The Debussy Film Page #4

---

Ah, it's a poem by Verlaine.

He came to London for a time,

to get away from scandals in France.

- What, like Debussy?

- Like Debussy.

Dansez la g/gue.

Dansons la g/gue.

That's the title of the poem.

"Everybody dance the jig".

- It sounds lousy in English.

- Yes.

Yes. He wrote it here, in Soho, in a cafe.

- The jig that's The Kee/Rom

- Keel Row?

Keel Row. It was being played

on a barrel organ outside.

It's about the streets.

Debussy based one of his Images on it.

Ah...it goes like this, er...

"Dansons la gigue!

"Most of all I like her dancing eyes

"Sharper than stars, malicious

"I love her eyes

"Dansons la gigue!"

(I DEBUSSY:

"images - Gigues")

"She had the fine gift

of making her lover desperate

"And doing it so charmingly

"Dansons la gigue...

"Even more,

I liked the ripe feeling of her kiss

"Especially as she was dead for me

"Dansons la gigue...

"I remember, I remember those hours

"Those embraces

"My finest possessions

"Dansons la gigue!"

(I DEBUSSY:

"images - Gigues")

(Debussy) "Even more,

I liked the ripe feeling of her kiss

"Especially as she was dead for me

"Dansons la gigue..."

(Director) Right. You are depressed.

You don't know where Debussy is.

You have no money.

He's gone to buy meat but he'll probably

bring back a bit of silk,

a statuette or something.

OK, walk it through. That's right.

Now remember:
he was lazy.

All his friends said that he was lazy.

He never appeared to do any work.

He would only write the music

he wanted to write.

And he would only write it in his own time.

He took ten years

- ten years! -

over Maeterlinck's play,

Pel/as e! Ml/Sande;

turning it into an opera.

And you didn't understand any of it.

You're fed up with him.

He's probably with another woman.

Or talking.

Always talking

about things that don't interest you.

He won't even give music lessons

to help feed himself.

You have to look after him.

You serve him.

Is he going to be all right...this man?

Well, it depends how much I like him

and how much you can hate him.

- I hope he's not drunk today.

- Exactly.

- Is he always?

- I don't know.

(Wagner on record player)

mew

- (Gun pops, cat shrieks)

- Death to Debussy!

Next time, it will be the real thing.

A real bullet...or me?

Both.

Let's have a drink, shall we?

(Turns music down)

- Do you mind?

- Yes, I do, since you ask.

I certainly bloody well do.

- Isn't it to your refined French taste?

- Yes.

But sometimes it tastes a little too strong

and I have to spit it out.

He's a spirited lad.

Well, I suppose I'm to be filled in.

Do you know anything

about Maeterlinck's spirit?

I know he wanted to shoot Debussy

and practised on the local cats.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes