Transcription
THE SONG OF NAMESScreenplay byJeffrey CaineAdapted from the novel by Norman LebrechtSerendipity Point Films9 Price StreetToronto, ON CanadaM4W 1Z1 1 (416) 960 0030
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)p.1FADE IN1EXT. A CONCERT HALL, LONDON. 7:25 P.M. (NOVEMBER 3, 1951)1As we look down a gentle rain is falling steadily on acarapace of umbrellas, moving like the scales of somegigantic mythical reptile. The reptile turns out to be a welldressed crowd swirling around the entrance to the hall andfunnelling slowly into it; the same rain rolling down postersadvertising the event they’ve all come to see: the debutconcert of David Eli Rapoport, 21 year-old virtuosoviolinist.BBC RADIO PRESENTER (V.O.)It is sometimes said that both theshortest and the longest distancein art is that between the verygood and the truly great. It maywell be that tonight David EliRapoport will cross that divide.Those of us who have beenprivileged to hear his promotionalrecording are unanimous indeclaring the extraordinary playingof this 21-year-old Polishimmigrant music from the gods, thevoice of possibly the mostnaturally gifted violinist of hisgeneration.Cars are passing, Festival of Britain flags flying from thebuilding. Pasted across its facade are monochrome publicityblow-ups of the lean and Byronic Rapoport and, plastereddiagonally across the posters, strip banners reading:“INTERNATIONAL DEBUT PERFORMANCE 7:30 P.M. NOVEMBER 3RD,1951, with another, smaller strip overplastered: “SOLD OUT RETURNS ONLY”.Touts are busy in the crowd, selling outrageously pricedtickets to those who have come without one; there’s a policepresence for crowd control - bobbies in glistening rain capes- a phalanx of damp press photographers, a St John’sambulance crew on stand-by.Limousines are delivering DIGNITARIES to the front steps,chauffeurs and assistants shepherding them inside underumbrellas.Big event.CAMERA FINDS 21 YEAR-OLD MARTIN SIMMONDSstanding at the open stage door, anxiously scanning the wetstreet and checking his watch. After a few moments he goesback inside.
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)2INT. LONDON CONCERT HALL, NIGHT (CONTINUOUS) (A’51)p.22Here there’s every shade of anxiety. The capacity audience isbuzzing with restlessness; the orchestra waits in silence,having long ago finished tuning up.The BBC RADIO PRESENTER whose voice we’ve been hearing can beseen in the recording booth, holding on to his audienceduring the delay in the relaxed filibuster style we associatewith Richard Dimbleby at the Coronation [still two years inthe future].BBC RADIO PRESENTERSo great has been the impact ofRapoport’s recording on the worldof classical music that one tendsto forget how little known his namestill is, and that tonight’sconcert will be his first on aninternational stage.BACKSTAGE there’s a frenzy of activity and a sliding scale ofpanic: from the irritation of those mildly inconvenienced bythe soloist’s lateness to the near hysteria of those mostaffected, chief among themGILBERT SIMMONDSGilbert, the concert’s promoter, is a 56 year-old Englishgentleman-impresario. He’s standing with his wife, ENID (52)and Martin’s fiancée, 21 year-old HELEN. Their son, Martin,rejoins them as we watch, shaking his head. All are wearingevening dress and all are agitated, though none as much asGilbert.GILBERTHe’s had an accident. There’s noother explanationENIDWe don’t know that.GILBERTMartin, I’d like you to phone thehospitals.MARTINI already did, Father. MrSanderson’s doing it again now.ANGLE ON SANDERSON, the theatre manager, talking urgently onthe backstage phone.GILBERTHas anyone informed the police?MARTINToo soon for that.
