You are a very sad man,
Mr. Kent.
Nothing gets me down, sugar.
Put your hands on the ice...
next to mine.
Just a second.
Stand behind me.
For moral support.
My other pocket's lonely.
Let 'er rip.
Keep moving your hands
until you feel something.
She's a wise old woman.
Look into the ice.
I'm looking.
Closer.
Look into your soul, Mr. Kent.
As your wise old fingers
will tell you,
I didn't cry at my mother's funeral,
and I don't cry now.
Look to your own miseries,
Mr. Kent.
Otherwise, you are a dead man.
Narcissa,
do you have another nickel?
Give her a tip.
A dead man!
Dead!
See how much happiness
your money can buy.
Now, what possessed you
to take me there?
Well, when I first saw you,
my tapeworm said, ''Fortune-teller,''
and that settled it.
I never go against my tapeworm.
I don't believe
in this tapeworm of yours.
Most tapeworms
are chewers, not talkers.
Oh, yes. He's got a very strong will.
He's irresistible.
I'm cold.
Let's take a streetcar.
We can't pay.
It's the 23.
We won't have to.
Are you an American?
I'm not an American.
I'm a nymphomaniac.
As long as you're not American,
you can be whatever you like.
Well, he's an American.
You're mistaken.
He may have
the stink of America on him,
but I assure you
he's Canadian... 100%.
- You lied to me?
- No.
It's like I said.
I'm a producer from New York.
Just down on his luck.
A real-live, Yankee-Doodle boy.
Then you're no son of mine.
Muskeg beer hall.
End of the line!
Get up
Get your boots on
Hurry up, hurry up
Time's a wastin'
if you're not tastin'
Lady Port-Huntley Beer
Can't wait to drink
One down, two down,
three down, four
Along this town
we want to be true
Lady Port-Huntley's beer
It's for me and for you
It's for me and for you
The Muskeg beer hour
is still gushing!
I'm Duncan Ellsworth,
your classical music host,
and I've got
major key news for you...
a contest,
ladies ard gentlemer.
The most exciting in our history.
Want to trade your sorrows in
for some spondoolicks?
Here to explain how
is Her Serenity herself,
Lady Port-Huntley.
Thank you, Duncan.
Listen to the sounds
of Winnipeg.
The white breathing of a nocturnal city
in this sad, sad world.
We at Muskeg beer
are proud that Winnipeg
has been chosen
four years in a row
by the London Times
as the world capital of sorrow
in the great depression.
In recognition of this honor,
we will be hosting
a world-wide contest
to determine which nation's music
truly deserves to be called
''the saddest in the world''.
Aspirirg virtuosos
of tearful melody
are welcomed to travel here
and lay claim
to the jewel-studded crown
of frozer tears...
and $25,000 in prize money.
That's right...
I can already see
that return ticket to Manhattan.
Come on, let's drink fast.
I got business to attend to.
The Lady Port-Huntley's
Saddest Music In The World cortest.
And they're off!
What do we really get
for our money?
Listen.
Within a few months,
Congress will end prohibition
and America will be
saying goodbye to bootleggers
and be running...
and I mean running...
back to the neighborhood's bar.
Imagine a hundred million drinkers
willing to pay top dollars
for legal booze,
even if they can't make the rent
or buy their children shoes.
We, Canada, that happy
suds buddy to the north,
open the flood gates
and makes a killing.
If you're sad
and like beer...
I'm your lady.
Maybe you should make
yourself scarce for a while.
Wait. Don't disappear on me.
How long will you be?
If I'm not thrown out,
under half an hour.
I'll just curl up here
and take a nap.
We will be going for countries
with the highest rate of depression
'cause this is where
people drink the most.
Excuse me for interrupting,
but somebody calling himself
the ''American Ambassador
of Sadness''
says that you wish
to see him immediately.
He can take a seat in the
waiting room like everybody else.
He refuses to wait.
He said if I didn't announce him
instantly, you'd have me fired.
And what does
this buffoon look like?
Well-tailored,
wears spats,
clean fingernails,
clean-shaven.
Spats?
Would you call his hair slippery?
Chester Kent.
Okay, everybody.
Fifteen minutes.
Teddy, stay here.
Lady P.
Had a few hours between trains,
thought I'd drop in.
For what purpose?
Well...to see
how you're getting on.
It's a bad time for me.
I'm devoured with guilt
about the obscene amount
of money I'm making
at a time where so many people
have nothing.
I'm sure you do what you can.
And I am heartsick
about poor Teddy over here.
With a wonderful wife
and two beautiful children,
and has to make me...
sing in a seesaw
whenever I ask him,
just to keep his job.
Don't be embarrassed, Teddy.
Idealism and business rarely mix.
