Charlie Kaufman

21 Oct
What can I say about Charlie Kaufman’s screenplays that hasn’t already been said?  
See Synecdoche, New York if you haven’t!
It’s his best one and to me rivals the greatest films and novels of all time. It is terrifyingly honest, complex and true. It obsessively peels back the layers of the human condition until there is only a skeleton and it contains everything in it while making fun of an artist who tries to create a piece that contains everything.

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(spotlessmind)

From Charlie Kaufman’s 2012 BAFTA Screenwriters Lecture:

Thank you very much. I’m actually really happy to be here; at least that’s what I’m telling myself. I’ve never delivered a speech before, which is why I decided to do this tonight. I wanted to do something that I don’t know how to do, and offer you the experience of watching someone fumble, because I think maybe that’s what art should offer. An opportunity to recognise our common humanity and vulnerability.

So rather than being up here pretending I’m an expert in anything, or presenting myself in a way that will reinforce the odd, ritualised lecturer-lecturee model, I’m just telling you off the bat that I don’t know anything. And if there’s one thing that characterises my writing it’s that I always start from that realisation and I do what I can to keep reminding myself of that during the process. I think we try to be experts because we’re scared; we don’t want to feel foolish or worthless; we want power because power is a great disguise.

I’m a person who does this and I struggle with it. I think it was Thomas Mann who said, ‘A writer is someone for whom writing is harder than it is for other people,’ which I thought was pretty cool. I think that’s sort of it; if you take it seriously it’s a struggle.

Here’s a recent quote that I found: ‘We do not talk, we bludgeon one another with facts and theories gleaned from cursory readings of newspapers, magazines and digests.’ That was actually written in 1945 by Henry Miller and I think it’s timely. I think what it says is that the world has been on its present course for a long time. People all over the world spend countless hours of their lives every week being fed entertainment in the form of movies, TV shows, newspapers, YouTube videos and the internet. And it’s ludicrous to believe that this stuff doesn’t alter our brains.

It’s also equally ludicrous to believe that – at the very least – this mass distraction and manipulation is not convenient for the people who are in charge. People are starving. They may not know it because they’re being fed mass produced garbage. The packaging is colourful and loud, but it’s produced in the same factories that make Pop Tarts and iPads, by people sitting around thinking, ‘What can we do to get people to buy more of these?’

And they’re very good at their jobs. But that’s what it is you’re getting, because that’s what they’re making. They’re selling you something. And the world is built on this now. Politics and government are built on this, corporations are built on this. Interpersonal relationships are built on this. And we’re starving, all of us, and we’re killing each other, and we’re hating each other, and we’re calling each other liars and evil because it’s all become marketing and we want to win because we’re lonely and empty and scared and we’re led to believe winning will change all that. But there is no winning.

What can be done? Say who you are, really say it in your life and in your work. Tell someone out there who is lost, someone not yet born, someone who won’t be born for 500 years. Your writing will be a record of your time. It can’t help but be that. But more importantly, if you’re honest about who you are, you’ll help that person be less lonely in their world because that person will recognise him or herself in you and that will give them hope. It’s done so for me and I have to keep rediscovering it. It has profound importance in my life. Give that to the world, rather than selling something to the world. Don’t allow yourself to be tricked into thinking that the way things are is the way the world must work and that in the end selling is what everyone must do. Try not to.

This is from E. E. Cummings: ‘To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best night and day to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight, and never stop fighting.’ The world needs you. It doesn’t need you at a party having read a book about how to appear smart at parties – these books exist, and they’re tempting – but resist falling into that trap. The world needs you at the party starting real conversations, saying, ‘I don’t know,’ and being kind.

…..

So you are here, and I am here, spending our time as we must, it must be spent. I am trying not to spend this time, as I spend most of my time, trying to get you to like me; trying to control your thoughts, to use my voodoo at the speed of light, the speed of sound, the speed of thought, trying to convince you that your two hours with me are not going to be resented afterwards.