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)p.3GILBERTHow was he this afternoon? Was heall right at rehearsal?MARTINHe was fine.GILBERTDid he take his violin with him?MARTINHe takes it everywhere. He takes itto the loo.Gilbert shoots his son a disapproving look. Offended by theindelicacy of the comment or by Martin’s attitude?ENIDGilbert, stop working yourself upinto a froth. Perhaps his watchstopped.GILBERTA self-winding wristwatch does notstop.ENIDIt does if you drop it.HELENHe might’ve got stuck in traffic.GILBERT(to Martin)Where did he say was he going afterthe rehearsal?He didn’t.MARTINHELENDovidl does things his own way, MrSimmonds. He’s probably walking. Helikes walking in the rain.GILBERTWith a Gagliano under his arm?(crossing to stageentrance)Have you seen who’s out there?ANGLE ON THE AUDIENCESeveral distinguished-looking men and women waiting.
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)p.4GILBERTPeers of the realm, members ofParliament, The Times music critic.Such people are not kept waitingMARTINHe’ll be here. This means as muchto him as it does to you.GILBERTDoes it really?I know-MARTINGILBERTYou don’t know. I’m not talkingabout money.MARTINI know what you’re talking about.GILBERTHe could be lying in a guttersomewhere - hurt, dead.ANGE ON AUDITORIUM CLOCK: showing 7:50BACK TO GILBERT- by now on the edge of tears.The orchestra conductor is looking his way, tapping hiswatch, tilting his head enquiringly. Time to cancel.GILBERTThey’ll have to be told.MARTINWant me to do it?Gilbert shakes his head. Steps through on to the stage.GILBERTMy Lords, ladies and gentlemen.(voice quivering)It is with great regret that I haveto tell you. the performer youhave come to see is unable to behere this evening.(gestures helplessly)Refunds may be claimed at the boxoffice.He hurries offstage, holding back his tears.3EXT. SIMMONDS HOUSE, HAMPSTEAD, LONDON. DAY (SUMMER, 1986) 3TITLE: “35 YEARS LATER”
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)p.5A black cab pulls up outside the house and sounds its horn.Imposing and costly when it was built in the 1920’s and ownedby the Simmonds family ever since, the house is now run downand in need of repair and repainting. In the double drivesits a single ten-year-old car: an anomaly in this affluenttwo-car neighbourhood.4INT. SIMMONDS HOUSE. DAY (S’86)4The style inside the house is cultured, if a little shabby:floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in the drawing room, full ofmostly hardback volumes; a baby grand loaded with classicalsheet music; somewhat old-fashioned furniture; softfurnishings in muted colours.A suitcase stands in the hall, an overcoat and umbrelladraped across it, a briefcase leaning against it.ANGLE ON KITCHENMARTIN SIMMONDS is now in his mid-fifties, his body slim andwell kept. HELEN, whose cheek he is kissing in valediction,is still, at the same age, handsome.HELEN(a ritual, this)Take your pills, don’t wear thesame shirt twice, sell music.MARTINKiss Emily for me. The minute thebaby’s born, stick it in front ofthe piano. You can’t start toosoon.HELEN‘It’ is a girl, Martin. The scan’sshowing a girl. Granddaughter, notgrand piano. I’ll call you if I’mnot asleep.MARTINAnd if the estimate for the roofcomes, let me know straight away.Why?HELENMARTINI might have to walk home. Save thetrain fare.The taxi’s horn sounds again.
