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They're coming.
Mr. Ambassador.
It's an honor to welcome you.
And a very happy birthday.
Thank you.
I've often said to my wife that I must show her Budapest...
as long as we are still alive and well.
He's been promising that for 50 years.
How nice that you've kept the name.
I knew Mr. Szabo well. I'm afraid that was before my time.
I spent many hours in this restaurant as a young man.
Hopefully not waiting for the food....
And here are your beef rolls.
Please play the song. You know, the famous one.
It's just like it was.
Hans!
Is there a doctor here? Yes.
Make way.
That song, it's a curse!
Although it was written for love.
For her, sixty years ago.
Thank you.
Every good restaurant needs a piano.
The ''Gundel'' has a Gypsy band.
American tourists think a Hungarian restaurant must have Gypsy violins.
But if fiddling becomes more important than goulash,
you start neglecting the kitchen.
The porkolt Gundel serves these days has the zoo elephants holding their trunks.
The carp in the aquarium would rather drown than smell it.
You should have stayed with your music.
So you could have saved on a pianist.
Shit!
Hello?
Andras Aradi... I'm here to audition.
You're an hour late. We already have a pianist.
Let him audition, Laszlo.
Please, let him audition. For me.
Thanks.
Can I get you anything else? No....thanks very much.
Perhaps the gentleman at the piano could play ''Komm Zigan''.
When I hear you play, I regret I stopped singing.
You used to sing?
I actually trained.
But after two years, I realized I wasn't good enough for the concert hall.
I'm not good enough for the concert hall either.
But you play.
I'll play ''Komm Zigan'' whenever it's requested.
I'll get you coffee. Thanks.
A piano should be nice and shiny. But not a suit.
Sorry, it's the only one I have. I could start saving for a new one.
I can't wait that long. I'll buy you one.
If your music makes you rich, you can pay me back.
Here. Thank you.
Variation No. 1?
Have you noticed? Our new pianist has fallen under your spell, too.
What do you mean, ''too''? Who else has fallen for me?
I can think of a few...
Variation No. 2...
One who's so enthralled...
...he'd like it best if you always bathed in his tub.
I like things just the way they are.
Come, scrub my back.
Is that my back?
I can't help it, it's the soap...
It's so slippery.
For the German. Table 7.
You know what he calls our Magyar roulade? ''Beef roll''.
Him again?
You're a blessing for business.
He eats his 'beef roll' here every day because you bring them.
Then let him have them before they get cold.
Look, the new small format camera from Leica.
The newest innovation from Germany.
See, the film is only 35mm wide and fits in this little cartridge.
The most amazing thing is the split-image rangefinder.
Right now I see two of you, Miss Ilona.
Now the images are moving toward each other.
When there's only one image, you're in focus.
Good German craftsmanship.
Your beef roll is getting cold.
Angels don't get older, but they have birthdays all the same.
So they can sip champagne.
All the best to you on your birthday, my angel.
How beautiful!
Because every day with you is like getting flowers.
To Ilona!
To Miss Ilona!
Thank you!
I don't really have anything, just a little melody.
It's not quite finished yet, but it's just for you.
Hands off the piano!
I only wanted to serenade Miss Ilona, too.
Our customers can do as they like...
...except enter the kitchen, or touch the piano.
The melody is so touching. Is it really your own?
Yes. You actually wrote it yourself?.
Yes, Mr. Szabo.
Then you must play it every evening. No royalties!
Miss Ilona, forgive me... Wieck. Hans-Eberhard Wieck.
This is my last night in Budapest.
I wouldn't ask, but for a strange coincidence:
Today is my birthday, too!
Since fate binds us to each other.
I wonder if I might photograph you.
Of course. Here by the piano?
Goodbye, Mr. Wieck, a safe journey home.
Goodbye.
Which way are you headed?
To the Hotel Duna.
Then we'll keep you company a bit.
Mr. Aradi, your piece is wonderful. Do you have a title for it?
Yes, it's called ''Gloomy Sunday''.
What do you think?
