Gloomy Sunday (1999) - full transcript

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. Szabó 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 pörkölt 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?

András Áradi… I'm here to audition.

You're an hour late.
We already have a pianist.

Let him audition, László.

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 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. Szabó.

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. Áradi, 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 sauté.

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.

László…

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 Fillér 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 László, and an András.

I'd still rather have a part of Ilona
than no Ilona at all.

What about the potatoes?

10 Fillér.

They're from Vienna.
They came for a concert.

They were talking about making
a record of the violin solo.

SQ?

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. Törresz 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. Szabó.

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. Áradi.

I can't charge a fee for
helping a friend, now can I?

Thank you, Mr. Szabó.

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!
László, 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. Szabó.

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. Törresz!
- 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 András Áradi.

The song got its start in
'Restaurant Szabó' 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!

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.

Áradi, if we're going to sleep
together in one bed,

let's drop the "Mister".

László!

András.

András…

András. 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 László.

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. Szabó, telephone.

I think he means just what he wrote.

Szabó 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. Szabó. 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.Szàbó,

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. Áradi?
- 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 András?

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.

András!

Do you know where András 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!
- András, 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.

We need to get going.

Our German brothers-in-arms
continue their victorious advance…

into Western Europe.

FLihrer and Chancellor of the Reich,
Adolf Hitler has praised his troops.

And here's another man
with reason to celebrate:

the composer of "Gloomy Sunday",
a wildly successful recording.

But its magical tones have driven…

…157 people to suicide in the last
8 weeks, in Hungary alone.

The tune's gruesome march
across Europe continues.

And the song has conquered the world.

New York's smart set has taken
to driving their Studebakers…

…into the Hudson, with a portable
phonograph on the front seat.

"Gloomy Sunday" may be
bringing death to many.

But it's brought wealth to one:
its composer.

3 years later

Hans!
- László.

Here in Budapest!

It would be better if you called me
'Colonel' in public.

Pardon me, Colonel, sir.

Not when we're alone, of course.
Colonel is for the others.

I have been looking forward
to your beef roll.

Nobody in Germany
makes them like you.

Sit down. I'll put the order in.

I know no one is allowed
in your sacred kitchen,

but just once I must see
how my beef roll is made.

I see the gigolo's still here.

László, what is it?

Good evening, Miss Ilona.

Good evening, Mr. Wieck.
- He's now called 'Colonel'.

You've changed, Colonel.
- You haven't, not a bit.

I've gotten married, by the way.

My wife, and my little daughter.

So sweet.
- Both of them.

You don't seem to
have supply problems.

Are you in Budapest on business?
- You could say so.

Import-export?

I currently represent
a somewhat larger organization.

Don't believe everything you hear
about us. I'm with the 1st Cavalry.

We're horsemen,
sports comrades, you know?

Things look different when
you're high in the saddle.

The roulade.

Welcome back to Budapest, Hans.

One advantage of the delays
in achieving final victory.

What about candles?

The candles have all been seized.

And what do the ones cost that were
missed during the requisitioning?

Double the price.

I'm going to get flowers. Hopefully
they haven't all been requisitioned.

You're composing again.
What is that?

The lyrics for "Gloomy Sunday".

Still searching for the message?

"With a last breath I return to my home,
safe in the land of the shadows I roam."

Promise me that you won't do it.

Not so long as I have you.

I'll order for you,
Lieutenant Colonel, sir.

Colonel.

We'll have two of the meat roll,
and a bottle of good red.

After our meal, we'd like to hear the song,
you know which one.

Professor, you're leaving already?

Yes, good night.

Is this a Jewish restaurant?

It's certainly a good one.

A death's-head on their caps,
of all things.

With good reason.
It means they're open for business.

Well, every business has some
good apples and some bad apples.

The death's-head
becomes them both.

You should talk!
You Christians with your cross:

an execution instrument,
and a gruesome one!

Why are they whispering?

That one's a Jew, I can smell it.

Forget the Final Solution tonight.

Tonight's about beef roll,
and nobody makes them like that man.

Thank you, no, I've had enough.

Good night.

Watch your step, Lieutenant Colonel…

Now that's a song
with heart and soul!

Only the Germans have it,
it comes from the north,

not creeping in from the south.

We Germans can abandon
ourselves to life,

because we have heart and soul.

The Jew pig attacked me.
- Get a grip on yourself!

I'll make mincemeat
out of the filthy Jew!

I'll make mincemeat
out of all Hungarian Jews.

With paprika sauce!

Take the Lt. Col. To the hotel.

Taxi!

I'm sorry, László.
Eichbaum's obsessed.

I'm really sorry.

Thanks, Hans.
- Don't mention it.

Remember:
'an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth'.

Shouldn't I come along?

Hans, please, make sure
Ilona gets home.

Let's go, drive!

Thank you for helping László.

Of course.
That's what friends are for.

It's been a long time since we
walked along here together.

And, have you created Germany's
largest import-export company?

Not yet. You wouldn't listen back then.

I won't be able to do it until you've
answered my prayers, you know that.

And your wife?

I thought German honor
meant being faithful.

So much for the deaths-heads.

But you saw, there are good and bad.
- Maybe.

A drop of something medicinal
would speed the healing.

Thank you for bringing me home.

András…

…she would have gone home
with you today.

What I've told you is in strict confidence.

I'm doing it for László,

and for you.

Ilona,

I love my wife…

I would never… you know,
with another woman.

But with you,

it's not another woman.

It's an angel.

I'm not quite sure, but I don't think
angels do things like that.

Are you sure?

We heavenly ones tend to be
rather conservative.

Is it very painful?

Not enough to make us
close the restaurant.

I heard the Germans want to kill
all the Jews in Hungary.

I've heard something like that, too.

But I know it, László.

For a fact. Hans told me.

My father was Jewish, and my mother.
Which makes me a Jew.

But who thinks about it?

If my parents had been Iroquois,
then I'd be an Iroquois.

And how do they plan to do it? There are
over half a million of us in Hungary.

Our German brothers-in-arms
will be thorough.

Their attitude is 'après nous le déluge'.

Yes, and we know that,
so we can say:

"Gentlemen, après votre déluge, nous".

For argument's sake, say I put
the restaurant in your name.

You make me manager,

and apply for a permit which says I'm
part of the war effort. Hans will help.

I'll transfer everything to your name,
and then nobody can take it.

And after they've all conquered
themselves to death,

we go to the notary
and put it all back.

Exactly:

'after the Flood…

'Après le déluge, nous'.

Good afternoon.

My name is Ilona Varnai.
I have an appointment with Mr. Wieck.

The Colonel is in a meeting.

Please take a seat.

Excuse me, isn't this the Mendel villa?

It's now the center
for property assessment.

We provide whatever the Reich needs.

Have you finished the last pages?
- Yes.

Miss Varnai! So nice of you
to come visit me.

Good afternoon.

I'll be with you right away.

The most important thing now is to get
your relatives out of the camps.

That wouldn't be necessary
if you hadn't taken us to camps.

Cigarette?

By decree of the Reich, all Budapest
Jews must be interned in labor camps.

But I can guarantee you and your family
safe passage to a neutral country.

Your offer of 600,000 dollars is nothing.

The factories alone
are worth at least 60 million.

I don't think that demand is in
the best interests of your family.

I'm sorry, but I'll have call
Lt. Col. Eichbaum and inform him…

…that we were unable to reach
agreement. It's up to him from there.

Under these circumstances,
600,000 dollars is acceptable.

Let's sign it then.

I'm sorry you had to wait.

A glass of champagne?
- No, I have a favor to ask.

Anything for you.
I made a very lucrative deal today.

Would you get us a permit?
- Won't you call me Hans?

Hans, could you get us a permit making
László necessary to the war effort?

And what do I get in return?

A joke!

Of course you'll have the permit.

Come in.

Colonel, your urgent letter
to the Reichsführer SS.

Yes?

I typed it exactly as you wrote it.
- Good.

If I may call your attention to the fact
that the Duden dictionary says…

…there is no hyphen
in endorsement obligations.

Frau Häberle…
- Yes, Colonel, sir?

It is I, and not Duden, who will
decide how and what you write.

Heil Hitler, Colonel.

András. What are you doing here?

And what about you?

You were inside for 57 minutes!

I guess two men
isn't enough for you.

Is one Aryan better
than two Hungarians?

Hans“.

Colonel, sir.

I must thank you for all you've done.

Yes, yes, enough of that.
We'd like the beef roll.

Our Magyar roulade
is an outstanding dish.

But perhaps you should
try something else.

For example, István has outdone
himself with a superb Danube catfish.

Very kind, but we'd like the beef roll.

Colonel, it pains me deeply,
but with the shortages…

…I'm afraid roulade is unavailable today.

