Forgive me for allowing myself in,
but your music was so strong.
Northern ltaly, I'll bet.
Well done, Friuli, to be exact.
But don't stop playing.
Want a butt ?
You don't look happy about going to America.
It's not America.
It's everything I'm leaving behind.
Until a few years ago, my field was the only thing I knew.
The world started and ended there in that piece of land.
I'd never walked down the main street of a town.
Maybe you can't understand that.
I understand that perfectly.
Il know someone who went through something very similar.
One fine day did his field go dry,too ?
Did his wife run off with a priest ?
Did the fever take his five children ?
-No, but he ended up alone, too. -Then he's luckier than me.
I still have a daughter, the youngest one.
She survived.
It's for her that one day I decided to fight my bad luck.
I travelled the world without a destination.
Then one day, when going through one of the many towns l never knew,
I came to a hill, I climbed to the top and I saw. . .
My God, the most beautiful thing in my life.
The sea !
-The sea? -The sea.
I'd never seen it before.
I was like being hit by lightening.
Because I heard its voice.
-The voice of the sea? -Yes.
The voice of the sea.
I've never heard it.
It's like a huge shout, the voice of the sea,
that screams and screams and what it screams is :
''You !
Men with shit in your brains !
Life is immense ! Can you understand that ?
lmmense !''
I'd never thought about it. I had a revolution in my head.
That's how I suddenly decided to change my life,
to start a fresh.
Change life, start a fresh.
Tell that to your friend.
Nineteen Hundred !
-All we need is a talking ocean ! -It's Max Tooney, your friend.
Come out, Nineteen Hundred, I'm a friend, too !
Even if we've never met. Don't worry, no cops !
Where was this piano exactly?
-It was . . . -It was over there, sir.
Nineteen Hundred !
Ladies and gentlemen,
Fritz Hermann welcomes you aboard the Virginian
and wishes you a pleasant evening with the Atlantic Jazz Band !
On the violin, your own Fritz Hermann !
On bass, Freddie Loyacano !
Max Tooney on trumpet !
Jim Jim Breath Gallup on trombone !
Sam Scalisi onthe drums !
On saxophone, Sam Sleepy Washington !
On banjo, Oscar Delaguerra !
And finally, on piano, Danny Boodman T.D. Lemon Nineteen Hundred !
The greatest !
-I'll ask you once more, just . . . -The normal notes, I know.
What are you doing here ? Take your places !
End of the line !
You've really got it in forme, you son of a dirty nigger !
One night the public's not going to appreciate your antics.
That night, I swear, Nineteen Hundred,
I'll have you thrown overboard !
-Where do you get it from ? -What ?
-The music. -I don't know.
See that woman over there ?
She must be German, look at her.
She look like someone, who with her lover, has just killed her husband
and is running off with the family jewels.
-Don't you think this music's her? -Sure, that's right !
And see that guy over there ?
He looks like someone who can't forget.
His head is bursting with memories but he can't forget anything.
Listen to his music.
And her?
Couldn't she be a prostitute who's thinking of becoming a nun ?
Incredible !
Now, look at this one.
See how he walks ?
It looks like he's wearing someone else's suit by the way he wears it.
I'd say he's a stow away slipped into first class
for a little amorous adventure. He's got Americain his eyes.
He'll be the first one to see it. l can already hear him screaming.
Nineteen Hundred knew how to read.
Not books, anybody can do that.
He knew how to read the signs that people carry on them.
Places, sounds, scents,
their land,their story. Everything written on them.
He would read and,with infinite care catalogue, organise, and make order
in that immense map that he was drawing in his mind.
Maybe he'd never seen the world,
but for almost thirty years the world had been passing on that ship.
And for almost thirty years on that ship, he'd been spying on it
and he would steal its soul.
America !
I went into her room, she jumped on me
and I tore her clothes off. -Go on !
-Do you always make up this crap ? -Sure !
Singleton, Lee Claire.
Hallo ?
You don't know me, but I wondered if we might have a little chat.