May I?
But I console myself
with the thought, Chester,
that if I hadn't met you,
I might never have done
anything to be ashamed of!
Why bother with shame at all,
is my philosophy.
Look at the pictures
on the wall! Look at them!
Tell me what you think!
You're everywhere.
I'd say you qualify
as the star of your own life.
When I had a life,
that was true.
You got a new dolly.
It's nice.
Teddy, have you ever wondered
where my legs went?
He's been a dear.
He has never asked once.
Well, let's be fair, Helen.
You can only hang one
of those missing legs on me.
- What is it that you want from me today?
- I want a crack at that prize money.
And how do you intend to do that?
By serving up
the saddest number you ever heard.
I've got schmaltz routines
that could ring sobs from a moose.
Really? And you'll be
representing America, right?
Yeah. Tears, Helen, for all
those blubbers in the old melting pot.
I doubt there is anyone on Earth
who knows less about grief
than you do.
Nothing makes a dent.
Sadness is just happiness
turned on its ass. It's all showbiz.
You got an orchestra handy?
I'll prove it to you.
Actually, I do.
- Great. Haul 'em in here.
- Teddy, the orchestra.
They're very genteel.
They play blindfolded.
A novelty act, huh?
What's the kicker?
When Teddy and I
sing on the seesaw, they play.
That's a hard act to follow.
Your audition
will be much simpler.
I want you to tell
about my ''accident'',
if you can still remember it.
No, Teddy,
you've been spared today.
Go back.
Start the music.
Play not too fast,
and with feeling.
So, where do I start?
Why don't you start
with your father?
And end with him...
full circle.
Well, he was in love with you,
but there was a problem...
you loved me.
Yes...
and you never loved me.
Yes, I see it.
- So long ago.
- It feels like yesterday.
I was flattered.
A beautiful woman...
paying attention to me.
He suspected me.
He had good reason to. Right under
his nose, every chance we got.
- We drove him to drink.
- He wanted to marry you.
He thought himself...
a cuckold by you.
- Oh, yes, I see it.
- So long ago.
It feels like yesterday.
He started wearing his old uniform.
Canadian lieutenant.
The great war.
Marching up and down the stairs
late into the night with his rifle.
Drunk.
Your brother Roderick
trying to heal him with music.
The day of the car trip.
The ice storm.
The empty road.
Except for him
trying to stop the car.
- His hand was out.
- And there was your head lifting up.
Blocking my view.
- Oh, yes. I see it.
- I see it.
So long ago.
It feels like yesterday.
- Jesus, dad! What do we do?
- Get my bag.
Her leg's stuck!
We gotta get her loose!
You'll tear it off completely,
you idiot. Do as I say.
I'm the doctor here.
- You're drunk.
- My bag!
I'm going to save
the woman I love.
Do you hear me?
The woman I love!
We're going to get married.
Please!
Please do something!
Help me!
We've got to occupate...
and amputate.
Dad, you better let me help.
Out of my way.
You make me sick.
There, love.
Now there's a puzzle.
Steady.
Steady, steady, steady.
You're cutting the wrong leg!
Dad, you're through
the bone already!
- That's her good leg!
- Now look what you made me do!
Stop!
Oh, my...
Hello, Helen.
I'm here to represent Canada.
If you'll let me.
Take your blindfolds off,
gentlemen.
Pay attention.
This is Canada speaking.
Play ''Red Maple Leaves''.
On the double!
Don't tell me you live here
and you don't know it!
- Just the red maple leaf...
- What do you say?
- About your legs?
- ... and when they come again...
- That's a pretty tough break.
- ... you'll find me.
But doesn't it make you sad?
- ... where I left my heart...
- Well, life's full of surprises, Helen.
Take away those surprises,
and life's a pretty dull proposition.
- ... maple leaves.
- Isn't that right, pop?
Why are you here?
Same as you.
One last crack at the jackpot.
I will love this woman
until my dying day.
Let me shout it
through the rooftops.
I even brought her something.
Stop it!
No bribes.
All right. Here's an angle
for you, Helen.
America vs. Canada.
A brash son comes home to duke it out
musically with his war-vet pop.
The old man's drowning in his sorrows,
the son wants no part of this.
But in order to win the dough,
that Yank's gotta find
his tear ducts in a hurry.
You got something there.
Okay, America, you're on.
And now we see Gavrillo the Great,
one of the greatest cellists in Europe.
No one has ever
seen his face uncovered,
for he wears upon it at all times,
even during public performances,
a veil as black as night.
That's right, Mary.
They say he wears it to express
the national sadness of Serbia,
whose famed assassin
Gavrilo Princip
fired the first fatal shot
of the great war...
the war to end all wars.
Nine million killed, Duncan.
