Ketchup and Lawn Gnomes
It is early morning. Even before the first breakfast shift is up, there is movement in the house. Creeping footsteps headed downstairs.. and downstairs again to the basement.....
The first breakfast shift goes without incident, but the second is interrupted by the unusual appearance of Mussorgsky - a rather neat and well-dressed Mussorgsky.
Hildegard: Good morning, Modest.
Strozzi: Modest, what are you doing here?
Tchaik: And dressed so elegantly today!
Mussorgsky: ehh, I decided to go to the art show today. (straightens his jacket primly)
Tchaik: I believe you even brushed your hair!
Mussorgsky: Yes, there was a time when I brushed my hair everyday... (looks out window nostalgically) The foppish, bygone days of my youth..
(The others stare in confusion.)
Strozzi: Well, ah, did you want to join us for breakfast?
Mussorgsky: Yes. (sits at the table with them) Where's Franz today?
Tchaik: I haven't seen him all morning. Usually he's primping his hair in the bathroom at some point, but...
Strozzi: I didn't see him either. Perhaps he's just sleeping in?
Mussorgsky: Nah..too many women, too little time for that.
(Strozzi and Tchaik chuckle)
Hildegard: I'm glad I'm not the only one in this household who can see through his airs.
(Enter Mozart, smiling cheerfully)
Mozart: Morning
Strozzi: Morning Wolfgang, you're up early.
Mozart: No, no, I'm the last one out of bed today -- for our room, at least. (opens freezer, rummages)
Strozzi: Remind me who shares your room?
Mozart: JS, Robert, and Franz.
Hildegard: Ah, so he is up then. We haven't seen him.
Mussorgsky: Probably snuck out for some midnight rendez-vous.
Mozart(pauses, turns around to face table): Modest is awake and coherent! Strange morning indeed!
Mussorgsky: art show today.
(Beethoven wanders in, goes straight to pantry and takes a Granola Bar)
Hildegard: Good morning, Ludwig
Beethoven: morning (leaves again)
Mozart(pulls out ice cream sandwich from freezer, sits next to Strozzi): Oh, that means the TV will be free at some point? I haven't watched Ricki Lake in a long time.
Hildegard: You are hopeless. Of all the things to do with your time!
Mozart: It's great fodder for opera. Where better to search for examples of the human condition than on bad talk shows??
Mussorgsky: History.
Mozart: Boring.
Strozzi: Don't let Richard hear you say that.
Mussorgsky: Ehhh -he doesnt write history, he writes children's stories - myths. I'm talking history that isn't boiled down into some sappy romance or tragic battle of "Good" vs "Evil." It's about real people with real issues: guilt, grief, personal responsibility, oppresion, power - individual vs group identity...
Hildegard(stares at him like she's never seen him before): ...... I think you need to give up the alcohol, Modest.
Mussorgsky: eh, that's part of the human condition too.
Mozart: So you see, Ricki Lake is perfect - real people with real problems!
Mussorgsky: no! that's all pre-packaged, wholesale parody -- just like your opera buffa characters.
Mozart: Ok, ok - bad writing will always yield cliches, but the reason these "parodies" are so long-lasting is because of their similarity to and resonance with the human condition. The trick is simply to write the characters JUST A TAD more realistically.
Mussorgsky(shakes his head): Youre so optimistic.
Mozart: yes, and it's too damned early to be having such a conversation. I'm going to shoot some pool before the next rennovation begins.. (adds frowning) Hopefully it won't still smell down there... (exit)
Hildegard: Modest, I heard you are quite the carpet expert?
Mussorgsky: Hardly.
Hildegard: Do you think you might make an order for us?
Mussorgsky: Is Richard paying? There's the factor of money, you know.
Hildegard: I think we can split it, so don't compromise value for cheap price..
Mussorgsky: All right, I'll go look into that today.. (exit)
Hildegard: He really should give up the alcohol.
Strozzi: I don't know - he's so ... sober this way..
Mozart arrives in the basement, and to his surprise, he finds not only the pool table, but also a rather disgruntled-looking Franz Liszt sitting on it.
Mozart: Franz! What is THIS?
Liszt(folds arms elegantly): I'm protesting.
Mozart(snickers, retrieves cue stick meanwhile): Don't think I'm against you - I don't want a night club down here, but I don't mind the idea of a salon -- that is, I don't mind if you bring your female friends.. I'm sure Hannes won't mind either, wasn't he saying something along those lines yesterday?
