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Innsbruck Main Station.

The express train to Amsterdam...

To live for you! To die for you!

The devil is dancing with me.

Almschi!

Idiotic.

Idiotic!

May I help you, Sir? - Gustav Mahler. Dr. Freud is expecting me.

- One moment. Sir, Dr. Freud.

Freud. - Pleased, Mahler.

Pleased. How was your trip?

Pleasing.

I'm on my way to Sicily,

put my vacation on hold for you.

Please.

Damn. They still didn't... I asked for this an hour ago.

Sorry, Sir. Where to? - Right here, please.

Make yourself comfortable.

I sat for hours.

My tea? - The tea.

Thank you. I'll do this myself.

What can I do for you?

You...

We... - You wrote about a marital issue with your wife.

How much younger is she? - Does it matter?

Yes.

We could start your session...

Unbelievable!

Yes? - Your tea.

I need some air. I can't do this.

Dear Direktor Mahler. - May I? - Please...

Six weeks ago you asked me for help. Although on summer leave,

I gave you an appointment. You canceled. The second one, you canceled again.

The third one, I canceled too.

I thought I could do it. But I can't.

Neurosis or not, it's an insult! - So?

You can't make a fool out of me. - Too late.

Just one question. - Please. - Should an old, worn out man

tie a young, vivacious woman to himself?

Do you know how happy we are? You have no idea

of our bliss... with our music...

It's done! The Sixth is finished!

Congratulations!

Bliss...

We worship each other.

We have been madly in love for more than 9 years.

Bliss...

... highest form of human experience.

So, why are you consulting me?

What are you gawking at?

Come on.

Come on already!

My daughter complains about my pace, yours is even faster.

My wife betrays me.

I was not seduced!

I wanted to sleep with him. We made passionate love.

Well, one time... - No. Not just once.

Every night at the sanatorium,

several times.

I was starving.

Having left the Vienna Opera,

I've more time for my own work. - Your compositions.

Yes, we spend a lot of time in the countryside.

I also travel a lot, twice as a guest conductor to the United States.

Alma was with me, but her health is weak.

And then the pregnancies... - Abortions.

Last year she was in Levico, this time in Tobelbad.

My son-in-law comes to me with his problems.

"Dearest Mama! I am worried by Almschi's letters..."

That's what he calls her. "... that have such a strange tone.

What's going on there?"

May I join you after my mud bath?

Good.

What's wrong? - My husband will visit. - What?

Here? - Last year in Levico, he showed up bald.

He had fallen asleep at the barber. He looked like an inmate.

I couldn't sleep with him.

He left depressed. - You should introduce me.

You're crazy.

When is he coming? - It's up to me.

I'll let him come... - And you'll introduce us.

We'll see, my love.

"On Sunday I'll go to Altschluderbach." That's their summer home.

Ten rooms at a farm in Tyrol.

"Should I rather visit

Almschi in Tobelbach?"

That's the sanatorium where she recovers.

Why do you love me?

Because you're beautiful.

Your soul,

and your body.

Kiss me.

Don't get me wrong. I love my son-in-law.

But the constant mad rush by his side turned my Alma into a nervous wreck.

Poor Gustav.

He's coming.

When? - Tomorrow.

Will you fulfill your marital duties?

I was concerned that her treatment wasn't working. I was worried about her.

Suspicions? - No. None.

So I traveled straight to Tobelbad.

Munich was grand.

The whole choir, that's 250 singers, all respectfully rose when I arrived.

It was colossal. Miss, please remove the candles.

What an impression this insufficient cast made. - Insufficient?

I planned for over 800. - Yes, of course.

After the rehearsal the orchestra was elated. - Great.

And Fried and Klemperer came up to me. - Klemperer? How nice of him.

Now I'm just exhausted. - Good. - What?

I meant now you can relax a little here. - Thank you.

In Munich you can't sleep from all the car noise.

I hope that it will be better here in the country.

Although, with all the animals...

I'd like to introduce you to Herr Gropius.

Good evening. My name is Walter Gropius.

Delighted. Are you also... - Herr Gropius is an architect.

He has wonderful ideas: Architecture for the people,

clean lines, undecorated.

A healthy environment for the working class. Steel, glass, concrete,

nothing stuffy. - Interesting...

We've had several very good conversations.

But for relaxing you don't mind stuffy.

I love to joke around.

Thank you for tending to my wife a little.