That should make a man
very sad, indeed.
Roderick?
- Roderick.
- Father.
Come here!
Give your father a hug!
I'm sorry. It's just my own skin
is very sensitive.
You look well, Father.
My health is gone.
But I'm sober and I pay my bills
and I keep my pants pressed.
Where's Chester?
He's supposed to be here.
I couldn't stand one more second
with him ten years ago.
Why would he stomach me now?
I'd forgotten how bright
the light is here.
Don't mind these glasses.
How can you see through those?
It's like I'm painting things
just by looking at them.
- But where's Chester?
- He must be at the music hall.
The opening pageant
is set for tonight.
Let's march, my boy!
Father... did Chester ever admit
to stealing my music box?
That was ten years ago, son.
Can't you ever forget anything?
There we go.
Here we are.
There.
Home.
Good Lord. What's that?
Close your ears.
Excuse me.
Your brother's here!
Could you say goodbye to your...
guest and come down? Quickly?
Have her go out
by the back way.
Can't have strangers
at a homecoming.
You don't play anymore.
Oh, yes. But on my knees.
No more dignity.
No more dignity, huh?
Family motto.
How are you, Roderick?
Just the way I always picture you.
Thundering down the stairs,
bursting into a room.
Even in bare feet you thunder.
You still sound
like your mewling cello.
In a noisy house,
someone must be soft.
This one plays the grace notes.
Which reminds me.
All of these years,
I have a present for you.
I was waiting for this day.
There's no need for you
to do this, Father.
I remember taking it out nights
when the rats were scurrying.
Carrying it over to the window,
and calling your name through it...
to bring you home.
What else have you got
squirreled away for him?
I knitted you a sweater.
Actually, I made three.
One for ea--
You, and one for your wife and...
... one for your son.
My skin is far too excitable
for wool, I fear.
Would you mind terribly
if we turn that light off?
You're still a hypochondriac.
Take that up with my physician
Dr. Loords... the best doctor in Germany!
His opinion, for what it's worth,
is that I'm lucky to be alive.
Have you heard nothing
from your wife?
Not a sign, not a word,
not a sausage.
She just disappeared
when your son died?
It was gradual.
A ship going down...
with all her lights and barely a sound.
She forgot about loving me.
She even forgot about our son.
What's that hissing?
Can somebody turn that off?
I think I hear
a faucet running upstairs.
- Is your friend still here?
- She went out the back.
Well, someone's left the faucet on.
No more debate!
Just deal with it!
All right, I'll deal with it.
Don't hurt Roderick!
Lady Port-Huntley's
Saddest Music in The World
opening pageant has begun,
led by the Zanis of Africa.
Resplendent!
If I can focus my opera glasses
for a moment here...
... yes!
Resplendent in their
delightful paints and scars.
Absolutely beautiful.
This pageant of sad nations brought
to us by Lady Port-Huntley Beer
is shaping up to be a frightening
contest of human despair...
a cavalcade of misery.
There's Poland,
China, Albania!
That was good fun, Narcissa.
I must tell you my dream.
Yeah? Well, hurry.
The competition's about to start.
A man was showing me
how to take the guts out of the goose.
He stood on the wings
and pulled the bird's legs hard.
That's how you do it.
Everything came loose
in a white heap...
except for the breast
and the heart.
He put the heart in my hands.
It was still beating very faintly.
Maybe you can sing about that.
Make us some prize money.
At the very last moment
of the dream,
it didn't seem to be
the bird's heart I was holding.
It was so small.
I don't know whose it was.
Then I woke up.
Well, if it was tiny
and covered with slime,
it was probably mine.
You really don't
understand me at all.
Understand this--
if I don't get some backing fast
for a production number...
one with plenty
of saltwater dressing...
one of those foreign onion-peelers down
there is gonna snatch my prize money.
Come on.
Let's get crackin'.
No ore car beat the Siamese
when it comes to dignity,
cats, or twins.
But I'm embarrassed to say
that. before now. I've never taken
Siamese sadness all that seriously.
You can almost hear the typhoon
bearing down
on a defenseless seaside village
through this tortured flute solo.
The fatal deluge
is announced by birds.
The performer has taken
the trouble to put out their eyes
so they'll have a bit more soul
to their warning chirps.
It's all in the details, Mary.
And now the Mexicans
take their first turn.
The singers are giving us
a sad peak
into child-burial customs
down Mexico way.
The Mexican mama is beirg
very firm with her dead infart.
''Now. go away.'' she wails.
You are dead.
Don't sneak in at night
to nurse from my breast.
That milk is only for the living.
To Canadiar ears.
that may sound harsh.
Well, I guess dead children,
like any other kind,
have got to learn.
