Humoresque

Do you have to play that?

You ought to know better.

Run out. Run away.

Run off somewhere

where they don't know you.

Bury your violin in the deepest hole.

Still won't do you any good.

You think you hate music now.

You don't, you couldn't.

Music is a compulsion, an obsession.

You'll blow up if you don't play it.

What did you think

a concert career would be?

Something you put together

with toothpicks?

Little ink spots and finger exercises?

Drop a nickel in the slot

and out pops a concert?

Look at them.

Look at your beauties.

How many minutes, days, months, years

of your life are bedded in the waxed wood?

There's your biography.

Paul Boray, virtuoso, artist.

Why don't you leave him alone, Bauer.

All my life I wanted

to do the right thing.

But it never worked out.

I'm outside always looking in.

Feeling all the time

I'm far away from home.

And where home is, I don't know.

I...

I...

I can't get back to the simple,

happy kid I used to be.

The kid I used to be.

Take that whistle out of your mouth.

You can't deliver groceries

and blow a kazoo.

- Hi, Pop.

- Paul, off with coat, up with the tapioca.

Nope. Leave your coat on. Wash

your face. You're going out with Papa.

- Paul is going out with Papa?

- You're gonna buy him a birthday present.

Why, Esther, Saturday's my busiest day.

Besides, you cooked him a cake.

When I was a boy...

What was a birthday without a present?

All right. I'll build him

a nice house with a ketchup carton.

Take him to Jeffers.

Let him choose.

- He's too old to play house.

- He's too young to know what he wants.

No matter. If he wants it,

it's a good present.

Well, here we are, Paul.

Lots of nice things, aren't there?

- Hello, Mr. Jeffers.

- Hello, Boray.

- For the boy?

- Who else?

Look around, Paul. Pick something,

anything up to a dollar and a half.

Well? The sheep.

But the small one's better. Look.

It's almost human.

Wouldn't you like that?

No, that's for kids.

Maybe there's something for big boys.

Let's see. Oh, here's something.

A windmill.

- Don't you like that?

- No.

- He doesn't like it.

- Your boy like baseball?

Well, who doesn't like baseball in America,

Mr. Jeffers? It's an institution.

Bang, bang, Babe Ruth.

- Who else plays it?

- Ty Cobb, Hans Wagner.

Bang, bang, Hans Wagner.

Bang, bang, Ty Cobb.

Wouldn't you like to be

a Ty Cobb, Paul?

No.

He doesn't want that.

- Hello, Paul.

- Hi.

- Wanna take some piano lessons?

- No.

I'll give you a special rate, 25 cents.

You pay, you'll be my only pupil.

No, violin's prettier than the piano.

Don't judge all pianos by the way

I look. Try it on for size.

- Could I?

- Sure.

If you play the violin, you'll have

to carry a pianist around with you.

Play something.

I know that. Just give me a minute.

Paul. Paul!

Paul!

Another Paderewski in the family.

Phil with his kazoo and you with a violin.

- You said I could have anything.

- A drum, a little horse.

A toy is all right. What does

a boy want with a violin?

For wood and glue?

Take the fire engine.

Let him take the fiddle.

He could do worse.

For instance, he might grow up

to be a piano player.

You ought to know, Sidney.

Pianist and composer.

Rates on request.

The unknown genius waiting to be

discovered. Do I strike your fancy?

- Not too much.

- Unfortunately, I'm not my own type either.

Listen, Sidney, as a musician...

...how much do you make

per week or per year?

- Money? Cash money?

- Yes.

I'll write a song entitled,

"If I had a Million, Would I Talk to You?"

I'm a bargain-basement genius.

You want my son

to be genius number two.

What a future.

Paul, take the baseball bat.

- I want the violin.

- He wants the violin.

Statistics show a million boys

are crying for baseball bats.

It isn't good enough.

He has to have a violin.

Paul...

...take the fire engine.

- No.

The windmill.

- The baseball bat.

- No.

Then take nothing. Here.

Come on home.

Don't take it too hard.

You could imagine how much trouble

I had getting a piano.

Mr. Boray, you forgot your hat.

I'm sorry, Mr. Jeffers.

- What happened?

- Your son.

Your ungrateful son.

A toy isn't good enough for him.

Paul.

Didn't you see anything you want?

Didn't he see anything?

He certainly did.

In a black box like a dead fish.

A violin no less.

- A violin?

- He'll scratch on it for two weeks...

...then it's in the closet with Phil's

saxophone. Remember his saxophone?

You hoped we had

a musician in the family...

...because he followed the organ grinder.

But it was the monkey he wanted.

He asked for a violin himself

and you didn't buy it for him?

- Is that why you're crying, Paul?

- I'm not crying.

Well, you're not laughing either.

Go upstairs. Put on a new face.

Put on your birthday face.

What are you doing? I forbid it,

Esther. It's throwing away money.

Waste and foolishness.

What for, Esther? What for?

It means something when

he asks for something himself.

Means he's got an idea

he'll forget in a couple weeks.

Maybe, maybe not.

Maybe our Paul

will be different than Phil.

Maybe our Paul will be different.

Every mother thinks

she has a son who'll be different.

But it's foolish I tell you.

It's the one on the counter in the little

black box. Ask Sid Jeffers, he'll tell you.

He's ready to blow out the candles.

- Hi, Gina.

- Hello, Gina.

Hello.

- Happy birthday.

- Did you bring me a present?

Make a wish, Paul. Make a wish.

- Happy birthday, Paul.

- Gee, I blew out all the lights.

All right, Sister, turn on the lights.

Do you like it, darling? Do you like it?

Will you put that thing away?

Hey, we're gonna play ball.

Anybody wanna play ball with us?

- Hey, Phil, where's Paul?

- He's practicing.

- Does he have to?

- He don't have to.

You mean he wants to?

Mr. Boray.

Mr. Boray.

- Me?

- Mr. Boray, we don't expect you...

...to be with us all the time. But would

you mind keeping in touch with us?

This overture is written

for full orchestra not solo violin.

- Let's try it both ways.

- Let's try it as the composer wrote it, Boray.

All right. I'm sorry.

All right. Once more

from the double bar.

This time, Mr. Boray has promised

to rejoin the orchestra.

It occurs to me, Mr. Boray,

you are very fresh.

Well, that's exactly the quality

that I like in your playing.

All right. From the double bar.

I'm right behind you, Gina.

Get it? See what I mean?

Bach is church windows.

Beethoven is a giant range

of mountains. Wagner is a storm.

- Debussy is the wind in the trees.

- And you? What are you?

Me? I'm the dynamo

that makes them tick.

I'm a self-starter. I'll knock this town

on its ear once I get started.

Nobody sits on my head.

It's full of talent.

Last week, I met Jos lturbi.

He told me, "Practice.

Learn what they want and play it."

Paul, we've passed my house.

Oh, I'm sorry. Remind me to let you

get in a word every once in a while.

When I get wound up, I just go on and on

until someone changes the needle.

Rate this script:5.0 / 1 vote