Liszt: oh, he needs -(shakes head) He needs me to set him up on a date.
Mozart(waves Liszt aside, still pleasantly): Oh, he won't accept the charity.
Liszt(slides off pool table, revealing that his wrist is handcuffed to one of the legs): Come on, Wolfy -we're talking female companionship, not compositional secrets.
Mozart: Nope (racks up pool balls) Doesn't matter. He's a stubborn fool - (adds with a grin) almost enough so to chain himself to the pool table in protest.
Liszt: This is a matter of principle. And a protest to Hildegard, who insists on representing me as some sort of demonic womanizer. (long pause) I can't bring any friends over if I've got the Hildegard Brigade running a smear campaign.
Mozart: Exactly. (pause as he sinks 4 balls in a row) So.... where did you get those handcuffs anyway?
Liszt: oh. Yes, I rather... borrowed them from Pyotr.
Mozart: oh dear (snickers) You don't know where those have been.
Liszt: I'm sure they're fine..
Mozart: ... where are the keys?
Liszt: Somewhere in his drawer.
Mozart: You didn't bring them?
Liszt: This is a protest.
Mozart: Protesting misrepresentation, not common sense! You're going to be trapped down here with no food, no water - (as he counts off these items, Liszt pulls out from under the table a bowl of apples and a large bottle of water) Ok... What about Bathroom Facilities? Just because we haven't put the carpet down yet doesn't mean you can -
Liszt: Shh.. What do you think people did before the invention of toilets?
Mozart: Oh no - if you think I'm going to be your chamber pot boy, forget it.
Liszt: I didnt say anything about you.. Actually, if I recruit anyone, it will be Richard.
Mozart: (laughs)
Liszt: What?
Mozart: (leans away from pool table to continue laughing)
Liszt: He'll help me. He's my friend.
Mozart: Ohhh ahahah -- he was hahaheheh - he was pretty mad at you yesterday...(catches breath) See, he would have won the vote had you not come home at such a critical time and started your rebellious Third Party politics...
Liszt(sighs): He's not still mad about that, though.
Mozart(laughs anew): Ohahahahahh! .. ohhhh.. come to think of it, you should be happy - if you die tonight, it wont be from thirst..
Liszt: You're such a pessimist.. Our friendship can overcome these little .. bumps in the road..
Mozart(grins, lines up shot, makes it): We'll see... I'll be sure to sell front row seats for his first visit, though..
Liszt(frowns): ... well, even without Richard's compliance.. I can always just pull the handcuff out from under the leg.. Of course, I hope it won't come to that. My protest- what? (Mozart is doubled-over the table laughing) What's so funny now, Wolfgang?
Mozart: "just lift the pool table"? YOU!? HAHAHAHHAHAHAHH!!
Liszt(another sigh): You're not making this easy.
Mozart: heheheh... You decided to protest in MY pool room... (nods significantly)
Liszt: (crawls under table) Just don't talk.. Just let Hildegard know..
Meanwhile Bach has come home. Strozzi is surprised to see him walk into the kitchen with plastic bags hanging off his arms.
Strozzi: Did you go shopping, JS? Don't you have work?
Bach: Not this moment.. Usually I don't bother driving home if I have to be back teaching the kids later - I like to kid myself that mingling with society will do me good, but.... We needed milk. (allows the bags to fall onto the kitchen table; Strozzi helps him unpack)
Strozzi: Strange happenings in the house today. (Bach raises an eyebrow) Oh yes, Modest has dressed himself up and gone out to an art show -- and Franz is missing in action.
Bach: Missing?? He was home last night, wasn't he?
Strozzi: Hildegard thinks one of his one-night stands did him in.
Bach: Oh my, she's becoming quite the conspiracy theorist (whispers) tell her to stop meditating around Robert.. She must be channeling the paranoia. (glances out window) All seems calm now.. oh.. Ludwig's working again. Perhaps I'll see him..
(After all the goods are put away, Bach makes his way to the back yard where Beethoven and Schumann are sitting.)
Bach: Hi guys
Schumann(looks up from his notebook): What are you doing home?
Bach: (shrug) Coffee shop got boring..
Beethoven: So much for hard work!