The Mexicans now take
their victory bath
in the Port-Huntley Pond.
For the Mexicans.
This is a first-time
full immersion in beer.
They don't seem very excited.
So far. nobody's drinking.
God!
We still got prohibition,
and they got swimming pools
full of beer up there in Canada.
Why ain't they drinkin', Ed?
Mexicans ain't used to winnin'...
not since the Alamo.
They smell a rat.
If I got that lucky,
I'd drink till I drowned.
Now, that's sad.
Look at this street.
Where am I gonna find
a patron of the arts in Winnipeg...
in the dead of winter,
in this depression?
How much do you need?
I just rented a warehouse.
I got people lined up
to build sets, make costumes.
I got musicians, arrangers.
But I gotta put out first,
or they'll shut me down.
Maybe you should keep it simple.
America goes simple?
That's a hot one.
No, it's gotta be vulgar
and obvious... full of gimmicks.
You know, sadness,
but with sass and pizzazz.
They'll eat it up, but we gotta
hit them lots of different ways,
'cause if the judge sees
the same thing more than once,
she'll hold back those sniffles.
Please, sir, we're hungry. Do you
have any food you can give us?
No, I don't.
If you agree to drop out of this competition
and join my American team,
I'll pay your way
back home when I win.
- Really?
- Get to the brewery. Wait for me.
Damn sleepwalker.
Good night, Mother.
So, you...
manage to keep yourself
sad at all times, do you?
In my pocket is a jar.
In the jar,
preserved in my own tears,
is my son's heart.
This is the piece
that would win the contest.
''The Song is You''.
We played it for Mother.
I played it for my son
at his funeral.
That's my sadness.
One death.
Or two.
I play it every day.
First on the cylinder,
then on my cello.
There is nothing sadder.
I need this song.
But I will never
play it for money.
In fact, I want no one else
ever to hear it
until I play it again for my wife
whenever I find her.
Let's not dwell on the past so.
As for me, I will draw
on the sadness of Serbia.
The little country
that started the great war.
Gavrillo the Great will atone
for those nine million dead
by shoving them
down Chester's throat!
I'm pulling out $25,000...
then perhaps I can afford
to look properly for my wife.
You're Canadian,
born and raised.
Until I walked down the streets
of Belgrade for the first time,
I never felt at home...
anywhere.
I finally knew who I was.
And where my heart dwelt.
Come.
Let me show you
where I hide my heart.
How does your tapeworm
feel about burials?
Like a bride at her wedding.
A festival of worms.
A grand old Winnipeg banker
is being planted today,
and I've got a hunch
his widow just might go
for a sad song tribute
to his financial prowess.
Let's go. We need a good spot
next to the family.
I'll let you in on a little secret.
I don't believe
that all this sadness really exists.
What a delightful notion.
Well, bad things happen.
I'm not denying that. Plenty of them.
But somehow, when people
start trying to show
how they've been affected
by these bad things,
they start faking it.
They know that, deep down,
no one really cares.
But they want people to know
they're suffering, dammit.
And others will
go along with them,
making faces,
hoping someone will notice,
so that when something awful
happens to them,
they can get some
of this fake pity for themselves.
And now Michael's daughter Agnes
will quickly sing his favorite song.
Skip, skip,
skip to my loo
Skip to my loo,
my darling
Don't fall on me!
No. Mrs. Burnjones,
I'm Chester Kent,
a producer of
musical spectaculars in New York.
I was very moved
by your daughter's performance...
we all were.
It struck me that more people
should have the chance
to hear her...
and the other sad music
that soothed your husband.
If we could mount
a musical tribute to him
on international radio,
people would be reminded
of what he meant to them,
and listeners who didn't know
about this wonderful banker's
life and great spirit...
Is that for the radio contest?
No!
Wait a minute!
Maybe we could tie it in with that!
There's such
a great audience, you see.
Well, if I let my daughter sing
for you, she won't come cheap,
and you'll have to pay in advance.
Well, I'd be willing to go
as high as $1.75.
She's worth more than that!
Look, nobody knows I'm broke.
Give a poor musician
just a whiff of American dough,
and he'll bend right over
for Uncle Sam.
Care to dance?
Poor Yiddish.
No country of your own, huh?
Come on over.
Put a little spritz in America.
Till your eyes get used to it.
We'll keep the light soft.
Legs.
How pliable and delicate
and sturdy they are.
What dangerous moods.
What subtle shifts in expression.
There's the leg that teases...
... and the leg that feels guilty.
The leg that blushes
and wants to apologize.
The leg
that stammers out its love...
... and the leg
that repudiates it.
Since the accident,
when I gave up
my doctor's license,
not a day has passed
without my thinking
how I would make things
better for Helen.
You do evidently love her.