It is an ancient pattern of time usage for me, and I’m trying to move deeper, hoping to be helpful. This pattern of time usage paints over an ancient wound, and paints it with bright colours. It’s a sleight of hand, a distraction, so to attempt to change the pattern let me expose the wound. I now step into this area blindly, I do not know what the wound is, I do know that it is old. I do know that it is a hole in my being. I do know it is tender. I do believe that it is unknowable, or at least unable to be articulable.

I do believe you have a wound too. I do believe it is both specific to you and common to everyone. I do believe it is the thing about you that must be hidden and protected, it is the thing that must be tap danced over five shows a day, it is the thing that won’t be interesting to other people if revealed. It is the thing that makes you weak and pathetic. It is the thing that truly, truly, truly makes loving you impossible. It is your secret, even from yourself. But it is the thing that wants to live.

It is the thing from which your art, your painting, your dance, your composition, your philosophical treatise, your screenplay is born. If you don’t acknowledge this you will come up here when it is your time and you will give your speech and you will talk about the business of screenwriting. You will say that as a screenwriter you are a cog in a business machine, you will say it is not an art form. You will say, ‘Here, this is what a screenplay looks like.’ You will discuss character arcs, how to make likeable characters. You will talk about box office. This is what you will do, this is who you will be and after you are done I will feel lonely and empty and hopeless. And I will ask you for my two hours back. I will do this to indicate my lack of love for you.

I will do this to communicate that you are a waste of time as a human being. It will be an ugly thing for me to say. It will be intended to hurt you. It will be wrong for me to say. It will lack compassion. And it will hurt you. And you will either dismiss it or take it in, but in either case you will hear it and it will affect you. And you will think about what you can do next time so you can be more lovable, and with that your wound will be buried further. Or you will think about how hateful people are and how your armour needs to be thicker so that you can proceed as planned with your ideas. With that, your wound will be buried further.

….

I think the best way to begin to combat the systemic indoctrination is to look at intention. The aphorism, ‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions,’ doesn’t ring true to me. I think intention is at the bottom of everything. My intentions are shifting and complex and often at odds with each other. And if I know what they are, and watch them closely as they slip and slide all over the place, I have a better chance of putting something honest into the world and this is my goal. My own Hippocratic Oath – I do not want to harm.

I am painfully conscious of the harm that occurs when participating in the media with unclear intentions. I do not want to be a salesman, I do not want to scream, ‘Buy me!’ or, ‘Watch me!’ And I don’t want to do that tonight. What I’m trying to express – what I’d like to express – is the notion that, by being honest, thoughtful and aware of the existence of other living beings, a change can begin to happen in how we think of ourselves and the world, and ourselves in the world. We are not the passive audience for this big, messed up power play.

We don’t have to be. We can say who we are, we can assert our right to existence, we can say to the bullies and conmen, the people who try to shame us, embarrass us, flatter us, to the people who have no compunction about lying to us to get our money and our allegiance that we are thinking – really thinking – about who we are, and we’ll express ourselves and other people won’t feel so alone.

This is Harold Pinter: ‘A writer’s life is a highly vulnerable, almost naked activity. We don’t have to weep about that, the writer makes his choice and is stuck with it. But it is true to say that you are open to all the winds, some of them icy indeed. You are out on your own, out on a limb, you find no shelter, no protection, unless you lie. In which case, of course, you have constructed your own protection and, it could be argued, become a politician.’

It’s weird to be a human. We get to think about things, we get to wonder. It seems like quite a privileged position in the universe. And I wouldn’t give it up for certainty because when you’re certain you stop being curious. And here’s the one thing I know about the thing you’re certain about; you’re wrong.

It’s always a mistake to settle on any explanation for anything, because whatever you settle on you will be wrong, even if you’re right. Everything is ephemeral; everything is in a constant state of flux. Thinking past any conclusion you’ve drawn will reward you with a more complex insight and a more compassionate world view. This is something I’m constantly trying to learn and re-learn.

