The Competition

Hello.

Thank you.

The judges of the 23rd Annual Midwestern Piano Competition

have asked me to reassert that their task this year

has been particularly difficult.

Third prize, a bronze medal and a check for $250,

goes to Paul Dietrich of Chicago, Illinois.

All that means to me is you got robbed.

Now you gotta get ready for San Francisco, right?

The Hillman Competition.

You are gonna send them a cassette, aren't you?

What is the point?

Well, what's the point of not sending it?

If I can't do any better than placing third in Cincinnati,

what am I wasting my time for?

The Hillman is the Super Bowl, right?

Yeah.

So, what is the point?

The point is that Lowengarth told us

you were the best pianist for your age he ever heard.

What was my age when he told us that?

How many dollars ago was that?

I don't advise you about your playing,

don't advise me about my finances.

Let him talk, Stan.

Where's the medal?

Can we emerge from the shrine, please?

I would like to talk to the both of you.

You shouldn't be working, and you know it.

And you wouldn't be if it weren't for me.

And this has got to stop.

Childhood is at an end.

Therefore?

Therefore, I have made a decision.

There is a job opening up in the city school systems.

It happens to be in my field, in music.

Now, it does involve a certain amount of substitute teaching.

Group piano classes, music theory.

However, it also allows me

to work with student orchestras around the city,

developing new talent.

You know, the kind of thing that my training

has equipped me to do, and that I enjoy.

Like your friend, Gary.

Like my friend, Gary.

Now, Gary says that if I am who my resume says I am,

I have the job.

Now, it pays $12,000 a year, plus car allowance.

And I have to be fingerprinted.

Come on, you ran into a little bad luck in Cincinnati.

If it was meant to happen, it would have happened by now.

Now we're into astrology.

You.

You got this thing.

Now, maybe it's a curse, maybe it's a blessing,

but you don't have to go much further than the New Testament

to know what "He" expects you to do with a talent.

Who's he pointing at? Have you finally rented out my room?

I'm sorry.

One beat, each note.

You can do it.

Keep going, one, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

Okay? Keep it going. One note, one beat.

One, two, three.

One, two, three, four.

One note, an octave higher.

C, C. D, D. Keep on going.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

Keep going.

How long have you been standing out there?

Has he gone to work?

Yes.

First of all, I want you to know

that I really did make this application.

I mean, I sent it in even before I went to Cincinnati.

Now...

I want you to understand.

I will be back before the personal interview.

So, there will be an end to this situation, win, lose or draw.

Win, lose or draw, what, Paul?

I have to take one last shot at competing.

The Arabella Hillman Competition in San Francisco.

No cattle call, you submit a cassette.

And if they like it, you're immediately one of 12 semi-finalists.

Whittled down to six finalists.

First prize, $20,000,

a Carnegie Hall recital, and two years' of concert bookings.

Also a medal, which will turn your tits a lovely shade of puce.

Am I ready for this?

I've been waiting for you to tell me.

I don't think you ever will.

You are ready, and afraid. Like any virgin.

Who's a virgin?

Sorry.

That used to be a compliment.

Greta, they want a cassette submitted, it's too late.

Nope. I submitted the cassette.

What cassette?

The one I recorded and put your name on.

I played the Kreisleriana.

It was poignant, searching, surprisingly strong,

and a little simple-minded. It sounded just like you.

Is that sort of thing done?

All the time.

Congratulations, we made it.

Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning

our final descent into San Francisco.

Please extinguish all smoking materials,

replace tray tables,

and bring your seats to an upright position.

Excuse me. Miss?

What?

Time to close the piano. We're landing.

Oh God, how embarrassing.

Have I been doing that long?

It was fascinating. Are you a musician?

Good question.

I need a single for a week.

Yes, sir.

Your room service goes 24 hours?

No, we don't have any room service here, sir.

I knew that.

Hey, you one of the 12 Apostles? Me too.

I'm scared out of my tiny mind. My whole family's here.

I told them I didn't stand a chance,

but they wouldn't stay away.

I'm from New York. Direct from New York, like the Yankees.

How about you?

I think you're what my teacher told me to shun.

Who me? Well, I'll see you inside.

How you doing? I'm Jerry DiSalvo.

You one of the 12 Apostles?

I'm here for a piano competition.

That's what I meant. Me too.

I'm scared out of my tiny mind. How about you?

Hey, you know how I learned to play piano?

This faggot in the House of Corrections.

He heard me fooling around one day,

so he made me take lessons.

You don't want to know how many times I got stopped.

It looks like I came a long way for nothing.

Tell me you're not entered.

I'm entered.

You're so bloody good!

And you also do not remember me,

and I'm now feeling very foolish.

The Tanglewood Festival, two summers ago?

You were on a scholarship.

I was on a parentship.

- Heidi Schoonover. - Paul Dietrich.

I know your name.

Well, I knew yours.

You're entered?

Good for you.

You were going to compete in Brussels.

- I did. - And?

And I'm here.

It's crazy. You're so gifted.

We all thought so. It's nice seeing you again.

I hope...

What can you hope for and be honest?

I hope we tie?

You coming in?

No, I have to make a stop.

That is the one they used to call Joanie.

You have no time for her.

Anything that eats into your concentration

even a little bit is no good.

Used to call her Joanie.

You have no time for her.

Anything that eats into your concentration

even a little bit is no good.

Joanie.

You have no time for her.

Anything that eats into your concentration

even a little bit is no good.

Shut up!

Sorry.

Mr. Rudko,

I am truly appreciative.

They give you any shit?

What, a soupcon?

I'm sorry, Mr. Rudko.

I've got no pockets at the moment. Can I sign something?

It's okay, Mr. Humphries,

I'm still shaking from the tip when you first checked in.

I'll let you know if you use it up.

Now, you sure?

Mr. Humphries' room.

One minute. Don't get up!

Tatjana!

Good morning.

Hey!

I'm gonna try this one more time.

We do know each other.

Not well, but we played two-piano

at the Tanglewood Festival for an hour.

You went to my recital and I went to yours.