All language subtitles for Mahler.1974.720p.WEBRip.AAC2.0.H.264-HRiP.ENG

MAHLER

How do you feel?
You’re dropped off?

Fine. I slept like a log.

No, like a rock.

The 1st movement of the 3rd Symphony
kept running through my head.

What the rock's tell me?

That's because er...
you're conducting it, tomorrow.

I was the music.

Therefore I was the rock
and the rock was me.

Close the window.
It's cold.

You look feverish.
Let me take your temperature.

It has nothing to do
with my temperature.

It's chilly. Now
close the window.

And don't fuss.

- You were part of the dream too.
- Hmmm. A pebble, I suppose.

No.

You were a living creature
struggling to be born.

At last, you've noticed.

You are a chrysalis.

Ready to turn into a pretty,
painted butterfly.

Where are you going?

Just floating out
for a fashion magazine.

Have I the honour of
addressing Dr. Gustav Mahler?

Siegfried Krenek, journalist,
Toblach News.

Dr. Mahler, is it true

that you cancelled your conducting
commitments in New York

because the competition from
Toscanini was too strong?

Or because the people didn't
appreciate your own music?

Or was it simply ill health?

I was tired of skyscrapers
and sarsparilla.

I want to find a place near
Vienna where the sun shines,

and the grape grows
and I can breathe again.

Congestion of the lungs.
So, it was ill health then?

Why is everyone so
literal these days?

I was speaking metaphorically.

Why were you forced to leave
the Vienna Opera in the first place?

Was it anti-semitism?

Or because you worked your singers
and musicians like a slave driver?

I certainly drove one
musician too hard.

Dr. Mahler, which do you prefer?
Conducting or composing?

I conduct to live.

I live to compose.

Now you've wasted precisely
two minutes of my time,

Mr. Krenek.

Why don't you do what I
do when I'm teaching

the New York Philharmonic
to play in time?

Beat it!

Yes, that's very good.
Thank you, Dr. Mahler.

It was certainly kind of you to talk
to me. Greatly honoured I'm sure.

All Austria is proud
to welcome you home again.

Don't say it, I know.

I might as well be your shadow for
all the notice anyone takes of me.

I was waiting for that.

It's about time you
change your tune.

I had plenty of tunes
until you killed them all.

Right over the wheels...

And next to the lavatory.

You've managed to reserve the
noisiest compartment on the train.

Right. Now you can exert your own
personality up to the hilt.

Charm the attendant.

Seduce him into getting
us another one.

It was the last one.
We were very lucky

- to get it.
- I've got a migraine coming on.

Privacy,

punctuality,

and silence.

And the greatest of
these is silence.

But Gusto, it's as silent
as the grave.

No, dearest, it's as noisy as
a nursery. Listen.

But Putzi is asleep,
it can't be your children.

Listen!

But dearest, they are everyday
country sounds. You are teasing.

If they really troubled you,
you wouldn't write pieces, called.

"What the animals in
the forest tell me"

or "What the flowers
in the meadow tell me".

Even your titles give you away.

All your music is a hymn to nature.

Not quite all.

You've forgotten
the most important title.

What love tells me.

Now give me a hand.

Anyway, I don't want
to imitate nature,

I want to capture
its very essence.

So, if all the birds and the beasts
died tomorrow,

and the world became a desert,

when people heard my music
they would still know,

feel what nature was.

Now, if you really want
to help me in my work,

run along and see if you
can stop that racket.

When are you going to look
at my songs, Gusto?

You promised to
ever since we got married.

I know but I want to study them
properly and that takes time.

When I can give up conducting
altogether and compose all the time

instead of just during
the holidays it'll be different.

The crows are the worst offenders.

If you can dispose of any unhatched
generations while you are at it.

You'll save yourself
a lot of future work.

Close the door quietly as you go.

You still haven't
scared the crows away.

And there's a pile of music for you
to copy out after lunch.

Ah!

You need a bath.

The attendant's seeing
what he can do.

There is no other
compartment free. But

he's hoping someone
will exchange.

Just coming into another station.
Won't be long.

Why don't you lie down?

[Laughs] Christ, [Coughs]

Why do they always honour me
with the sound that irritates most?

Brass bloody band!

You shouldn't have written so many
into your symphonies.

Oh, there's a reception
committee, too!

