The Piano Teacher

Good evening, child.

Evening, Mama.

Home already? I'm so happy.

Not so fast.

Please. Leave me be.

I'm tired.

I can quite believe it.

Your last pupil left 3 hours ago.

Might I know

where you've been all this time?

Please.

No, you don't.

Not until you tell me!

I went for a walk. Do you mind?

I spent 8 hours in my cage.

I was tired and needed some air.

- For three hours?

- Absolutely!

Magnificent.

Just as I thought.

Where's the bankbook?

Tell me, have you lost your mind?

Where's my grey Autumn suit?

No idea.

Give that back.

B*tch!

I remember that talk show.

the guy advocated fines

for dog owners

whose dogs crap in the street.

Bullshit.

the creep was defending the idea

that women are inferior to men.

Rubbish.

If you'd let me get a word in...

Who rattled your cage!

Should cut your hands off.

Beating your own mother!

That frock was far too gaudy anyway.

At your age,

you should know what suits you.

Can't you stop, you cow?

Wasn't ruining that enough for you?

- I wish...

- What?

You daren't say it?

Don't bother.

I know what you wish.

I could have had a heart attack

from the agitation.

If that's what you want,

go ahead!

Stop it, Mama,

you don't know what you're saying.

There's a real hole here.

Here, too.

Sorry.

But why do you do these things?

Why do you do these things?

I'm sorry.

Truly sorry.

Let me look.

Never mind that.

That's how it is.

We're a hot-blooded family.

Come on, stop crying.

I'll make some coffee.

We'll have a cup together. Okay?

Nothing in life comes free.

You'll just have to give

more private lessons.

Your vanity must not

stop us buying our apartment.

You can't contradict me there.

I paid this month's instalment

long ago, don't worry.

In any case,

the dress only cost 6,500.

I'll pay the remainder

back in tomorrow.

I don't understand

why someone of your standing

slaps make-up on

and fritters money away

on frocks that will soon be

out of fashion.

I'd be wearing that dress for years.

The cut was so classical.

It was ageless.

If memory serves me right,

you used to have a dress

just like it. Remember?

You must be dreaming.

It was a designer label.

The finishing was remarkable.

It would have lasted forever.

Do you still need the light?

Did they really annoy you today?

No more than usual.

Did you have the Schober girl?

Isn't Friday her day?

Well?

She's not untalented.

She has a surprising affinity

for Schubert.

Schubert's your department,

don't forget.

That's not for you to say.

You're hardly a judge

of what is my department musically.

If you want your pupils

to have a career instead of you...

No one must surpass you, my girl.

Don't be dizzy...

Don't worry, Mama.

THE PIANO TEACHER

A little less pedal

wouldn't go amiss.

It's not enough

just to take your foot off.

A note may not be

as long as it is written

and may not be marked

as long as it should be held.

from the novel by ELFRIEDE JELINEK

"Dogs are barking,

"Rattling their chains.

"People are sleeping

"In their beds."

Do you have no ear

for what coldness is?

Or maybe you're just sloppy?

And let go.

The music is not purely descriptive.

And it's not drenched

in indifference and sentimentality.

And let go.

You see?

"Dogs are barking,

"Rattling their chains.

"People are sleeping

"In their beds."

A wrong note in Beethoven

is better than bad interpretation.

You play only phrases.

Ignore the structure

and you'll ruin the sonata.

Back to the top of the page.

I guessed you were for the recital.

Allow me to introduce...

Professor, please, do come in.

Hello, Auntie.

And your mother. Good evening.

You've met my nephew?

I was about to introduce myself.

My name's Walter Klemmer.

At the risk of seeming prosaic,

after sampling spiritual

nourishment of such quality,

I've organised,

for the interval, a buffet

to sustain the artists

and, I hope,

for your pleasure, too.

Through here.

My husband's very particular...

Excuse me, Auntie.

Sorry to interrupt but I can't wait.

I hope it's not too forward of me

to kiss the hand

that plays such Bach.

You can stop now.

Where do you get

such unfashionable enthusiasm?

I'm delighted

the tradition of recitals lives on.

It was practically extinct.

The masters die, then their music.

People today

only ever listen to pop or rock.

You're right.

Families like this are no more.

Generations of laryngologists

toiled over Beethoven's

last quartets.

Now, at best, academics

stamp their feet in time

to the trumpety-trumps

of Bruckner.

Disdaining Bruckner is immature,

Mr... Klemmer?

Tell me, what enables you

to talk about music so precociously?

Your Aunt said you studied...

Low voltage, professor.

Low voltage.

It was made between 1620 and 1630

by Marcel Pichler.

From Hallein. A rare piece.

It is played

like a cello.

Its common name is

leg viol or quinton.

Recently, I found a painting

that exactly shows this instrument.

Not this type of instrument. I mean,

specifically this instrument.

The painting depicts

a concert of viole da gamba

at the court of Duke Augustus

von Braunschweig-Wolfenbttel.

- Can I fetch you something?

- Not at all. Why?

It's fascinating.

Look at them.

Do they give a fig

about the benefits of illness?

Have you read Adorno

on Schumann's Fantasia in C Major?

He talks of his twilight.

It's not Schumann bereft of reason,

but just before.

A fraction before.

He knows he's losing his mind.

It torments him

but he clings on, one last time.

It's being aware

of what it means to lose oneself

before being completely abandoned.

I'd say you are a good teacher.

Thank you.

You talk about things

as if they were yours. It's rare.

And I think you know it.

Schubert and Schumann

are my favourites, that's all.

Since my father died

completely mad in Steinhof asylum,

I can talk easily about the twilight

of the mind, can't I?

If you'd really prefer not to eat,

perhaps you'd care

for a drink of something?

Go ahead.

I had to sing for my supper.

Dr. Blonsky with his instrument

fetish is such a bore.

Honestly,

Klemmer, or whatever he's called,

seems a bit of a leech?

Walter studies

at the Engineering School.

But his musicality

keeps up with technology,

as you will understand

when you listen to him play.

Over to you, Walter.

My uncle exaggerates shamelessly.

After the professor's performance,

I feel doubly amateur.

I had intended to play for you

Schnberg's Opus 33b,

so that my wrong notes

might go unnoticed.

Not very funny, I know.

But a discussion of

Schubert and Schumann's madness

left me deeply impressed.

I have decided to drop Schnberg

for my favourite piece by Schubert:

the Scherzo

from the Sonata in A Major.

"...Dreaming of what they don't

have, replenished of good and bad.

"And next morning, all flown away."

And here,

the mood switches to irony.

D... D... D...

"So what? So what?

"they've had their pleasure."

That's the obstinacy

of the complacent middle-class.

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