A little chat ? What are you talking about ?
About anything you like,weather conditions, anything you choose.
Go to hell !
Hallo ?
-Is that the race-track ? -Yeah, you betting ?
-Can you tell me if Mama's racing ? -No, it's your sister !
-I think there's a misunderstanding. -Shove it up your ass !
The telephone should bring out the best in people.
I know who you are. If you don't stop calling, I come over and kill you !
Christ, he's already here !
Hey, are you the guy with that friggin difficult name ?
Come on out, I'm talking to you.
Catch him !
Stop !
Where are you going ?
-Hold still. -Stop, you idiot !
-Keep still, you son of a bitch ! -Where are we, in hell ?
-We don't want to hurt you. -Come on out. Where are you ?
We're players, man, musicians.
Over there.
-Bon appetit ! -Thanks, have you got some wine ?
Are you the one that plays ten kinds of jazz rolled into one ?
To tell the truth I've never counted them, I'm just a piano player.
-It's him. -Well, you'd better start counting.
The man who invented jazz sent us here.
-And what does he want from me ? -He challenges you to a piano duel !
A piano duel ?
What the hell is a piano duel ?
It's a duel, with pianos instead of pistols.
It's a musicians thing. No blood, just a little hate.
Real hate, under the skin. It riffs like you never heard.
It could last all night and at the end, one would win.
Nineteen Hundred !
If I were you, I wouldn't be so sure he's still here.
If I know him at all, he won't be any place else.
I'm sure of that.
He must have gone. What would he have done here without a piano ?
Besides, with the war,who knows ?
He might not even be any longer in this dirty world.
Someone like him doesn't end up like everyone else.
-It's not his style. -Think what you like.
But I can't ask the owners to keep this carcass going
just because someone who doesn't exist is on board. I can't delay it.
Nineteen Hundred, it's Max. I have to talk to you !
-How did the duel end up ? -It was in Boston.
The summer of 1931.J elly Roll Morton boarded the Virginian.
Dressed entirely in white, wearing a diamond as big as a meatball !
Even the garters on his socks were diamond studded.
Jelly Roll, what's the reason for a trip to Europe on a steamer?
Till now, you've only gone up and down the Mississippi !
I don't give a damn about Europe !
The only reason I'm going on this crappy ship is to meet a guy
they say tunes a good piano !
But I also heard that he doesn't want to set foot on land.
-Is he talking about me ? -Sure he is.
One day some asshole says to me :
''Hey, Jelly, there's someone who plays the piano better than you.''
So I says to myself : ''Shit ! How come this guy plays so good
when he doesn't even have the balls to get off the boat ?
Damn it, Jelly, you were the one who invented jazz !
Then I says to myself : ''You can afford to buy a first class ticket !
You can even buy the ship just by raising your little finger.''
Get a shot of it, boys !
-Tell the truth, are you scared ? -I don't know.
Why a duel ? What happens when you have a duel ?
It seemed like he really didn't care much.
Like he didn't even understand it. But he was curious.
He wanted to hear how the devil the inventor of jazz played.
He really believed that the guy invented jazz.
I believe he thought that he could learn something new.
That's just how he was, a bit like old Danny.
He didn't have any sporting sense.
He didn't give a damn who won, it was the rest that amazed him.
It's true !
I believe you're sitting in my seat.
-You're the one that invented jazz ? -That's what they say.
And you're the one who can't play unless the ocean's under your ass ?
That's what I say.
Jelly Roll Morton didn't play, he caressed those notes.
It was like a slip sliding down a woman's body.
His hands were butterflies, so light.
He started off in the brothels in New Orleans, learning to stroke the keys.
People making love upstairs didn't want any uproar.
They wanted music that would slip behind the curtains, under the beds.
Without disturbing. He played that music there.
And in that, he truly was the best.
-Bravo ! -Bravo !
It's your turn, sailor.
Go on.
What's he doing ?
He's nuts !
Is it Christmas ?
-Did he win ? -No, they're just warming up.
Bravo !