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)5p.6EXT. SIMMONDS HOUSE. DAY (S’86)5Martin emerges, coated, carrying suitcase and briefcase,umbrella hooked over his arm. He climbs into the waitingtaxi.6EXT. GATESHEAD RAILWAY STATION - PLATFORM. DAY (S’86)6Exiting the station, Martin is taken aback to find at thebarrier the city’s Lord Mayor, CHARLIE FROGGATT (60 ), infull regalia, and his driver.MARTINCharlie Froggatt, look at you inyour gold chain. Didn’t know thiswas a civic reception, I’d haveworn my ermine underwear.The driver takes Martin’s suitcase. As they walk towards thestation exit:FROGGATT(Tyneside accent)Just come from opening a DIYsuperstore. You’d think they’d doit themselves, wouldn’t you?7INT. DAIMLER (TRAVELLING). DAY (S’86)FROGGATTSo you’re still peddling sheetmusic, I see.MARTINIt’s a living. Libraries andschools buy it.FROGGATTHow long you staying?MARTINJust ‘til Friday.FROGGATTWhat are you doing tonight?MARTINHanging myself, I expect.FROGGATTHow about doing an old friend afavour first?7
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)MARTINThis old friend got any pull withthe Libraries Committee?FROGGATTYou do one for me, I’ll do one foryou.MARTINThat’s how the Great War started.(a beat)What’s the favour?FROGGATTJury service.(off Martin’s reaction)Competition jury. Tyneside YoungMusician of the Year. It’s worldfamous.MARTINNot the world I live in.FROGGATTUnder-18’s who’ve slipped throughthe music education net - theyactually play an instrument. You’dbe non-playing Chairman.MARTINYou’ve got to be joking.FROGGATTI never joke about Tyneside. You’djust be a figurehead. Like me.You’re still a name in the musicworld, man. Your dad knewPaderewski, for Chrissake.MARTINI’m not my father, Charlie. And hedidn’t judge Paderewski’smusicianship.FROGGATTWe’ve got a couple of long-hairs infor that - Tom Noble and JennyBurrows, you know Jenny. You getthe casting vote if they hang.MARTINForget it, Charlie. I’m here tosell, not buy.FROGGATTThese kids are next year’scustomers.(MORE)p.7
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)p.8FROGGATT (cont'd)Chairman of the Libraries Committeehappens to be my grandson’sgirlfriend’s uncle.MARTINTalk about connected!8EXT. GATESHEAD - DAY (S‘86)8The limo crossing the Tyne Bridge.FROGGATT (V.O.)Pick you up at eight.9INT. COMMUNITY HALL,GATESHEAD. NIGHT (S’86)A packed hall, an old Steinway grand onstage. Below thestage, seated at a trestle table, the panel of fiveCOMPETITION JUDGES: Martin at their centre, JENNY BURROWS(50) on his left, TOM NOBLE (68) on his right. CHARLIEFROGGATT onstage in his mayoral regalia.FROGGATT.and I have every confidence thisyear’s finalists will maintain thehigh musical standard for whichTyneside is justly famous.Shouts of approval from the audience.TOM(to Martin)Vienna of the north-east.FROGGATTSo without further ado, letcompetition commence, and may musicspeak louder than words.He sits down to modest applause.A MONTAGE FOLLOWS, WITH CUTS BETWEEN THE PERFORMERS AND THEJUDGES COMPLETING THEIR MARK SHEETSThe first finalist is a 10 YEAR-OLD GIRL playing the BachChaconne for clarinet.PANNING THE FIVE MARK SHEETSHome-made, on council-headed notepaper, the mark sheets aredivided into three hand-drawn columns headed “TECHNIQUE”,“INTERPRETATION” and “MUSICALITY”, with a fourth column fortotals. The girl’s scores out of ten are uniformly in thefour-five range. She scores lowest on interpretation.9