Bach: Ahh, well it's a nice day today (looks about appraisingly) not too warm... (his gaze meanders to the porch) You know we have a grill there and we haven't used it at all this season?
Schumann: I mourn the loss.
Bach: We should do a cookout tonight.
(There's sudden rustling of leaves then a thud - Brahms has appeared under the tree)
Brahms(joins them): I heard "grill."
Bach: Yes, I was suggesting we have a cookout.
Schumann: Hannes, did you see anything up there?
Brahms: I didn't look. I was writing.
Beethoven: JS wants a cookout tonight.
Bach: Weather permitting.
Schumann: Why should mother nature rain upon such a humanitarian enterprise?
Beethoven: We'll make sure Hildegard doesn't recruit the grill into any of her schemes today.
Brahms: Yeah. If we're painting with milk, I don't want to know what we'd be doing with the grill..
Bach: Yes, thanks.. (frowns suddenly) I hope we don't have to hear about charred meat carcinogens the whole time..
Schumann: I shall alert the others! (dashes into the house)
Bach: Oh, good - a spokesman.. I suppose I could get back to work then.
Beethoven: You can stay out here.
Brahms: You can look at my counterpoint.
Beethoven(gruffly): And mine.
Bach: Oh no (backs away, hands up in defense) I didn't come home to teach counterpoint, kids! Maybe I'll just.. er... get a sandwich! (runs back into the house)
Brahms: Good job, Ludwig-
Beethoven: What? You asked first.
Brahms: I'm going back to my tree.
Beethoven: Fine.
Out in the real world, Mussorgsky has parked at the local museum and is now walking through its marbled entrance hall with his ticket and looking for the proper exhibit.
Mussorgky(spots a youngish employee): Excuse me, Sir.. Is the Hartmann picture exhibit anywhere near here?
Employee: Oh yes, right around this corner (points past Mussorgsky's nose in the opposite direction) and then two lefts.. two? no, three lefts down - I mean, third hallway on the left and then its either on the right or left there.. like, the second or third one. Not the first.
(Mussorgsky frowns delicately, and considers if he should bother to ask for clarification.. No.)
Mussorgsky: Yeah, thanks. (heads off in what he hopes to be the proper direction)
Employee: No problem.
(Mussorgsky wanders for a bit, until he finally finds some pictures he has seen on TV during the news brief.)
Mussorgsky: Ok, this must be it.. (he turns into the proper room, where a group of young men are standing about one particular picture and chatting. As he makes his way around the room he can pick up bits of their conversation.)
YoungMan1: ...the struggle to walk -the very essence of mankind's struggle with his own physical limitations -
YoungMan2: No, this is not very profound -
YoungMan3: but--
YoungMan2: But - it is aesthetically pleasing. That's all that matters.
(Muss raises an eyebrow - edges closer to hear)
YoungMan1: No, but why is it so? What makes it so?
YoungMan2: the colors - the disposition of light - the -
YoungMan4(throws hands to head): I have failed as a realist artist, I see! It's a GNOME - it's supposed to be ugly, Arseny!
Arseny(grins): That's just it.
YoungMan1: Now you are just being perverse!
Arseny: No, you are the one reading all your "Struggles of Mankind" into it.
YoungMan1: No, that's THERE. Look - this is a visual work - everything is in front of you; you're not "reading" anything into it. That's the problem with you poets and your complex of words.
Mussorgsky: If you dont think words paint pictures, I'm not sure I want to know your idea of music. (they all turn - regard him curiously)
Arseny: So you are a musician?
Mussorgsky: Yeah, composer and pianist. I'm Modest
YoungMan4: Ah hah! So now we have all the arts represented - (gestures to Arseny) Here's our sculptor Mark (YoungMan3 stretches his hand for a shake); our painter Ilya (YoungMan1 smiles); the Count Arseny Golenishchev-Kutuzov -- I mean, our poet (Arseny smirks, but nods to Mussorgsky); and I also dabble in the painting - I'm Viktor-
Mussorgsky: Hartmann? Oh! You're the artist (shakes hand effusively; conversation continues -- back to the house--)
Mozart has decided to take advantage of the Mussorgsky-less TV and watch some bad daytime talk shows. In the hallway, he nearly bumps into Wagner, who is clutching the local newspaper and scowling magnificently.
Mozart: whoa - watch it, Richard.
Wagner: Do you see this?? Some anonymous buffoon wrote back to my editorial last week! (Mozart tries to read the paper, but Wagner is waving it too much) Some so-called "Eusebius" complaining about my lack of sympathy for cats who might possibly "want to star in Whiskas commercials." What preposterousness! What thinking, feeling creature would subject itself to such cheap theatrics??
Mozart(tries to keep straight face - loses): ... gahahahahahah!
Wagner(dangerous quiet): What... are you laughing at, Wolfgang?
Mozart: Why don't you just get over yourself and write a music-drama for cats?
Wagner(sharp intake of breath): That has already been done.
Mozart: TOUUUUUUUUUUUCHHH MEEEEE! ITS SO EEEEEEASY TO REEEEEEACH MEEEEEEE!
Wagner: (bristles) Don't even JOKE about that nonsense in this household! It is an insult to humanity..
Mozart: (waltzes off, spinning prettily down the hall) Think of meeeeeeeeeeeeee Think of me FONDLY--
Wagner: SHUT UP! (sniffs indignantly - Strozzi comes out of the den)
Strozzi: What's going on?
Wagner: (shakes head) My dear lady, our very artistic integrity is threatened by the constant clowning and buffoonery of some members of this household... But I suppose it's nothing a pool game won't fix.. Join me?
Strozzi(grins): I suppose...
Of course they find Liszt chained to the pool paraphernalia. He is lying belly-up on the table, arms dangling over the sides, mouth open-
Strozzi: Are you trying to crucify yourself, Franz?
Wagner: What - FRANZ!
Liszt(tries to sit up): Water..... need....
Stozzi(amused): Well, we can start calling you Quasimodo now.
Wagner: What are you doing! Get off the pool table.
Liszt(sits up normally again): Well, if you're not going to support me in this protest, whom can I rely on??
Wagner: Protest! You could start by telling me about this "Protest."
Liszt: I'm protesting the use of this room. And Hildegard's outrageous smear campaign.
Strozzi: Are you personally offended at her comments?
Liszt(hand to head): She seems to think that just because I am male I have no feelings and she can insult me as she will. It's reverse discrimination, that's what it is!
Wagner: You're not the only one she insults. (thoughtful pause) But you're right. He deserves it; you don't.
Strozzi: Well, are you protesting the pool room or Hildegard? Because if you take another time to protest Hildegard that might work better.
Liszt: She seems to be against my salon idea because she supposes that my motive is only to seduce women. Perhaps if she changed her mind, she might be more receptive to it.
Wagner: I am still against the salon idea whether you are a womanizer or not.
Liszt: Ok, let's put it this way: I am protesting against the fact that less than half of this household has determined the way we are using the room. Nearly 2/3rds of us voted against pool room. How's that?
Wagner: I'll agree with that, yes!
Strozzi: Sounds good. How do you propose to resolve the problem, though?
Liszt: We should compromise. Bar on one side; Theater on the other. (they look about appraisingly)
Wagner: The room is too small to divide.
Strozzi: Why don't I talk to Hildegard? At least then she can't say I'm some male trying to dominate her way of thinking..
Liszt: Oh no! No good, dear lady - she'd say that's worse - for what scheming man sends a woman to speak for him?? She thus becomes only his VESSEL for communication!!
Strozzi(laughs): You've got it all figured out, I think...
Wagner: Verily, sometimes I think Franz understands more about women than I do.
(Strozzi casts an intrigued glance at Liszt who looks away modestly.)
Liszt: Richard is exaggerating again.
Wagner: I never exaggerate.
Strozzi: Well then - are we going to play a game of pool?
Later we find that the artists at the museum have decided to get lunch; now Mussorgsky and the others are sitting around a table on the patio of a local restaurant. Artistic sentiments (as well as alcohol) are flowing-
Muss(takes a swig) Now take your - (gestures across street) take your park animals -- there's birds and dogs and foxes - ducks and god knows how many other species, and here musicians get away with a variety of harmonies, and deal with technical peculiarities, and they imagine that they are "creating types." It's sad. Theres nothing new in that - now you artists know how to mix your colors and work freely, but we musicians (shakes his head)- first we think, then we measure off, then after measuring off, we think again - it's ridiculous - we're like a bunch of little kids!
Arseny(intrigued): You are not speaking for yourself?
Mussorgsky: I like to work from the visual.. this "Music as Exercise" stuff isnt right. Some of my housemates think that, but some -- they sit around all day writing counterpoint note by note - how is that art?
Ilya: That seems odd to me.
Mussorgsky: Ohhhhh I need another drink....
Hartmann: I'll drink to that!
Meanwhile, the pool game is progressing - except Liszt is having difficulty reaching a shot on the opposite side of the table from where he's cuffed. He is now trying to use his right foot to steady the cue stick while he shoots with his left hand. Suddenly the door opens - they can hear voices accompanied by footsteps..
Schumann: I think there's something inherently more attractive about the word Palatschinken...
Tchaik: No, its such a clumsy word. Crepe is far superior.
Schumann: Palatschinken captures the essence of it, though - you dont KNOW the etymology of the word.
Tchaik: Crepe comes from old French. I know my desserts. it's to do with the curled nature of the pastry.
Schumann: As usual, German captures the more profound meaning, harkening to the age of the Romans when the word "placenta" was used--
Tchaik: That's disgusting! The French at least know what's appetizing! (They pause at the bottom of the steps when they realize they have company) What's going on? We were just coming down to help plan the redecoration since I have a little time off finally.
Wagner: If you want to help, you can fetch a tape measure so we may measure the windows for my pink curtains.
Tchaik(affronted): If you're not going to allow us a say in the curtains, you can get your own measuring tape!
Schumann(leans over and whispers in Tchaik's ear): Palatschinkens.
Tchaik: agh! (jumps) don't DO that! I wont have your subliminal messages .. Franz, why are you handcuffed to the pool table?
Liszt: I'm protesting.
Tchaik: Wait - (eyes wide) are those MY cuffs?!
Liszt: Ah, I hoped you wouldn't mind my borrowing them...
Tchaik: They have no key!
Liszt(pales slightly): What! Why do you have them!?
(Strozzi laughs; Schumann shakes his head gravely.)
Tchaik: Well... I meant to throw them out -- I tried to, but I couldn't. They have sentimental value... (adds righteously) It's very disconcerting to see them on you and the pool table!
Liszt(looking at wrist in concern): I'm not sure I want to know the history of these..
Wagner: Nor does any of us. But fear not, Franz, when the time comes, you will be liberated. For now, though, you must accept your Fate to suffer as did the mighty Prometheus chained to the rock for his daring gift of fire to Mankind!
Liszt: Ah, right. We can always lift the table.
Schumann(has been staring at the left wall where the sofa used to be): .... You know what we need?
Strozzi: I'm almost afraid to ask, Robert.
Schumann: A new sofa.
Liszt: Actually, I was thinking about some tables and chairs there. But a sofa would be fine as well. The piano needs to go in that corner (gestures back towards the stairs)..
Wagner: "Piano" - who said anything about a piano? (The door opens again) Good GOD - can't a man plan a renovation in peace!
Hildegard(coming down stairs): "A MAN!"
Wagner: (rolls eyes)
Strozzi: It's all right, Hildegard, I'm here to make sure they aren't plotting a battle of the sexes.
Hildegard: I just wanted to announce that we are having a cookout this afternoon around 530 - JS himself suggested it. I hope you can all help out.
Strozzi: Oh that sounds like a good idea. It's nice outside today - in fact (looks out window) I should perhaps go outside and practice..
Hildegard: yes, it's still dark down here... (notices Liszt) .... Franz, what are you doing?
Liszt: I'm making a political statement.
Hildegard(nonplussed): About what?
Liszt: The undemocratic way in which we have designated a use for this room.
Hildegard: What - we voted!
Liszt: 2/3rds of the house voted against pool room.
Schumann: True indeed! Perhaps we should agree with the consensus then - that this is a NON-pool room.
Hildegard: Er.. that's very postmodern of you, Robert.
Wagner: But it doesn't SOLVE anything! If you would only allow me to bring forth my vision - once you would experience it for yourselves, there would be no question as to it being the right choice.
Hildegard: I will allow you two to argue over it. I am going to plan the cookout.
Schumann: I'll get the hamburger buns! (runs up stairs)
Tchaik: Can I help? It sounds more productive than arguing..
Hildegard Please do. (exeunt; Wagner and Liszt are left at the pool table, staring at each other)
Liszt: That wasn't very effective.
Wagner: You need to stop arguing with me. You're supposed to be on my side.