How could you think otherwise?
She must have
artificial legs by now.
But she doesn't.
Wood and leather
don't agree with her.
They give her purple rashes
and big, unsightly welts.
None of the ordinary
prosthetic materials will do.
Then, sitting among
all the bottles that I'd emptied,
it finally came to me.
Glass.
Glass?
Yes, it's the perfect solution.
Helen loves glass.
She surrounds herself with it.
Her house is filled
with glass ornaments.
Creatures large and small.
She collects glass dolls...
hundreds of dolls
in a stained-glass room.
Waiting, like she is...
... to walk.
Behold.
I've tried to give these to her.
I can never find the right moment.
My God.
And they were made
right here in Canada.
Now Lady Port-Huntley
can stand up and dance
to the saddest music in the world.
I've even filled them
with Port-Huntley Muskeg beer.
Why do you frown?
- I was thinking about my wife.
- Happier thoughts. Please.
I have a photograph of her...
leaping across a gutter.
Her legs suspended
in midair.
I'm afraid these won't permit that,
but they can stretch out a fair way.
Could I see the picture?
No! It's...
She's not at all as I pictured her.
Excuse me, I've been admiring
your ear for the past five minutes.
I find it utterly beautiful.
It is perfectly shaped...
this one, the left one.
I wonder... I wonder if I
could whisper something into it.
Just a little story you might like.
Would you mind?
I won't come too close.
I'm deaf in that ear.
But I can hear just fine
in the other one.
No. This is the one I want.
You can still feel my breath.
Imagine what I'm telling you.
So, why'd you send for me?
Suppose I decided
to back you.
Well, that would be
very sporting.
I have to warn you... there'll be
many, many bills to pay.
- We can both pay our bills.
- You want me to win, I suppose.
Undo me.
Beg your pardon?
You have to start paying
your first bill right now.
I dislike beer.
For my jubilee, I requested
champagne and milk.
That's a pretty small tub.
- There'll be room enough.
- Suppose I refuse?
You're wasting your time.
Do I get instructions?
It's very simple. You undress me,
you bathe me, you put me to bed.
I like to be asked, not told.
- Who cares what you like?
- You do!
All this bully-boy stuff.
Just say you want me.
It's easy to want you, Helen.
You're still beautiful.
Just say it.
And then let's go somewhere
where we can get serious.
Just undress me.
No sale.
One of you boys
take off your blindfold
and fish her out
when she's done.
Well, that's the last
of my pride.
Does your offer still stand?
A little bit of backbone...
is sexy in a man.
Be undressed
by the time I count to five.
One...
Two...
Three...
Four...
Representing Canada
is our first performer this evening.
Fyodor Kent.
He is wearing what appears to be
his own uniform from the great war.
And he stands or the stage
with an upturned piano...
his touching tribute
to the Canadians who fell
on the European battlefields.
Canadian troops site at Vimy,
the bird notes
of reveille at dawn.
Let us follow the leaves of red...
as they swirl across the fields
of France and the raging ocean.
Come home, my boys.
Come home.
Just the red maple leaves
And when they come again
You'll find me
Where I left my heart behind me
'Neath the red maple leaves
Maple leaves
Now the Zari performers from
the Cameroons are showing us
how villagers there
conduct a proper pygmy funeral.
From these
wildly beaten jungle skins,
we are hearing
the true songs of bereavement
while friends and family
of the deceased
punish themselves
with sharp stones.
Opering wounds
across kneecap and forehead.
Wounds that weeps tears of blood.
We gathered leaves
to brush them
Which lovers sometimes do
You're gone,
but I caress them
They're all I have of you
All I have of you
All I have of you
All I have of you
All I have of you
All I have of you
All I have of you
All I have
Of you
All I have of you
All I have
This has beer
a real eye-opener
for the traditionally reserved
Caradian audience
gathered here this evenirg.
The crowd is or its feet.
swept up in the Zari frenzy.
The Africans have eliminated
Canada in their first challenge.
The beer bath
makes it official.
Fyodor Kent must realize
that in a world competition,
ordinary tears
aren't going to be enough.
Yes, Mary. A great disappointment
for Canada and Fyodor Kent.
The Zaris really seem
to be enjoyirg their victory.
Now they're whippirg
the head or the brew
into a happy
Port-Huntley mountain.
Great work, dad.
You've never sung it better.
'Course, those tribesmen put on
quite a show, don't they?
We could learn
something from them.
You haven't brought
your kept woman with you, I hope.
- Which one do you mean?
- The girl on my streetcar.
The same one, I suppose,
who was making like a hurricane
upstairs when your brother came home.
Narcissa? She's here, all right.
She'd better be. My whole number
depends on... why? What's wrong?
Where does she come from?