Have a nice evening.

Glass, steel, concrete...

nothing stuffy.

Gustav spent two days in Tobelbad, then back to their summer retreat.

He writes: "Dearest Mama, just a brief note.

I found Almschi much fresher and stronger.

The treatment is benefitting her a lot.

Please convince her to stay as long as possible."

No suspicions? - "Adulteress" was not written on her forehead.

You had intercourse? - You're repeating yourself.

So no intercourse.

The room was inhospitable.

Back at the summerhouse, I tried to compose. - Your Fifth...

It's my Tenth. It's been a while, since you heard my works.

I've never heard anything of yours.

What? You have... - No.

I need silence, especially while working.

You should see me.

I fight battles against noise.

Our farmers tip-toe around the house that the walls shake.

But music... is not noise.

The most dangerous kind. - What?

Do you suffer from migraines?

Yes. Severe attacks.

Awful! - Syncopes?

I love syncopes.

No.

In medicine a syncope is a brief unconsciousness

that can also be triggered by music.

I myself had three such episodes.

At the Park Hotel. In Munich.

In the lobby.

It was a piano.

No... I self-diagnosed a musicogenic epilepsy.

Musico... no! - Yes.

I was afraid of music.

And now?

I've discovered "Don Giovanni".

And he's harmless?

Do you recognize it?

I'm sorry.

Please, go on.

Then Alma returned from Tobelbad...

... from the sanatorium... - Yes.

And with her tranquility. I was able to compose again.

What does she represent to you?

Mother? Wife? Housekeeper? Critic? Muse?

Partner.

Confidante. Friend. Lover.

She is my all.

Your center point.

Yes,

my center point... up until...

Beloved Alma! Day and night I think only of you!

Alma?

What is this?

Walter...

Mama, what's wrong?

Gusti.

What's wrong... what's going on?

What is this? Explain what this is!

Go to grandma, Gucki. Now!

Read! Explain it!

Are you insane? You're scaring the girl!

Explain it!

Where did you get this?

And how did your wife react?

What did she have to say?

I don't know.

Leave the door open.

And yours too... please.

I want to hear you sleep.

Alma?

I am too old for you, from the start.

My music. My song.

Now all of a sudden. Why?

Because it is good.

Not just good but very good.

Come.

We'll work on it. Please.

After a ten-year ban on my music?

Almschi. I've been waiting for you.

He surprised me. - Who? Herr Gropius?

Under the bridge. I got so scared.

Did you talk to him? - No.

Truly.

You're not holding back? - You know everything.

Everything.

Then I'll go get him.

No. - Yes. He shall tell us what he wants.

You know how your wife and I feel.

We are in love and don't want to leave each other.

I am not a surreptitious man.

Our age and interests are the same.

We share the passion for life and love. - What?

My career is starting to take shape. I am asking you

to release her.

Alma deserves an appropriate, fulfilling life.

An honorable solution would be best.

Honorable? - I hate to cause you grief, but fate

wants it. - "Persevere in spight against all the might", says Goethe.

Don't worry about me, young man.

And don't forget that you're talking about Gustav Mahler's wife.

Your falsely addressed letter displays immaturity.

A chivalrous solution would be

that you'd find your own mate and build a nest

and not rob mine like a thief. - A life savior. - You know what?

I wish you the experience of a marriage like ours.

Nine years of highest bliss and deepest despair.

Fulfillment, you say?

We are bound together by music.

A language we both speak. How do you plan to replace that?

With your clean lines?

We stood over the grave of our beloved child.

You know nothing. - Gustav, your heart.

Nothing!

The decision is up to you, Alma.

I will not hold you back.

I want your child.

Alma...

where do you stand?

I can't leave him.

You have to wait.

It would kill him.

I am yours. But I have to keep serving him.

We'll write,

we'll meet, we'll make love.

I'll tell him that I stay with him.

Why did you have me come here?

Leave now, please.

Everything is all right.

My God, what's wrong?

Oh my God!

He is burning up.

Are you as hungry as I am?

If we were in Vienna, your time would be up now

and you'd return next week. - So let's go eat. At the hotel.

Without noise. - Agreed. Where are we actually?

We are lost. Typical.

Your wife's decision didn't calm you? - Why do you think so?

Why else would you consult me? - I am sinking into deep despair.

It's eating me. - Do you think your wife has financial motives?

Excuse me? - Found culpable, she would lose all her rights.

