Mozart in the Jungle

- Tell me what does music mean to you?

Yes?

How old are you?

- Well, how old do you think I am?

70?

70, do I look like that?

Really?

Anyone else?

Anyone--how-- what does music

make you feel? Yes?

Nothing.

That's a really good answer.

That's really good because

music, indeed, is nothing.

It's just vibrations

that travel through the air.

We connect it with our emotions

and with everything that we like or dislike.

That's when music becomes something.

Very good, very good answer.

I have a question.

Yes?

What does music mean to you?

It's--it's my life.

It's what I...

It's what I think about all the time.

I wake up with it.

I go to sleep with it.

It's actually the way that I communicate

with the world and with myself.

So it means everything, really.

If music suddenly disappeared for me...

I don't know.

- So Winklestrauss said we don't the votes?

No, not exactly.

Shit.

Where does he stand?

He's a good guy.

He's sympathetic.

- But he said we're gonna be having

lots of free time.

Free time is overrated.

I'm back!

Darling, welcome.

There is a magic

in what we do...

if we do what we do

the right way, yeah?

As long as I'm up here,

the right way is...

My way.

Oh, brother.

When I was a baby,

sucking at my mom's tit, yeah?

I heard Beethoven's "Fifth."

It's my first memory.

A mammary memory.

I knew I had to conquer it.

I knew that as a baby.

Let's, um...

let's find out what you know.

All: * Twinkle, twinkle, little star *

* How I wonder *

* What you are *

You must be sick.

Stop.

Stop, it's a bit off.

Uh, it's all right.

Oboe one only.

No, no, stop. All right.

Your battery's-- a little bit low there.

Just--again.

Sorry, again.

Please?

No, stop!

Once more.

This time just go for it.

Have fun, do something different, yeah?

Do something good for once, yeah?

Respectfully, Maestro,

I've played it like this for 35 years.

35 years?

Wow, that's a long time, isn't it?

At what point in those 35 years

did you begin to develop arthritis?

Now, again.

Wait, wait.

Where's our other oboist?

The young one, the pretty one

from the poster.

I--I think she went--

I'm right here.

Brilliant.

Come, come on in.

Mm. Have a seat, love.

I tell you what.

Miss this shot, and I'm done for good.

Make it, and I'll leave it up to you.

Yes!

Good one.

A double bubble.

Okay.

If you say so.

Oh, Jesus, that's good.

You may be only a--

a second-and-a-half rate composer,

Tommy P.

You're a first-rate handsome devil.

Pathetic.

Well...

Good old dada.

Maestro...

What note is that?

E.

D.

What about this?

Do it again.

Ah.

I don't-- no, there's something wrong

with the piano you're--

you're doing it wrong.

I don't know.

- Rodrigo, you are suffering from amusia.

- Amusia? - Amusia.

It's a rare disorder of the inner ear

that prevents your ability to decipher pitch.

It's usually associated with some kind

of blunt force trauma to the head.

Shit, yes, yes, yes.

Recently yes, I--

I got cursed.

Cancel my afternoon,

and reschedule lunch with my son.

You have a hat?

I don't have a fucking hat.

Hey, give me your hat, and I'll piss in it.

Eh?

Maestro?

- What are you doing here, Rutledge?

I--I was just teaching

a lesson on Mercer, so--

I was just walking to the train now.

But what are you doing here?

I live here too.

But presently, I'm living in the moment.

Simultaneously I'm composing a little ditty called

"Homage to Papa!"

Go fuck yourself, papa!

I love you.

Is this man bothering you?

Oh.

Bothering her?

No, constable!

She is bothering me!

It's fine.

We're fine.

- God, I wanted to be a composer.

Look at me now.

I can't even compose myself.

Where did you get this thing?

- It was my one sole inheritance.

That and my nose.

My dad, may he rot in peace--

he was a salesman.

And on the rare occasions that he used to get home,

usually stinking of Irish whiskey,

would strap this thing on,

and he would humiliate the crap out of us kids.

Go!

Jesus, yes!

Congratulations.

Well done.

There!

Why?

Just why, why, why did I do it?

Why?

God, why did I willingly

give away my orchestra?

I thought that you wanted

to willingly give away your orchestra.

Oh, don't be insane, woman!

No!

Listen, if you get an opportunity,

you seize it.

You just seize the fucking thing.

Thank God you're here.

- What the hell happened in here?

Hmm.

Constanze.

Oh, how lovely to see you.

There's room enough for two in here, you know.

I bet there is.

I'm gonna get you dried off.

Where's your towels?

- Why did he call you Constanze?

- Can you please get four eggs?

Crack them into a tall glass.

Sure.

Why did he call you Constanze?

I hate surprises.