What do you know about her?
I met her at the fairground.
She says she's from Serbia.
She makes stuff up, though.
Has she mentioned Roderick?
No, she's never met him.
Cancel your number.
Get her out of here.
Whether I'm right or wrong,
it's not worth the risk.
Where I come from, Pop,
winning is worth every risk.
You'll kill me, Judas,
and your brother, too.
She's Roderick's wife.
That's a great yarn!
I'm not buying it, though.
And even if it was true,
that's showbiz.
I can't believe you're my son.
Hey, I didn't see you
canceling your number.
In the next round,
we have American sadness
squaring off
against that of Spain.
Broadway producer Chester Kent
has selected just the right vintage
of American sadness
from the cotton fields
of the deep south.
Let's...
Let's get away from all this hullabaloo.
You need your quiet.
Oh, no. I wanna see what
this Broadway jackanapes knows...
... about sadness.
Spain, right?
Tell you what... if you wanna drop out
of this competition and join America,
I'll pay your way
back home when I win.
Think about it.
The always impetuous Spanish
offer us a jail-side view
of the wages of sir.
Esmeralda awaits execution.
Her prison cell echoes
with her savage lament.
Swing low
Sweet chariot
Coming forth
to carry me home
Swing low
Sweet chariot
Coming forth
to carry me home
My eyes.
Close your eyes, boy.
No, no.
Close your eyes!
Take a few deep breaths.
Too many tea cakes for dinner.
My ears!
She's got her teeth in them!
Coming forth to carry me home
The raindrops burn me!
Do you hear their hiss?
Let's leave.
Coming forth to carry me home
Can't you smell that?
It's roses.
My nostrils are choking.
Too many thorns.
I bleed!
She won't stay down!
Narcissa!
Sweet chariot
Coming forth to carry me home
I'm going mad.
... forth to carry me home
America just swallowed up
Spain in that match.
The local crowd
is clearly carried away
by both the performer
and the pyrotechnics.
As far as they're corcerned.
sadness isn't hurt one bit
by a little
razzle-dazzle showmanship.
Who goes there?
Gavrillo the Great.
I'm here to play for the funeral.
You may enter.
Who goes there?
Roderick Cuckoch,
son of Fyodor.
I'm looking for my instrument.
Go on in.
Why are you so late?
I came as quick as I could.
I got through all the doors.
But you weren't supposed
to come through any of them.
You told them
what they wanted to know.
Now he's dead, and I have
to close all the doors between us
and lock them with this key.
Our son is dead?
The doors were for him,
not for you.
You took them all away from him,
and so he died.
Please don't leave me here.
Who will play
at the funeral?
You can play from in here.
But not too soft,
or he won't hear.
Serbia. Paging Serbia.
Please report immediately.
Son?
I beg you not to go out.
I must play.
Please.
Please don't!
They'll be listening.
A tardy Gavrillo the Great
finally appears on the stage
to face ar impatient crowd.
We've heard much talk
about his plaintive cello ore.
which has drawn enough moisture
from hardened old-world eyes
to fill the English Channel.
I'm sorry
to have kept you waiting.
I'm sorry,
but my ears are quite sensitive.
Some of you in the first few rows
are swallowing too loudly.
And you, sir,
could you please refrain
from breathing
through your nose like that?
And there's a woman in a straw hat
whose stomach is growling.
Now, what is that stink?
Is this a hog barn
or a concert hall?
Still no word on the condition
of Gavrillo the Great.
We don't know if he's in a coma
or just very, very sad.
We'll try to find out
as soon as we can.
Now a word
from Port-Huntley beer.
Get up,
get your boots on
Hurry up, hurry up
Time's a wastin'
if you're not tastin'
Lady Port-Huntley beer
Can't wait to drink
One down, two down
three down, more
along this town
we want to be true
Stay away from him.
Haven't you done enough?
Narcissa, have you
ever seen my brother before?
He looks vaguely familiar.
You haven't been married
to this gentleman, have you?
Or had a child with him?
That wouldn't have
slipped your mind, I trust.
I would hate to be
so careless with loved ones.
But...
He could be anyone.
Well, she's scatterbrained,
I'll admit, but she's not lying!
Did you see him while she was
on that swing? Look at him now!
- Maybe if I spoke to him.
- No, I want you both to leave.
If he wakes up and sees you,
he'll never play again.
You heard the man, Narcissa.
I know you're not the jealous type,
but my tapeworm says
I should spend at least
one night with your brother.
I think the fact that he's my brother
might be a good reason not to.
- Well, it's not up to me.
- I'm asking you not to.
It's embarrassing...
but I'm asking you not to.
Don't worry.
What happened to me out there?
Your senses
didn't have time to cool down.
