulting in hallucinatory fears.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: \nThis section was written as a nearly autobiographical account by O\'Neill, who had gone off to Honduras the year after his graduation from Princeton and gotten hopelessly lost in the jungle, resulting in hallucinatory fears.\nJones proudly shows off his uniform to his girlfriend Dolly (and the film\'s audience, setting up the contrast with the later scenes in which "the Emperor Jones" parades around in overdone military garb) before joining the congregation for a spiritual.\nBut Jones is quickly corrupted by the lures of the big city, taking up with fast women and gamblers.\nOne boisterous crap game leads to a fight in which he inadvertently stabs Jeff, the man who had introduced him to the fast-life and from whom he had stolen the affections of the beautiful Undine (played by Fredi Washington).\nJones was imprisoned and sent to do hard labor.\n(A stint on the chain gang allows the film its first opportunity to show Robeson without his shirt on, an exposure of male nudity unusual for 1933 and certainly for a black actor.\nHere and later the director plays on Robeson\'s sexual power and, implicitly, on cultural stereotypes about the libidinal power of black men) Jones escapes the convict\'s life after striking a white guard who was torturing and beating another prisoner.\nMaking his way home, he briefly receives the assistance of his girlfriend Dolly before taking a job stoking coal on a steamer headed for the Caribbean.\nOne day, he catches sight of a remote island and jumps ship, swimming to the island.\nThe island is under the crude rule of a top-hatted black despot who receives merchandise from Smithers, the dilapidated white colonial merchant who is the sole Caucasian on the island.\nJones rises to become Smithers\' partner and eventually "Emperor".\nHe dethrones his predecessor with a trick that allows him to survive what appears to be a fusillade of bullets, creating the myth that he can only be slain by a silver one.\nJones\'s rule of the island involves increasing taxes on the poor natives and pocketing the proceeds.\nThe highlight is a twelve-minute spoken monologue taken directly from O\'Neill\'s play, in which Brutus Jones (Robeson), hunted by natives in revolt, flees through the jungle and slowly disintegrates psychologically, becoming a shrieking hysteric who runs right into the path of his pursuers.The Emperor Jones (1933 film): At a Baptist prayer meeting, the preacher leads a prayer for Brutus Jones, who has just been hired as a Pullman Porter, a job that served the upward mobility of thousands of African-American men in the first half of the 20th century.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this story.. End with the sentence ' He died in 1953.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Emperor Jones
  Beyond the Horizon, Eugene O'Neill's first Broadway play, produced in 1920, lived up to its name, propelling American theater far beyond the horizon of its former aspirations. For the 300 years that Europeans had lived in America, much of the staged drama that aimed at lofty literary goals had to be imported from the Old World, native production all too often being limited to shallow melodrama and farce.
  The man who helped change all that was well prepared for his task. From birth he was immersed in all things theatrical. His parents and older brother were actors (his father, James O'Neill, being well known for his role as the title character in a popular dramatization of Dumas's The Count of Monte Cristo), and Eugene, born in a New York hotel in 1888, lived a nomadic existence as his family dashed around the country following his father's touring company—which he helped to manage for a time when he was in his early twenties.
  Struggling to find a suitable career, O'Neill worked for a time as a journalist for the New London Telegraph. This work was cut short by a bout with tuberculosis. While recovering at a local sanitarium O'Neill underwent an inner transformation and set out to become a playwright. He immersed himself in the classic dramatic literature and in that of recent European playwrights such as Ibsen and Strindberg, whose work profoundly influenced him. Then he studied playwrighting at Harvard for a year. In 1916, The Provincetown Players staged his play Bound East for Cardiff, and his career was off to an auspicious start. In 1920 Beyond the Horizon was produced on Broadway; from then on his rise was meteoric. Desire Under the Elms (1924), Mourning Becomes Electra (1931) and The Iceman Cometh (written 1939; performed 1946) are just three of the best-known examples of the stunning dramatic work that followed, created in a period of about two and a half decades in which O'Neill established himself as America's foremost dramatist. Others were inspired to follow in his footsteps, as—with respect to its serious dramatic side at least—he had helped lay the groundwork for a lively, productive and substantial Broadway theater in the mid-twentieth century.
  O'Neill was awarded four Pulitzer Prizes: the first was for Beyond the Horizon, and the last was granted posthumously for Long Day's Journey into Night (written 1939–41), a deeply revealing autobiographical play that was not performed in his lifetime. He also won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1936.
  Although few have been able to enjoy so fruitful a career, O'Neill was never comfortable resting on his laurels and was happy only when hard at work. Thus, he was condemned to pass his final years in misery as a debilitating illness prevented him from writing. He died in 1953.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: SMITHERS: You'd 'ave been in jail if you 'ad, wouldn't yer then? [With venom.] And from what I've 'eard, it ain't 'ealthy for a black to kill a white man in the States. They burns 'em in oil, don't they?
  JONAS [With cool deadliness]: You mean lynchin' 'd scare me? Well, I tells you, Smithers, maybe I does kill one white man back dere. Maybe I does. And maybe I kills another right heah 'fore long if he don't look out.
  SMITHERS [Trying to force a laugh]: I was on'y spoofin' yer. Can't yer take a joke? And you was just sayin' you'd never been in jail.
  JONES [In the same tone—slightly boastful] : Maybe I goes to jail dere for gettin' in an argument wid razors ovah a crap game. Maybe I gits twenty years when dat colored man die. Maybe I gits in 'nother argument wid de prison guard was overseer ovah us when we're wukin' de roads. Maybe he hits me wid a whip and I splits his head wid a shovel and runs away and files de chain off my leg and gits away safe. Maybe I does all dat An' maybe I don't. It's a story I tells you so's you knows I'se de kind of man dat if you evah repeats one word of it, I ends yo' stealin' on dis yearth mighty damn quick!
  SMITHERS [Recovering his composure—and with it his malice]: And just to show yer I'm yer friend, I'll tell yer that bit o' news I was goin' to.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: SMITHERS: You'd 'ave been in jail if you 'ad, wouldn't yer then? [With venom.] And from what I've 'eard, it ain't 'ealthy for a black to kill a white man in the States. They burns 'em in oil, don't they?
  JONAS [With cool deadliness]: You mean lynchin' 'd scare me? Well, I tells you, Smithers, maybe I does kill one white man back dere. Maybe I does. And maybe I kills another right heah 'fore long if he don't look out.
  SMITHERS [Trying to force a laugh]: I was on'y spoofin' yer. Can't yer take a joke? And you was just sayin' you'd never been in jail.
  JONES [In the same tone—slightly boastful] : Maybe I goes to jail dere for gettin' in an argument wid razors ovah a crap game. Maybe I gits twenty years when dat colored man die. Maybe I gits in 'nother argument wid de prison guard was overseer ovah us when we're wukin' de roads. Maybe he hits me wid a whip and I splits his head wid a shovel and runs away and files de chain off my leg and gits away safe. Maybe I does all dat An' maybe I don't.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last paragraph.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: SMITHERS: And I s'pose you think it's yer bleedin' charms and yer silly beatin' the drum that made 'im run in a circle when 'e'd lost 'imself, don't yer? [But LEM makes no reply, does not seem to hear the question, walks out left after his men. SMITHERS looks after him with contemptuous scorn.] Stupid as 'ogs, the lot of 'em! Blarsted niggers!