-What's up, Nineteen Hundred ? -This music makes me cry.
The whole crewbet on you !
I put a year's pay on the line and you're crying ?
Start thinking about your music !
-Can I bet,too ? -Betting on yourself isn't sporting.
But I want to bet on him ! He's terrific.
-You're crazy ! -But if you lose, I'll give it back.
It's the same music that the other one played.
We've already heard this !
He's fooling around.
-Did he lose ? -Not yet.
Well done, Nineteen Hundred !
Stick this up your ass !
-Max ? -Eh ?
-Give me a cigarette, will you ? -You're not doing too well !
-Just give me a cigarette. -You don't smoke !
What's wrong with you ? You could lick this guy with one hand !
-Pardon me, I didn't catch that. -I didn't say anything.
Bravo !
-Where's this cigarette ? -We'll be shovelling coal forever !
Just give me a fucking cigarette !
Clown !
Listen carefully.
You smoke it. I don't know how.
Well done ! Bravo !
You're the greatest !
Divine !
-Did he win ? -Yes, he won.
I knew he would !
Jelly Roll Morton spent the rest of that trip locked in his cabin.
When we got to Southampton, he got off the ship and returned to America.
I remember Nineteen Hundred watched him as he walked off the dock
and all he said was : ''Fuck jazz,too !''
That's just what he said : ''Fuck jazz,too !''
-What an incredible story. -Did I miss anything important ?
-You could say that. -Damn !
-He'll fill you in later. -You bet.
He's really good at telling tales.
This is no tale, my friend !
Sure, I've done lots of stupid things in my life.
If you were to hang me upside down nothing would fall out my pockets.
I even sold my trumpet. Everything !
But not this story, I haven't lost that.
I've decided to tell it only because I want to save him.
But there's no-one here. Nobody ! Understand ?
It's because there are too many of us, we've scared him.
That's enough. Now, you leave this ship or I'll have you arrested.
Get back to work. Quickly !
-Give me one more chance. -Get lost, buddy.
At sunrise tomorrow this ship gets blown up !
And yet . . .
-Here it is. -Stop or I'll shoot !
-I've got you. -Hey, it's me.
Don't you recognise me ?
-Oh, it's you ! -Yeah, lower that canon, will you?
Sell your instrument and then steal it back, that's an old trick !
-I should have known you're a thief. -No, I was looking for this.
-What do you need that for? -It's a matter of life or death.
-I need a gramophone, too. -A thief and a liar.
-Pops, I don't have time to lose. -I do, seeing as I have a gun.
Now that I think of it, since when were records made on board a ship ?
Impostor !
If your friend really did play that music,then he got off the ship.
-Right ? -Impossible, Pops.
Nineteen Hundred cut this recording personally
which for me is one of his very best works,
but to do it he didn't jump ship.
It was an extraordinary, unique event in the history of record-making.
You can't imagine the advantages you'll obtain
if this record sells. You'll become famous, Mr Nineteen.
-Can I call you Nineteen ? -Is it painful ?
Right, gentlemen, silence please. On the count of three.
One, two, three.
Wonderful, Mr Nineteen ! An absolutely extraordinary piece.
Divine music, what's it called ?
It's going to have people crying buckets.
It's got to have the right title, like : ''Swinging in the breeze . . .''
You were great, as usual.
You're going to be big time.
If only you'd decide to take the big step.
-The big step ? -Getting off !
Getting off these lousy planks and going after. . .
Going after fame and fortune.
But if you wanted, thanks to our record company, with this,
you could have the success you deserve without leaving this ship.
We'll print millions of copies.
The whole world could listen to your wonderful music, Nineteen.
Mr Nineteen ?
I won't let my music go anywhere without me !
-Hey, no ! Don't touch ! -What are you doing ? Is he mad ?
We have a contract, you can't go back now !
I always go back.
Miss,
I'd be pleased if you . . .
Miss, I'd be . . .
I'd be pleased
if you would accept
this small token . . .
Hey, what are you doing there all by yourself, counting the waves ?