There will be other chances.
I was hypnotized by that swing...
that girl... who was she?
A North End stripper.
One of Chester's showgirls.
All that Broadway sis-boom-ba.
Don't you think the music
should speak for itself?
I heard and saw Narcissa.
She sent shivers through me.
Next time, you must keep your head
clear of distractions before your perform.
If I ever perform again.
The judge
must be furious with me.
Don't fret, my son.
Tonight we'll make her so happy...
... she'll forgive everything
that's ever happened.
Shouldn't we wait
for a luckier time?
Make sure you tell her
they're from me.
Teddy, let's not argue.
The ''Treaty of Versailles'' number...
it's a stink, isn't it?
I wouldn't let those Germans
clean my kitchen floor.
Excuse me, Lady Port-Huntley.
May I speak
to you privately for a minute?
The Great Gavrillo.
You want another shot
at the archduke?
Please.
I'm most humbled in your presence.
I'm here to arrange an introduction.
In case you haven't noticed,
I am judging a contest right now.
You must believe
this introduction will matter more.
Hey, no tricks.
You must win your money
down there,
like everyone else,
on the stage.
I am only here
as an ambassador of happiness.
You haven't had
a moment's peace
since you and these friends
parted company.
You are as presumptuous
as you are rude. Just leave.
- If I am wrong, just say the word.
- You are wrong.
If I am wrong...
... together, we can throw
these friends from the balcony.
If you go with them.
Go lift a thumb.
Poland just beat Germany.
Let's see,
before we make the final toss.
A moment.
From Father.
I hear music
when I look at you
Of every dream
I ever knew
Down deep in my heart
I hear it play
I feel it start
Then melt away
I hear music
when I look at you
A beautiful theme
of every dream I ever knew
Down deep in my heart
I hear it say
Is this the day?
I alone have heard
this lovely strain
I alone have heard
this glad refrain
Must it be
forever inside of me?
Why can't I let it go?
Why can't I let you know?
Why can't I let you know
the song my heart would sing?
A beautiful rhapsody
of love and youth and spring
The music is sweet
The words are true
The song is you
I hear music
when I look at you
A beautiful theme
of every dream I ever knew
Down deep in my heart
I hear it play
I feel it start
Then melt away
I hear music
when I touch your hand
A beautiful melody
from some enchanted land
Down deep in my heart
I hear it say
Is this the day?
I alone have heard
this lovely strain
I alone have heard
this glad refrain
Must it be
forever inside of me?
Why can't I let it go?
Why can't I let you know?
Why can't I let you know
the song my heart would sing?
That beautiful rhapsody
of love and youth and spring
The music is sweet
The words are true
The song is you
The song is you
The song is you
If you like,
I could sing something else.
You have turned
our most private grief
into...
a kind of peep show,
with my brother the pimp
selling tickets!
Why not find yourself
a dance partner?
There's nothing wrong with the tune,
longhair. It's catchy!
Die!
Give me more of that fizz.
You've been away long enough.
Care to dance?
Well, look at you.
Cinderella in spades.
I am told I am unbreakable!
I just kicked a ball!
And right then I thought,
''Tonight, I'm gonna go to one!''
I'm gonna bring my orchestra.
It's not gonna be a masked ball.
All blindfolds off!
Come!
If you want me
to be your wife,
I'm happy
to say I'm your wife.
If you want us
to have a dead son,
I have no objection
to having one.
But, really, if he's dead...
I don't see
what difference it makes.
You know?
I hardly recognize you.
I feel all those lost, wonderful years
come running back to me.
I know they're not, but...
this is how I feel.
It's your happiness
I don't recognize.
Where's all that cruelty?
You had the market cornered.
Let's compare legs.
Come on.
Well, there's no contest.
For one thing,
there's no beer in mine.
Look how they sparkle.
They feel so smooth.
I never have to shave.
Come. Touch them.
I swear I can feel your touch.
It makes me bubble.
Got any toenail polish?
I'll paint your toenails for you.
Hey, you devil.
Are you already counting
your prize money?
Not so.
We might as well be strangers.
Good Lord.
The years leave no trace.
There's not a mark on you.
And yet...
you must've been hurt more than I.
Wait!
Was that me?
Did I break?
No, no. Downstairs.
Some other glass lady.
Shoddy workmanship.
That was nice.
I hope I see you again.
Where are you going?
I've got to rehearse.
Good luck in the contest.
Am I going to be enough
for you for a while?
You're the only name
left on my dance card.
How long before you
start laughing at me?
I'm only gonna make you happy.
If you succeed, I am gonna
make you very, very rich.
I wish I could feel the cold
against my leg and my skirt.
Lok. No sag.
No varicose veins.
These are legs to die for, hon.
