Humoresque

Do you have to play that? You ought to know better.

Run out. Run away.

Pack your bag. Run off somewhere

where they don't know you, never heard of you.

Bury your violin in the deepest hole you can find--

it still wouldn't do you any good.

You think you hate music now.

You don't. You couldn't.

Music is a compulsion, an obsession with you.

You'll blow up into a thousand pieces

if you don't play it.

What did you think a concert career

would be like?

Something you could put together

with toothpicks and mucilage?

Little ink spots, and finger exercises?

Drop a nickel in the slot and out pops a concert?

Look at them.

Look at your beauties.

How many minutes, days, months, years of your life

are bedded there in the waxed wood?

There's your biography.

Paul Boray--

virtuoso, artist.

Why don't you leave him alone, Bauer?

All my life, I--

I wanted to do the right thing,

but it never worked out.

I'm outside, always looking in,

feeling all the time I'm far away from home,

and where home is I don't know.

I...

I...

I can't get back to the simple, happy kid

I used to be.

Kid I used to be.

Man: Philip, take that whistling cigar

out of your mouth.

You can't deliver groceries and blow a kazoo.

Hi, pop.

Paul, off with the coat, up with the tapioca.

No. Leave your coat on. Wash your face.

You're going out with papa.

Paul is going out with papa?

You're going to buy him a birthday present.

Why, Esther, Saturday's my busiest day.

Besides, you cooked him a cake.

A cake is enough. When I was a boy--

when you were a boy,

what was a birthday without a present?

All right. I'll build him a nice house

with a ketchup carton I been saving.

You take him to Jeffers

and let him choose what he wants.

He's too old to play house anymore.

And he's too young to know what he wants.

No matter. If he wants it, it's a good present.

Well, here we are, Paul.

Lots of nice things, aren't there?

Hello, Mr. Jeffers.

Hello, Boray. Something for the boy?

Well, who else? Look around, Paul.

Pick something, anything.

Up to a dollar and a half.

Well? Ah, the sheep.

But the small one's better. Look.

It's almost human.

Wouldn't you like that, boy?

Nah, that's for kids.

Maybe there's something for big boys.

Let's see. Oh, here's something.

A windmill. Wouldn't you like that?

No.

No, he doesn't like it.

Does your boy like baseball?

Well, who doesn't like baseball in America,

Mr. Jeffers? It's an institution.

Bang, bang! Babe Ruth.

Who else plays it?

Ty Cobb, Honus Wagner.

Bang, bang! Honus Wagner.

Bang, bang! Ty Cobb.

Wouldn't you like to be a Ty Cobb, Paul?

No.

He doesn't want that.

Hello, Paul. Hi.

Want to take some piano lessons?

Nah.

I'll give you a special rate--

25 cents a lesson. Even if you pay,

you'll be my only pupil.

Nah. Violin's prettier than a piano.

Don't judge all pianos by the way I look.

Try it on for size.

Could I? Sure.

If you play the violin, you'll have to carry

a pianist around with you all the time.

Play something.

I know that. Just give me a minute.

Paul. Paul!

Paul!

Another Paderewski in the family.

Phil with his kazoo,

and now you with a violin.

You said I could have anything I want.

All right. A toy, a drum, a little horse.

A toy is all right.

But what does a boy want with a violin?

For a piece of wood and glue and horsehair?

Take the fire engine.

Why don't you let him take the fiddle?

He could do worse, you know.

For instance, he might grow up to be a piano player.

You ought to know, Sidney.

Pianist and composer. Rates on request.

I'm the unknown genius waiting to be discovered.

Do I strike your fancy?

Not too much.

Unfortunately, I'm not my own type, either.

Listen, Sidney, as a musician, for instance,

how much do you make per week, or per year even?

Money? Cash money? Yes.

I think I'll write a song entitled

if I had a million, would I talk to you?

Right now I'm a bargain-basement genius.

And you want my son to be genius number 2.

What a future. Paul, take the baseball bat.

I want the violin.

He wants the violin. Statistics show in America

a million boys are crying for baseball bats!

It isn't good enough for my son. He has to have a violin.

Paul...

Take the fire engine.

No.

The windmill.

The baseball bat.

No.

Then take nothing!

Here. Come on home.

Don't take it too hard.

You can imagine how much trouble I had getting a piano.

Mr. Boray, you forgot your hat.

Mr. Boray: I'm sorry, Mr. Jeffers.

What happened?

Your son. Your son. Your ungrateful son!

A toy isn't good enough for him!

Paul.

Didn't you see anything you want?

Didn't he see anything? He certainly did!

In a black box like a dead fish.

A violin, no less!

A violin?

So he'll scratch at it for 2 weeks.

Then it's thrown in the closet along with Phil's saxophone.

You remember Phil's saxophone?

You hoped maybe then, too, we had a musician in the family

because he followed the organ grinder,

but it was the monkey he wanted.

He asked for a violin himself,

and you didn't buy it for him?

Is that why you're crying, Paul?

I'm not crying.

Well, you're not laughing, either.

Go upstairs. Put on a new face.

Put on your birthday face.

What are you doing? I forbid it, Esther!

It's thrown-away money. Waste and foolishness.

What for, Esther? What for?

It means something, Rudy,

when a boy asks for something himself.

It means he's got an idea in his head

he'll forget in a couple of weeks.

Maybe. Maybe not.

Maybe our Paul will be different than Phil.

Maybe our Paul will be different.

Every mother thinks she has a son

who will be different!

But it's foolish, I tell you!

It's the one on the counter

in the little black box!

Ask Sid Jeffers, he'll tell you!

He's ready to blow out the candles.

Hi, Gina.

Hello, Gina.

Hello. Happy birthday.

Did you bring me a present?

Uh-huh.

Make a wish, Paul. Make a wish.

Girls: Happy birthday, Paul!

Gee, I blew out all the lights!

All right, sister, turn on the lights.

Do you like it, darling? Do you like it?

Phil: Will you put that thing away?

Boy: Hey! We're going to play ball!

Anybody want to play ball with us?

Hey, Phil, where's Paul?

He's practicing!

Aw, does he have to?

He don't have to!

You mean he wants to?