Liszt: What!
(and so the afternoon progresse-- the afternoon goes.. )
In the backyard, morning composition has given way to "afternoon naptime" for Beethoven and Brahms, both of whom are now dozing - Beethoven at the foot of the tree, Brahms in the tree. All is quiet and idyllic; a gentle breeze rustles the open leaf of Beethoven's composition notebook. Suddenly the calm is broken by raucous laughter and the slam of a door closed too fast. Beethoven sits up.
Beethoven: .... what.....! (He glances around the yard, but sees nothing.) Wh... --neighbors!! (he grabs his notebook and beats Brahms in the foot)
Brahms(grumbles): what??
Beethoven: Do you hear that noise?
Neighbors: (annoying laughter)
Brahms: ....I hate neighbors.. (stands up on branch - peers into other yard) it's those lawn gnome people!
Beethoven: damn it. Well, tell them to quiet down!
Brahms: I'm not going to yell into the neighbor's yard -- they can't see me from here-
Beethoven: It's better that way. They dont know where to shoot.
Brahms(sits back down on branch): No, they're settling down now - if you still want to complain go stick your head through the bush. That'll scare them off.
Beethoven(also makes himself comfortable): ..whatever. If they get rowdy again we'll get Wolfgang's dart gun.
Meanwhile, Mussorgsky and company are having a grand old time, but as 530 approaches they decide its time to break up - on condition that they meet again next week, same time and place. Too drunk to drive and too lazy to go back to his car anyway, Mussorgsky decides to walk home from the restaurant. After a few harrowing encounters with bikers, old women walking dogs, and the occassional signpost, Mussorgsky makes it safely to his home street. And he walks right up and into the wrong house....
Mussorgsky(looks about living room - which is exceptionally clean): mmmmm piano tahts good (sits at the baby grand in the corner of the room, starts playing...)
Next door at the right house, Bach has returned from church, and now Zacara and Ives have arrived as well.
Zacara: DINNER TIME! (storms into foyer) Where's my mail? Isn't Modest home today? (steps into living room, where Mozart is asleep on the couch) What is HE doing here? What could Modest possibly be doing that's more important than delivering me my mail??
Hildegard(from kitchen): I dont think anyone GOT the mail today!
Zacara: God save us! (turns and goes right back out again)
Ives: What's going on today? I smell fresh onions -- could someone be preparing dinner?! (he walks into the kitchen, where Hildegard and Schumann are arranging two trays of hamburger toppings: lettuce, tomatoes, onions, pickles...) WOW! That's great! Where's the beef?
Hildegard: JS was going out to cook.. I don't understand men and their grills.. something about the grill will bring out the worst in any man, it seems. (shakes head)
Schumann: No, it is Man's ultimate triumph over the wild elements! To harness the power of Nature and use it to turn a piece of RAW meat! into a savory, succulent, steaming Hamburger!
Hildegard(exasperated): Oh stop, Robert..
Ives: Stop, Robert! I'm already starving! Let me change out of these work clothes. (exit)
Hildegard: You men...
In the backyard, Bach is setting up the porch so that his trays of hamburger and hotdog are close by. Beethoven meanwhile uncovers the grill and rolls it out from against the house. Bach looks over his shoulder - eyes wide with suspicion.
Bach: what... what are you doing, Ludwig?
Beethoven: Hm? Getting out the grill.
(Brahms wanders over, seats himself at the flimsy white patio table)
Bach(eyes still on Beethoven): Well it's out now, thanks. I'm just bringing over the meat.
Beethoven(inspecting gas tank and tubes): We can start it. Looks clean.
Bach(joins Beethoven at grill): That's all right - I got it.. You can see if Hildegard needs any help inside..
Beethoven: I'm sure she's in control of everything already..
Brahms: (leans back in chair, folds arms)
Bach: Well all right then.. I suppose you can watch.
Beethoven(hand on grill): I don't like to watch..
Bach(losing temper): You're not being very helpful.
Beethoven: Using the grill doesn't require help.
Bach: Yes, I'm well aware....
Beethoven: yeah, so...
Bach: Damn it - I only stop composing for two things: SEX and the GRILL - now step aside, Ludwig!
(Beethoven grumbles, but moves.)
Bach(steps up to grill, runs hands over it hungrily): Ahh... grill! You are not even rusty!