And they're bound
to want a speech.

You make it.

- Where are you going?
- To the lavatory.

You can't! What shall I tell them?

Tell them their music
gives me the shits.

Gustav!

Something to tell me, my son?

Ten.

Ten...

Ah, good, good.

Minus.

- What?
- Minus.

I'll tell you what five. I'm giving
you every scrap of my knowledge.

Pick up those bottles.

I can try again next year.

For nine whole months I paid to your
tutor to give you extra coaching.

To guarantee you'd pass
the entrance examination.

I bought you expensive books.

Schmidt's German grammar,
Hindemann's syntax,

collected works of...
What was his name? Goethe.

And this is how you re-pay me
by not winning the scholarship.

I mean 50 whole
crowns down the drain.

It wasn't enough.

- What?
- It wasn't enough.

Not enough?
Did my ears deceive me?

With the sacrifices
your mother and

me have made for you.
Such gratitude.

You know, I have a good mind
to get hold of you...!

Karl Ritter's father bribed
someone with 500 crowns

to change my mark from 10
to 10 minus.

They didn't want a Jew to win
the second year running, anyway.

- So he goes to the Polytechnic?
- Yes.

The son of a Goy Shulmanzah!

Disgrace he's brought
upon me and my house.

I'll kill him with
my own bare hands.

I'll kill him.

Eat your soup before
it gets cold and dies,

Gustav. It's in a
very weak condition.

So, what use is a diploma
from the Iglau Polytechnic

when the concert
platforms of the world

are crying out for
great pianists?

Who do you have?
You have Ignaz Moscheles,

you have Franz Liszt,
you have Rubenstein.

If you've lessons from
my old friend, Maestro Sladky

a scholarship to the
Prague Conservatoire,

and the whole world at your feet.

"The whole world at your feet."

- You'd like that, wouldn't you,
Gustal precious? - Yes, Aunt Rose.

Alfred Grunfeld himself was a infant
prodigy at the Sladky Academy.

Sounds like a factory of prodigies.

A factory of Jewish
dwarves with lace

colours and shiny
patent leather shoes.

- What's the good of
having a piano if no one

uses it? - I do use
it, I make up tunes.

Bernhard,

Gustav is going to
be a child prodigy.

Isn't it wonderful?

Grandad's arranging
some lessons for him with Sladky.

Not for three crowns
a lesson, he's not.

One crown.

Crowns, crowns, crowns...

Crowns for books, crowns for food,
crowns for relatives.

And now crowns for music.

Slad...

Sladky has always charged
three crowns a lesson.

For me an old friend,
he will charge one.

He owes me a favour.

Look, grandad says,
young Grunfeld has just

bought his parents two
houses in France.

And Sigismond Thalberg has been
presented to the King of England.

Bernhard, our own boy
playing at Buckingham Palace.

- Imagine!
- And only one crown.

One crown...

Get the schnapps, Berta.

We drink to my son's
future fame and fortune.

And what do you call that,
may I ask?

It's called the 'Kitten Serenade'.

More like the tune the cat died of.

Eine kleine Katmusik.

- Where did that come from?
- Out of my own head.

And that's where
it should have stayed.

Even a monkey is more clever. He can
pick out a tune with one finger

pick out his nose with another and
eat a banana all at the same time.

But to play the piano
calls for genius.

And genius calls for
scales, scales, scales.

Even more scales.

Scale of C major.
Begin!

Elbows in, wrists down,
elbows, wrists...

elbows, wrists,
elbows, wrists,

elbows, wrists,
elbows, wrists.

Eight. Eight crowns.

Cash. Payment
for another month's tuition.

Father...

Don't worry about the money.
It's a good investment.

Could the money go towards lessons
in composition instead?

Who ever heard of
a composer making money?

Mozart, they buried
in a pauper's grave.

Father, I don't think I'll be ever
good enough for a concert pianist.

Practice, my boy.
Practice.

Become a king of the keyboard.
Now go on, run along.

Make your mother
and me proud of you.

Goodbye, Father!
Thank you.

Elbows, wrists,
elbows, wrists,

elbows, wrists,
elbows, wrists...

The first one, out to the boat
and back, gets a prize.

Bravo!

Right.

Look, that's that horrible,
little swat Mahler.

How's your old man's black eye?

Dirty little Jew boy,
about time he had a bath.

Leave him alone.
Shut up!

If you think you'll get a prize,
you are unlucky.

Too late, Jews always want
something for nothing.

Go back to your books and your
piano, pansy. Silly little Yid.

- Pansy, pansy.
- Pansy, pansy.

People call me Old Nick.
What's your name?

Mahler, Gustav.

Gusto.

How long have you been
swimming, Gusto?

Two years but I can't.
The water won't keep me up.

Oh, it won't keep on
a bar of iron either.

Iron ships float on it
Basking porpoises...

Why shouldn't it keep you up?

Relax, wallow in it.

Forget about swimming.
That'll come by itself.

- Where are we going?
- We are going to float.

I don't want to.
Take me back.

Now then look at the clouds,
look how easily they float.

- There, isn't it easy?
- It's easy when you're holding me.

Oh, not holding you.
Look the head!

I don't think you're sinking.

Think, think of floating.
There...

Isn't it easy?

- Looking for this?
- My Music.

Good title,
"What nature tells me".

Unusual, even if it is
a bit of ambitious.

Did you like it?

Oh, you've got a glimmering of
a divine spark, I suppose.

We all have, somewhere
deep down inside of us

glowing the way in the dark.

But we all need
something special to ignite it

make it burst in the flame.

That's this something special is
what you lack.

What is it you're lacking?
Years? They're nothing.

Rossini was writing symphonies at 7.

Technique? Ah, you can pick that up
from a textbook as easy as ABC.

No, no, no.

A real feeling for nature,
that's what you lack.

"What nature tells me"
What berries are those?

I don't know.

- What tree's that?
- I don't know.

- Quick. What bird is that?
- It went too fast.

Listen.

- What kind of bird's that singing?
- A swallow?

This time of year?
They come and go.

Do you know where they go to?

When does the moon rise?

What brings the north wind?

- Where is The Great Bear?
- I don't know.

And you've got the cheek
to write music.

A man who doesn't live in nature
like an animal or a rock,

will never in his whole life
write two notes worth a light.

Good god, what have your parents
been thinking all these years?

I think I can recognize a lilac,
at least when they are in bloom.

Do you come here every day?

Every day...

I am somewhere else.

Now there is a pianist, Franz Liszt.

Even if the boy is only half
as good piano player as Franz Liszt,

we are doing all right.

This morning,
on my way to Littmans,

who should I bump into,
but old Man Mendelssohn.

Felix's nephew.

Do you know how much that boy used
to get for just one performance?

- No.
- 800 crowns.

800 crowns a performance.

Just work out what that comes to
at 15 concerts a month.

Of course, he might do more.
And no outlay, no expenditure.

Just a few sheets of music
and a tuning-fork.

All other expenses paid for by the
concert promoters. It's a gift.

And some of those concertos
don't last half an hour.

Well, count what that comes
to a minute.

- My God! That's 30 to 800...
- The boy will need a manager.

To protect him from those
unscrupulous concert promoters.

And where will you
find such a thing as

a honest manager
outside the family?

No, a relative. Someone who has the
boy's personal interests at heart.

What was the number I first said?

Perhaps Gustavo plays
something for us after dinner.

Look, I am a millionaire
I suppose. I own property,

I go hunting,
peasants pay me rent.

Enough, I'll send my son
to college.

No need to worry about us.

I am a millionaire!

The peasants pay me rent!

I will kill him.

I'll kill him!

I still have the money.

I didn't want to steal it.

Bernhard,

I'm sick of your pauper's mind,

your dreams of fame and riches.

The only thing we are
rich in is dreams.

All we lack in this house
is blood.

I have no wish to see
blood in this house.

Good day, Gustav.

Alma!

Alma!

Take it! Read it!

Go on! Read what it says.

"Dearest Alma,
I love you, Max."

How's the music business?
Still reorchestrating Beethoven?

I hope someone does the same
for me if ever I go deaf.

From what I hear
that's the least of your troubles.

It's funny I can never remember
how many symphonies he wrote.

Beethoven. Nine, wasn't it?

Don't they say, 'No great writer of
symphonies ever gets past nine'?

How's your No. 10 coming on?

If you are trying to scare me to
death you'll have to try harder.

I'm not superstitious.

I thought all Jews were
superstitious.

Oh, I beg your pardon. I forgot
you are not a Jew now, are you?

Not now, you're successful.

I can't remember,
what religion are you?

I'm...

a composer.

If you are waiting to talk
to my wife, wait outside.

No, Gustav, it's you
I want to talk to.

You know how I feel about her.

I need her, I love her,
I can't live without her.

How original!
I must set you to music.

I had no idea
you are a poet as well.

Now you are being facetious.

I'm paying of the compliment
of being perfectly frank with you.

You know it's been over
between you two for ages.

You'd be better off
with a paid nurse. And

she'd be better off with me.
You know it.

People think you are a great man,
that your music speaks of humanity,

warmth and understanding.
Well, prove it. Let her go.

I'm sick of being told the way
that my music speaks to people.

My music begins where
words leave off.

And I don't need to write a symphony
to say, 'Get out!'.

I should be getting off at St.
Polten.

I hope you'll come with me.

A lady in the middle
of the carriage has

agreed to change
compartments with us.

I've explained who you are
and that you are sick.

I'm not moving.

What do you mean,
you are not moving?

I've gone to a lot of trouble.

Put them back porter
there's being a misunderstanding.

Certainly, Dr. Mahler.
No trouble at all.

Thank you.

I understand you're searching for
tranquility, Dr. Mahler.

Good heavens!

Yes.

I fully appreciate the sensitivity
of a mind so rare as yours,

so delicately tuned into
the vibrations of the infinite.

Not to mention the harmony
of the universe.

I'm afraid my husband
has changed his mind.

- He wants to...
- Alma, please!

Please.

It's a great privilege
to meet someone

who knows what it's all about.

The music of the Spheres, you mean?

No, I mean death.

- I'm afraid you've
got the wrong man,

madam. - No, I read
it in the newspaper.

Your latest symphony, the 9th,
it'ss all about death.

Death the Pitiless Enemy,
Death the Joker.

Even Death the Lover.

Who is that man flying
through the air?

Who is that man flying
through the air?

Some people say he's God.

Lunch.

- What's God?
- He made everything.

He looks just like a man.
Is everyone God?

Everyone is part of God.

- That tree?
- Yes.

- And the water?
- Yes.

Is everyone God then, even Lulu?

Even Lulu.

- Then how can God be all different?
- Look.

Look at your fingernails,
feel your hair.

- Different, aren't they?
- Yes.

They're all you..

Oscar.
Just a few minutes.

Come along.

And when we die,
does a bit of God die too?

No, there's part of us
that never dies.

- A part that nobody could see.
- How do you know it's there then?

- Can you see anything in there?
- No.

- And you?
- No.

Come here.

- Now, can you see something?
- Yes.

Can I look too?

Just because you can't see something
doesn't mean to say it isn't there.

Like a rainbow?

Something about all of us.

Something that nobody can see.

- Not even in that?
- No.

What is it then?

Some people call it the spirit.

Some call it, the soul.

- And that part never dies.
- Never?

Never.

What happens to it?

It becomes part of God's spirit.

Good night.

What are angels then?

Angels are what
old-fashioned people

thought good spirits
should look like.

- Do they?
- Certainly not.

- And who are these?
- Dirty angels.

They are bad spirits.

They're suppose to live
in a fiery place, called Hell.

And if God's cross
will he send us there?

Don't worry.
It's only a fairy story.

If we are good, will he give
us sweets when we're dead?

Look...

Whether your spirit's been good
or bad, it makes no difference.

There are no presents
or punishments.

Heaven and Hell were made up
by man, not God.

- So there's nothing then?
- Oh, yes.

There is something all right.

Something He shares with us all.

What?

Love.

So we should all have to die.

All are going to see God.

I'm going to die, die, die, die...

Yes, even Death the Joker,
Death the Lover.

I read about it
in the New York Times.

Don't believe all you read
in the papers, madam.

They exaggerate.

For death,
you should read 'Farewell'.

The symphony is a farewell to love.

I thank you
for your kind consideration.

Death. Death. Death.. It's all they
ever talk about these days.

What are you doing?

Seeing if there're any more about...
of your lovers.

Oh, you're a fine one to talk!
You and your busty opera stars.

Stop that!
I'll call the attendant.

I'm not dead yet.

You'd like to see the back of me.
All of you.

Max, Kokoshka and all the other army
of admirers at your feet.

You always wanted fame.

Well it looks as if you'll
have to settle for notoriety.

Well don't let me stop you.

Get off at St. Polten with Max!
See if I care.

- Beethoven.
- Gusto!

10th.

I dreamed... I imagined...

Don't speak.

They've telegraphed
and a doctor is

going to meet us at
the next station.

It was my funeral.

I was alive and you
were there with Max.

I wanted to live so very much
but you didn't take any notice.

- It was terrible.
- Don't worry, it's all right.

I understand.

How sweet I roam'd
from field to field,

And tasted all the summer's pride,

'Till I the prince of love beheld,

Who in the sunny beams did glide!

He shew'd me lilies for my hair,

And blushing roses for my brow;

He led me through
his gardens fair,

Where all his golden pleasures grow.

With sweet May dews
my wings were wet,

And Phoebus fir'd my vocal rage;

He caught me in his
silken net, < / i>

And shut me in his golden cage.

He loves to sit and hear me sing,

Then, laughing, sports
and plays with me;

Then stretches out my golden wing,

And mocks my loss of liberty.

It wasn't the song I was applauding
but you...

You sang it beautifuly.

- Thank you.
- Charming, my dear.

Even if it was a little derivative
of Zemlinsky.

- My teacher... - ...is always
derivative of Arensky.

Who is very derivative
of Rachmaninoff.

Who is very derivative
of Paderewski.

Who is very derivative
of Tchaikovsky.

For music lovers everywhere.

The least said about him,
the better.

Oh, stop it, Gustav.

Your song was charming, Alma.

Even if it was a little naive,
a little childlike.

Critics are always accusing me
of being naive.

Don't associate naivete
with children though.

They don't even know what it means.

Heaven lies all around us
don't you see?

To enter that world, we must see
with the eyes of children

and hear with ears of children.

Which you captured perfectly
in your 4th Symphony, Gusto.

'A child's view of Heaven', divine.

Now, that Alma hasn't any more songs
for me to sing

don't you think we should get on
with Tristan, Gusto?

Yes, down to business.

Amateur music's all very well
but it doesn't pay the rent.

You liked it then?

Yes, I was surprised.

You are very talented,
but if you'll take my advice

leave music-making to us,
professionals.

As a buddy composer you're
better off where you are.

A housewife.

- I didn't...
- I know which I'd rather be.

I didn't mean that.

I just don't want to
see you get hurt.

I've seen it too often.

The Emperor will see you now.
You address him as Your Majesty.

His Excellency, Franz Joseph,
Emperor of Austria.

Justine and Gustav Mahler.

We are greatly honoured
that Your Majesty

has deigned to grant
us an audience.

Don't debatse yourself my good
fellow I can't bear sycophants.

Dispense with the pleasantries
and let's get down to cases.

You've applied for

the directorship of the Imperial
Court of Theatre of Vienna. Hmm?

Of course, you realize that is
the greatest, musical accolade.

To which any musicans can aspire.

You are aware of the
fact that a very

distinguished collague of yours,

Er... Hugo Wolf! has also
applied for the post.

Yes, Your Majesty.
I was aware of the fact.

- Parents?
- Diseaced, Your Majesty.

What are your qualifications?

In 1875, I enrolled at the
Conservatoire of Vienna.

A year later, at the age of 16,
I won a piano competition.

Two years after that,
I won the composers'

competition with
a piano quintet.

Your achievements in that
field do not concern us.

We're in need of a
director of opera.

Not a composer manqué who would
utilise the position

to ensure performances of his own
second-rate symphonies.

As I understand, you did in Prague.

You have a brother who also fancies
himself as a composer, correct?

That is true, Your Majesty.
His name is Otto.

Some say he writes better music
than you, is that true?

He is a very gifted young man,
Your Majesty.

He applied for an audience once.
I was too busy to see him. Pity.

I must get him to
write a march for me.

Everyone else has.

Go on with your qualifications.

Artistic director and conductor
of the Royal Hungarian Opera,

Artistic director and conductor
of the Hamburg Opera.

That's all very well but what about
your social qualifications?

- Can you waltz?
- Yes, Your Majesty.

And your charming wife?

Yes, Your Majesty.

Well, then waltz!

What others?

Dances, Your Majesty?

No, you fool.
Musical qualifications.

Well now let me see.

Last year I was selected
from many applicants

to conduct a season of German music
at the Royal Opera House, in London.

Where I performed with some success
the works of Richard Wagner.

Wagner?

There's the rub.

Drop your trousers.

I beg your pardon, Majesty.

Drop your trousers.

I'm sure your wife won't object
I assume she's seen it before.

As I thought, a Jew.

That is the rub.

We have some brilliant
surgeons here.

They could probably graft
on a new foreskin but...

but even so, I doubt that
would deceive Cosima Wagner.

She can smell a Jew a mile off.

And she's an even
greater anti-semite

than her late, lamented husband.

Unless we can win her over
my hands are... well, they're tied.

I may rule the country but she
rules the World! Of Music...

That's a pity,
you dance divinely.

I'm afraid we must now terminate
the audience.

It's time for me to take my
therapeutic waters.

Hugo! Hugo
!

I suggest you take your
sister away, Dr. Mahler,

Herr Wolfe is likely to
become violent and abusive.

Come, along...
we'll take you back to your room.

Poor Hugo, did he mention me?

Only to say that he
still thinks you're

a better composer
than your brother.

Wants you to write a march for him.

Otto Mahler's simple tunes
for simple minds.

And why doesn't he
want to see me then?

Why does he still think he
is the Emperor of Austria

instead of a musician?
I don't know.

But you still thought
it right to humour him.

Somehow he's found out that I've

applied for the post
he failed to get.

You should have heard the
questions he asked me.

Oh he really put me through it.

Perhaps it was revenge on
you for stealing his job.

I haven't landed the
wretched thing yet!

Help take sister home would you?
I want a word with Dr. Richter.

I was going to a
Tchaikovsky concert.

Otto's going to take you home.

Later on we'll go out for a meal.
My treat.

You treated us last night,
you can't keep on...

- Tonight we'll eat at home.
- I'll help you with the shopping.

Oh, stop coddling me! Both of you!

- She should get married.
- One less mouth for you to feed.

Along here.

In many ways, you and Hugo
suffer from the same misfortune.

Both victims of a common
recurring pattern.

Brilliant composers, ahead of
your time forced to earn a living

conducting the music
of other great men

who were also neglected
in their day.

For some, the strain is too great.

Tchaikovsky, Schumann, for instance

and they crack up,
like our poor friend Hugo.

- Does he still write?
- Every Day.

Reams of music, all rubbish.

His early songs were among the most
perfect ever written.

I understand you studied together
at the Conservatoire.

Yes.

He was more brilliant
than his teachers even then.

If I were to get that position at
the Opera, the one he was after...

do you think it would upset him?

Would that stop you accepting it?

As students we shared digs.

We all loved them.

- Me, my sister, the whole family.
- We all have our responsibilities.

Yours is to your family,
mine is to Hugo.

Gustav.

Hugo.

You are just in time
one of my latest songs.

The critics say that's
all they're fit for!

It's all right, Hugo.
Our time will come.

I don't want to see you get hurt.

Leave composing to those too stupid
to do anything else.

I'll put the children to bed.

Alma!

Your music.

Right Anna, try the Liebstodt
you were singing yesterday

I'll try if I have any voice left.

We are being consumed by flames.

You and Max were mocking me.

It's terrible to destroy something
that is alive.

And nobody notices.

It's terrible. It changes you.

- I understand.
- Do you?

I wonder. Perhaps you do.

Before we get to Vienna,
you must choose between Max and me.

Gusto, please!

Your choice must be made
out of love, not duty.

Duty destroys,

duty always destroys.

Stop cabbaging Kasha,
I hope you're all

hungry. About five
minutes, right?

Lovely, I'm ravenous.

- What is that, Otto?
- Something new.

It's not finished yet.
It's called "Sunset".

Sounds interesting.

Interesting is easy,
beautiful is difficult.

You'll write beautiful
music in time.

And she'll type beautiful letters.
Business Collage.

It is a waste of money.

At least I'll be able to earn
some money when I get my diploma.

When you finally do finish studying
at your precious Conservatoire,

what guarantee have
you got that anyone's

going to pay to hear your music?

Look at Gustav.