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)p.9- AN 11 YEAR-OLD BOY CELLIST playing Kreisler’s Liebesleidwith piano accompaniment. He’s good for his age but in no wayoutstanding. Fives and the odd six.- THE ADJUDICATORS, starting to look glazed. Jenny glancingat her watch.- 16 year-old MARIA KORVINSKY, rippling off Beethoven’sBagatelle in G Minor as though warming up.The audience applause is appropriately mighty.The judges are smiling now, lavishing nines and tens. Goldfound in a midden. Barring a further miracle, they’ve gottheir winner.JENNY(through applause)Can we go home now?MARTINOne genius, Jenny. Might be two.JENNYAye, well, it is Gateshead.FROGGATT has come back onstage.FROGGATTOur final Young Musician hails fromSouth Shields. He’s 14 years oldand has already touredinternationally with the TynesideYouth Orchestra.TOM(aside)Wales and the Isle of Man.FROGGATT.so please put your handstogether for Peter Stemp.PETER STEMP, a bad acne case, steps onstage and readieshimself to play his three-year-old Japanese fiddle.ANGLE ON ELLEN STEMP (40), his proud mother, in the front rowof the audience.Then Peter does something very odd. Prior to playing hiscompetition piece the boy reaches into his pocket, pulls outa block of rosin and ritualistically swipes his bow stringswith it - first a broad upward sweep, then a matchingdownward sweep. Finally, before putting the rosin away andtucking the violin back under his chinHE TOUCHES THE ROSIN TO HIS LIPS
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)p.10There are some titters from the audience at the gesture.CLOSE ON MARTINHe isn’t tittering. His reaction is out of all keeping withwhat has occurred. It’s a reaction of such shock and emotion,so sudden and overwhelming, that it has drained the colourfrom his face.TOM(to Martin)You all right, man?Martin doesn’t answer. Too stunned to speak.Peter begins to play the second movement of Tartini’s“Devil’s Trill” Sonata for solo violin - a difficult piecebeyond his skill level, and it shows. But though hismusicianship is far from exceptional it’s clear that someone,at some time, has taught him some old-fashioned Kreislerianslides and a particular treatment of the rosin that very fewteachers would countenance and no violinist in the history ofsolo performance would ever exhibit in public. save onlyone.ANGLE ON PETER STEMP as he plays, sliding inexpertly.ANGLE ON MARTIN as he listens.10INT. SIMMONDS HOUSE. DAY (A’39)10.and the playing changes, as the Tartini fades and we hearan exuberant Wieniawski violin piece, played by animmeasurably superior violinist.ANGLE ON DAVID ELI RAPOPORT (DOVIDL), aged 9, as he plays,sliding with arrogant Kreislerian exuberance.ANGLE ON THE OPEN DOORWAYwhere 9 YEAR-OLD MARTIN is watching and listening from thehallway. The emotions on his young face: jealousy andresentment.The small drawing room audience is composed of GILBERT(44here); ENID (39); PROFESSOR CARL FLESCH (58) - Hungarian-bornsoloist and London’s most celebrated pre-war violin teacher;and ZYGMUNT RAPOPORT (40), Dovidl’s prematurely baldingPolish-Jewish father, a Warsaw costume jeweller: not arefugee but with the abandoned worn-down look of one.Dovidl - black hair shiny as jet, legs stick-thin in calflength shorts - is playing with the flashy show-off style ofa child genius who knows that only time and practice standbetween him and his birthright: world-renown as a virtuoso.Flesch and Gilbert are listening pleasurably, nodding,knowing it too.
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)p.11Martin is two months older than Dovidl. His grey flannelshorts are the right length for London juvenile fashion ofthe day - the only edge it seems he has on this exoticinterloper.Dovidl finishes the piece. He looks up, awaiting requests foran encore; spots Martin in the doorway, meets his eyebriefly, looks away.GILBERTProfessor Flesch? What do youthink?FLESCHToo many flourishes.(to Dovidl)You are not Kreisler, young man.DOVIDLKreisler is not Rapoport.A statement of calculated precocity. It brings chuckles.ZYGMUNT(to Flesch)You will teach him? He is genius.FLESCHI am sent ten geniuses a month, PanRapoport. If your son accepts thathe has still something to learn,perhaps I can teach him something.You are staying in London?ZYGMUNTNo, I go back to Warsaw, to my wifeand daughters. If I can findsomebody to take David. I leavehim here.FLESCHSafer. Given the situation inPoland.GILBERT(thoughtful)Very much so.ZYGMUNTDo you know of Jewish family, MrSimmonds? I can pay a little.GILBERTAs it happens I do have a family inmind, Mr Rapoport. It isn’t Jewish,but it is musical, and will costyou nothing.(MORE)