Beethoven(steps back): On second thought....(joins Brahms at table) oh stop smirking, you insipid little....
Brahms(chuckles): Just learning from the masters...
Bach: That's right - this is grill magic right here, kids.
Soon the scent of cooking hamburger wafts down though the open basement window and reaches Liszt and Wagner, who (after copious amounts of alcohol thanks to Mozart's reserve stock) are embroiled in a death match of a pool game.
Wagner: I always knew you were a wiley one, Franz, but this -- this - this BANKING is not to be borne! Tell me: Do you honestly expect to sink such a shot!?
(Liszt is trying to line up a difficult shot, but most of his energy is being spent trying to balance himself while he leans over the table)
Liszt: now dontdistract me... I... I need to concerntrate.
Wagner(catches the scent of hamburger): by God - do you smell that?
Liszt(sniffs): Oh no (collapses over table in despair) Theyve started cooking.. I cannot partake .....
Wagner(smugly): AH hah.. Perhaps you were winning this match - although I highly doubt you would have made that shot there and seeing how not making that shot would have thrown you out of the lead and no doubt left me in a position to run the rest of the table and make a complete mockery out of your sorry attempts -- (takes breath, pauses - cant remember what the antecedent was) ...... well, I cant say you were winning this match I mean to say..
Liszt(does not look up): dont mock me, Richard. youarea cruel man to call yourself my friend!
Wagner: I was NOT finished thank you, I meant to add that Regardless of whether you were winning this game or not - you must admit that the you are in a very sorry position in regards to the picnic, which you have protested yourself right out of!
Liszt: How wasI toknow! (tugs at hair with the unchained hand)
Wagner: I pity you my friend I truly pity you. (walks off)
Liszt: CLOSE THE WINDOW! -- THE WINDOW!
Wagner(going up stairs): Perhaps the fresh air will inspire you to rethink your basement rennovation plans, since necessarily the alert and working mind may recognize that the only solution to the problem is the Grand Entertainment System Of the Future!! (slams basement door shut on way out)
Liszt: DAMN YOU!!! (sobs into pool table)
Meanwhile-
Mussorgsky (stops playing): . heyyyyy..... (looks around as if seeing the living room for the first time - it's completely different from his own piano room: the sea of blue carpet, the colorful paintings jumping off the wall, the blob of a red leather sofa) .... ah... hmm.....theyredecorated whileiwasout... (shrugs, starts playing again)
Next door-
Liszt's cries for help do not go unheard as most of the household is now milling about in the backyard with plates of food.
Ives: Did you hear that? Someone's in trouble!
Zacara: I expect him to jump into the nearest phone booth and magically transform -- from bland insurance salesman to SUPER IVES!
Ives: I'm just concerned now, no need to get up in arms about it..
Strozzi: Oh, Franz is probably just sorry he's chained himself to the pool table.
Ives: What?!
Strozzi: He's very serious about it. He's protesting.. He thinks we aren't taking his suggestion for the basement seriously.
Zacara: No, I liked his idea.. Perhaps I'll smuggle some food to him in an astounding show of solidarity and compassion..
Wagner(joins them): No, best to let it remain a hunger strike. Hildegard wouldn't appreciate him consuming "Charred Meat Carcinogens," or whatever nonsense she's been going on about for the last ten minutes over there..
(They glance over to Hildegard, who is now lecturing Tchaikovsky and Schumann; they can pick out a few words, including "phenylimidazopyridine" -- suddenly there's a high pitched scream, and not from the basement.)
Ives: What is that!
At the back of the yard, Beethoven and Brahms are also disturbed at the cry.
Beethoven(looking to neighbor's yard): What in God's name are they up to now?
Brahms: Better get that dart gun..
(Beethoven steps near the bushes separating the two yards and peeks through)
Beethoven: They're all just standing around...oh, there goes one.. into the house. (Brahms joins him at the bushes) Why dont you go over there and tell them it's against neighborhood noise pollution bylaws to commit screaming murders..?
Brahms: I'm not sure the bylaws say anything about that actually.
Beethoven: oh quiet -- (their attention is caught by the back door flying open: their neighbor with the puffy black hair walks out with his friend - and a very drunk-looking Modest Mussorgsky.) What!
Brahms(snickers): ..looks like Modest went to the wrong home..
Beethoven: idiot.. that's one way to meet the neighbors..