There’s another quote that I like, this one’s a little long, but I think it’s good. It’s by a guy named John Garvey: ‘I am increasingly convinced that the need to be right has nothing whatsoever to do with the love of truth, but to face the implications of this means accepting a painful inner emptiness; I am not now what I sense somehow I am meant to be. I do not know what I feel from the bottom of my heart, I need to know. The beginning of wisdom is not to flee from this condition or distract yourself from it. It is essential not to fill it up with answers that have not been earned. It is important to learn how to wait with that emptiness. It is the desire to fill up that emptiness which leads to political or religious fanaticism.’

…..

I think what might make this form of endeavour exciting for writers is that they find themselves in an environment where they’re encouraged to use their powers to explore the world, their minds and the form itself. Think about the staggering possibilities of the marriage of light, vibration and time. I think craft is a dangerous thing. I saw a trailer for a movie, I don’t want to say what the movie is, but it’s coming out soon. And it was gorgeous, it was… gorgeous. And it made me really depressed, and I was trying to figure out why.

I think there was an amazing amount of craft and skill on the part of the filmmakers in this movie. And yet it was the same shit. I know that this movie is going to do really well, and I know that the people who made it are going to get rewarded for it, and so the cycle continues. So I think the danger of craft is that it needs to be in second position to what it is that you’re doing.

It’s seductive to put it in first position, often because what you’re doing is meaningless or worthless, or just more of the same. So you can distinguish yourself by being very, very good at it. I think you need to be willing to be naked when you do anything creatively in film or any other form, that’s really what you have to do because otherwise it’s very hard to separate it from marketing.

Alice Notley & Ping-Pong

12 Oct

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The new issue of Ping-Pong & the cover is pumpkin soup! 
In the new issue of Ping-Pong there is a 20-page conversation between Alice Notley, Maria Garcia Teutsch & I which took place in a cafe in Paris earlier this year. In person I would describe Notley exactly as I experience her on the page: utterly beautiful and in touch with a great otherness. 
Below is a mini-excerpt.
JHS
With The Descent of Alette at what point in the process did you figure out the form it would take with the quotations and the breaths? Did that come early or late in the process?
 
Alice
That came early. At the point where I got the form, I could write it.
 
JHS
Did you write the first piece first?
 
Alice
No, I wrote it last. I wrote the first two last. I didn’t have a beginning for two years and then at the end I had a beginning. It sounds a little tiny bit different from the rest of the poem, but not very much.
 
JHS
It contains almost the whole book within it.

 

alice
Alice
Yeah, I think it’s a very epic-like beginning. I give you an entrée that is also kind of a synopsis. But it’s very terse.
 
JHS
It teaches you how you’re going to read the book and also has information in it but at the same time it’s beautifully lyrical. All of those elements are perfectly balanced.
 
So you always knew you were going to use the quotations?
 
Alice
Yes, because I had already done them in a couple of poems. I had used them before for “A Choral Effect.” Right away I realized The Descent of Alette was going to have a first person singular. And I was going to have a unified voice, not choral. But it suggests choral. But it’s not choral, the way those two poems from “Beginning with a Stain” are. And also “White Phosphorus,” which is a mixture of voices.

 