That's not Alma's nature!

Are you trying to punish her?

I am trying to forgive her. But it's not that simple.

I tend to her wishes, love her more than ever.

What about intercourse? - You're repeating yourself.

You know this taboo about sex is like cancer.

It's turning us into emotional cripples.

Guilt? - My wife's guilt is... - No. Your feelings of guilt?

Me? Guilt? Me?

I am only guilty of being too old for my wife.

I offer her a full life.

She committed adultery. Not me.

Because of you, I lunched at 12 noon today.

Usually I lunch precisely at 1 p.m.

As an artist, you surely are more liberal.

Liberal?

My son-in-law jumps out of bed at seven:

Breakfast, work, at nine to the opera house.

At one o' clock he returns for lunch.

The assistant calls ahead,

Mahler rings the bell downstairs,

up here, the soup must be put on the table.

The apartment door stays open for him

so he doesn't have to wait.

He storms through the apartment, slamming doors.

He washes his hands. They sit and eat.

Bon appétit!

A short nap.

Then a brisk walk, either around the Belvedere or the Ringstrasse.

At five a hearty snack. Then back to the opera.

He attends the performance for a while, before Alma picks him up.

If he still has office work, she'll watch some of the opera

but never stays longer than he works.

Of many operas she never saw the ending.

He says, she doesn't miss much.

After a late night meal,

they lay on the sofa and talk, or Alma reads to him.

I missed the last train...

It was quite a long day...

Good night.

I'll finish mine upstairs. I still have to work.

Me too.

See you at breakfast?

Maybe. Please send me your bill.

Yes, don't worry.

Good night. Pleasant dreams.

I never dream. - Says everybody... at first.

Well then, good night, Herr Doktor. - Good night, Herr Direktor.

... but only such a woman who can be claimed

by a boyfriend, fiancé or spouse.

Good.

Being jealous their passion reaches its full potential,

the woman her full value...

He saves her by never letting her be.

Pardon me. You mentioned feelings of guilt...

It's eating at me.

Could you please explain? - No. - But...

Look, Herr Mahler,

we'd have to go far back and dig deep.

My creative process is similar. - And you truly have to want it.

The truth is buried in the unconscious.

I understand.

It is a very long process. Good night.

I can't wait. I...

I am trying to work. It is late.

I can offer a new appointment for August in Vienna.

I'm in New York by then. I need you now. I'll pay double.

It's not about money!

I beseech you.

Please, come in.

Get comfortable.

I don't feel comfortable... - Can you teach me piano standing?

Lying down, please.

But when you play piano... - Do you want to, or not?

Shoes on or off?

Do you know what a partial hypnosis is? - I don't know if I want to.

I'll place my hand on your forehead...

... and you'll think about nothing.

Nothing?

Whatever enters your mind, you say out loud.

You said to think about nothing... - Breath in...

... and out...

... calmly in...

... and out...

May I join in on the laughter?

We are fighting about beauty.

Our hostess is beautiful! Right, Berta?

You should know, Klimt. Your women are the prettiest.

How about the head of Socrates... - Yes!

He's gorgeous.

Then I should have a chance with you too. - Max! - Zemlinski is beautiful!

This bug-eyed...

... fat-lipped... - That green boy?

Zemlinsky is a genius, with beautiful eyes.

Maybe he'll send you one!

Like van Gogh his ear!

Dirty pig!

Don't be so sensitive.

I know my brother. I saw the danger.

I told him that evening that it was a trap.

Berta Zuckerkandl is famous for her matchmaking,

in Yiddish for making a shidduch.

This girl has a reputation. Klimt,

who sat next to her, drew her in all kinds of poses,

and gave her the first kiss.

Her parents never invited him back.

You're crazy, Klimt.

You've lost your mind.

Burckhard,

head of the Burgtheater,

wanted to give her the second and more.

But she had a thing with her music teacher.

The disgusting Herr von Zemlinsky.

And my poor Gustav, the hermit, the workaholic,

who is busy enough with his hysterical sopranos.

He needs someone who guides him.

And now, this schoolyard affair,

20 years his junior.

I'm scared.

And why don't you perform "The Glass Heart"?

What? - Zemlinsky's ballet.

A masterpiece. - I don't understand it.

I can explain it to you. - I can't wait.

Because for you the story is more important than the music?

You can't let a submitted work sit for a year.

You may decline, but you have to respond.