Brahms: They seem to be getting along all right now. I mean.. they're alive.
Beethoven: Oh shit, they're coming this way - (the two of them duck back into their own yard)
Brahms: Think they saw us?
Beethoven: (bites into his hamburger) Damn it.
Random cut to the couch in the living room -
Mozart suddenly sits up and sniffs.
Mozart: Food!! Ugh.. how long have I been asleep? (checks watch: 6:15) What!! This sofa is a black hole! I'm going to have to talk to Modest about this.. (hops up, heads for back yard)
Meanwhile, the neighbor storms through the bushes pulling Mussorgsky along behind -- Tchaikovsky ducks behind Hildegard as Schumann rushes to the table and seizes a squeeze bottle of ketchup. The neighbor stops as he realizes there is a party's worth of people before him.
Schubert: uh... Hello - is this your friend?
Mussorgsky: HI guys!
Hildegard: MODEST!
Mussorgsky(teetering): Mmmm smells good whaddarewe cooking?
Schubert: I'm sorry I haven't introduced myself. I'm Franz Schubert your neighbor.
Hildegard: Ah, nice to meet you.. I'm Hildegard (notes Schumann approaching out of the corner of her eye, tries to position herself between him and Schubert) We've been admiring your lawn art for some time.. -- I mean the lawn gnomes - er-
Schubert: Oh... those.. my friend thinks they ward off ill spirits..
Mussorgsky(recognizes Schumann): HeyyyyRobert those gnomes - those gnomeswesaw (grabs onto his shoulders for support, effectively trapping Schumann)
Schumann: Hey! Hey!
Mussorgsky: yeahtohse welltheoneon TV i saw thatonetoo today!
Schumann(gritting teeth): Yes -he's right behind you! Let me go forth!
Hildegard(to Schubert): Are you a composer yourself?
Schubert: Yes, that's why I was so curious to know where this mysterious pianist came from-
Hildegard(glances at Mussorgsky and Schumann): Ah, he's fine,really - (adds apologetically) he's much better when he's not drinking- but you can see we're having a cookout, he must have wandered off - perhaps I can interest you in any of our food? (tries to lead him away from the others)
Schubert: That's all right (spots plate of pickles) Although I could steal a pickle... (he heads for the food table, but at that precise moment, Mozart comes tearing out the door--)
Mozart: FOOOODDD!!
(--and Mussorgsky is distracted enough to let Schumann go.)
Schumann: Onward as the enemy flies! (charges toward the unknowing Schubert, brandishing the ketchup bottle heroically- everyone meets at the table. Schumann's aim is spot on except Mozart's head suddenly appears in the way -- splat!)
Mozart: OHH! I AM BLINDED! (clutches head, ketchup runs down his cheeks)
Schumann: O weh! The unintended casualties of the battle! (supports Mozart as he pretends to faint)
Schubert(steps back): Ah... perhaps I'll just be heading back to our yard.. I do have guests, it'd be selfish of me to stay too long... (makes a quick exit)
Hildegard: Oh now look, you two - you've scared off our neighbor! He probably thinks we're all a bunch of basketcases.
Strozzi: I'm not sure that would be a bad assumption.
Schumann(trapped again with Mozart in his arms): Shameless! The rascal beats a hasty retreat!
Wagner: What is this nonsense? Pass the ketchup! (seizes bottle from Schumann; goes about dressing a new hamburger)
Tchaikovsky(comes to inspect damage): You'd better not let that ketchup stain for too long, Wolfgang. It's not the best thing to get out of clothes.
Mozart(opens a red eye): Thank you, Pyotr.
Zacara: Will you people stop clowning around and let me through? I'm collecting supplies for our suffering comrade. (he pushes his way through the crowd to the table) Ah, lettuce, tomato..
Mozart: I think we should let the work crowd do a little work tonight, do you think, Robert?
Schumann: Fine. Mix the ranks. It can do no harm.
Mussorgsky(tottles over): ohheyfood! looksgood (to Schumann) isawa gnome todaydiditellya?
Schumann: Curses, but I shall hear of it no more! (drops Mozart, storms off)
Mozart: handcuffs and ketchup and gnomes, oh my!
Hildegard: Don't even go there.. (grabs Mussorgsky by the shoulders) Modest. You Need to Give Up The Alcohol.
Mozart: heh heh.