The captain says we'll soon go through the Tropic of Cancer.
At last there'll be something to see.
The sea changes colour ten times a day.
Even more. I could stay and watch it for days.
The peasants don't watch the sea at all. They're scared.
That's not true.
My father told me once that he heard the voice of the sea.
Really? And what did it say?
I can't tell you, it's a secret.
-Secrets should be kept. -It's pouring, let's go, quickly.
Come on !
America !
Damn it, I wanted to say it !
Excuse me.
Sorry.
-Miss ! -Are you in a hurry?
Excuse me, miss.
I have to talk to you.
-You're meeting your father, aren't you ? -Yes.
-How did you know? -I think I met him.
On this ship, quite a few years ago.
-I don't know if he took this ship. -I'm sure it was this one.
Did he have a fisarmonica?
We played together.
I don't know if he'd remember me, but say hallo to him.
All right, I will.
But how did you know who I was ? It's very strange.
It's a secret.
And secrets should be kept.
Even if I think your father felt differently then.
-Move on, let me through. -Don't push !
I'd be really pleased if you would accept . . .
What ?
I would like you to accept this small musical token.
-Good luck ! -Thank you. Good luck to you, too !
Come and visit some day. We live on Mott Street, number 27.
-My father opened a fish shop ! -Maybe.
He never mentioned her to me again, and I never asked.
At least not for the next twelve crossings.
Besides, he was happy, as always.
His popularity was at its peak.
None of us could have imagined what was smoldering beneath his happiness.
Then, one evening in spring, halfway between Genoa and New York,
right in the middle of the ocean,
-the painting fell. -Meaning ?
Pops, have you ever asked yourself why paintings fall ?
No, not really.
I've always been impressed by this thing about paintings.
-What's the painting got to do with this ? -It does.
For Nineteen Hundred, that night went the way it does for paintings.
They hang there for years and then, without any warning . . .
They fall.
They're hanging there on that nail, no-one touches them,
but at a certain point . . .
Down they fall, in absolute silence.
With everything perfectly still around them.
Not even a fly moving around.
And they. . .
There's no reason. Why in that instant ?
Who knows ?
What happens to a nail
to make it decide that it just can't anymore ?
Does he have a soul, too, poor thing ?
-Does he make decisions ? -Let's sit down.
Did the nail discuss this at length with the painting ?
Were they unsure about doing it ? Had they talked about it for years ?
Did they then decide on a date, a time, a minute, a precise instant ?
Or did they both know about it from the start ? Was it all set up ?
-''I'm letting go in seven years.'' -''That's fine with me.''
-''So it's all set for 13 May.'' -''Okay.''
-''How about twelve noon ?'' -''Make it twelve forty five.''
-''All right.'' -''So good night.''
Seven years later, on 13 May,
at twelve forty five . . .
It's impossible to understand.
It's one of those things that it's better not to think about !
When paintings fall,when you wake up one morning and you don't love her,
when you open a newspaper and read that war has broken out,
when you see a train and want to leave,
when you look in a mirror and realise you're old,
when one evening, in the middle of the ocean, Nineteen Hundred
looks up from his plate, looks me in the eye and . . .
Tomorrow, in New York, I'm leaving this ship.
I was flabbergasted.
Has the cat got your tongue ?
No, I'm pleased.
But it's so sudden ! Just like that !
Right, just like that !
Good ! Finally !
I have to see something.
-What ? -The ocean.
-The ocean ? -The ocean.
You're pulling my leg ? You've seen nothing else for 32 years.
From here. I want to see it from there, it's not the same thing.
Wait till we dock, lean over the side and take a good look.
No, it's not the same thing. You can hear its voice from the land.
You can't from a ship.
-What do you mean ''hear its voice?'' -Its voice.
The voice is . . . more than a big scream.
It tells you that life is immense.
Once you've heard it, you know what you have to do to go on living.
I could stay here for years,
but the sea wouldn't tell me anything.
But if I get off, live on land for a couple of years, I'd be normal,
like all the others.
Then one day I'll leave, get to a coast,
look up, see the ocean and I'll hear it scream.
I don't know who's been bullshitting you, or if you're making it up,
but I think the real reason you want to leave this ship
is that girl.
It's always a girl.
But even if that's not the reason, it's fine with me. Know why?
I've always wanted you to play for the people on land,
marry a nice woman and have children
and all those things in life which perhaps aren't immense
but are worth the effort.
You'll come and visit me, Max, on land ?
Sure I will.
That way you'll introduce me to the mother of your children.
And invite me to lunch.
I'll bring the dessert and a bottle of wine.
You'll tell me that I shouldn't have bothered and,
while you're showing me around your house, shaped like a ship.
your wife will be cooking a turkey. Then we'll sit at the table.
I'll tell her she's an excellent cook
and she'll tell me that you often talk about me.
I want to give you my camel coat.
You'll cut a fine figure when you get down there.
You think I could have a family with a horse ?
-Nineteen Hundred ! -Hey !
I've seen so many people saying goodbye on the docks without caring.
But when I said goodbye to Nineteen Hundred, it was a real blow.
Look after yourself, all right ?
Take care.
We laughed, we kept saying ''see you soon'',
but we knew we'd never see each other again.
There was nothing we could do about it, it had to happen.
And now it was happening.
How do you get off?
-Here he is. -Goodbye, Nineteen Hundred !
-Bye ! -Don't forget us.
Wear your woollen vest.
Write to us sometimes.
Good luck !
-What's up ? Did he step in shit? -Maybe he forgot something.
Perhaps he's forgotten why he's getting off.
What's he doing ?
Whatever he saw from that damned gangplank,
what kind of thoughts crossed his mind standing up there,
he never told me.
-No, go away ! -Wait !
I'll give you all the money I have, take it.
He was strange for a long time. He wouldn't talk to anyone.
He preferred to be alone for days and days.
He seemed taken up with very personal matters.
Then, one day while I was sitting at the bar. . .
Thanks for the coat, Max. It fit like a glove.
It was a real shame.
But I'm better now, it's all done with.
He looked like someone who wasn't kidding,
someone who knew exactly where he was going.
Like when he'd sit at the piano and start to play.
There were no doubts in his hands.
It was like the keys had been waiting for those notes.
It seemed like he'd made them up then and there,
but somewhere in his head, those notes had been written all along.
Nineteen Hundred on that day, had decided to sit at the keyboard
of his life and start playing his most absurd music.
That this music would have marked the rest of his days.
Look at that guy with the trumpet, he must be drunk or half crazy.
-Which one ? -The trumpeter. He's crying !
I left the Virginian on 21 August, 1933,
with my leave papers and back pay. Everything in order.
I knew that sooner or later I'd have been through with the ocean.
I heard no more about Nineteen Hundred and the Virginian.
Not that I ever forgot them. On the contrary.
During the war, I asked myself :
''Who knows what Nineteen Hundred would do if he were here,
who knows what he'd say.''
''Fuck war'', he'd say !
But said by me, it wasn't the same thing.
A lot of time's gone by, maybe he's gone.
Maybe he went to Mott Street, to that girl.
Perhaps.
Hey, Conn, what's the problem ? Did you lose your sealegs ?
Where the hell did you find that record ?
What have you been up to all these years ?
-Making music. -Even during the war?
Even when no-one was dancing.
Even when the bombs were falling.
The music helped them get better.
The wounded, I mean.
Or else it kept them entertained,
as they slipped away into another world.
Sometimes they didn't even mind the voyage
if they could listen to the music.
Mine was the last face they saw.
I kept playing till the ship got here.
Call this a ship ?
It's more like a mountain of dynamite about to explode.
A bit dangerous, don't you think ?
And you, Max ?
Where's your Conn ?
I gave it up as well, a while back.
But now I'm in the mood for starting again.
I'm busting with new ideas.
Let's start a duo, you and me.
Or our own band :
The ''Danny Boodman T.D. Lemon Nineteen Hundred Big Band !''
