Rondo Page #2

see that love is not like chess.

There are no textbooks. You need

to look at faces. Everything's there:

love, happiness,

hate, sadness, secrets.

Yes...

I'm off, things to do.

You said something, love?

Take the move back. -No, Fedja.

- No point... -Don't make a habit of it.

Take the move back.

- There's no point... -Fedja!

Wait! The game is what we

enjoy, not the victory. Please.

Please. -Alright.

Shall we call it a day?

Yes. Please, don't

make me stay for dinner.

Come on. Have fun with these!

We must have him alive!

So, what's the score?

I lost all the games.

You know, Neda, if you start

to play now against my will,

that could qualify as premeditated

crime. Still, I'm asking you

to commit that crime. I really want

to hear Mozart's rondeau in A minor.

Then I'll allow Fedja to whistle.

Thank you very much! Where's my

coat? -Where are you going? Fedja!

Fedja, he's getting away! Wait!

Alright, I'll stay.

You shouldn't have. Really.

It must've been hard to find.

You took me seriously when

I said you should buy the record.

That means I must

take you very seriously.

It means I don't

like to buy flowers.

I'm puzzled now, but

not because of the present.

I'm used to getting presents,

I'm rather spoilt that way.

But I'm not used to people

remembering what I said.

It's hard to talk when words mean

something. You know what I mean?

With Fedja it's different: we talk,

and forget about it straight away.

But when you feel that

somebody is actually listening

and that your words

stay with them, then...

You know I love this instrument,

but the thing is it makes noise.

That's the thing

with the piano too!

I know only one instrument that makes

music without making any noise.

What's this:
it has

openings, or ouvertures;

endgames, or fugues...

We know, we know: it's chess.

- Fedja... -How do you know?

I don't feel like going home tonight.

I get sick thinking of that room.

There's nothing alive there,

only a clock that plays tunes.

"Eine Spieluhr", my landlady says.

You never think of getting

married, not even on a Sunday?

There are 7 days in the week. Phone

starts ringing on Monday morning.

Our lady friends call to tell us

how their weekends were bad,

how the husbands are dull, jealous,

brash, always reading papers,

and so on, and so forth.

I couldn't do that,

live the way you do.

Good for you.

This is odd:
I'm older,

and you have a beard.

A detail. But I'm a judge,

you're an artist. -A craftsman.

Still... I make a living off my

strictness, you off your creativity.

I have a salary, and you freelance,

living from one day to the other,

like a real adventurer. That's fine,

the world needs all kinds of people.

An adventurer...

You're married, very happily,

while I waste my time with

other men's wives. Isn't that odd?

You know what? I think it's out

of fashion. If Casanova lived now,

a man with a talent for adventure,

he'd be the most faithful husband.

What else should he do? No danger,

no risks, no windows to jump out of,

no duels... That's not a life for a

man of action. -Perhaps you're right.

Yes, it's repeated, I see it now.

That's the part that's repeated,

the theme, right? -Right, that's it.

That's rondeau:
everything is

repeated, but it mustn't be dull.

I don't like that in principle.

Wouldn't it be better if composers

let their imagination run free?

That way we'd always get

something new and different.

You're a grown man, and you ask the

questions I did when I was little.

Here's what my teacher said:

"Old masters were very strict, dear. "

"They wouldn't let beauty go wild. "

"They trussed it tightly, and

it started to grow upwards. "

"The tighter they

trussed it, it grew higher".

You know what else is like music?

Always the same, yet never the same;

always beautiful, never reliable;

always dangerous, always new...

and it isn't chess!

My Lord, it's woman.

What's this:
it's

beautiful, it's gorgeous,

always waits for us; doesn't

cost us money, so it's not a woman...

Hey! -What? -I do that! -No! -Let go!

This is mine, that's yours.

- Let me do it my way.

This is mine. Try

to come up here now!

These sparklers...

This is nice, but

imagine real fireworks.

He's not joking. He's got

a whole box of rockets.

Great. So you'll

blow us all up one day.

I wanted to make them since I

was a kid, to wake the whole city up.

But Fedja! -Stop! -You're so rude!

Where are you? I'm already

looking forward to next Sunday.

I don't think I'll come. I'm

afraid there's no point. -Why?

I didn't say I'll

never come again, but...

Why every Sunday?

Why make a habit of it?

But making habits is great!

It makes us happy to know

you'll come every Sunday at 4.

I have something to

think about the whole week:

the queen's gambit with white

pieces or some other move.

Neda worries about the

dinner and other things.

At 4 we're afraid you won't

come, at 4:
10 we stop hoping...

At 4:
10 we stop hoping...

Then you ring the bell

and everything's alright.

So?

I'll come. -So long.

"There will be bloodshed... "

- Check. -Whoa!

What's that? -What's

going on? -No idea.

I'm not the idiot in charge

of lighting the whole street.

It seems somebody wants us to

play without looking. -Really? -Yes.

OK. Just a moment...

G-5.

Mhm... G-3. -G-3.

King on F-5. -Rook on D-3.

But Fedja! The way you carry on!

You could let Mladen rest a little.

Who said I was tired? -I suppose

you did some work this week.

How many people

did you sentence to death?

None. I've been a judge in

divorce cases for a long time.

I thought so. I can't imagine

you sentencing someone to death.

I didn't always do divorce cases.

So you had somebody

killed? But you had to, right?

That's your job. Your

conscience is clean.

Not entirely.

Sometimes I think judges should

be killed together with convicts.

That's the only way to

die with a clean conscience.

Right! Times change.

Judges are not so strict anymore.

You said something, love?

Really, you said something?

I'm out.

BELLS CHIMING:

DOORBELL BUZZING

I was afraid you wouldn't come.

He already had fever when you were

last here. His eyes were bleary.

You don't see that because

you don't look people in the eye.

You see, Mladen, you

need someone to tell you:

"You lost your appetite.

You should see a doctor. "

Or:
"Your eyes are bleary,

let's take you temperature. "

One day that won't be necessary.

We will carry electronic devices

that will send data to a hospital.

There will be signal lamps, and

when one of them glows red,

a doctor will call you and

say:
"'You're ill'. 'Me? No!'

'Yes you are! You've been feverish

and constipated for 3 days. '

'We'll collect you in 5 minutes.

Bring your pajamas and toothbrush. '"

I won't have to worry about anyone?

The device will take care of it all?

Right. No one will

need anybody. -Can't be.

A doctor told me it's happening.

- Can't be! They don't know anything.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes