All language subtitles for A Good Year (2006).en

Max?
- Uh-huh.

Ready to concede?

No.

I thought,
as it's your last night here,

it only appropriate that we open
something extra special.

- Bandol.
- Excellent choice.

Tempier Bandol, 1969.

The kind of wine that'll pickle
even the toughest of men.

I once saw a Castilian prizefighter

collapse in a heap
after drinking just a single glass.

Perhaps my knee
landing squarely in his testicles

may have been partly to blame.
What was I talking about before?

You said the importance of a good
blue suit can never be overstated.

Quite right.

A blue suit is the most versatile
of accouterments.

And more important than the suit itself,
is the man who fits it for you.

Once you find a good tailor,
you must never give his name away,

not even under the threat
of bodily harm.

Now, where were we?

- Whose turn is it?
- Mine.

Uh-huh.

Uh-huh.

Max, have I told you
why I enjoy making wine so much?

You don't make the wine,
that guy, Duflot, does.

In France it's always the landowner
who makes the wine,

even though he does nothing more
than supervise with binoculars

from the comfort of his study.

No, I enjoy making wine

because this sublime nectar is,
quite simply, incapable of lying.

Picked too early or picked too late,
it matters not.

The wine will always whisper
into your mouth

with complete, unabashed honesty
every time you take a sip.

Mm, delightful.

Now, Max-a-million, now you know why
I love wine so much,

have you anything
you want to tell me?

- Yes, I do.
- Yes, what is it?

Checkmate.

You little shit.

- Good morning, lab rats.
- Good morning, Max.

Today we're shifting gear.

Today is Greedy Bastard Day.

The secret to riches, lab rats,
is the same as the secret to comedy.

Timing.

115.10, Max.
Feels like we should move now.

Now yet, Alf.

Boss, why do you keep calling me Alf?

Because you're
an aggressive little flunky, Kenny.

And as your boss, and genetic superior,
I can call you whatever I want.

- Max Skinner's phone.
- It's Kimberly.

- Is Max there?
- Yeah, one moment.

It's Kimberly.

- Sorry, Kimberly, Max isn't here.
- Where is he?

He and his fiancée
are at their wedding rehearsal today.

- What?
- You want to leave a message?

- No, I don't wanna leave him a message!
- Okay.

115.90.

116.00.

116.10.

Right, lab rats, remember,
we're not here for the dental plan.

Fifty bid. People are buying.

Max?

Sell.

That's it! That's yours over there!
Yours over there! Keep selling it!

Sell that! That's yours!

Don't look at me! That's yours!

Don't look here,
the bonds over there!

That miserable sod. Skinner's
dumping bonds onto the market.

There's a gentlemen's
agreement on the exchange.

A gentlemen's agreement presupposes
there's a gentleman involved.

He put out 5 billion sell orders.
Prices are crashing through the floor!

Come on, people, get off your asses!
Come on, snap to it! Start selling! Sell!

They should bury you face down, Max.
Because that's the way you're going.

Maxie Boy, down!

Three big figures to 113.50!

- Sell! Sell!
- Still going down!

Buy.

Fucking buy it all back, Mickey Boy!

Buy it all back!
Immediately, buy it all back!

It's yours to buy back!
Don't worry about it! Buy it all back!

You're a genius, Max!

Filthy bugger.
He's forced down prices.

He's gonna buy everything back
on the cheap.

Start buying! Buying!
Now! Start buying!

For he's a jolly good fellow!

Which nobody can deny!

- Oh, I can!
- I can!

Well done today, lab rats.

Wonderful work. We all made
a spectacular amount of money.

Today we proved the adage
that winning isn't everything.

It's the only thing!

Yuck.

And there were strange
goings on the Bond Market today.

Prices crashed to 112.05

after Lawton Brothers unloaded
3 billion dollars in sell orders.

Then in an extraordinary move,

the company bought the bonds back
at a substantially reduced price,

making over $77,000,000
in the process.

Cries of foul play
were loud and widespread

with talks of an inquiry to follow.

- Morning, Mr. Skinner.
- Morning, Bert.

- And congratulations.
- Thank you.

You might have tipped me off,
Mr. Skinner.

I'll give you a tip, Bert.
Never pat a burning dog.

Wanker.

Oh, Henry. Bloody hell.

Ready for the fan mail?

Shoot, sunshine.

- "Bastard."
- Mm-hm.

- "Bastard."
- Uh-huh.

"Burn in hell." Right.

- "Rot in hell."
- Oh, lovely.

- "Die."
- Charming.

- Maxie?
- "Congratulations, you're my hero."

- Who sent that?
- Your lawyer.

- Right.
- Listen.

I just got off the phone with Auzet.

That's the notaire handling
your Uncle Henry's estate.

- She the one that sent me the letter?
- Yeah.

Anyway, listen,
seems that your Uncle Henry

hasn't updated
his will in over 20 years.

Which is why, in typical frog fashion,
they take over a month to notify us.

So, what do we do?
Is there a reading

or do we download
that sort of thing these days?

No, that's the point, Max.

Sorry?

- There is no legal will.
- Really?

You're his closest blood relative
so you get everything.

What, his clothes
and his Edmundo Ros LP's?

The house, you git.
You get to keep his house.

The old farmhouse,
and the vineyard and the grapes?

Must be worth a few quid.

- Ay.
- Hm.

- Anyway.
- Right.

I booked you a flight and an appointment
with Auzet for 3 tomorrow afternoon.

Just a few papers to sign.

Come on,
I can't go to France tomorrow.

I'm the toast of the town. I need to do
a few victory laps. Show off a bit.

Have a late night or two.

You heard the mail. It's times when
everyone hates you when it's fun.

Go on, Max. We'll take good care of the
place when you're gone. No problems.

Right. Ken.

Why don't you try and find
some small animals to hurt?

I know, find a poodle
and punt it off the balcony.

Mm.

- Tell me something, Max.
- Yes?

Did you care for him?

Yes, I did.

- When was the last time you spoke?
- A long time ago.

Why?

I don't know, probably got something
to do with me becoming an asshole.

Okay.

- Max.
- Hi. How are you?

- Congratulations.
- Thank you.

