Teardrops in the Snow: The Making of 'The Saddest Music in the World' Page #2

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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

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