A little melancholy, but pretty.
We should record it. With the title gold on red on the label.
Miss Ilona,
would you be my wife?
What, right now?
Come with me to Berlin. It's the most exciting place on Earth.
Germany has awoken.
And it's time you went off to sleep.
I've started my own company.
I'm going to export German craftsmanship all over the world.
I'll create the biggest import-export company in Germany... just for you.
I'm sorry I laughed.
Miss Ilona, I love you.
Please... marry me.
No.
I go this way...
Good night!
Good night, sleep well.
Good night. And thank you.
Good night.
He wrote you a lovely song. I told you he'd fallen for you.
And I for him, a bit.
Don't worry about me.
I've always said everyone must be free to decide.
I'll just keep walking. That will make it easier for you to decide.
It's a strange song.
As if someone were saying something you don't want to hear.
But deep inside you know it's the truth.
I have to go now.
Herr Wieck!... Herr Wieck!...
Heartache is a terrible thing. I know.
You must try and think of the good things in life.
Our Magyar roulade, for instance!
The beef roll you love so much!
Do you want to know the recipe?
You cut a nice tender fillet into thin slices...
...then you melt butter in the pan.
Just as the butter starts to release its aroma, add a garlic clove.
But whole!
So the butter gets just a mild touch of garlic...
Then add the fillets, and saute.
Do you remember the filling?
Ham...
Good Hungarian ham and cheese, sliced very thin.
And then, when you cut a slice from the roulade...
...your tongue is tantalized by three separate tastes.
They are so different, and go so well together...
...that with the next bite, you'll be sure and have all three on the fork.
Ham and cheese. It was good.
Budapest-Berlin Express ready for departure from Track 1.
That'll be the right one.
Laszlo...
Don't say anything. Come on.
You, and your beef rolls have given me back my life
I'll never forget it. Saving someone else from drowning...
...was the best thing that could have happened to me last night.
I'll get you back for that. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
A blind and toothless restaurateur would be pretty useless.
The same goes for import-exporters!
You're right. Survival of the fittest.
That's not what I meant. Darwin's animal theories don't have to apply to us.
Animals behave like animals, people behave like people.
Or at least, they should.
We'll meet again.
Don't tell Ilona I jumped into the Danube.
Sleep well?
Good morning.
I borrowed some sugar.
I thought you'd like some in your coffee. Yes.
The portfolio is from my conservatory professor.
It was a parting gift.
''It's a poor pupil who doesn't overtake his master.''
He was convinced that one day I would be a famous composer.
He was wrong.
You might still be, one day.
Play for me.
Only if you'll sing for me.
I only sing when I'm alone.
I'm not alone now.
Just look at this! Look how thick the peel is.
They'll cook up mealy, only good for mashing.
Well then, mash them!
So, what's it going to be?
I'm not paying 20 Filler a pound for mealy potatoes!
Why don't you open up. I'll be there in a minute.
You go ahead.
I want to be here if you're going to be talking about me.
We have to talk.
Why not?
It won't help. What would then?
I don't know.
I've known Ilona for four years, and I'm slowly realizing...
Everybody would like it all:
something for the body, something for the soul.
Something that fills you up, something that makes you hungry.
And Ilona takes just that: A Laszlo, and an Andras.
I'd still rather have a part of Ilona than no Ilona at all.
What about the potatoes?
10 Filler.
They're from Vienna. They came for a concert.
They were talking about making a record of the violin solo.
So?
Ah! Vienna.
Bring them coffee and schnapps. I'll do the rest.
When Ilona brings those gentlemen coffee, play your song.
Nice suit.
There you are.
Your health, gentlemen. Cheers.
Budapest...
That's Budapest...
Would you care for anything else? Tell me...
...what is that music?
Goes straight to the heart, doesn't it? Our house pianist composed it himself.
Really! Does the tune have a name?
It's called ''Gloomy Sunday''.
I take it you're closed on Sundays? No, we're never closed.
I'm Mr. Novak, director of the Lindstroem Record Company.
We'd be honored if you and the composer...