Looking so much forward
to gloating through the room.

Well, follow me.

Tony. How are you?

- Congratulations.
- Thank you. Austin.

Say hi to your dad for me.

- Love. How are you doing?
- Very well, how are you?

- Lucy.
- Hello.

I didn't realize that you two
knew each other. Whoops.

Adorable.

Magnificent bouquet.

Alluring nose of honey and spice.

And all things nice.

An inspection of the polyphenolics
reveals magnificent hues of brick red

indicative of a mature Bordeaux.

It's a Burgundy.

- Yes, I knew it was a Burgundy.
- Wine, sir?

I think I shall have an Eclipse.

Thank you.

Can we get our minds off
double-frontage, on French real estate?

- What do you think it's worth?
- Barely a day has passed

since you learned of the long-lost
uncle's departure from this world,

and all you can think of is money.

This same uncle is the man who taught
me every man needs a fuck-you million.

You gonna
furnish me with the particulars?

Because an estate agent needs
something he can sink his teeth into.

It's been a while since I've been there.
From memory, half a dozen bedrooms,

- pool, tennis court, decent kitchen.
- Thanks.

Eleven hectares vineyard.

Bloody hell, Max,
sounds like an estate to me. A chateau.

What's a chateau go for these days?

Well, we're obviously
in the f-you department, aren't we?

- Maybe several.
- Really? God bless Henry.

I won't cut my commission.

I wouldn't expect you to, Charles.
That's why I'm fond of you.

Well, in that case, Max,

here's to you.

Gemma.

- Yeah?
- Kenny?

I want the current 10-year yield.

I want an update on the figures
for non-farm payrolls.

And I want you to get your scrawny
little backside out of my chair.

Thank you.

How'd he know that?

Lance Armstrong!

Maxie! Hi, how are you?

Admit it. This is because I didn't
shag you at the Christmas party, isn't it?

Listen, I swear on my life, Max,
they didn't have any other cars.

So where are we, Max?

Bollocky sake!
I've gone to the end of that road.

Look! They're both the D-3.

I've got Ménerbes on my left,
Cavaillon on my right.

And they're both on the D-3.

- Shut up!
- Okay, hang on a minute, I'll help you.

I've got a GPS here
with a stutter and a...

Quite frankly, a shitty froggy attitude!

Okay, turn left and that'll take you
straight onto the N-7.

And if you really put your foot on it,

you might even get
to your appointment on time.

Bollocks! Bugger!

Mission control.

Right, love, please
reschedule my meeting with the notaire

- for first thing tomorrow morning.
- Okay.

What about the keys, Max?

Oh, there used to be a stone, you know?
By the front door.

Ask her to put the keys under the stone
and I'll pick them up from there.

Okay, copy that. Copy that.

Hello?

Henry?

Come on.
You're slower than your Aunt Midge.

That's it, Max-a-million.

It's not funny!

What are you? A man or a mouse?

Fine then. I'm a mouse.
Squeak, squeak.

Come on!

- Hopeless. You're hopeless.
- Oh, stop it.

Match point.

Ace!

- Game! Set! Match!
- You cannot be serious!

- Hey. Hey.
- You don't have to rub it in!

- The point is, why you aren't celebrating.
- Because I lost!

Well, a man should
acknowledge his losses

just as gracefully
as he celebrates his victories.

Come on, give us a jig.

- Give your uncle a jig!
- I lost!

- Arms up in triumph! Try harder! Focus!
- Yeah! Great! I lost!

- Uncle Henry won! Three cheers for him!
- Dance! Don't shimmy like an Italian.

Well done, Uncle Henry!
This is stupid!

You'll come to see that a man
learns nothing from winning.

The act of losing, however,
can elicit great wisdom.

Not least of which
is how much more enjoyable it is to win.

It's inevitable to lose now and again.

The trick is not to make a habit of it.

Drink?

Chicken shit.

Excuse me?

- On the roses.
- Oh, fertilizer.

Oh, Tati.

Hello.

Duflot?

- Max.
- My God!

Haven't you matured.

The floods of '78. Mistral of '86.

- Fanleaf disease in '93.
- Fanleaf disease.

With each vintage I've corked away
another year of my youth.

But I still have my wife, Ludivine.

- Ludivine.
- Yeah.

And my dog. Ha!

I expect you're hungry, no?

Please, come tonight.
My wife is roasting a lamb. Mm!

Tell the truth, I haven't had much
of an appetite since I learned of Henry.

In the very last years,
his sight was failing.

But I attended to things for him,
you know?

Became very close.

Almost like father and son.

Right. Well, I am most appreciative
that someone was here for him.

Well, my wife will come in the morning
with croissants. Okay?

She will resume her duties.

If you insist.

Hm.

"Welcome."

Well,

don't mind if I do.

Here's to you, Henry.

For devoting your life to the vines

and bottling the truth.

Well, that was honest.

Jesus. Should have
a "poison" sticker on it.

Coffee. Coffee.

What's in here? Here we are.
Okay. And...

Oh, bollocks.

Mm. Morning, Henry.

Milk.

- Maxie!
- Madame Duflot.

Maxie, Maxie, Maxie!

- Oh!
- Morning.

Ooh-loo-loo-loo-loo!

- Morning, Gemma.
- Are you enjoying yourself, Max?

Well, yes, as bereavements go.

This'll cheer you up.

You've been busted.

Morning Financial Times headline,

"Lawton Brothers Trade
Under Investigation."

You don't have to worry about that.

"The FSA today launched
an official inquiry"

"into recent Lawton Brothers
trade activity."

I double-checked it all through Legal.

I covered our asses, okay?

It's just bollocks to placate
the Lustig Bank.

He doesn't think so.

- Nigel?
- Sir Nigel.

He wants a meeting with you today.
Five o'clock this afternoon.

It must be about something else. What
time is my meeting with the notaire?

A little over an hour from now.

My time or yours?

Oh, shit.

Oh, Gemma!

- Yes?
- How's the house?

Well, to tell you the truth,
it's a little shabby.

We don't say "shabby," we say
"filled with the patina of a bygone era."

- Right.
- How's the wine?

Bouquet of a wet dog.