That's terrible - how will I look now?

Then bring us the best you have.

But no fish.

At your service.

And that's enough of "at your service"!
- Not at your service, then.

Hans is acting strangely today.

Do you know who the other one is?
- I think it's Colonel Schnefke.

He does the same thing in Bohemia
and Moravia that Hans does in Hungary.

They're colleagues, so to speak.

Eichbaum's only thinking about
his Final Solution.

But why destroy what you can sell?
He just doesn't understand.

So he can't find out about
our little "transactions".

He won't. He has his hands full
trying to win his war.

We can make our preparations
for the future undisturbed.

But we must be careful
not to stray too far outside the law.

Of course. But the beauty
and vibrancy of the law lies…

…in its flexible boundaries.

To your health, Colonel.

Colonel, sir.

That's quite a woman.
- She certainly is.

We still have the transportation problem.
- I might just have an idea.

What's entering Germany
in large quantity at the moment?

Coffins!

Our wives arrange good burial.

After all, dear cousin has given his life
for Fatherland and fuhrer.

May I get the gentlemen anything else?

Szabó, you tell a joke for a change.

Even a Jewish joke… we're very tolerant.

There was this commandant in
a concentration camp, named Muller.

And he had a glass eye.

When the mood struck him, Commandant
Muller would call over an inmate…

…to prove to him the quality
of German craftsmanship:

If the prisoner could tell him
which of his eyes was fake,

he was spared.

If the prisoner guessed wrong,
he'd be shot.

One day, he stopped the inmate
Jakob Korngold,

and put the test to him.

Jakob Korngold took a look
at the commandant, and said:

'Why, my Commandant,
the left one is the glass eye'.

'How did you figure it out so quickly?',
the commandant asked.

Whereupon Jakob Korngold said:

'You see, my Commandant,

it's the one that favors me
with a kindly look'.

Good joke, Szabó.

Very good joke.

And now, you,
play the famous song for us!

The song, please.

Didn't you hear me?

What are you waiting for?

Watch what happens now.

Play.

Gloomy Sunday, not long until evening…

In dark shadows, my loneliness grieving.

Eyes closed, and before me you go,

But you sleep, and I wait for morrow.

Play it for me.

I see figures, and send you this plea:

Tell the angels to leave room for me.

Gloomy Sunday

So many Sundays, alone in the shadows,

I will go now with night, wherever it goes.

Eyes glisten as candles burn bright.

Weep not, friends, my burden is light.

With a last breath I return to my home,

safe in the land of the shadows I roam.

Gloomy Sunday.

He used my gun.

Ilona!

That wasn't what I wanted.
I'm so sorry.

Is there anything I can do to help?

Yes, Hans, there is.

Can you get me papers
to leave Hungary?

Of course.

But you don't have to leave.

I fear I do.

I'm finally coming to believe
you Germans are in deadly earnest.

As long as I'm here,
nothing will happen to you.

Don't worry.

But…

…we could save a few of your people.

My people?
- I mean Jews.

Of course, getting them out
will cost…

jewelry, silver, gold.
Even currency.

But only Swiss francs and Dollars.
No penguis and NO Reichsmarks.

…to cover expenses.

I see.

We can keep people
from going up a chimney.

Germans have such lovely expressions:

blitzkrieg, going up a chimney.

So vivid.

You picture someone being
shoved in at the bottom…

…and floating out at the top,
with wings on their back.

Is that supposed to be funny?
Angels coming out the chimney?

What's happening here is hell!

You're right. And the devils
are increasing in number every day.

$1000 per person is the minimum.
That's really not much.

If a person is 27 when they leave
the country, say, and lives to be 70…

Then they've had 43 years,
or 516 months more of life.

So it works out to less than
$2 a month for their lives.

Nothing really, when you consider
what rent alone costs.

We can forget it.

Then it won't cost your friends
anything, except their lives.

Bring anyone who's interested
to my villa.

But not before 6 p.m. and not
more than three at one time.

Make sure they cover up
the yellow star.

And you don't need to worry.

Your name is at the very top
of a list of people…

…who will not be subjected to special
treatment unless I expressly approve it.

"Special treatment",
another one of those words.

I think I just understood
the message of "Gloomy Sunday".

That András was always seeking?

I think the song says
every person has his dignity.

We get hurt. We get insulted.

And we can stand it as long as we can
hang on to a last shred of dignity.