If he can't do it,
what chance have you got?

Why should he be the only
'bread winner'?

Bread, bread, bread,
morning, noon and night.

Hey Otto! No wonder Jews
have got a bad name.

- How's school?
- Rotten.

When are we going to America?

The minute our dear brother
gives us the fare.

You are incorrigible.

I'm only asking for a loan.

America is the land of
golden opportunity.

And once my name is in lights
I shall pay back every penny.

Liar!

And drag down the family name
into the bargain.

We may never be rich but
at least Gustav and

I are members of an
honourable profession.

Then I'd rather be a member
of the oldest profession. Thank you.

I simply can't stand
this any longer.

Shut up the lot of you!

It'll be alright.

I'll get the job at the Court Opera
and our troubles are over.

Wolf Hugo thought that and look
where he landed up.

Hugo told me.

He gave me the answer.

Perhaps my religion is against me.

Apart from that I'm more qualified
than anyone else in the country.

The only thing between me
and that job is Cosima Wagner.

So what are you going to do?
Marry her?

Nothing so drastic.

I'll just become a catholic.

Ah!

THE CONVERT starring
Cosima Wagner with Gustav Mahler.

VALHALLA Shrine of
the Goddess of music, Cosima Wagner.

BAPTISM OF FIRE

Intercession of the
SACRED HEART.

DESTROY THE DRAGON
OF THE OLD GODS

STILL KOSHER...?

...and then came the
TALKIES!

No longer a Jew boy.

Winning strength through joy,
you are one of us now,

Now you are a Goy.

All doors are thrown open.

When on you I smile.

Dictator of Opera.
Mahler, Sieg Heil.

You've made me a star.

AYou'll go very far.

My passport to Heaven
That's what you are!

- No longer a dog.
- You've got me the job.

Now you're in the market.

- Thanks be to God.
- Thanks to be God.

- Thanks be to God.
- Thanks be to God.

- Got it!
- What, Gustav?

One passport to Heaven.

The keys to the Kingdom
of the Vienna State Opera.

What was it like?

It's no worse than
having a tooth filled.

The incense acts as an anesthetic.

Gustav! What would mother
have thought?

At last the boy's inside
the Buckingham Palace already.

No, I mean, changing your religion
just for the sake of the family.

Oh devil, take the family.
I did it for me.

Well, I hope you don't live
to regret it.

What do you expect me to struck dead
by the wrath of God or something?

Don't worry about him.
He's dead.

Man is his own God.

Well, that's that. Been baptized
in the Church of Christ

now it's time to me to be received
into the House of Mammon.

You can baptize me with champagne
at the Cafe Royal.

But I'm not dressed properly.
And what about the others?

Let's take a bottle home. They'll
be so happy, especially Otto.

Amen to that!

We'll get a Magnum.
Two Magnums!

Oh, Magnum Mysterium!

Are you sure it's gonna be enough?

"One less mouth for you to feed."

"Your second-rate brother, Otto".

No. Never do anything out of duty.

It's a treadmill. I sacrificed
my work to it for years.

It always ends in disaster.

Do things out love, not duty.

If you love Max more than me,
you must go with him.

Thank you.

Look!

It's Putzi.

Close the blinds!

A corpse doesn't like
being stared at.

But the children. They want
to give you their bouquets.

Wreaths!

Not bouquets, wreaths.

Close the blinds.

Oh doctor, thank you for coming.
It's my husband.

I was putting a case
on the rack, doctor.

When did you suffer
your first attack?

Gustav! Gustav!
What are you thinking of?

I'm trying to think about
the development section

of the 1st movement
of the 6th Symphony.

- But why?
- Is the house on fire?

What do you mean?

Because it must be
bloody important for

you to interrupt me
while I'm working.

What is the meaning of this?

Songs on the death of children.

Why not, songs on the
joy of children?

Songs on the life of children?

There are many forms of death.
Those songs are...

they are on the death of innocence.

I don't choose what I compose
it chooses me.

Now, you take care of the children
and I take care of the music.

Your inhuman, you'd rather sacrifice
the lots of us

than lose one note
of your wretched music.

It's still there.

In stormy weather,
in winds that howl.

I shelter the children
in safety at home,

But a cry within the tempest
has called them outside.

I was not able to warn them.