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)p.12GILBERT (cont'd)I can promise you the tenets ofyour religion would be fullyrespected, its requirements met inevery regard.Gilbert looks across at his wife. He almost certainly hasn’tconsulted her about this considerable commitment, anautocratic decision typical of the man. ENID gives nothingback - neither consent nor refusal, approval nor disapproval.Zygmunt is aware how great a commitment this is. It entails,among other things, kosher food, Hebrew lessons, Sabbathobservance. If he appears to hesitate, consider where he hascome from. Zygmunt cannot conceive of a Gentile Polishpaterfamilias making such an offer.ZYGMUNTThis is English family?GILBERTIt is.(a beat)My own son is David’s age. Theywould share a bedroom.ANGLE ON MARTINOutrage on his face. The brilliant interloper is to beadmitted to residence, it seems, without any familyconsultation at all.Zygmunt’s eyes are sparkling with tears. He embraces Gilbert,who stands stiffly to receive the embrace, embarrassed bythis un-English gesture, not knowing where to put his hands.Stepping back, Zygmunt reaches into his pocket and pulls fromit a velvet-covered ring box. Ceremoniously he presents it tohis son, the tears overflowing now. The boy opens the box.CLOSE ON RING BOXThe inside lid is stamped, in gold leaf lettering: “RAPOPORTWARSZAWA”. But there is no ring inside. Only a small amberblock of rosin, pristine and gleaming.Everybody smiles as Dovidl removes the rosin and swipes itexperimentally along his bow strings: first with a stylishupward flourish, then with a downward. He touches the rosinto his lips.Gilbert and Zygmunt applaud. It’s a subtle little ritualwhose meaning seems to have eluded ENID, the giving of thisbox: partly a jeweller’s joke, partly an expression of hope,partly a father’s farewell blessing.
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)p.13With his ritualistic stroking of the bow Dovidl hasimprovised a witty variation: taking the rosin for a run, asit were, as though the gift had been a Stradivarius. The kisson the rosin is for his father, whom he is aware he may neversee again. [For Peter Stemp 47 years later it will be amagical ritual entirely without meaning.]11EXT. SIMMONDS HOUSE. DAY (A’39)11His cardboard suitcase at his feet, Zygmunt is about to leavefor the bus stop, first leg of his journey back to Poland to what we now know will be invasion, occupation, ghetto anddeath camp - and though he doesn’t know what he’s returningto, Zygmunt seems to intuit it. Hence the passion he putsinto his last tearful embrace of the son he may never seeagain.To Martin and his parents, watching from the doorstep, thisis yet another public display of emotion that makes themuncomfortable. It isn’t anti-Semitism, it isn’t coldness;it’s English reserve.12INT. HOTEL DINING ROOM, GATESHEAD. DAY (S’86)12The day following the competition Martin is lunching withPeter Stemp and his mother, ELLEN (46): a woman of modestmeans, wearing her best two-piece for the occasion.On the table is The Northern Echo: international and localnews with a Tyneside flavour; several column inches given tolast night’s music competition: picturing a toothy MariaKorvinsky accepting her prize from Mayor Froggatt.ELLENSo what’s this about? You didn’tgive Peter the prize, now we’rehaving this posh lunch. Why?MARTINThat wasn’t my decision.ELLENYou’d have made him the winner,then? If it was up to you.MARTINThe girl’s already there, MrsStemp. Peter needs more time.better tuition.(attempting the casual)Who’s been teaching him?ELLENHe gets lessons in school. I can’tafford fancy teachers.
