(harpsichord music) (marching band fanfare) (marching music) (drum cadence) (marching music continues) (alarm clock rings) - (yawns) Is it time?

Ah, nighttime.

Time for you to go to sleep and for me to come and visit.

Oh, don't be afraid.

I'm the Sandman.

Every night I put sand in your eyes and you close them, so you can see my stories, your dreams.

How do I make a dream?

I just take a moonbeam and draw pictures of a thought.

We breathe the clouds, tip toe the stars, catch comets that can't be caught.

I blow a giant bubble with you and me within.

So now you know where dreams come from, and where they go again.

(pop) Would you like to share a dream?

My cards will sing a rhyme of once upon a time, a very far away and long ago.

A rich man passed away, his son got rich that day, and so he wanted everyone to know.

The son, he spent and spent not caring where he went.

As long as what he did made him look good.

He threw fine costume balls and hired hotels and halls.

He threw ducklings money when he could.

He spent it up so fast, his riches couldn't last.

And one day he had spent up all his gold.

His friends all turned their backs.

He had to face the facts.

Fair weather friends like these are bought and sold.

He’d lost his very clothes, except a robe with holes.

Poor man, he was so embarrassed that he cried.

It made him feel so sad to look so very bad for he had nothing left except his pride.

But under all his junk, he found a strange old trunk.

And then he thought, “Well, there's where I belong.” And so right in, he hopped.

Down dark, the lid, it dropped.

It looked like this would surely end our song.

The end?

No, it wasn't his coffin.

Instead, he flew off in the trunk and soared through the sky, over land and ocean.

When he had the notion, his magic truck would fly.

So "The Flying Trunk" is the name of this dream.

It's all about things that are not what they seem.

(voice fades away) - Steady, oh Ibrahim, steady.

(bird squawks) - Of this large bird I am scared, oh Azir, my brother!

Of his tree, this cutting down, he does not like.

- Ibrahim, it is almost done.

- If I have steady, Azir, my brother.

(bird squawks) The tree fell on me, oh my brother.

- Yes.

Ah!

Ah!

The bird, it’s on my back.

Oh bird!

I gotta get it off!

It’s hurting me!

(unintelligible yelling) Look up in the sky!

- It's the bird.

- It's a bat.

- [Both] It's a..... it's a..... trunk?

- How fortunate to land in a country where everyone wears bathrobes in the daytime.

- Who is it?

- It is who?

- It is he who flies.

- He who flies must be a god.

- [Both] Oh!

- You two in the bathrobes, tell me, truly, what country is this?

- Truly, sir, this is Turkey.

- And tell us, truly, sir, are you a god?

- A god?!

- Only gods fly.

- Well, then, of course.

Yes.

I am a god.

- Oh.

- And truly, oh god, what is this trunk?

- My flying trunk.

(music begins) ♪ No one else has a truck that ♪ ♪ flies.

♪ ♪ No one in the world but me.

♪ ♪ Just I swim nightly through the skies.

♪ ♪ What a great god I must be.

♪ ♪ My trunk flies me past day and ♪ night.

♪ ♪ Even pass up.

♪ ♪ We daily fly the eagles flight.

♪ ♪ Then follow sun to sea.

♪ - [Both] Oh!

- A great god like you must be on his way to see our princess.

- Princess?

Oh yes.

Is she rich?

- Oh, very rich.

- Very rich.

Hmm.

If I can convince the princess that I am a Turkish god, perhaps I can marry her.

Where is the castle of this rich princess?

- [Both] There.

- Oh, there.

He flies!

- He is a god.

- (calling out) Princess... get ready!

Here comes your husband, a Turkish god.

(flute music playing) - No, no, no!

I asked you for a fairy tale!

Now, do the one about the bunny rabbit.

(flute music begins again) What fun!

I wish my daughter could see it.

But, where is she?

(snoring) - (sleepily) Oh, Prince!

Kiss me!

Come closer.

Closer!

Why do you leave me?

Why do you?—(thud) Another dream.

I'm tired of dreams.

But I'm more tired of waking up.

I haven't left this castle since the day I was born.

But I have everything.

Yes.

I am the princess of Turkey.

I eat from golden plates.

I sleep between sheets of silk.

But always alone.

And for such a stupid reason!!

Why won’t Father listen to me?

(explosion) - War!

And right when I was listening to my fairy tale!

Sound the trumpet!

(trumpet blows) Raise the flag!

(trumpet blows) Quiet!

You'll give away our position.

- Father.

- Oh, don't play with that cannon.

This is war.

- I want a husband.

- Husband?

Out of the question.

Turkey has a war to fight.

Could it be the Russians?

- Father, listen to me.

- But we have a truce with the Russians.

- I must have a husband.

- You know, you can never marry.

It might be the Persians.

- But why?

And don't tell me the same old reasons.

- Old reasons are the best reasons.

They save thinking up new ones.

- Oh, but- - - You know, it is written in the stars that if you marry.... - You will lose the other half of your moon.

- I don't know what happened to the first half.

But I can't be too careful with the rest.

What would a Turkish king be without his half moon?

- Ugh!

- No, that's not the answer.

- I will go to Constantinople and I'll marry the first peasant I see!

- Constantinople?

But perhaps it's fallen!

No, it's still there.

You know, you can't escape the castle.

- Then I will jump!!

- Dear Daughter, I hear this every day.

- I will jump!

- Who ever heard of a king with troubles like this?

- I will!

- I must tend to the war.

(gear clicking) - Ooooooooh!

Husband!

- Guh!

- Husband!

- Princess?

- Your princess.

- Princess of the very rich kingdom?

- Uh-Huh.

- Uff.