In stormy weather,
in winds that howl.

I shelter the children
in safety at home.

I acknowledge the
danger before them.

My mind is in torment for them.

In stormy weather,
in winds that howl.

I shelter the children
in safety at home.

I fear they may die in the dawn.

There is no way I can save them.

In stormy weather,
in winds that howl.

I shelter the children
in safety at home.

But now in the storm
I have lost them.

I was not able to warn them.

In stormy weather

when tempests rage.

And winds do howl.

Rest,

Rest,

As calm as in mother's...

In mother's arms.

But ow no evil can take them,

For God will not forsake them.

They rest,

They rest,

as in their mother's arms...

as in their mother's arms.

Mommy!

When your sweet mother

comes through the door

and I turn my head to look at her,

Not on her face my
first glance falls

but on the place closer to her side

where your dear face would be.

Smiling your good night to me

as yo used to do,

little one.

When your sweet mother comes
through that door

in the candle's glow,

I remember how you always came to me

running before her
to say good night.

Now, in the growing darkness

we are left alone.

OH! Light of joy.

Forever gone

I had my first heart
attack shortly

after the death of
one of my children.

Yes, I read about that.

Not the heart, but the
coincidence I mean.

The child's death and those
morbid songs of yours.

I was terrified all the time I was
writing them something might happen.

But I had to go on
whatever the consequences.

The more I see of life and death,

the more I think it is all nothing
but a huge terrible joke.

Why do we live? Why do we suffer?
And do we have to die to find out?

Once upon a time
I thought I knew. Now...

If I could tell you the answers
in words doctor

there would be no need for me
to write music.

Well, that's a pity. But if you
have found the meaning of it all

I should never know
I'm tone deaf. Say "Ah".

Ah.

Slight infection, I thought
you sounded a bit hoarse.

Still there's nothing to worry about
there, nor your heart either.

But don't overtax yourself.

Avoid violent exercise,
no running, no swimming.

You take care of yourself
and you'll live for years.

What about conducting?

I've got a concert tomorrow night.
It's up to you. See, how you feel.

When did you last have
a thorough medical examination?

Yesterday, Paris Clinic.
Just before we got on the train.

They noticed that
throat infection, too.

This will take care of that.

Doubtless they'll send
your own doctor a report.

Which will confirm my
findings about your heart.

Watch the throat.
Gargle night and morning.

You take a large dose of Mendelssohn
for your malady, doctor.

What? Oh, to cure
my tone deafness, you mean?

I think I'd rather die
than listen that stuff.

You maybe right. They do say
the devil has all the best tunes.

We'll sing them together.

Mahler, Mahler, Mahler, Mahler.

Speak! Let him speak!

That was good news.

For me or Max?
What did you tell him!

I meant the doctor, your heart.

Just rest and you'll be all right.

You'll be coming into
Sant Polten soon.

You can leave me
with a clear conscience.

Yes, I can.

As long as I thought you loved me I
didn't mind being your housekeeper,

your music copyist or your whore.

One day I thought
you'd stop loving your music

and start loving me.

Did you never realize?

My music is my love for you.

It is you.

I thought it was all about
the birds and the bees.

Do you remember
the summer of 1904?

It was hot.

- Is that all?
- Oh, and you were foul.

- There was a reason.
- Yes, that wrteched 6th Symphony.

I was bitter it's true.
I was foul.

I was filled with
despair of the waste.

Hugo, Otto, I wanted to end it all.

Who was it?
Brought me back to life?

What is the one bright, positive
spark in the whole symphony?

Don't you remember the 2nd subject
of the 1st movement?

I copied it out, remember?

Didn't you recognize yourself?

That's you, my love.

As long as my music lasts

our love will last.

Hello Sister! It's Dr. Roth again.
I'm phoning from the station.

I just heard in the rush
straight down here.

It's positive.
They confirmed their diagnosis

from the smear of the
throat infection.

It's flared up again.
Yes, the old carditis I'm afraid.

No chance. A week
or two at the most.

Is everything ready?

Good. We should be at the hospital
in about 15 minutes.

That is if I don't miss him.
Yes, a great tragedy. Bye.

- Here is Dr. Roth.
- Oh, how nice of him to meet us.

You can go to home doctor
We're going to live forever.

Subtitles: mitbrille
Karagarga@