Well, I thought... if the two of you
want something to laugh at,
try me.
Father.
Sooner or later, Helen, I knew
you'd show up to pay your respects.
You have a long way to go
before I start saying thank you!
Him... have you forgotten
he helped me saw!
I was there, remember?
All right.
All right, forgive me. Please.
Better quit, Pop.
You're just making it worse.
Let's go. Let's go!
This is not a request! Let's go!
He's an abomination!
The family's finished
when we bury him.
I'd say it was over
a long time ago.
And what brings you here?
The last time we came...
Chester,
there was a blizzard, remember?
What good is memory, Narcissa?
Why make yourself sad?
I'm not.
That was a happy day.
I'll say. I made
a snow angel on top of you.
Roderick...thank you.
You just gave me
a great idea for a number.
And so it will be
America's Chester Kent
against Serbia's
Gavrillo the Great
in tomorrow night's
Lady Port-Huntley's beer
Saddest Music
in the World finale.
I'm getting cold.
Since when do you get cold?
I was hoping for one
of your special snow treats.
Maybe we should just
concentrate on the singing.
As you wish.
Has your tapeworm decided
to give me the old heave-ho?
I think he may be dead.
I'm sorry to hear that.
We got along so well.
Maybe he's just eating.
I feel kind of empty.
You and me both.
I'm stuck for a final number.
Isn't it all decided?
The judge seems to be singing the
''Star-Spangled Banner'' in her sleep.
I want people
to say I deserved it.
- Which people?
- My brother.
That fellow you went off with
the night I nearly died of a head injury.
I wanna crush him.
In the name of Serbia,
I kill you both.
Let the world war begin.
How many bullets will it take?!
Roderick! It's the third time
you've attacked me.
I don't care if you are crazy.
I've had enough.
- Why won't you die?
- You didn't have a gun.
Gavrilo the Great
wouldn't have missed.
Two shots, and Sarajevo
and the whole world goes to war.
Nine million dead, Narcissa.
And--and...
you won't even remember one?
Let me out, please.
It was fun while it lasted.
Look for me
in the winner's circle.
Long way home to India, huh?
How would you girls like
to earn some quick bucks
just by playing Eskimos
for ten minutes, okay?
According to my spies, you have
not stopped seeing Narcissa
until last night when
she wandered off into the Tundra.
When I told you it was over,
I thought it was. Truly.
Turns out it was almost over.
Quite a piece of work,
Chester Kent.
Yeah, I know. I thought that's
what you liked about me.
You might be too big
a piece of work, even for me.
You're saying
you're through with me?
I wish I was saying that.
I'm saying...
that you're hanging by a thread.
Yeah.
Maybe when you see
this number tonight,
that thread will turn into a rope.
Look, Helen.
I swear I'm gonna climb back
over into your good graces.
Check the back of my leg.
Tell me there is not a crack.
I don't see anything.
America's Chester Kent
has conquered the air and the earth.
Now. poised to vanquish water.
he immortalizes the long-forgotten
Alaskan kayak tragedy of 1898.
And approachirg the stage area
is the maestro of melancholy...
...the Serbian ne plus ultra
of the cello horn.
Gavrillo the Great!
Isn't it rather odd
that Lady Port-Huntley
is actually in one of these numbers
when she's also the judge?
Well, Mary,
I think she looks spectacular.
Here comes the tragic storm.
The waves are billowing
in a hair-raising illusion
of an actual storm at sea.
My God! Mary!
Stop this!
Bring this savagery to an end!
Stop it!
Teddy!
Teddy!
Are you all right?
Just look at me.
What do you think?
I think it can be fixed!
Anything that's built
can be rebuilt.
Come on. We'll get past this.
I promise you.
Let me lean on you.
- Help me out of here, please.
- Of course.
I don't know what
I was thinking. I'm sorry.
But, listen,
are you sure you wanna leave...
Well, now you've given me
something to laugh about.
I take it
the judge's decision is final?
Go to hell, Chester!
In due time.
First I'm gonna have
my victory cigar.
God help me,
I've earned it.
I hear music
When I look at you
The beautiful theme
of every dream I ever knew
Down deep in my heart
I hear it play
I feel it start
Then melt away
I hear music
When I touch your hand
A beautiful melody
from some enchanted land
Down deep in my heart
I hear it say
Is this the day?
Get out of here!
Keep playing.
Let's hear it all!
I alone have heard
this happy strain
I alone
Have heard this glad refrain
Must it be
forever inside of me?
Why can't I let you know?
Why can't I let it go?
Why can't I let you know
the song my heart would sing?
A beautiful melody
Of love and youth and spring
The music is sweet
The words are true
The song is you
I ask you...
Is there anybody here
as happy as I am?