But if one bucket of shit after
another is dumped on your head…

…perhaps it's better
to depart this world.

To leave…

…but with dignity.

Who says you have to go?

You can stay,
and fight for happiness.

There are those who can.

András wasn't one of them.

Closed - in mourning

Mrs. Tajtelbaum.

I'm sorry, excuse me, Colonel.

Take them -
for a new start in Switzerland.

I'm so grateful to you.

Calm yourself. Perhaps you
can return the favor someday.

I'd like to.

When times change, don't forget
to mention who saved you.

I will. I won't forget.

Please forgive me,

but I have an uncle,

Professor Moishe Tajtelbaum. He was
a member of the Jewish Council.

I'm sure he'd be just
as grateful as I am.

Then send him to me.
- He was rounded up yesterday.

I'll see what I can do.

Radio London, Radio London.

German troops In Poland
are withdrawing along the Vistula.

The Red Army
is advancing toward Hungary.

Mr. Szabó!

A money order for you, Mr. Szabó,
and for Miss Ilona.

Who would be sending us money?
- The Lindstroem Record Company.

There's also a letter.

"Dear Miss Varnai, dear Mr. Szabó,

our dear Mr. András Áradi…

…left instructions that, after his death,
royalties from "Gloomy Sunday"…

…be paid to you in equal shares.

Enclosed please find the current
semi-annual statement.

Yours sincerely."

I'm beginning to like it too much.

I want to take all my baths in your tub!

I better check whether
they've delivered the potatoes.

Where does László Szabó live?
- Third floor.

Where is László Szabó?

He's not here.
I don't know where he is.

Open up!

László Szabó?

Wait! It's a mistake!

I'm the owner here.
He's my manager.

Mr. Szabó has a special permit,
he's needed.

Not anymore.

Go!

Esteemed Lieutenant Colonel
Eichbaum, dear comrade,

I hereby give approval for special
treatment for the following persons:

Hochhauser, Aaron;
Heinmann, Samuel;

Mosche, Rea;
Friedländer, David…

Schweiger, Aviva; and Kaplan, Simon.
Heil Hitler.

Strike Kaplan, he paid.

Should I re-type it?
- Yes.

Then perhaps… if you don't mind…
- What?

I know I'm supposed to type
just what you wrote…

…but a few things disagree with the
rules in the Duden grammar book.

Duden, Duden, Duden.

Forget the Duden!
It will be our downfall!

Heil Hitler! Of course.

Wonderful.
Germany must finally be Duden-free!

Duden-free and "Juden" -free.
No rules, no Jews. No Jews!

Hurry UP-

Hans!

They've taken László! Just now.
- What's going on?

You have to help him!
- Calm down.

I'll help, don't worry, I'll help him.
- You must help him, for me.

Of course I'll help him.

Naturally I'll help. Anything for you.

It's alright.

Lieutenant Colonel, Sir.
- Colonel.

How are you?
- Fine, thank you. Have a seat.

I don't want to keep you.
Has the Auschwitz transport left yet?

No, they're loading right now.

I need a special dispensation.
Someone was put on the list by mistake.

Who is it?

That one, that one…
- Right away, sir.

Heil Hitler.

Tajtelbaum.

Professor Tajtelbaum?
Come with me, hurry.

I'm risking my life getting you out.

I'll take us to safety.

Dear Ilona, I now hear clearly what
"Gloomy Sunday" is saying:

I won't wait for the last bucket of shit.

I will do as András did.

I never really learned to fight,
and anyway, it's too late.

Don't be sad that it didn't
turn out as we'd hoped.

Hang on now: 'après le déluge, tu!'

Grass is growing over you already.

You can't imagine how very
much I miss you.

I miss you both so much.

László is dead, just like you.
He doesn't even have a grave.

His friend Wieck sent him
up the chimney.

He only saved those who could
help him after the war.

He planned it well.
He's a businessman.

Damn him to hell!

I have to go and set the tables.

I'm re-opening the restaurant today,
so wish me luck.

Wish us luck.
'Après le déluge, nous'.

Hans-Eberhard Wieck is dead.

The corporate executive died this evening
in Budapest of heart failure.

All Germany mourns
the passing of a great man.

During the second world war,
he saved more than 1000 Budapest Jews.

After the war, he built Germany's largest
import-export firm from scratch.

He wished to celebrate
his 80th birthday here,

scene of such fond memories.

Thank you, Mr. Ambassador.

All the best to you
on your birthday, Mama.