Hits the palate like a razor blade
with a finish that hints of offal.

The house is falling apart, the vineyard
makes undrinkable wine. Excellent.

You are gonna need an oenologue.

- All right. What's that?
- It's a sort of licensed wine expert.

They take soil samples,
bits of the vine, test them.

There must be a couple near you.

And also, I would need a couple of sexy
snaps to get the punters clamoring,

and I have an e-mail address
for you to send them to, which is...

Hold on a second,
I'll just put you on speaker.

Okay, shoot.

Provence-listings@broadproperties.inc.

- Shit!
- Hello?

- Shit.
- Hello?

Oh!

- Max?
- Right. Go on.

Auzet?

Hello. Max Skinner.

The vigneron makes the wine

and the estate owner
maintains the property.

- Mr. Skinner?
- Yes? Right. Delightful.

This is how your uncle and Monsieur
Duflot worked for over 20 years.

Naturally Monsieur Duflot
will be anxious as to your intentions.

I think I can speed this up.

I have no intention
of becoming a wine maker.

So let Monsieur Duflot make the wine.
You enjoy the estate on the weekends.

I'm not sure you understand me.

My life is in London.
I don't do weekends.

I intend to sell La Siroque
as soon as possible.

And what about
Monsieur and Madame Duflot?

Look, in all cases like this,
it simply just comes down to a figure.

If there's nothing else, I have a plane.

Right.

You are selling La Siroque?

There has been a mistake, I think.

News travels fast.

But your uncle, he meant for you
to have it, not sell it.

I'm sure if he did, he would've written
that down in a proper will. He didn't.

You know, Henry was not
English the way you are.

He was a man of secrets, a man of
passion. He didn't write things down.

You would take me away
from my vines?

My vines, Duflot.

I live in them. I breathe in them.
They tear my hands.

Look, Francis,
when I sell the property,

I intend to make you
a handsome settlement.

Do you know, monsieur, what it is to
love something more than your own life?

To submit your days and nights
to the fickle will of nature?

I have only a few vintages left.

Soon my body and spirit
will be defeated by the terroir.

And you dare come here and take away
my last few chances of immortality!

Afraid so. Be in touch.

It's not over!

- Leaving now.
- Oh, good.

Because Sir Nigel
has made a special trip.

- Is everything okay?
- Everything's fine.

Good. Did you remember to take
the photos for Charlie?

Yes. Damn it!

Idiot.

Let's see you, then!

One!

Two! Hooray!

- Yes?
- Get in the car.

Get off my camera!

Bollocks!

Oh, come on.

Where's the ladder?

Where are you, you tosser?

Come on!

Come to Papa. Come to Papa.

Gemma, for God's sake, keep calling!

Hello.

No, don't worry about me.

I'm the pool man. I do this every
Thursday. It's just routine maintenance.

This is lovely chatting to you.

And you are a spectacular vision.

But any chance
for a rope or a ladder?

Is that your little car?

Yes, I'm a temporary custodian
of the lime-green roller skate,

but it's a hired car. It's a rental,
it's not for sale. Sorry? What?

- Can you swim?
- Well, yes. But not in a foot of cow shit.

Hello?

He's not on the flight.

Right. Right. Okay, roger that.

"What is it, Major Lawrence, that
attracts you personally to the desert?"

"It's clean.
I like it because it's clean."

You better be in prison, Maxie.

Yes, tell him I'm sorry.
There's nothing I could do about it.

Sorry's no good, Max. He's gone.

Oh, shit.

- What time is the first morning flight?
- Oh, there's no point in rushing back.

You know, the last thing Sir Nigel did
on his way out

- was to suspend you for a week.
- What?

What the... does he expect me
to do for a week?

Take a holiday.

- Christ, he didn't say that, did he?
- No, I just did.

Right. Gemma, never say that.

If anybody calls,
do not say I'm on holiday.

All right? That's worse than dying.

Now, look, I'll be back in the office
in a couple of days.

- Okay.
- Make sure every man in there is ready.

Set it up
so I can trade in Kenny's name.

Get him a clearance at the highest level
on Sir Nigel's recommend.

Are you mad, Max?

Who cares? Just do it.
And don't tell anybody.

All right?
Especially not that little shit Kenny.

- Max, is there a problem?
- No, I'm having a great time.

- You sure?
- Yes.

- Well, you just be careful, okay?
- Yep.

- Okay, ciao.
- Bye.

Oh, shit! Shit! Scorpion! Ludivine!

Scorpion!

Scorpion!

Oh, Scorpion! Bloody hell!

Get that little bastard!

- Of course.
- Okay.

- That fits very well. Beautifully.
- Max?

Are you back in blighty?

On the contrary, chuckles.

I've decided to stick around
for a couple of days.

So it's true, you are getting the sack.

No, I'm not getting the sack, Charlie.
I'm just exploring my options.

With a view to realizing
the potential of my inheritance.

Well, speaking of your inheritance,
how soon before we can view?

It's cosmetic stuff mostly, I'd say. It's
surprising how well it's been maintained.

So you don't need a contractor
or anything?

Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Just needs
a coat of paint and a bit of a scrub.

Okay, you sure?

- No problem at all, Charlie.
- Good.

Charlie?

- Charlie, can you hear me?
- Yes.

- Can you hear me now?
- Yes.

Look, I wasn't joking before about what
I said about the wine they make here.

It is not, I repeat, not first-class.

- Will that affect our price?
- How bad can it be?

Well, it gives you a blinding headache
and it makes you angry.

I can't imagine the damage
a second sip might do.

Well, we just have to make sure our
buyers don't know anything about wine.

We'll concentrate on the Americans.

Just make sure she's match fit
in 72 hours.

Seventy-two hours. Righto.

A Lamborghini tractor.

Paintbrush, paintbrush, paintbrush.

Paintbrush.

You old bugger.

Duflot.

I was just about to use
that paintbrush.

It's my paintbrush.

Gee whiz, this is fun.

Tell you what, I'll give you 20 euros
for your paintbrush.

Hm? No?

Fifty.

I'll give you 100 for your paintbrush.
I don't care. What do you want?

When you sell, I stay vigneron.
I keep my vines.