(catches his berath) (hoarsely) My— (coughs) (normally) My princess.

Your hair is as soft as summer dandelions.

- It is?

Aww.

- Your voice is, is so sweet.

Your skin is so soft.

Your diamond, I mean your eyes, your eyes are so big and beautiful.

Your kiss, Princess?

- The enemy!

You have captured the enemy!

- Father!

This is to be my husband!

- No!

- Why?

- Because it is written in the stars.

My priests forbid it.

Lost legends warn against it.

Any astrologer can see it in the sky.

The princess must never marry.

- Impossible with such a pretty princess.

- No, if my daughter marries, Turkey would not gain a son, but only lose the moon.

Oh hmm.

That's pretty good.

Gain a son, lose a moon.

Oh, we will lose even the half that is left.

And what would a Turkish king be without his half moon?

- Ridiculous.

- Oh!

Enough talk!

- (gasps) My dear King, never has your sword been less likely a success.

Sheathe it.

Be wise, for my race never dies.

How many messages come from the skies?

- How did you get past my guards?

(gears clicking) (fluttering music) - See?

- Who are you?

(clears throat) (music begins) - Thunder is my voice.

Lightning, my rods.

I moved Damascus to Baghdad.

I am the light of 1001 nights.

I am a Turkish god.

- [Both] A Turkish god?

♪ - I breakfast in the desert.

♪ ♪ I lunch at Quar Azeem.

♪ ♪ Sup at Cesaria.

♪ ♪ With the rest of my harem.

♪ - Amazing!

♪ - Flying in my flying trunk.

♪ ♪ I've seen lands lost to man.

♪ ♪ I know the Holy Mountain.

♪ ♪ Where the Yarmouk River ran.

♪ - A Turkish god.

♪ - The heavens saw a thousand ♪ ♪ swords when I served with ♪ ♪ Saladin.

♪ ♪ My name is old.

♪ ♪ Your heart is sold.

♪ ♪ You cannot refuse me then.

♪ (song ends) - He speaks with wind.

- That is the way of gods.

- Are you really a god.

- From my cap to my slippers.

Let me bestow my blessing.

(soft thoughtful music) (Princess giggles) (music continues) - Ahem.

Ahem!

Ah-Ah-Ahem!

There's something I've always wanted to ask a Turkish god.

Where is the other half of my moon?

- Talk business later.

- What's this about a moon?

- Oh, it's nonsense.

Tell him anything.

Make up something.

- Any Turkish god should know where my moon is.

- I do know where it is.

- Oh.

May I please have it back?

- At a price.

Your daughter's hand.

- Oh!

- But what about my moon?

- I promise you the moon.

After the wedding.

- Well, can't I have it before?

- After.

- Well, well, can't hurt to have a Turkish god in the family.

So be it then.

It is written... somewhere.

- Of course you'll invite all of Turkey.

- Everyone?

- Everyone must attend my wedding.

Our wedding.

- How exciting.

We’ll give cakes and buns to everyone in Constantinople, whether they're hungry or not.

- Send out the invitations!

Order the wine!

And get fireworks so everyone will see and remember the day that I married a Turkish princess.

- Yes!

Oh yes!

Oh yes!

- Oh, I've never been so happy in my whole life!

- Come, Daughter, let me tell you about being married.

(music) - A throne will make a king of anyone.

A Turkish god?

Or a bankrupt merchant.

My tongue is faster than a spider at supper, and weaves much finer traps.

Though my robe is old and my shoes have holes, my plan will work.

Perhaps.

I am nothing without my flying trunk, and it has brought me this: Turkish throne, Turkish gold, and a Turkish princess.

It is fitting.

I am worthy.

(“Wedding March” playing) (Princess hums along) - Wheee!

Play something fun!

(Turkish flute music playing) - It's time.

Away.

Play.

♪ The country is waiting.

♪ ♪ The feast is prepared.

♪ ♪ We’ll eat lots of baklava.

♪ ♪ Maybe figs from Chismere.

♪ ♪ We’ll drink wine last and first.

♪ (hiccup) ♪ We’ll drink wine for the thirst ♪ (hiccup) ♪ We'll drink wine for better or worse.

♪ (hiccup) ♪ We’ll drink wine till we burst.

♪ (music continues) (plays discordant note) (music stops) Yes!

Wine!

All Con-stan-snople (slurring) All Con-snan-snople—Oh everybody waits for your wedding!

- Oh?

Ah!

Then we must give the people something to see.

When a Turkish god marries, even the heavens must celebrate!

Where are the fireworks?

- Fireworks?

Ooh!

Yes.

- Oh, please be careful.

I should die if you blew up.

- Fireworks.

- Excellent.

Into the trunk with them.

We’ll fly to the wedding and all Constantinople will see me.

Oh, just to hear what they will say.

More fireworks!

I look splendid!

- Wait for me!

(triumphal music playing) - Everybody look!

- Oh, how beautiful!

- [Both] Oh, oh.

How beautiful.

- Everybody knows you.

- Of course, I'm a Turkish god.

I blaze like the sun.

Look!

And look!

And look!!

My trunk’s on fire!!

Get out!

I’ve got to save my trunk!

- Not until we are married.

(struggling) You’re hurting me!

Oh!

Where is he going?

- To get my moon.

- I hope he'll come back soon.

- [Both] The Turkish god.

- And now the dream is almost over.

The visitor has lost his flying trunk.

He will wander over all of the world telling his story to anyone who will listen.

And no one will believe him.

The king still worries about finding his moon, when he never lost it in the first place.

And the princess, she finds happiness only in her dreams.

What?

You want another dream?

You have to wait until tomorrow.

(marching band music)