It gets the blood going ! What a smash we'd be.
Come with me. Let's watch the big bang from the pier.
Then we'll start again from scratch.
Sometimes you have to go right back to the beginning.
''You're never really done for as long as you've got a good story
and someone to tell it to''. Remember?
You told me that.
Imagine how many stories you've got to tell now !
The world would hang on your every word, they'd go mad for your music.
Believe me.
All that city. . .
You just couldn't see an end to it.
The end !
Please, could you showme where it ends ?
It was all very fine on that gangway
and I was grand, too, in my overcoat.
I cut quite a figure
and I had no doubts about getting off.
No problem.
It wasn't what I saw that stopped me.
It was what I didn't see. Can you understand that ?
What I didn't see.
In all that sprawling city, there was everything except an end.
There was everything.
But there wasn't an end.
What I couldn't see was where all that came to an end.
The end of the world.
Take a piano.
The keys begin, the keys end.
You know there are 88 of them and no-one can tell you differently.
They are not infinite, you are infinite.
And onthose 88 keys the music that you can make is infinite.
I like that.
That I can live by.
But you get me up on that gangway
and roll out a keyboard with millions of keys,
and that's the truth, there's no end to them,
that keyboard is infinite.
But if that keyboard is infinite there's no music you can play.
You're sitting on the wrong bench.
That's God's piano.
Christ, did you see the streets ? There were thousands of them !
How do you choose just one ?
One woman, one house,
one piece of land to call your own, one landscape to look at,
one way to die.
All that world weighing down on you without you knowing where it ends.
Aren't you scared of just breaking apart
just thinking about it, the enormity of living in it ?
I was born on this ship.
The world passed me by, but two thousand people at a time.
And there were wishes here,
but nevermore than could fit on a ship,
between prow and stern.
You played out your happiness on a piano that was not infinite.
I learned to live that way.
Land
is a ship too big for me.
It's a woman too beautiful.
It's a voyage too long. Perfume too strong.
It's music I don't know how to make.
I can't get off this ship.
At best, I can step off my life.
After all, it's as though I never existed.
You're the exception, Max.
You're the only one who knows that I'm here.
You're a minority.
You'd better get used to it.
Forgive me, my friend.
But I'm not getting off.
Max.
I can picture the scene up there.
Some poor guy searching a list for my name and not finding it.
-What did you say your name was ? -Nineteen Hundred.
Niemann, Nightingale,
Ninestock, Nittledeen.
-You see, sir, I was born on a ship. -l beg your pardon ?
Born, raised and died on a ship, maybe I'm registered there.
-Shipwreck ? -No, six and a half tons of dynamite.
Are you feeling better now?
Yeah,fine except that I lost an arm.
-An arm ? -Yes, in the explosion.
You should be able to find one up there.
-Which one do you say is missing ? -The left, sir.
I'm so sorry !
We only seem to have two rights.
-Two right arms ? -Yes.
I'm afraid so.
Would you mind awfully taking . . .
-Taking what ? -A right arm instead of a left ?
Well, all things considered, better a right arm than nothing at all.
I couldn't agree more.
By the way,we have one black arm and one white arm.
Oh, matching arms, please.
I have nothing against negroes, it's just a question of aesthetics.
It's no laughing matter, Max.
What a cock-up, spending eternity with two right arms !
How wouldyou make the sign of the cross ?
Max.
Imagine the music I could play with two right arms.
I only hope I can find a piano up there !
Okay, that's fine like that.
-Slowly. -Get hold of it there.
What would you have done in my place ?
I don't know.
I would probably have felt quite useless.
Sooner or later all stories end, and there's nothing else to add.
Anyhow,thanks.
Conn, there's something I don't understand.
Who hid the broken record inside the piano ?
-You're looking at him. -So,you weren't useless afterall.
Conn.
Wait.
Here, take it. I think you'll need it.
-But I . . . -Fuck the money !
A good story is worth more than an old trumpet.
Okay, Pops.