You want to stay with your vines?

Fine. That means you must help me
fix the place up.

Do the gardens, paint the house,
clean the pool.

And I, if at all possible,

will attempt
to convince the new owners

of the worth and value
of your services.

A Frenchman's hand is his word.

An Englishman's word is his bond.

Deal.

- Frog tosspot.
- English prick.

Awfully sorry.

Goal, Angleterre.

- Bat. Come on.
- Skinner coming up to bowl!

How's that?

Second of the over.

- Best play.
- Come on!

All right, I'm 12 and I'm out.

Okay.

It won't last one month.

If things go according to plan, Francis,
it'll be somebody else's problem.

- Monsieur Max.
- Yes?

There is a person.

At the door.

- Person?
- A person!

The only country that issues
teeth like that is America.

- You speak English.
- Like a native.

I'm Christie Roberts.
I'm looking for Mr. Skinner.

You lucky devil. You found him.

Impossible. You're way too young.

You know, I was just thinking
the same thing about you.

I meant too young to be my dad.

Henry Skinner's my father.

She has Henry's nose.

Wow.

- This your mum?
- In all her Flashdance glory.

So is he around?

Oh, bollocks. Um...

- Sorry, I've forgotten your name.
- It's Christie.

You see, Christie,

Henry...

- He's dead, huh?
- A month ago.

Cup of tea? Yes?

Madame Duflot.

It's more than a wrinkle.
What if the girl turns out to be legit?

Oh, come on, she turns up
a couple months after he carks it?

It's too sweet. I'm not buying.

You need legal advice fast, in case
the little minx screws up the whole deal.

Asking price?

It's seven and a half.
Did you get that?

Right.

Christie,
I've just got to pop into town.

No problem. I booked a youth hostel
just in case the old man was schizo.

You mind dropping me off?
I really gotta get out of these clothes.

Why don't you get out
of your clothes here?

Got plenty of space. Lots of room.
You can clean up, take a shower.

- I'll be back in a jiff.
- You sure?

Absolutely, absolutely.
Madame Duflot?

Voilà.

Under French law
there is no difference

between legitimate
and illegitimate children

when it comes to the right
to inherit.

Well, that's bloody ridiculous.
She never even met Henry.

She could very well be
an imposter.

That is precisely why she'd be required
to produce some form of documentation.

A photo or even correspondence,
a love letter.

Yes, yes, yes.
But what if I just sell the property

before she makes her claim?

No. Legally she could
invalidate the sale

even after the transfer of title.

Bugger.

My advice, Mr. Skinner,
is to treat her with the utmost respect.

That goes without saying.

And hope she'll be on her way.

Oh, yeah, hope she'll bugger off.

Don't let this end in court.

Joan of Arc?

Oh. Jacques Cousteau.

You tried to drown me.

And you tried to run me over
with your little car.

What are you talking about?
What sort of bollocks is that?

Down the road from La Siroque you were
driving your midget car on your phone.

And, I believe, had your head stuck
very far up your ass!

Look at the damage
you have caused me.

You try to kill me, I try to kill you!

My God.

She's fantastic.

Coming along. All right.

Hey, Max.

Look at the view. It's like Cézanne.

Francis?

In town today,

- I was passing by this restaurant...
- Her name is Fanny Chenal.

Many times I've seen
the same look on your uncle's face.

- But you deserve credit.
- Why's that?

You are now the town hero
for making her show her derrière.

She grew up around here, didn't she?

Who?

- Fanny Chenal.
- Oh, I believe. Yes.

Is she...

Is she otherwise spoken for?

She was once.

A football player for Lyons.
He was shit.

Just like his left foot.

He treated her very badly, you know?

Since then, it's rumored that
she will let no man near her heart.

So she's alone, then.

- Who?
- Fanny Chenal.

Max, recall what Proust said,

"Leave pretty women
to men without imagination."

Duflot, I'm a banker.

I have no imagination.

Stop.

Fred Perry.

René Lacoste.

- Ugh!
- Love-15.

Fifteen all.

Yes! Ha-ha-ha-ha!

No, no. Out.

You cannot be serious!
That was in by a mile!

Ball. Ball!

Good!

Bollocks!

My point?

Match point!

- Game.
- Mm.

Whoo.

Voilà.

- Oh, Maxie!
- Oh, look, Ludivine,

she's my cousin. Well, she might be.
Could end up turning out to be relative.

From a cousinly perspective,
this is perhaps little over the top?

No. Half the aristocrats in France
have a liaison with their cousins.

Gosh, that explains a lot.

Oh, won't do.

Anything but La Siroque.

No label. That looks promising.

Careful on those steps.

What do you see up there?

Are you speaking in tongues, boy?

Fervere. It's a Latin term.
It means "to boil."

The native yeasts in your cellar

are converting the sugar
inside the grapes to alcohol.

The release of carbon dioxide gas
is what causes the bubbling effect.

I must be suffering from dementia. I
don't recall ever having taught you that.

You didn't.
Monsieur Duflot explained it to me.

Well done.

Proves the adage that wisdom
can be found in the most unlikely places.

To watch Duflot on bended knee doing
something as simple as weeding soil,

he brings a magnificent poetry
in his devotion to each and every grape.

Perhaps he'll inspire you

to find devotion
in what you do for a living one day.

I wanna be a professional poker player
when I'm older. Or a comedian.

Max-a-million,

ask me what is the most
important thing in comedy.

What is the most important thing
in com...

Timing.

Timing.

Have you tasted Dad's wine?

Oh, yes, indeed.
Bloody awful, isn't it?

But I recommend it for getting the paint
out from underneath your fingernails.

So you know.

Well, I'm more of a cognac drinker.
I'm too impatient to be a wine lover.

If I'm gonna get drunk,
I don't spend all night doing it.

Try that.

That's better.

It's extraordinary.

Like a Bordeaux,
only velvet rather than wool.

Well, well, guess who knows
a thing or two about wine.

Back in Napa, we're known
to gargle and spit on occasion.

That sounds like fun.

Is this made here? On the estate?

"Coin Perdu."

Doubt it.

Different bottles, same corks.