You study music. Why support such rubbish?

It's not rubbish!

Let's make peace. I'll send for your teacher tomorrow,

because of your lovely demand.

Last Sunday Alma played piano in my house.

We were all floored, touched, moved. Everyone congratulated her.

I went to her and said: You're beautiful, that's unpleasant.

You play piano expertly, that's annoying. And you compose,

that's too much!

Where do you live? - Hohe Warte.

Shall I take you home? - No. I have my bicyle.

And I must study for my counterpoint lesson.

With the genial Zemlinsky... - Yes, right. The one.

Can I invite you to my rehearsal of "Hoffmann's Tales" tomorrow at ten?

With pleasure.

Autumn has fallen in love with spring.

Gruesome.

Fräulein Schindler!

I brought my mother along.

How did you sleep? - Excellently! Why shouldn't I?

I didn't, not one minute... the whole night.

Don't blame me. - Please, Miss, follow me.

Five minutes to curtain! - Ten! - Correction! Ten minutes to curtain!

Now we don't have to hurry. Rosé, wait for my cue today, please.

Of course, Maestro. - Concert master Rosé sticks by me through thick and thin.

That rancid wig! Throw it in the oven!

Just brushed it... - Don't lie to me...

Anna, please! Your voice! - Three times I told her to wash it.

I have to work for a moment.

He has something going with all the sopranos.

Mildenburg, Gutheil-Schoder, cute Michalek. Open that.

Even with Kurz...

Not much difference between opera and kindergarten. - It's working.

Come, I'll show you!

Have you ever been on our stage? Come!

Mr. Gurgel. How are you? - Thank you. And you? - Please.

Where do you live? - Hohe Warte.

Alma... the Fräulein mentioned it yesterday.

It's one of my favorite walks. - Come visit.

With pleasure. When?

Yours is the tight schedule. It's up to you.

Saturday? - For dinner.

I don't eat at night. - For tea?

Yes, tea. I'm a man of my word.

Now it works. Finally. Move!

We refined it all night... It works. Herr Schratzenstaller, once more please.

Do you hear anything? - Nothing.

You see? - Fantastic!

Incredibly impressive, gigantic!

Please Alma, speak German. I'm from Hamburg. Our German is the purest.

I had an engagement there.

Thank you.

I'd love to work here as a conductor.

I would hire you on the spot. I'm sure you're a talented conductor.

Your judgment doesn't seem to be objective.

There is no objective judgment.

I was crazy about her too.

She was unbearably tempting.

And her mother would have loved her as Frau Burgtheater Direktor.

I told Alma: Mahler is too old for you. Not healthy,

and a womanizer. - And you took her to his office?

Just backstage. C'est tout!

His finances are in shambles. - His compositions are hissed at.

He was crazy about you at Zuckerkandl's. - They all are.

He fell in love with you. - I didn't notice. - And if he proposes?

I will accept.

Are you making this up?

Why? - Well, you weren't there.

During our happiest nights, Alma recounted every nuance of our courtship.

These were like performances, even with da capos.

Encores?

Like a child I wanted to hear it again and again.

"I will accept!" Magnificent!

And this is supposed to be composed by a genius?

Kitsch! Bitter, bloodless,

want-to-be-modern brain music!

And this disgusting terrible pseudo folk.

Mahler... he should change his name to Malheur!

Des Knaben Wonderhorn...

A real small "Wonderhorn"... yes.

He can't impress Alma Schindler with that!

Right?

Your songs are ten thousand times better.

Will he support my music like you?

So what's all the fuss about then?

I'm so confused. - So let's stay together.

He's 19 years older and I'm your age, almost...

Eight years older... - I love and know your songs,

and I desire you like no other man.

My poor lover.

Stay my friend. I can't live without you.

Please forgive me.

I am bad. And you are good.

What's wrong with you, Alma?

You are in love with Alex. I almost gave myself to him.

And now... Mahler?

He's pure oxygen. He glows.

He is vastly superior to all the others.

I don't like his music. I don't feel it.

But when he is conducting...

When he's conducting...

he's a god.

His eyes...

when he turned and looked at me.

His smell...

He'll elevate me far above myself.

Please excuse the chaos, we just moved in.

It takes a while...

Congratulations on the new home. Is Fräulein...

Go on up. Alma is upstairs.

Hello there, Fräulein. - Hello.

I brought you my Fourth.

Leave it there.

Want to take a look? - Sure.

Burckhard gave me all of these. - The Burgtheater director? - Yes.

Nietzsche. I could devour him. - He's poison, belongs in the fireplace.

On the mantle. - In the fire!

More to argue about. Staying for dinner?

Already so late?

We'll have Burckhard and Paprika Chicken. - I'll stay anyway.

I'll have to call Justi, my sister.

We don't have a phone, yet. But up at the park.

Excellent. A walk! Come.

Since a hemorrhage almost killed him the year before,

my brother was afraid to die.

On that Saturday

he was late for dinner. And when his secretary called me,

I knew, he's building a nest.

He wants family, his own child.

And young Alma Schindler, the society muse,

was just the right nesting hen.

It is not easy to marry a person like myself...

Marriage,

so soon?

No, he didn't ask me.

He said: "It is not easy to marry a person like myself..."

As if I had proposed to him...

He turned the table on me.

Such a...

He told me how much I please him. I didn't.

Smart.

And... does he please you?

Handsome he is not. - Please, Mama...

To me he's the most handsome.

I ran Gustav's affairs for nine years.

I had his shoes and suits made in London.

We lived by the Belvedere. Auenbruggergasse 2.

At the top.

With his strong conductor arms, he carried me up the many stairs,

I'm eight years younger.

He's the second of twelve.

I'm the one before last.

I have to keep my total independence.

I must be entirely free.

I can't be bound by material things.

My position at the opera can be cancelled.

And when you chain another being to yourself...

Don't forget I'm an artist's child,

have always lived with artists,

and consider myself an artist.

My compositions are my life.

I would die for them.

I love someone.

You love your teacher. Understandable.

It's more than that. - But now I'm here.

Will you look at my songs? - Please Alma, call me Gustav.

Will you look at my songs? - Yes, of course.

If you show them to me.

I didn't expect this.

Remarkable... very remarkable actually.

Even good. - Honestly?

Honestly!

Thank you... Gustav.

When shall we marry?

Gustav.

Let us be husband and wife. I can't wait!

Let's play.

Wagner, Walküre.

"Winter storms gave way to the blissful moon."

You missed an eighth. - Pardon.

I'll give it to you. Even a quarter.

A half.

... or even the whole. Me.

You are crazy. - Yes, crazy.

... for you.

I spent every day and evening that I wasn't working with her.

Mostly it got so late that I missed the coach back.

But that didn't matter. Because on those walks home,

I was happier than ever.

I had beat out Zemlinsky!

What do you say about Mahler's engagement?

Alma Schindler is 22 years old, tall and slender.

The most beautiful girl in Vienna, from a very good family, and very rich.

But we, his friends, are concerned.

She is used to an exciting social life,

and he is such a hermit.

Our groom gets irritated, when you congratulate him.

Congratulations, Gustav!

The newspapers have engaged me, but it's true.

Congratulate me, but do it quickly.

That's enough.

Let's talk about Justi and Rosé.

They got engaged as well.

Now a big round of applause.

Alma, what's wrong?

A terrible letter.

Did he call it off?

Mahler sees my entire life as a joke.

What? - He thinks I'm not working,

just having fun.

My counterpoint studies are senseless.

Klimt and Burckhard are banal...

My work doesn't enrich mankind like his.

I must drop everything and serve him!

As if his music, that gets booed, enriches mankind!

And that should be my fulfillment...

Do you know what he wrote?

He wants a wife...

... and not a colleague.

Finds it ridiculous, a composing couple.

What is he supposed to do, when I'm inspired?

His work counts, mine doesn't.

Like a second-class human.

Only a female.

Oh well.

He lied to me, fooled me,

acted as if he liked my work.

Clumsy, brutal. He could have just let things progress naturally...

What should I do?

You're not one to make sacrifices...

Break up with him! Now! I said.

Banal.

As if he knew how!

Nietzsche, Alma's favorite author, says: "Going with a woman, don't forget...

... the whip."

If I painted like he composes, I'd sell nothing.

I must build my life, around his needs,

hope for nothing in return but his love.

Love?

It's pure egoism!

He thinks he's better than Wagner...

Gustav wants our roles to be clearly defined.

His is the role of the composer,

and mine the one of the understanding comrade,

of the loving companion.

Better a separation now than a forced mistake.

That would be devastating for both of us.

He tore my heart from my chest.

No...

It's beating right next to mine.

I love him...

undescribably.

He would have been the better choice.

What?

The boulders are starting to shift.

You're faster than me.

No one ever wrote parts for me so well.

Will you complete the second horn part?

The sixth horn holds the "B" another seven bars.

Ouch. - What's wrong? - Your son kicked me.

He's got your twitch in his foot.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Heavenly... Gustav.

For you... Almschi.

These things take time. - You're killing her! This is superhuman.

She's almost there. - No human can bear this!

A girl!

For you... Gustav.

Putzi! What happened?

Marmalade game!

Mamamamamalade game!

Stop it.

Mama, what is this?

A.

"A" like Almschili.

But Frau von Mildenburg, you can't be serious.

You can't tell me where to buy a summer home.

No. But to buy a lake house next to Mahler, your ex-lover,

is simply tasteless. - Tasteless?

You of all people! You stole him from me.

What an insane lie!

He dropped you long before.

You're a bitch.

I always knew.

I'm buying the villa, you won't stop me.

Ladies. Come.

Everybody's waiting.

Anna. You were wonderful.

Shhh. Everyone be quiet.

Anna! You'll never believe this.

Anna, come! You have to see this.

You won't believe this.

Isn't that wonderful?

What's wrong?

I think it's time. - I'll call the midwife...

Where were you?

By the canals. - No,

in your memories.

In the good times.

You're still free of guilt?

Get the kids. I'll play you my Sixth.

Let's be alone, please.

Get the kids. Quickly.

Guilt?

I don't know.

My despair is only getting bigger. - And after the good years?

Came the catastrophe. - The affair.

No.

Why did you resign? Were you kicked out? - Fired? - What's your severance?

What did you get? - Excuse me? What?

For your smear campaign? - Me? I'm for him! - Stop, gentlemen.

You know the house rules.

Good job!

What?

To kick out Gustav Mahler! You should have protected him.

Carte blanche for the arrogant Mr. Roller! To dump the Kaiser's lover!

Defending Schönberg's cat music? Were you impressed?

It cost him his position in the world. A musician's highest achievement.

Gambled away! A shame!

We're free now to go to America.

We don't need you. - You bitch!

Unlike other people, I'm only here for him.

Mahler is an arrogant dog.

You're not in a pub here! - You're the one who dug his grave.

Prof. Roller created visionary productions... - They silenced us!

The opera's no fun anymore! - No chatting! - Clapping is restricted!

No whistling! - No tossing flowers!

Not even the tenor can embellish his high notes. - He banged

all the sopranos.

Only "art"!

Yes, art!

In his ten-year tenure... write this down.

... Gustav Mahler created a model opera house, with his Tristan,

Fidelio and Don Giovanni. He set the standard for all to come.

He was an unpleasant boss. - You too? - He fired Förster-Lauterer.

She still sang pretty good. - She's sung out. - And now our director is sung out.

And what about the money? - What money? - The two-hundred-thousand-

kronen debt.

Unheard of.

I dug a little. It was a total fabrication.

The monstrous debt was an accounting error, on purpose or not.

Mahler was a very good businessman. The opera never had a better one.

I remember the smear campaign well.

And that hurt you more than your wife's affair?

No, not that.

Putzi... - No! - Putzi got it too! - No!

Yes!

She's sleeping.

Tracheotomy.

Mahler's adored daughter Putzi,

not quite five years old,

died from scarlet fever and diphtheria.

After that

Mahler couldn't bear to look my Alma in the eyes.

Why?

I think deep down I blamed her for Putzi's death.

Her death was the coup de grâce for our marriage.

When you were closer to her than to me,

this feeling crept up in me. Something unspeakable... forbidden.

"If Putzi was gone..."

Oh God.

You still think you aren't at fault?

I don't know anymore.

The key is what your wife said about the letter,

about the exposure of the affair. - I don't know.

You know it! You're blocking it out. It is in here!

You, yours, you! Mahler, Mahler, Mahler!

I'm afraid.

You're not in control.

Your subconscious mind is in control.

But you are dependent on your repressed memories!

You stripped everything from me, so that I couldn't stand on my own anymore.

That's why I kept getting sick. You made your awful letter a reality.

I gave myself up and lived just for you. I shared your hell. I shared your...

I was tortured in your purgatory. What did I get in return?

What did I get in return?

Our music. - Your music!

My music was confiscated.

Banned.