Because when I was writing those I was listening to Monteverdi, who wrote 16th century Italian choral music. I carried that with me for a year or two until I got to the point when I wrote Alette. Then I had the one voice, but I had the quotation marks, but then quotation marks changed into demarcating the measures, more than suggesting the voices or voice.
Read another mini-excerpt from this interview here on Maria Garcia Teutsch’s blog. The full interview is ONLY available in the new Ping-Pong.
Ping-Pong is the the official literary journal of the Henry Miller Library and this is my first issue as an official Poetry Editor. While I can’t help but miss having my poems in Ping-Pong, it has been a fantastic experience being poetry editor and working along with Poetry Editor Joanna Fuhrman, Prose Editor Shelley Marlow and under the magical leadership of Editor-in-Chief Maria Garcia Teutsch. And I got to work with great writers and talk with my hero Alice Notley. The absolute highlight of the issue for me occurred deep in our conversation with Notley, when she shared some details about her vast treasure chest of fascinating yet-to-be-published works– bringing sexy back to the phrase “unpublished manuscript.”
Also in this issue, poems by: Alice Notley, Ilya Kaminsky, Shane McCrae, Timothy Liu, Danielle Pafunda, Melissa Broder, Leigh Stein, Jennifer L. Knox, Kate Greenstreet, Lina Ramona Vitkauskas, Tyler Gobble &more.  Plus an Ales Steger story translated by Brian Henry & Urska Charney and a micro-anthology of Russian poems translated by Ilya Kaminsky & Katie Farris.

BUY THE ISSUE 

Poetry Crush (Clean Slate) Autumn Writing Playlist

14 Sep

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Cool breeze/ summer’s over. I couldn’t be happier. Fuck that summer. Let’s forget it even happened. Here is a Poetry Crush (clean slate) autumn writing playlist.

Gwendolyn Brooks – Beverly Hills, Chicago
Lana Del Rey – Ride
Foxygen – How Can You Really
The Strokes – One Way Trigger
ELEL – 40 Watt
Sun Kil Moon – I Know It’s Pathetic But That Was the Greatest Night of My Life
Maps – To the Sky
The Strokes – Chances
Lorde – Team
Zola Jesus – Dangerous Days
Cibo Matto – MFN 
Karen O – Ooo
Lana Del Rey – Fucked My Way Up To The Top
The National – Hard To Find
Gwendolyn Brooks – Kitchenette

The lyrics to this Sun Kil Moon song remind me of my long-ago teenage Hungarian summer boyfriend. Marcel, Marcel, where are you now?

I know it’s pathetic but that was the greatest night

It was backstage in Moscow late one night
We shared a cigarette, a kiss goodbye
Her name was Cayenne, so young and soft
Her hands trembled badly, her eyes trailed off
To bottles and objects around the room
My backup guitar, a tray of food

We didn’t have very much to say
She said that she’d come from some other place
A town called Troyskirt, maybe Troysworth
I was pretty distracted packing my stuff
But I did make a point to ask her to stay
But she said she had friends that she had to go see

Later that summer I picked up my mail
She sent me a letter with a touching detail
“I used up my minutes calling hotels
To find you that night but to no avail”
“I know it’s pathetic,” she continued to write,
“But that was the greatest night of my life.”

Gwendolyn Brooks 1948

I’m always struck by the restraint in this poem by Gwendolyn Brooks. Instead of using divisive language about racial and economic injustice, which is easy to do and which most of us do… with messages that will only reach people who think exactly the way we do and box out people who don’t…. Brooks uses supreme clarity, restraint and craft to speak more powerfully and in ways that will never leave you.  She can reach any person of any lack or abundance of privilege in any time period walking down any street in the world.

Beverly Hills, Chicago

The dry brown coughing beneath their feet,
(Only a while, for the handyman is on his way)
These people walk their golden gardens.
We say ourselves fortunate to be driving by today.

That we may look at them, in their gardens where
The summer ripeness rots. But not raggedly.
Even the leaves fall down in lovelier patterns here.
And the refuse, the refuse is a neat brilliancy.

When they flow sweetly into their houses
With softness and slowness touched by that everlasting gold,
We know what they go to. To tea. But that does not mean
They will throw some little black dots into some water and add sugar and the juice of the
cheapest lemons that are sold,

While downstairs that woman’s vague phonograph bleats, “Knock me a kiss.”
And the living all to be made again in the sweatingest physical manner
Tomorrow….Not that anybody is saying that these people have no trouble.
Merely that it is trouble with a gold-flecked beautiful banner.

Nobody is saying that these people do not ultimately cease to be. And
Sometimes their passings are even more painful than ours.
It is just that so often they live till their hair is white.
They make excellent corpses, among the expensive flowers….