Well, Henry always was
a little bit of a mystery.

How so?

Well, he loved England,
but he lived in France.

And he loved women,

but never the same one
for more than a certain period of time.

He never got married.

And he loved adventure,
but every single one of my memories

takes place within about 100 steps
of this very spot.

Are they good memories?

No.

They're grand.

I'm gonna go upstairs.
Go finish my book.

Death in Venice. That's my book.

Don't tell me the ending.

Well, actually, I never got around
to finishing it.

Hello, old mate, how are you?

Just a quick question.

Yeah, hang on. Shirley.

- Yes?
- You'd know this.

In France, is it actually illegal
to shag your own cousin?

- Only if she's ugly.
- Right.

Bollocks.

Lance Armstrong!

You must be kidding!
I called up before.

- I know. I'm so sorry!
- I'm supposed to be here for 7:30.

- How long is it?
- Thirty minutes. I'm sorry.

- Oh, come on.
- I know. I know.

You said we'd be seated right away.

I know. Okay. You have a drink...

Olé will offer you a drink and you'll have
your table in less than 20 minutes.

All right, what I want is...
Get ready, write it down, double mai tai.

Caroline.

I hope your food's wonderful
because your service is lousy.

- Please, I'm too busy to ignore you.
- Where are all your waiters, love?

My hands are full
without games with you.

McDonald's is in Avignon.
Fish and chips in Marseilles.

- What are you doing?
- Don't worry. Done this before.

- Where?
- Worked through university

at London restaurants.

Okay. Okay, you can serve.

Remember, if there are any complaints,
in France, the customer is always wrong.

Table six.

Uh...

Sixteen.

Cheers. And what are we
gonna have here?

Garcon. Garcon, get over here.
I need help over here.

Where you going? Damn. Garcon!

Do you speak American? This menu is all
in French and we don't understand this.

But let me tell you
what I would like to have.

I would like a salad Niçoise-a
with ranch dressing on it.

Baby, lo-cal ranch dressing.

That's right, I'm still on my diet. I would
like lo-cal ranch dressing with no oil.

And could you sprinkle
some bacon bits on top?

McDonald's is in Avignon.
Fish and chips, Marseilles.

You people got some
serious attitude here.

Here are your tips.

Thank you for your help. You're fired.

You know, my vigneron
said that you grew up around Gordes.

Monsieur Duflot is mistaken.

I only visited Gordes
during the summer with my mother.

I used to spend my summers here.

I wonder if we ever met.

Well, if we did,
I hope I was unbearable.

You're a local,
you'd know the answer to this.

Where would a young man,
recently cashed-up,

take someone for a drink?

What?

Are you asking me on a date?

No, it's more of an apology.

I don't want you to think
I'm the sort of maniac

who goes around
running people off the road.

I'm not interested.

Have a good night.

Sunday night, 8:00,
Place de I'Etang. Don't be late.

I shall see you there.

Oh, my God!

Help! Scorpions! Scorpions! Help!

Oh, my God!

You're welcome!

You dance very well, Ludivine.

Thank you.

I miss Henry.

He was an excellent dancer.

Do you wanna dance?

- Oh, what happened?
- The tennis with Francis.

Oh, poor boy.

- Do you want me to put a bandage?
- No.

- Antiseptic?
- No.

Oh.

You are coming to our house tonight.

To our home.

I am cooking for you, Max.

Francis Duflot, vigneron.

Christie Roberts, illegitimate daughter.

The resemblance to Henry
is unmistakable. The nose.

For 23 years,
I toiled side by side with your father.

Even now he works from there
and I from here.

That's when I first planted the vines.
But now they are sad and tired.

Except here.

Here? No. It's catastrophic.

Nothing but rocks and grief.

Limestones absorb the sunlight.

Keep the vines warm at night.

Wine brat. Spent summers working
in a vineyard in California.

In California they don't make wine,
they make Hawaiian punch.

Mondavi might argue with that one.

Maybe Henry's daughter would be
interested in a personal tour in the vines.

If we are lucky, his spirit will join us.

Pay to the order of François Hupert,
the plumber?

- How much?
- Eighty-seven francs.

Mm. Sign.

Henry Skinner.

- Next?
- The mechanic.

Not a sou to that grease monkey.

The old Jag's still coughing
like your Aunt Midge.

- Next?
- Jean-Pierre Lesourd.

- How much, how much?
- Two thousand francs.

Yes, okay, okay.

You're a genius, Max-a-million.

You could be me. Ha!

- The photos worked like a charm.
- Really?

- Massive interest, Max.
- Wonderful.

Yes. Money, money,
money, money, money.

So I decided it's time I was on-site.

So I booked a flight.
I'll be with you tomorrow afternoon.

Terrific. Well, I'll alert the staff
and chain up the dogs.

"Chain up the dogs"?

No, I don't have any dogs, Charlie,
it's a figure of speech, right? Okay, bye.

Max.

Pretty cool, huh?

Huh?

- We must have an apéro.
- We must have a big one. Look at that.

Ludivine.

Maxie.

Hello.

Of course.

Ah. I took the liberty of inviting
Henry's daughter to join us.

Pastis?

Bonsoir, cuz.

I see you've managed
to ingratiate yourself with the help.

- Where'd you get the Halston?
- Dad's closet.

Ta-da.

I wonder what she wore home.

A simple meal after a day's work
in the fields.

Eggplant. Caviar d'aubergine.
Very good.

Headless larks.

Where are the heads? We didn't, like,
eat them already, did we?

Mushrooms of the region.

And finally civet of wild boar.

Marinated in red wine
and blood pressed from the carcass.

Why have it any other way?

Ludivine, help, help.

Wine, Max? La Siroque.

- Christie? Wine?
- No, I'm okay.

Oh! Papa.

Papa speaks Provençal. You know?

Oh, but very few still understand it.

It's now exclusively practiced
by poets and sodomites.

What a sodomite is, by the way?

I will explain you tonight.

Francis.

The asparagus is lovely.

- Thank you.
- Very chewy,

but lovely.

And the boar.
Well, perhaps the best boar I've had.

- Can I have some bread, please?
- Oh, yeah.

Sorry for this.

C'est Le Coin Perdu.
It's a local vin garage.

It's a garage wine.
Like a boutique wine.

Small vineyards, small productions.
Seriously big prices.

It's overrated, huh?

Didn't say that on the Web. Turns out
Le Coin Perdu is a Provençal legend.

Changes hands among collectors,
nobody knows who makes it.

Well, it's time for fromage. Okay?

You want fromage? Cheese?

And now... Now...

Papa. Papa.
Trouble you for a spot of the grog?

You know what it is, Christie?
It is Marc de Provence. I made it myself.

It's a little bit strong, but very good.

- Chin-chin.
- It's your father's recipe.

Yes. Max. Little bit?

Tell us, Madame Duflot, what makes
you so certain she is Henry's child?

Oh, but of course. The nose!

Oh, the nose! The glorious snout!
The prominent proboscis!

There something else? Anything?

No? Anything that might help
corroborate Christie's claim?

Henry ever discuss California?

Did he mention
a woman in California?

Funny. Any moments of drunken candor
where he might have mentioned

offspring? No?

I mean, seriously.

The last person Henry would ever
breed with would be an American.

Yes, but, in this moment, I see more
of Henry in Christie than I do in you.

Yes, yes.

Max. All I want
is to learn about my father.

This is my chance
to find out who made me

and I don't care
if you believe me or not.

Monsieur, Madame, Papa Duflot,
thanks for a lovely evening.

- Papa will walk you back.
- Oh, no, Ludivine. No.

The vines will guide me.

- Good night.
- It's okay?

I'm okay. Whoo!

- What're you doing?
- I lost my shoe.

- What?
- I lost my shoe.

Why can't Henry be my dad?

Because now that he's back in my life,
I'm not sure that I want to share him.

- You don't believe me, do you?
- Look, Christie, it's not a matter of that.

Ludivine told me that your
parents died when you were young.

You know,
I grew up without a dad too.

Doesn't it matter to you that I may be
the only blood relative you have?

Yes, it does.
That's why I need to be sure.

Right.

Whoa!

This was my room
when I was a little boy.

Sleeping here,

it was the safest place in the world.

No bedtimes, no chores.

No squabbling adults.

I loved Henry deeply
but I never got around to telling him.

It's a shitty feeling.

Those summers saved my life.

Thanks a million, Max-a-million.

Bloody hell, Henry.

Well, where does it come back in?

Bugger cooked the books.

- Yes?
- Max, my boy.

Amis, you old cheese.

So sorry to hear you're out.

Well, as usual, the only thing right
about your intelligence is it's all wrong.

You always were
at the back of the conga line.

You've crossed the line
one too many times, Skinner.

- You little runt!
- By the by,

thank you so much for your generous
contribution to my Aston Martin fund.

Did you get the flowers?

What flowers?
What you talking about?

- All of your little schemes and ploys.
- Do go on.

- Well, you're nothing.
- Plonker.

Oi, I heard that.

Who you calling a plonker,
you fat prat?

Hey? Hello?

Hello. I am Jean-Marie Brunier.

- Yes?
- I've come to test the vines.

Oh, the oenologue! Right. Great.

Well, grab your boots, off we go.

- Gemma, long time.
- Max,

I've just had a vision of you
serving Kenny a latte at Starbucks.

- Getting comfortable in my chair, is he?
- Yeah, listen.

Remember, we are not here
for the dental plan.

Sell. Sell.

He's even taken credit
for your trade this week.

He's telling everyone in the office that
he was the one that gave you the idea.

If he wasn't
an ambitious and mercenary bastard,

I never would've given him the job.

Yeah, but Max,
he's really trying to take your job.

Just give him his head and let him do
what he needs to do. All right?

Well?

- Wonderful. Wonderful.
- No. No, it's mean...

It's bad, you know? Yeah. Shit.

Chicken shit, non?

Is very terrible this one.
You know, it's like...

In French we say mort.
It's completely dead.

Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

Look at this one. This is a little baby.
This is a baby.

Look at.

I test this one.

Very, very bad. I'm really sorry.

More like a quarry than a vineyard.

Look at this. Know what mean?

You cut off
two of every three branches,

what's left gets all
the nourishment, no?

Why would you do that?

Perhaps a peasant's last attempt
to salvage what he could, no?

Right, I think I follow you.

So what's the verdict?

Despite your vigneron's
admirable efforts, no?

This terroir is beyond help.

Nothing.

Shit. Nothing, no.

You might consider
growing potatoes or squash.

I will have my office
send a report and my invoice.

Thank you.

Oi! Wakey, wakey, beach bunny!
What the hell do you think you're doing?

These are Henry's private papers.
They're irreplaceable!

Did you know Dad mixed a martini
for Winston Churchill?

He also danced a waltz
with Amelia Earhart in 1975.

Well, considering Amelia Earhart
died in the 1930s,

that's a perfect example of the type
of exaggerator Uncle Henry was.

You wanna know
the real Uncle Henry?

Not the one your over active
imagination's manufacturing?

The real Henry Skinner was so afraid
of committing to the real world,

he retreated from life to drink and
shag his way to a lonely, loveless end.

Everything I need to know
about my dad is right here.

It's right in front of me.

You know, and if this place meant
as much to him as I believe it did,

you're worse than I thought
for even thinking about selling it.

I'll leave tomorrow.

Uncle Henry!

- Let's see you, then.
- One, two...

- Yes?
- Hello.

You working hard on the house?

Charlie. Yes. At it since daybreak.

Really? I hate to think of you
toiling down there all on your own.

Well, we're English, Charlie, you know.
Born to rule and sacrifice.

- Yes.
- Where are you?

I'm outside.

Wow.

Max, take my original estimate
and shove it up my ass!

Shh! Shh!

If I can't get you five million
for this baby, I'm in the wrong sport!

What?

What?

- Oh, dear.
- What?

This is a disaster.

Mr. Froggy Wine Man has just knocked
a million off our sale price.

Oh, bugger it.
We'll just go to plan two.

Just flog it as fast as we can
for as much as we can.

And just keep in mind that the vigneron,
Duflot, stays on, he's part of the deal.

- Okay, I'll do my best.
- Right.