...would join us later for a glass of champagne.
With pleasure.
The fact remains: the composer and the composition are unknown.
We'll have to give the radio directors something so the record gets played.
That could be interpreted as bribery. It's only bribery if it's not enough.
One could slip something to someone at the radio station.
But it would have to be deducted from the composer's royalties.
Half of it.
Pardon? Half from him.
It's an investment, and investments should be split honestly.
Fair enough, that's do-able.
Royalties are 6%.
I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear you. You said... 12%?
Twelve percent!?
Franz Lehar earns that much!
But with an operetta, you have to pay singers, and the orchestra.
If one of those 70 people gets a toothache,
you'd have to postpone the recording. Enough already... eight.
Ten.
Nine.
And it has to say on the label that ''Gloomy Sunday'' originated here.
That can be done. If it fits!
Mr. Schwitz!
So we're agreed.
Allow me to go get a very special bottle of champagne: vintage 1928.
Permission granted.
Mr. Torresz left his portfolio, with a note.
''The song was lovely. Thanks very much, I must go now.''
Thanks are fine, paying is better.
He was acting so oddly this evening.
Excuse me, Mr. Szabo.
You're so worldly, I'm just a pianist...
Don't say things like ''just''.
A lot of artists have an impresario, who gets 10% for their trouble.
Would you be my manager, for 10%?
Please.
That hurts me, Mr. Aradi.
I can't charge a fee for helping a friend, now can I?
Thank you, Mr. Szabo.
Thank you.
Good morning.
Were you out celebrating with the music publishers?
Just a liqueur.
More than one, it looks like.
Are you here to pick us up?
I wanted to ask you something. You and Ilona.
The record will be made in Vienna. Would you like to come along?
You and Ilona?
Vienna! Laszlo, let's go to Vienna!
That's impossible. Why?
We'd have to close the restaurant.
Only for a day!
You could do it just once, Mr. Szabo.
Please...
Let's go to Vienna. The three of us.
For me.
No, I won't close the restaurant. Not even for a day. Out of the question.
There'd have to be a real reason. If the great Flood were coming, maybe.
That's Mr. Torresz!He hanged himself.
The song was lovely.
Thanks very much, I must go now.
The radio!
Our song is on the radio!...
Come listen. Please!
That was ''Gloomy Sunday''. Written and performed by Andras Aradi.
The song got its start in 'Restaurant Szabo' in Budapest.
Did you hear that?
Yes.
Thanks.
So strange! Nothing can stop it now.
My song is travelling the world. And sending home royalties.
Yet I feel I can't let go of it yet.
As if it still has something to tell me: a message.
But no matter how hard I try, I don't understand it.
Don't try too hard, or you'll never get it.
What does that mean? It's like trying to sing a high ''C''.
If you push too hard, you can't reach it.
I understand that about as well as I understand the song's message.
You don't want to understand.
But you said I shouldn't try to understand it.
Just give up. A musician's bailiwick is the heart, not the head.
I'll take emotions over business any time.
You Jews are always thinking about haggling.
True. The question remains whether others are too refined to haggle...
...or simply too stupid. - Stop arguing!
We're supposed to be celebrating.
Easy for you, you've got all you need.
You have two men, and each of us only half a woman.
Right. Whose fault is it that we argue...
And suffer!
It's about time that was said! Exactly.
What are they doing out so late? They should be in bed.
Hungary withdrew from the League of Nations today, for Hitler.
If that's a reason to celebrate, there's worse to come.
Them and their German masters.
They marched right into Austria. Right into Vienna itself.
You were in Vienna,
with Ilona,
for three whole days. Yes.
You're fired.
Your songs are too sad for me anyway.
I'll hire a gypsy band.
Aradi, if we're going to sleep together in one bed,
let's drop the ''Mister''.
Laszlo!
Andras.
Andras...
Andras. You're re-hired.
The poor gypsies.
Ilona, we're very sorry.
No, it's my fault.
You're both unhappy.
And I am too. I can't do this anymore.
We must split up.
