Fearful of threats to their homes and their futures, and angry that the older generation dismiss them as ‘excess baggage’, young people take to the streets en masse. They look to one of their own to lead the way. He electrifies them with a ‘rising war cry’ that will herald the arrival of youth and teach the nation to ‘respect us’. They march through the town, their ranks swelling further with teenagers who are drawn out of their homes. Paying no heed to private property, they cross through front yards, stealing as they go to fashion the detritus of suburbia into improvised torches and clubs. Darkness descends, the torches blaze, and even more youngsters respond to the cry of a young woman who exhorts ‘all you sons and daughters, we gotta fight!’ They lay claim to a global revolutionary heritage, invoking both George Washington and the call of the Marseillaise for the ‘enfants de la Patrie’ to arise – at which point their leader again takes command. With the torches casting long, eerie shadows, he rouses the mob into an explosive frenzy, as strains of Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries enhance his dramatic rhetoric: ‘What do we die for? Why were we born?’ The juvenile hordes become ‘hysterical with their enthusiasm’ at his promises of a ‘new dawn’ and a ‘place in the sun’ in which they will all have a stake. ‘To arms! To arms!’ they yell, and march on civic buildings to start a massive bonfire. It becomes an anarchic frenzy. They throw not only their torches onto the fire, but ‘childish things’ that are immolated to symbolise that they have indeed ‘grown up’. As his followers now dance madly around this raging pyre, the leader and his three lieutenants rise above the crowd, ascending steps to extend their arms skyward in a triumphant salute.

And cut, incongruously, to Mickey Rooney, later the same evening, busy jotting down ideas for a musical extravaganza that will showcase the entertaining talents of the very same kids who have just been on the rampage.