Max. So, what's on the agenda
for this evening? Steak-frites?

Bottle of pastis?
Evening game of bridge?

Charlie, please.
Real men don't play bridge.

And I have an obligatory cultural activity
in the village this evening.

Can I come? Will there be girls?

No and yes.

So you're leaving
your best friend alone

in an eerie chateau
on his first night.

Charlie. No. I'm leaving you alone.

And you're not as alone
as you think you are.

You'll find a friend. Okay?

Max. We thought you were dead.

I've had the word that Monday's
auction is gonna trade like a turd.

- Oh, yeah?
- A smart move

would be to sell 28 gilts short
at, say, 99.10?

Good grief. Are you sure? It's risky as
hell. It'd seriously piss off the market.

Now, of course,
I'm not allowed to do the trading,

but you'll share credit with me when
the bouquets are passed around. Yes?

All right, Max. See you later.

Righto.

Boss, someone's shorting
Monday's gilt auction.

Skinner.

Not this time, you miserable sod.

Buy! Buy!

Get your hands
on as much as you can!

Hello?

Hello?

Anyone there?

- Hello?
- Who are you?

I'm Charlie's friend, Max. No, I'm not.
I'm Max's friend, Charlie.

Okay, Max's friend.

I need you to come up here
and take a look at my back.

Thanks.

Have I told you you're a vision?

Oui, from the bottom of the pool
when you were peeking up my skirt.

Gosh, guilty as charged.
Sorry about that.

- You look lovely.
- You too.

Sartorial elegance by Henri.

Wow. Le Coin Perdu.

I've never actually seen a bottle.

Have you heard of it?

It's expensive.

- Are you trying to seduce me, Max?
- Oh, gosh. No, of course not.

Thought would never even cross
my mind. Not more than six or 10 times.

Yeah, right now it's sort
of the color of ripe pomegranate.

Bummer.

Could you look
in the medicine cabinet

for some aloe, aspirin,
bucket of ice.

Yeah.

- I'm Christie, by the way.
- Charlie.

- How do you do?
- Love your accent.

Thanks.

Love your bum.

There's something you should know
about me, Max.

Yes?

I'm very, very choosy.

Well, I'm very, very honored.

I'm also very, very suspicious,

very, very irrational,

and I have a very,
very short temper.

I'm also extremely jealous
and slow to forgive. Just so you know.

Well, this promises
to be a lovely evening.

I wouldn't go to Rome.
It is quite overcrowded.

And there's more tourists
than pigeons.

Gotta go somewhere. Maybe Venice.

Yeah, but it's sinking.

You know, one false move,
fall in the canal...

Sorry.

Run down by a gondolier.

Whereas London, it's got it all.

Including your own personal tour guide.
Yeah. Moi.

Charlie.

Concentrate.

Sorry.

Alone at last.

You've been candid with me,
I should be candid with you.

I'm famously callous,
even to the point of being insensitive.

And I have an absolute inability
to trust anyone.

The only person I ever loved
was my Uncle Henry,

and I didn't contact him
for the last 10 years of his life.

He often expressed great sadness.

As though he thought
you had been lost.

You knew him?

As a woman living here,
it was impossible not to know him.

Right.

He didn't, by any chance, ever get out
the Edmundo records and do the...

Rumba?

No.

- Thank you.
- But of course I tried.

Well, you would,
because he was absolutely lovable.

Yes.

I can't think of why
I stopped coming down here.

I love this place.

It's intoxicating.

Scorpions!

Scorpions!

There are scorpions in my bedroom!

I must go to work.

Isn't that usually the man's line?

Do you know the reason
why I spent the night with you?

It is because once you have done
what you came here to do,

you will not return.

For us, there can be no future.

There is safety in that.

Well...

There is absolutely nothing stopping us
from setting up your café in Notting Hill.

London definitely needs
a decent bistro.

How typical.

To assume that I live in Provence
because I have no choice.

Fanny, this place
just doesn't suit my life.

No, Max.

It is your life
that doesn't suit this place.

What happened to the diving board?

We did quite well, didn't we?

Yeah, I don't think we did too badly
considering the oenologue's report.

You know, Charlie,

I think I'm in love.

I don't blame you, mate, she's
a goddess. Even if she is your cousin.

Not Christie, you silly sod.

My...

My obligatory cultural activity is a girl.

A woman. Fanny Chenal.

I've been thinking,
perhaps I shouldn't sell.

Max, I think at the moment,

your whole body is covered
in the eau de French girl,

and when you have had a cold shower
things will look a little bit different.

I could keep it as a pied-à-terre.
A weekender, holiday house, you know?

Can I remind you what happened
when your boss and mentor,

a man you loved,

took his first holiday in 15 years?

I stole his job.

Max Skinner doesn't do weekends.
Max Skinner doesn't take holidays.

Max Skinner

makes money.

So do what you do best, Max.

If you're gonna sell it,
you gotta sign it.

Why is he singing to them,
Uncle Henry?

Well, you see, Max,
the terroir needs more than sun and rain.

It needs harmony. It needs balance.

My whole life people laughed at me
for singing to the vines.

I explained that someday
the vines would sing back.

Here they finally have.

You don't know what you are doing.

- What are you talking about?
- Here. Le Coin Perdu.

That's not possible.

The oenologue said you couldn't
even grow squash or potatoes...

The oenologue was paid to say that.

We thought that if you believed
La Siroque had no value,

you would leave things as they were.
Sorte de status quo.

Why didn't you tell me this before?
Why didn't you trust me?

Max, would you trust you?

These vines, they are illegal.

Your uncle always intended
to leave the estate to you,

but he worried about
what you had become.

"My nephew is selfish,"
he used to say.

"How can I give this place to a man"

"who can't even appreciate
the simple pleasures of life?"

So it was never written.

Alas, fate took him before
he could decide what to do.

I've already sold it.

Then you have done the very thing
your uncle feared you would do.

You have sold his spirit
to the highest bidder, Max.

And betrayed the only man
who ever cared for you.

Here, Max.

Here was Henry's fuck-you money!

- This one.
- Well chosen.

It's not quite there yet.

Once you find something good, Max,
you have to take care of it.