I'm not a genius,

but I would've liked to find out myself.

You made my music a punishable offence.

We have only one artist. One genius.

And his good comrade, who swallows everything, pays for,

fixes, arranges... everything.

I suffered through your genius as your wife!

And now...

it's enough.

I grabbed the straw of life.

A young man saved me from drowning.

I love him and will not give him up.

I will leave the dungeon.

I will leave you.

I understood too late, you're only married to your work.

Work, high spirits without joy.

Striving for the eternal. - But that's what we wanted... both.

Why didn't I say "no" at the altar?

You cheated me out of my wedding.

All of Vienna wanted to see me.

They all were there. In the afternoon.

Because you put it in the papers that way.

In the afternoon the church was full, in the morning cold and empty.

I wanted you like you wanted me.

I wanted a man like my father,

with warmth, authority, life experience,

and success.

I wanted you. You, Gustav.

But I didn't expect

to sacrifice for you the shimmering, promising life ahead.

Where in Bohemia are you from?

From Kalischt.

I'm from Freiberg, almost neighbors.

How many siblings do you have?

Eight survived.

And you?

Eleven.

Six died young... ... from scarlet fever and diphtheria.

We had more dead children than alive ones.

My brother Ernst died at age 13,

from hydropericardium.

My brother Otto shot himself at 28.

I knew my mother only pregnant.

Mine had a weak heart,

and she walked with a limp.

I loved her weary face.

I wanted Alma like that... sometimes...

Weary?

What did you say once?

If I got small pox,

and my face were deformed,

only then...

only then you could show me how much you love me.

The sorrowful faces of our mothers...

You are my God.

Never did I experience greater things than with you.

I only longed for you and your love.

You fulfilled your promise,

lifted me up to you.

I'm in your music.

I will keep growing with it.

And nothing can separate me from it.

You are strong.

I am weak. I couldn't breathe in your heights.

Please forgive me.

You have to fulfill yourself.

I want to stand by you.

Will try to love you again.

The next morning she went to Toblach...

... mailed a letter and picked up another.

From the architect. - Yes.

She is drawn to him.

Obsessive. The flesh.

Then I came to you.

Doktor Freud?

It's past six. You wanted to be woken.

Thank you.

My train leaves just before ten.

Mine too.

I change trains in Amsterdam. - Me too.

You know, my dear Herr Direktor Mahler...

... it almost seems to me...

... your wife would've had to invent the adultery...

... if it didn't really happen.

To open up your eyes.

Gustl.

Sigmund...

Sigi.

After Mahler met with Freud,

I saw Gustav Mahler in Munich.

Several colleagues prepared the world premiere of his Eighth.

Choirs, musicians from all over Germany.

I coached the soloists.

A thousand participants.

This evening in Munich,

in a gigantic exhibition hall, gave Mahler the triumph of his life.

The who-is-who of the time paid him their respect.

Among them Sigmund Freud, and a young man

whom I later met as Frau Alma's second husband, Walter Gropius.

After his visit with Freud, Mahler dedicated the Eighth to Alma.

Shortly after the Mahlers left for the United States.

Mahler praised his wife's compositions, which he had published.

He was already marked by death.

The angina, he suffered since childhood,

had infected his heart.

In America he conducted with a high fever,

broke down and was brought back to Europe.

He was so weak that, in Paris,

he had to be slid out of the train window.

He died during a roaring thunderstorm...

in the night of the 18th of May, 1911, in Vienna.

Frau Alma's doctor forbade her to be at the funeral.

"My beloved!

The afternoon rehearsal is over, every note directed at you.

It excited me like I was sitting at your bed.

Freud is right. You were always my light, my center point.

And this blessing heightens all my senses.

It's torture that you can't reciprocate.

But as love must awaken love, and fidelity will find fidelity,

as long as Eros rules, I want to win it all back...

... the heart that once was mine...

Tomorrow is Tuesday. Didn't you want to come?

Do you want me to sleep in the other room?

Your letter was so sweet. After weeks,

I feel this glorious joy of love.

But tell me over and over again, for tomorrow I won't believe it anymore.

Now good night, my sweet.

Send a telegram when you're coming,

my beloved,

your Gustav."

Esa-Pekka Salonen and the Swedish Radio Symphony Orchestra performed the only

completed movement of Mahler's 10th and parts of his 5th and 4th symphony.

Film und Video Untertitelung Gerhard Lehmann AG