Nobody is furious. Nobody hates these people.
At least, nobody driving by in this car.
It is only natural, however, that it should occur to us
How much more fortunate they are than we are.

It is only natural that we should look and look
At their wood and brick and stone
And think, while a breath of pine blows,
How different these are from our own.

We do not want them to have less.
But it is only natural that we should think we have not enough.
We drive on, we drive on.
When we speak to each other our voices are a little gruff.

Fruitvale Station

19 Aug

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With the latest senseless police shooting, I can’t help but to think of the film Fruitvale Station.  This is my favorite film from 2013 (along with Her) and I’ve been meaning to write about it for months.

Fruitvale Station is a beautiful and truthful film about the last day in the life of Oscar Grant – a not so perfect guy, trying to be better – who was wrongfully shot and killed by a police officer at the Fruitvale Bart Station in Oakland, CA in front of a car-full of witnesses.   Michael B. Jordan (Vince from Friday Night Lights and the kid on The Wire) is unforgettable as Oscar, wow.  So is Octavia Spenser who plays Oscar’s mother and Melonie Diaz who plays Oscar’s girlfriend.

This is a film that brings awareness to the injustice of the police shooting of Oscar Grant, but it does so not by dividing good guys and bad guys.  It bypasses statistics, politics and this country’s history of racism and shows us what is at stake in closeup: a young mother and a young daughter and the young father who is trying to be the man his family needs him to be.  And the film, despite the horrible inevitable outcome of its main character, is delightful, funny and entertaining …  after all, he has no reason to think he is going to die that day.

Fruitvale Station released last year when Trayvon Martin was in the news and theaters were reported to be filled with sobs when the lights turned on at the end of the film.  I’ll spare you from telling you how much I cried, other than to say that when we hear these stories in the news we get angry and frustrated and are in  Phase I of our sadness.  Fruitvale Station begins the very deep mourning process which there is never time for because there is always another news story.  This is a humble and powerful film.  It should be mandatory viewing in schools, police academies and the homes of all humans.


One of the most striking images from Fruitvale Station is this image of Oscar aiming his cell phone camera at the police officer, knowing it is his only weapon.  One of the images of our time.  Still, it wasn’t enough to save his life.

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Also, this Michael Che piece on the Daily Show re: the shooting of Michael Brown made me laugh and cry in the same breath.  It’s devastatingly sad and funny and sad.  Awfully sad.

http://www.mediaite.com/tv/stewart-goes-after-fox-in-powerful-ferguson-monologue/#ooid=w1bnh2bzq3D2gsDBBPlRQ9Eoy97b_JPI

Anne Carson & Sappho

8 Aug
The use of brackets in Anne Carson’s If Not, Winter  makes what’s missing in Sappho’s text a tangible missing.  There’s something universal in the presentation, almost mathematical or primal.  One would expect our first communications with aliens, prehistoric fish and the dead to be similar when we find some common ground in language and translation.  right?

 

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FOR SALE: Book of Crushes & Poetry Crush T-Shirts, Tanks & Croptops

3 Mar

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Poetry Crush crops, tanks & tees are for sale.  Artwork by Todd Colby.   And Book of Crushes is for sale too.  Artwork by Sara Lefsyk.  

About Book of Crushes:  This mysterious book of secret crushes is designed to be read aloud, but in hushed voice & by candlelight.  Book of Crushes is broken up into three sections:

Poems: Poet-on-Poet Crush
Jennifer Knox on Walt Whitman, Sara Lefsyk on Federico Garcia Lorca, J. Hope Stein on Sylvia Plath & Ted Hughes, Melissa Broder on Emily Dickinson, Todd Colby on Mina Loy, Janaka Stucky on Jean Genet, Joanna Penn Cooper on Wislawa Symborska, Victor D. Infante on Anne Sexton, Christine Hamm on Marianne Moore, Lauren Hunter on Langston Hughes, Claude McKay, Countee Cullen, & Jean Toomer, Maria Teutsch on Henry Miller, Joe Hall on Edward Taylor and Rauan Klassnik on Ron Silliman.

Poems: Poet-on-Celebrity Crush
Joanna Penn Cooper on Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Kristy Bowen on James Franco, Amy Lawless on Mariah Carey, Sasha Fletcher on the presidents, Monica McClure on Lindsay Lohan, Lauren Gordon on Britney Spears and Brandon Brown on Amanda Bynes.

Radical Essay or Short Story: Poet-on-Poet Crush
Sampson Starkweather on Weekend at Bernies & Hamlet, Miracle Jones on an orgy with Emma Lazarus & Julia Ward Howe and J. Hope Stein on Shakespeare.

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Robin Williams & Good Will Hunting & Use of Repetition & I Heart Huckabees

12 Aug

The deep, hilarious and human Robin Williams.  “It’s not your fault.” — The repetition in this scene is unrelenting. It breaks down Will and it breaks me down and it will break you down too.  That is some effective use of repetition.

(from Good Will Hunting)

Sean: My father was an alcoholic. Mean fuckin’ drunk. He’d come home hammered, looking to whale on somebody. So I’d provoke him, so he wouldn’t go after my mother and little brother. Interesting nights were when he wore his rings.

Will: He used to just put a belt, a stick, and a wrench on the table. Just say, “Choose.”

Sean: Well I gotta go with the belt there.

Will: I used to go with the wrench.

Sean: Why the wrench?

Will: Cause fuck him, that’s why.

Sean: Your foster father?

Will: Yeah.
[pause]

Will: So, uh, what is it, like, Will has an attachment disorder? Is it all that stuff?
[Sean nods]

Will: Fear of abandonment? Is that why I broke up with Skylar?

Sean: I didn’t know you had.

Will: Yeah, I did.

Sean: You wanna talk about it?

Will: No.

Sean: Hey, Will? I don’t know a lot. You see this? All this shit?
[Holds up the file, and drops it on his desk]

Sean: It’s not your fault.

Will: [Will shrugs] Yeah, I know that.
[Will averts his eyes to the floor]

Sean: Look at me son.
[Will locks eyes with Sean]

Sean: It’s not your fault.

Will: [Will nods] I know.

Sean: No. It’s not your fault.

Will: I know

Sean: No, no, you don’t. It’s not your fault.
[Sean moves closer to Will]

Sean: Hmm?

Will: I know.
[Will stands up, trying to keep distance]

Sean: It’s not your fault.

Will: Alright.

Sean: It’s not your fault.
[Will closes his eyes, he's fighting for control]

Sean: It’s not your fault.

Will: Don’t fuck with me.
[Will shoves Sean back]

Will: Don’t fuck with me, Sean, not you!

Sean: It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.
[Will breaks into sobs. They hug]

Sean: Fuck them, ok?

 
 
 
Use of repetition in the I Heart Huckabees screenplay goes from silly to ludicrous to completely destroying the fabric of Brad’s character. As the scene unravels Brad unravels and you almost do too but it’s too funny– so you can’t. You are saved by your sense of humor and Brad who is humorless drowns in the repetition — “how am I not myself”.  Although we are saved by humor, the scene does challenge us by implying that our own use of repetition is a coping device and avoidance strategy. And the writer himself, David O’Russel, says this while also doing it.

(from I Heart Huckabees)

Vivian Jaffe: Why do you think that you tell the mayo story so much?

Brad Stand: I don’t know. Why?

Bernard Jaffe: It’s propaganda.

Brad Stand: [scoffing] For mayonnaise?

Bernard Jaffe: For you.

Vivian Jaffe: Specifically, you’re so impressive because you know Shania. And you’re so strong because you pulled one on her.

Bernard Jaffe: You’re a funny guy, a good guy.

Vivian Jaffe: Keeping everyone laughing, so that maybe, quote, you don’t get depressed.