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)MARTINWe could discuss that.ELLENKnow a good cheap one, do you?MARTINSeveral good, none cheap.ELLENIn South Shields?London.MARTINELLENJust have to sell the yacht, then,won’t I?MARTINI’ll find a way to cover Peter’stuition during his school holidays.And a family in London he can staywith.Ellen looks to Peter. He’s nodding. Wants it.ELLEN(indicates newspaper)Why him? Why not what’s-her-face?Her too.MARTINELLENYou think Pete’s that good, then?MARTINHe’ll never be a Heifetz. But hecould make a living with anorchestra. Or teaching.(to Peter)Who’s been teaching you, Peter?School.PETERMARTINAnd who else? You’ve had a few tipsoff someone.Peter shrugs.MARTINThat thing you do with therosin.p.14
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)p.15PETERThat’s for good luck. I can stop.MARTINWhat’s his name? Maybe I know him.A moment of hesitation, thenPETERYou don’t know him.MARTINI think I might. He used to be avirtuoso. Did he tell you that?Peter smiling now.PETERI don’t think so.MARTINDSark hair, about my age?ELLENIt’s not Pete you want, is it?A harshness has entered her voice. She’s worked it out. Thebursary, the promise of a management contract - they’re aboutsomething other than Peter Stemp.ELLENCome on, Pete. We’re going.(to Martin)Thanks for the dinner.Taking Peter by the hand, she pulls him to his feet. Theyleave the dining room without looking back.13INT. MARTIN’S HOTEL ROOM, GATESHEAD. NIGHT (S’86)13Martin is perched on his bed, on the phone to Helen.MARTIN(to phone)What are they calling it? Sorry,her.(winces)Lovely name. Kiss little Cressidafor me, I’ll see her Sunday.(a pause)Helen.? I think I might havefound him.There’s no response. No request to identify the “him”. Justsilence.
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)p.16MARTINDid you hear what I said?14INT. SIMMONDS HOUSE. NIGHT (SIMULTANEOUS) (S’86)14Helen’s in bed, her book set aside to take Martin’s call.HELEN(to phone, tonelessly)I heard. Goodnight, Martin.15INT. MARTIN’S BEDROOM, SIMMONDS HOUSE. NIGHT (A’39)15This is the first time Martin and Dovidl have been left alonetogether. Dovidl is in the bedroom doorway with his cheapsuitcase between his feet, waiting to be invited in.DOVIDL(heavily accented)I sleep here, yes?MARTINNo. I don’t want you in my room. Ilike being on my own.DOVIDLIs not your choose.MARTINWrong, clever. It is my “choose”. Ihave to say if it’s all right andif it isn’t you go back to Poland,and the Germans are going to invadePoland. You’ll have to wear ayellow star and get bashed up bybrownshirts.DOVIDLWhat is “bashed up”, please?A pause.MARTINYou better not snore, that’s all.DOVIDLWhat is snore?Martin does the sound for him. Dovidl pulls a small notebookand pencil from his pocket and records the word.DOVIDLIf I snore I snore in tune. I ammusician. You play?
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)p.17MARTINPiano, a bit.DOVIDLIs good for accompanist. Chess?A bit.MARTINDOVIDL(grins)Everything for you is bit. I amgenius. I help you, you will be bitgenius.MARTINBet I could get you down.Dovidl’s pencil gets busy a second time. Another new word.DOVIDLWhat is “get down”, please?Martin jumps him. Operative definition.The boys wrestle, grunting and snorting. But eventually it’sthe wiry Dovidl who wrestles Martin to the ground and sitson his chest, pinning his arms.DOVIDLAlso fight a bit.MARTIN(terminal frustration)Bloody foreigner! You can’t eventalk proper English!DOVIDLYou speak Polish? Russian? Yiddish?German? Hebrew?MARTINI don’t have to. I’m not one ofyour lot.DOVIDLWhat is “lot”?MARTINForeigners. We’re in England,stupid.Dovidl climbs off him, retrieves his notebook; wags it.DOVIDLWait six months.
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)p.18MARTINWhat’s your name, anyway?DOVIDLDovid Eli Rapoport. My family callme Dovidl. You?MARTINMartin L. Simmonds.DOVIDLI call you Mottl.16INT. GATESHEAD HOTEL BEDROOM. MORNING (S’86)16Martin is eating a room-service breakfast at a small wheeledtable when there’s a tentative knock at the door. He opensto:PETER STEMPMARTINPeter. Where’s your mother?He checks the corridor. No Ellen. Came alone.PETERI’ll take you to him.17EXT. GATESHEAD. DAY (S’86)17They’ve come by taxi to an underpass entrance: a pedestriantunnel beneath a busy urban road.18EXT/INT. SUBWAY. DAY (S’86)18As Martin and Peter descend the steps we’ll hear a distantviolin playing - with only moderate competence - The RollingStones’ “Paint it Black”.Martin’s face falls. Whoever is playing, it isn’t Dovidl.As they get closer, so does the music. A turn in the tunnelreveals.A BUSKERThe busker is BILLY, an unkempt grizzly-bearded man in hisseventies, wearing a stained raincoat, football socks anddirty plimsolls. He’s playing on a cheap fiddle - completewith unwanted echoes off the tiled walls. On the floor at hisfeet, among the crisp packets and banana skins, is his cap:dotted with a handful of low-value coins.