You have to let it grow.

Christie.

What're you doing?
You can't just leave.

Sure I can.

Well, what about last night? I nursed you
through second-degree burns.

You were sweet.

And I seriously damaged
the ends of my fingers.

Frostbitten.

Like your heart.

Bye, Charlie.

Bye, Christie.

Where you headed?

Not exactly sure.

I brought you something.

Your book.

You didn't finish it.

Christie?

You do have his nose.

Au revoir, cuz.

Dear Max,

I know it's been many years
since we last spoke,

but I've found myself in a bit of a jam
and I'm afraid I need your help.

The thing is, Max old boy, I'm dying.

I know because Dr. Khan, my physician
has stopped talking about my health

and begun discussing the weather.

Convinced that death,
like all tradesmen,

would be unable
to find my front door,

and having always believed wills
to be written invitations to the reaper,

I find myself impelled
to impress upon your kindness.

I have a daughter.
Her name is Christie Roberts.

Sadly, we have never met.

Her mother's name was Allison.

She was a tour guide
at a tiny vineyard in Northern California.

I should like you to find her.

And to this end I should like
to leave her what is rightfully hers.

I hope this decision
doesn't hurt your feelings,

and as successful as you are,
you don't need it.

I hope you understand.

Because for me, even in its present
state, La Siroque is a place of magic.

And it is my heartfelt wish

that Christie should share
in that magic.

I like to think of her here.

After all, she and La Siroque
are all I leave behind.

Your loving uncle...

Your loving uncle...

Henry Skinner.

Henry Skinner.

Il y'a un petit wrinkle.

What do you mean?
What sort of wrinkle?

Genghis. Back from the dead.

Justin, lovely tie.
Do tell your mother I admire her taste.

Welcome back, boss.

I bet.

You wanker!

Kenneth, nice haircut.

You set me up.

Oh, dear boy, you haven't been fired
in my absence, have you?

That short order.
Did my nuts in in less than an hour.

That's unfortunate.

Lost us six million quid.

Couldn't have anything to do with me,
Kenny. I was suspended.

You bastard!

Morning, lab rats.

Morning, boss.

Morning, Max.

You look different.

Give me everything I need to read
to catch up and an espresso.

- Max?
- Hm?

Sir Nigel's waiting for you.

Make it a double.

Van Gogh.

I hope you've got a good lock
on the door.

Don't be soft.

It's not real.
Real one's in my vault. It's a copy.

Two hundred grand for a knock-off.

Sit.

Art's a passion, Max.

Got to have passions.
I have horses, cars, money...

Are they passions or vices, sir?

Have I finished talking?

When I finish talking, that's
when you talk. And it better be good!

While you've been on your little holiday,
I've been in a shitstorm!

Sir, I do appreciate that my actions
may have caused some...

Max!

You're one of the ballsiest traders
in the Square Mile.

But you've got to learn there are
consequences to your sort of behavior.

There it is.

You have one hour.

So shall I pack my Smurfs?

Oh, Max!

Look after Madame Chenal's
daughter, Fanny,

while I give her mother a tour.

But I really wanna finish
the last chapter of Death in Venice.

Well, given the book's title, I don't think
you'll be surprised by the ending.

- You be good, Fanny.
- Come now, Madame Chenal.

There are many attractions
here at La Siroque,

beginning with the view
best seen from my bedroom.

That's a lot of zeroes, Max.

Or a full partnership for life.

My choice.

Now, you listen to Mummy, Max.

Partner, you're made for life.

Sir Nigel didn't become partner
until he was 53 and look at him.

Yes,

look at him.

Well, what's it to be?
The money, or your life?

When do you ever see it, Nige?

The real one.

When do you look at it?

Do you make late-night pilgrimages
down to the vault just to see it or...

What point are you making?

I think so.

Sure you don't need more time?

No, I know what I want.

You're sure?

Absolutely.

So, what is it to be?

How's the soup?

The soup is finished.

Like my job.

The fish?

We've run out.

That's like me with excuses.

Don't waste my time.
Choose something we have.

I would like a lifetime spent with
an irrational and suspicious goddess.

Some short-tempered jealousy
on the side.

And a bottle of wine
that tastes like you.

And a glass that's never empty.

You remember
what I whispered to you

when we were kids in the pool.

And it seems that you do too.

But it was not until just now
that I recognized you,

Max.

- Little girl, listen to me!
- Duflot, I said no!

No way! You are not
destemming those grapes.

But this is the way
I've always done things!

We want structure and color
for the wine.

Leaving the stems on
will give it a kick in the ass.

And the wine will taste like rocket fuel.

No way!
You are not destemming those grapes.

All acid and tannins!

- Oh, you say acid and tannins.
- Yes!

I say flavor and cojones.
You know, Barolos, Super Tuscans.

That's what's selling out there!
Not some wimpy wine from Luberon!

Max. Thank God you are here.

I will not work
with this mad person! Never!

I love her, this woman. She...

She's like Henry, with a nice ass.

Oh!

I can't deal with this guy, Max.

What is it with the French?

Oh, and by the way,

you were running low on green ink
so I bought you some more.

Never know

you might wanna
write a letter or something.

- Yes?
- How's Christie?

How's the sale going, Charlie?

Apartments in this bracket
shift in a blink.

I'm confident of getting you
more than you paid.

Bullshit, Charlie.

If you don't get me a 40 percent yield,
you're off the gig. Got me?

Max, you do realize, of course, it's not
gonna last down there, don't you?

You don't say.

And as impossible as it may seem,

the very things
that are so unique and sexy now

will soon be the dread
of your day-to-day existence.

And after a few months
of eating and drinking and sleeping

and shagging,

what have you got to look forward to,
you know? Boredom.

I mean, what are you gonna do,
write a book?

Max, I'm your best friend.

And I'm telling you, you won't last.

We'll see about that, Charlie.

Like this, I do agree.
It's okay like this.

Thank you.

That was Charlie on the phone.

So are you an actual rapper?

No. He's the rapper, I'm the manager.

Mm.

I'm Jesmenda, by the way.
Gemma for short.

Bollocks!

Viva la Armstrong!

Be in touch.