Brad Stand: [shouting] Well, what’s so great about depression?

Bernard Jaffe: Nothing. Unless it holds the key to something you compulsively avoid, so it will never be examined or felt. Hence your behavior becomes repetitive like the story.

Vivian Jaffe: Like the story.

Bernard Jaffe: Like the story.

Bernard Jaffe: Shut up. Alright, I don’t have to tell stories.

Vivian Jaffe: What do you think would happen if you didn’t tell the stories? Are you being yourself?

Brad Stand: How am I not myself?

Bernard Jaffe: How am I not myself?

Vivian Jaffe: How am I not myself?

Bernard Jaffe: How… am I not… myself?

Amadeus

9 Aug
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2 Scenes from the Amadeus screenplay by Peter Shaffer involving Salieri’s introduction to Mozart.  Meanwhile, we are only communicating in opera and ballet around the house and so should you.

 1

MOZART
Sra-I’m-sick! Sra-I’m sick!

 

CONSTANZE
Yes, you are. You’re very sick.

 

MOZART
No, no. Say it backwards, shit-wit.
Sra-I’m-sick Say it backwards!

 

CONSTANZE
(working it out)
Sra-I’m-sick. Sick – kiss I’m – my
Kiss my! Sra-I’m-sick – Kiss my arse!

 

MOZART
Em iram! Em iram!

 

CONSTANZE
No, I’m not playing this game.

 

MOZART
No, this is serious. Say it backwards.

 

CONSTANZE
No!

 

MOZART
Just say it – you’ll see. It’s very
serious. Em iram! Em iram!

 

CONSTANZE
Iram – marry Em – marry me! No, no!
You’re a fiend. I’m not going to
marry a fiend. A dirty fiend at that.

 

MOZART
Ui-vol-i-tub!

 

CONSTANZE
Tub – but i-tub – but I vol – love
but I love ui – You. I love you!

 

The mood becomes suddenly softer. She kisses him. They
embrace. Then he spoils it.

 

MOZART
Tish-I’m tee. What’s that?

 

CONSTANZE
What?

 

MOZART
Tish-I’m-tee.

 

CONSTANZE
Eat

 

MOZART
Tish-I’m-tee.
CONSTANZE
Eat my – ah!

 

Shocked, she strikes at him. At the same moment the music
starts in the salon next door. We hear the opening of the
Serenade for Thirteen Wind Instruments, K.

 

MOZART
My music! They’ve started! They’ve
started without me!

 

He leaps up, disheveled and rumpled and runs out of the room.
Salieri watches in amazement and disgust.

 

 2

INT. PALACE GRAND SALON – DAY – 1780’S

 

Salieri, in this vast room, is standing and looking at the
full score of the Serenade. He turns the pages back to the
slow movement. Instantly, we again hear its lyrical strains.

 

CU, Salieri, reading the score of the Adagio in helpless
fascination. The music is played against his description of

 

OLD SALIERI (V.O.)

Extraordinary! On the page it looked
nothing. The beginning simple, almost
comic. Just a pulse – bassoons and
basset horns – like a rusty
squeezebox. Then suddenly – high
above it – an oboe, a single note,
hanging there unwavering, till a
clarinet took over and sweetened it
into a phrase of such delight! This
was no composition by a performing
monkey! This was a music I’d never
heard. Filled with such longing,
such unfulfillable longing, it had
me trembling. It seemed to me that I
was hearing a voice of God.

 

Suddenly the music snaps off. Mozart stands before him as he
lays down the score.

 

MOZART
Excuse me!

 

He takes the score, bows, and struts briskly out of the room.
Salieri stares uncomprehendingly after the jaunty little man.

 

OLD SALIERI (V.O.)
But why?

 

INT. OLD SALIERI’S HOSPITAL ROOM – NIGHT – 1823

 

OLD SALIERI

Why? Would God choose an obscene
child to be His instrument? It was
not to be believed! This piece had
to be an accident. It had to be!

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