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)p.19Though he’d known from the first bow-stroke that this couldnot be Dovidl, Martin wilts with disappointment.Billy nods an acknowledgement at Peter but barely glances atMartin as he finishes the piece with a flourish of poorlyexecuted Kreisleresque slides. Then out comes the rosin,followed by that ritualistic up-and-down stroking of thebowstrings with which we’re becoming familiar, and thevaledictory kiss to the rosin, a magical ritual asmeaningless to Billy as it is to Peter.PETERThis is Mr Simmonds, Billy. He’sgonna pay for me to have lessons.In London.BILLY(London accent)What did I tell you?(to Martin)Told him he’d get discovered.MARTINHe says you’ve been helping him.BILLY(laughs)Showed him a couple of things.MARTINWhere did you learn to play?BILLYTaught meself.Martin takes out his wallet. Extracts a fiver, drops it inthe hat.BILLYThat’s very kind of you, sir.MARTINTeach yourself those Kreislerslides, did you, Billy?Billy’s face sets.BILLYWho wants to know?MARTINYour best customer.19INT. CAFE, GATESHEAD. DAY (S’86)Billy, Peter and Martin are drinking thick tea from thick,white mugs at a formica-topped table.19
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)BILLYHe never told me his name. It wasyears ago.MARTINWhere did you meet him?BILLYLondon. I used to work the cinemaqueues up west - when they hadcinema queues. I wasn’t bad thenWhat year?MARTINBILLY(thinks)High Noon. When was that?MARTIN‘52, I think. Go on.BILLYSo I’m outside the Odeon, yeah,playing the theme music - you know,from the film - and this cheekylittle bugger comes up, tells me Icould do with some lessons. ‘Oh,yeah,’ I says. ‘Who from?’ ‘I don’tnormally give lessons,’ he says,only he’s saving up for this triphe wants to go on, so how much canI afford to pay him? I told him toget knotted. Don’t even know he canplay, do I?MARTINI assume he demonstrated.BILLYTakes me violin right out me hand.You never heard nothing like it inyour life. Magic. Like somethingoff the wireless.(shakes his head in wonder)Crowd starts chucking half crowns,ten-bob notes. I give him half.Fair’s fair, right?MARTINWhat did he look like?BILLYLike he could do with a squaremeal.p.20
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)p.21MARTINWhen was the last time you saw him?BILLYImportant, is it?Martin deposits another fiver on the sticky table top.BILLYHe give me a few lessons. Twice aweek for a bit. One day he didn’tturn up. Never saw him again.Must’ve gone on his trip.MARTINDid he say where?BILLYDidn’t make much sense, like, butthat’s why I remember it.Martin waits. Billy waits. Another fiver goes down.BILLYSaid he was going home to play forthe Ashes. That’s cricket, innit?When England plays Australia.(Martin nods)Didn’t make sense ‘cos he didn’tsound like an Aussie. ‘Who’re you,then?’ I says. ‘Don bleedingBradman?’MARTINHis exact words?Billy’s brow furrows with the effort of recall.BILLYSomething about a song. Going home to play a song.(a beat)For the ashes.ON MARTINThis doesn’t mean anything to us but it contains a world ofmeaning for Martin.20INT. SIMMONDS HOUSE. NIGHT (A’39)20A family dinner is being eaten in silence as everybodylistens to the evening news on the wireless. It’s a Fridaynight and for Dovidl’s benefit there are Sabbath candles onthe table and a loaf of chala wrapped in a white cloth.