Both of us. I mean...
...all of us. No, no.
We're... we're not unhappy.
Only sometimes. Ilona...
...we need you.
And you need us.
Both of us.
Something for Miss Ilona.
From abroad. For me?
Goodbye. Goodbye.
It's from Mr. Wieck.
He also sends regards to his dear friend Laszlo.
What else does he have to say?
''Forgive the delay with the photograph. But it turned out beautifully.
When I look at it, I'm reminded of Budapest...
...and especially of you. Can you remember what I said to you?''
What did he say? That's personal.
''I'm very busy. My company is expanding with the German Reich.
Germany is becoming 'Greater Germany'...
...for we are a people without enough room of our own.''
Other people don't have room, but they don't start wars.
I think he means it in an economic sense.
Mr. Szabo, telephone.
I think he means just what he wrote.
Szabo here.
Yes, ''Gloomy Sunday'' was composed here.
It's played every evening.
At 8 o'clock? Our pleasure.
That was the boss's son from Mendel Industries.
He reserved a table for six people. Specially because of the song.
Mendel?
Mendel! steel and textiles. They employ at least 30,000 people.
And they have three villas in Budapest alone.
So what about us, the three of us?
I'll give you both another chance.
There are a lot more than six.
Dear Heaven. Pull up another table. And we need more chairs.
Good evening, Mr. Mendel. Mr. Szabo. My sister.
It's an honor to welcome you. Please come in.
Would you write something, Professor Tajtelbaum?
You'll be the first mathematician on our wall.
I can praise the restaurant, but how could you put pork on the menu?
No one's forcing you to eat it, Uncle.
He's even open on the Sabbath.
I never close, Prof. Tajtelbaum,
not on the Sabbath or on Sundays, not on Christmas or Passover.
Can I get you anything else?
Perhaps a kosher pear brandy? On the house, of course.
Yes, thank you.
Was everything satisfactory, Mr. Mendel?
I must tell you how happy I am that my sister insisted we come here.
Your braised pike was sheer poetry. Maybe even better than Gundel's.
My brother is right about the pike. Don't be angry, Mr.Szabo,
but the best thing this evening was ''Gloomy Sunday''.
It has the perfect balance of bitter and sweet.
Does the song have lyrics? Not yet.
It doesn't need words, it already speaks to me.
Would he play it again?
Who could refuse a request from such perfect lips?
Mr. Aradi? Yes.
Excuse me for bothering you.
You are the composer of ''Gloomy Sunday''?
Yes.
May we take your picture?
Of course.
It's a very successful piece of music. Can you comment...
...on the five suicides in Budapest in the last three days?
All five had your song playing.
All young people from good families, with their future ahead of them.
Can you explain why, after hearing your song...
... they didn't want to live anymore?
Can you explain it? Say something!
What's wrong, Ilona? What's keeping Andras?
He'll get here. But he's never late.
In the back on the left, please.
Maybe he's read about the suicides.
Five deaths, it will upset him.
But there are two sides to every coin. What?
The telephone rang all morning. We've been fully booked since eleven.
What if he hurts himself?.
We must go look for him. We can't... the wine delivery.
Is more important, of course!
Where on the left?
Ilona!
Ilona! These are rare wines! Not even Gundel can boast this assortment!
Wines like that don't come cheap.
Take your break later.
We'll take one later, too.
Andras!
Do you know where Andras is? I think at the bridge.
Thanks.
Ilona! Did you find him?
Ilona!
Are you going all the way to Vienna?
Over there!
Cursed song!... Andras, no.
I'll never write music again.
Five people dead, and it's all my fault.
It would be better if I were gone.
Don't think like that.
You didn't ask them to do it.
You just made their farewell more pleasant.
But why do people want to die listening to my song?
Maybe it has something to do with the message you talked about.
Have you figured out what the song is trying to say?
No.
You see, you still have something left to do in this world.
If anyone jumps, then all three of us.
It's still too cold.
What's that?
It stops the heart.
But I don't need it anymore.
Still, it's safer with me.