mine?
I was the most famous composer
in Europe.
I wrote 40 operas alone.
Here.
What about this one?
Yes, I know that.
That's charming.
I'm sorry, I didn't know you wrote that.
I didn't.
That was Mozart.
Wolfgang...
Amadeus Mozart.
The man you accuse yourself of killing.
You've heard that?
Is it true?
For God's sake, my son...
if you have something to confess,
do it now.
Give yourself some peace.
He...
was my idol.
Mozart.
I can't think of a time
when I didn't know his name.
I was playing childish games,
when he was playing music
for kings and emperors.
Even the pope in Rome.
I admit, I was jealous,
when I heard the tales they told about him.
None of the brilliant little prodigy,
but of his father,
who had taught him everything.
My father, he did not care for music.
When I told him,
how I wished I could be like Mozart,
he would say,
"Why? Do you want to be a trained monkey?
You'd like me to drag you around Europe,
doing tricks like a circus freak?".
How could I tell him
what music meant to me?
While my father prayed earnestly to God,
to protect commerce,
I would offer up,
secretly...
the proudest prayer a boy could think of.
"Lord, make me a great composer.
Let me celebrate your glory through music,
and be celebrated myself.
Make me famous through the world,
dear God.
Make me immortal.
After I die...
let people speak my name forever
with love for what I wrote.
In return...
I will give you my chastity...
my industry...
my deepest humility,
every hour of my life.
Amen".
And do you know what happened?
A miracle.
My life changed forever.
Of course I knew God had arranged it all.
That was obvious.
One minute I was a frustrated boy
in an obscure little town.
The next I was here...
in Vienna, city of musicians...
and Emperor Joseph, the musical king.
In a few years, I was his court composer.
Isn't that incredible?
Night after night I sat right next
to the emperor of Austria
playing duets with him,
correcting the royal sight-reading.
Actually, the man had no ear at all.
But what did it matter?
He adored my music.
Tell me.
If you had been me,
wouldn't you have thought
God had accepted your vow?
And believe me, I honored it.
I was a model of virtue.
I kept my hands off women.
I worked hours every day teaching students,
many of them for free.
Sitting on endless committees
to help poor musicians.
Work and work and work,
that was all my life.
And it was wonderful.
Everybody liked me.
I liked myself.
Until he came.
He came to Vienna to play
some of his music,
at the residence of his employer,
the Prince Archbishop of Salzburg.
Eagerly, I went there to seek him out.
That night...
changed my life.
As I wandered through the salon,
I played a little game with myself.
This man had written
his first concerto at the age of 4,
his first symphony at 7,
a full-scale opera at 12.
Did it show?
Is talent like that
written on the face?
Which one of them
could he be?
Mozart is not here.
- Stop it.
- I`am.
- Stop it.
- I`am stopping it.
I`am. I'm stopping it. Slowly.
There. You see? I've stopped.
- Now we're going back.
- No.
Yes, yes.
Listen, you don't know where you are.
Here, everything goes backwards.
People walk backwards, and dance backwards,
and sing backwards and even talk backwards.
- That's stupid.
- Why? People fart backwards.
Ssa-ym-ssik.
Ssa-ym-ssik.
Yes, you are. You are very sick.
No. Say it backwards, shitwit.
Ssa-ym-ssik.
Ssik, kiss.
Ym, my. Ssa.
Kiss my ass.
Em-yrram.
- No, I'm not playing this game.
- Say it, it's serious.
It's very serious.
Yrram.
Marry me.
No... I'm not gonna marry you.
You're a fiend.
Uoy-evol-I-tub.
Tub.
But I...
love...
But I love you?
- Tihs-ym-tae.
- What?
- Eat.
- Eat.
- Ym, my.
- My.
Tihs. Eat my shit.
You filthy fiend.
You filthy...
My music.
They've started without me.
That was Mozart.
That giggling, dirty creature
I'd just seen crawling on the floor.