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)p.22We should note that Dovidl’s dinner plate contains differentfood from the others’, mostly vegetables.The news is all about the German Blitzkrieg of Poland: thebombing of Warsaw, the collapse of the Polish army. ThePhoney War is a few days old.Dovidl’s face reflects his struggle to contain his emotion.He’s learning to be English.GILBERTI’m sure your family will be allright, David.ENIDHave you written home, David?DOVIDLI am writing letter.Good lad.GILBERTDOVIDLYou permit I make more letter now?GILBERTPermission granted, old chap.As Dovidl prepares to leave the tableMARTINHe hasn’t finished his dinner.GILBERTSpecial dispensation. Go and finishyour letter, David.Dovidl slides off his seat and leaves the room.MARTINIt’s not fair.GILBERTWhat isn’t?MARTINAll this. No bacon allowed in thehouse, no milk puddings, specialfood for the genius, and he doesn’teven have to eat it.ENIDIf you’d like to take overpreparing David’s food you may havea say in whether he eats it.
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)p.23MARTINAnd he’s a liar. He stopped writingtwo weeks ago.ENIDIt isn’t very nice, Martin, to telltales on a friend.MARTINMy friends don’t wet the bed.The Simmonds adults exchange a look.GILBERTConsidering the position his familyis in, I’d say wetting the bed isthe least we can expect from him.ENID(to Martin)Why don’t you go and see if you cancheer him up.MARTINDidn’t look all that down to me.GILBERTThat’s a wicked thing to say! Go toyour room!MARTINNot my room, is it.He goes.21INT. LANDING/THE BOYS’ BEDROOM. NIGHT (A’39)21Through the partly open door we catch Dovidl looking at aphotograph and crying. It’s a sepia studio portrait of theRapoport family taken in Warsaw in 1937: Dovidl’s father andmother standing side by side; in front of them, Dovidl agedseven between his two sisters: Pessia (9) and Malkeh (5).Pessia has her arm around Dovidl’s shoulders; Dovidl’s arm isaround Malkeh’s. All five are solemn and unsmiling, in theportrait style of the time.As Martin enters Dovidl slides the photo under his pillow.Martin doesn’t see it. Trying to recover his equilibrium,Dovidl blows his nose.DOVIDLI have cold.A sudden unexpected shaft of compassion pierces Martin’sjuvenile soul.
Blue - SoN D9.1 (09/20/2018)p.24MARTINThey’ll be all right. We’ll smashthe Jerries up for you. No-onestands up to the British Army.DOVIDLYou are child.MARTINPlay you a game of chess if youwant.DOVIDLChess with you takes my mind twominutes.MARTIN(a grin)Three. I feel lucky.22EXT. HAMPSTEAD. DAY (A’39)22The two boys are freewheeling down a hill on their bikes,playing “chicken”.Martin is the first to swerve - avoiding a horse-drawn milkfloat. Dovidl sails on, misses the float by inches, and inpassing swipes a pint. Riding no-hands, he pierces the topwith his finger while still on the move and swigs from thebottle.It’s Martin who gets nabbed by the milkman - momentarilycaught by his coat - before he breaks away and pedals madlydown the hill after Dovidl, who has disappeared from view.MILKMANThieving little bleeders!23EXT. HAMPSTEAD HEATH. DAY (A’39)23Martin finds Dovidl waiting in their private spot on theHeath: beneath a large tree, overlooking the Ponds. Eating aKit Kat [N.B. Wartime issue: blue wrapper, dark chocolate,price 3d].Grinning in triumph, Dovidl o
I never joke about Tyneside. You'd just be a figurehead. Like me. You're still a name in the music world, man. Your dad knew Paderewski, for Chrissake. MARTIN I'm not my father, Charlie. And he didn't judge Paderewski's musicianship. FROGGATT We've got a couple of long-hairs in for that - Tom Noble and Jenny Burrows, you know Jenny .
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