Original subtitles

Synced & corrected by kinglouisxx www.addic7ed.com

Mr. Getty is in surprisingly good health

considering his months in captivity.

We are treating him for mild malnutrition

and the effects of a head wound.

We expect him to be in hospital for no more than a few days.

That is all. Thank you.

Surprisingly good health.

How about that?

The boy gets released.

He's reunited with his mother, his loving fiancée.

They all live happily ever after.

What do you think this is, the fucking movies?

Stories don't just stop. Look.

Take this rock and throw it...

out into the middle of that lake.

Bloop.

The ripples will come all the way back to shore.

Oh, or did y'all forget what Old Man Getty said

back at the beginning of this whole damn shit-show?

Dum, dum, dum, dum.

Consequences.

I'm so sorry, Paul.

For what?

Everything.

Thanks.

I need to take a walk.

- Are you sure? - Yeah.

- No, honey. You need to... - With Mom.

Oh.

- You should stay in bed. - It's fine.

Really.

What if, what if I said it was, it was my idea?

If I'd planned it?

- Planned it? - The kidnap.

Well, then, I...

...I wouldn't believe you.

I did it.

I planned it.

No.

No.

I mean, look at you.

Your ear.

You couldn't.

- It was my idea. - No.

It's not possible.

It cannot be true.

It's not possible.

And just as one kidnapping was finishing...

in ten types of pure-grade unhappiness...

another kidnapping was coming along just fine.

Arguably the most significant building

in the history of Western Civilization.

And this is the marble frieze from it,

which currently resides in a room downstairs.

Is this going to take long?

I've got dinner at the club.

And this is the hall that I have built as a home for it

in Pacific Palisades.

What's he talking about?

Close to the sea.

It's air conditioned and constructed strictly

to house these objects alone,

where they will be admired

and if-if I may use the word, loved...

as they have never been loved ever before.

Lights.

And you, ladies and gentlemen,

will have a large room

to fill in this very fine building.

It's an exciting prospect.

Mr. Getty, there has clearly been a misunderstanding.

I was under the impression we were...

Gerald, I thought Mr. Getty was offering his portions

- of the the Parthenon Frieze... - Mm-hmm.

- ...to the museum. - Mm-hmm.

No. No.

Mr. Getty is offering you half a billion dollars.

Think of the possibilities.

This... beleaguered museum,

prey to a thousand cuts

from penny-pinching bureaucrats,

suddenly as rich... as rich as I am.

You want us to hand over the Elgin Marbles to you?

Well, they're not really yours to keep, are they?

Stolen. I mean, perhaps that's too strong.

We bloody well paid for them.

Well, let's call it kidnapped

and I'm here to pay the ransom

as a way out from the impasse.

What impasse? We don't need a way out.

Oh, you will.

The Papadopoulos regime is going to be overthrown.

And as a symbol of the triumphant return

of democracy to Greece,

the government will file a brief with UNESCO

and demand the return of its rightful property,

the Elgin Marbles.

Well, that's just bloody nonsense.

Mr. Ortoli, who is the president of the European Commission

and a friend of mine,

assures me that it is not nonsense.

Half a billion dollars.

I trust you will take my check.

And why won't the Greeks take you on?

Oh, the Greeks will take me on.

They will, but I'm not a government.

I'm just money.

Pure money.

And I can do whatever I want.

Think about it.

But what of our other entrepreneur?

The fella who started off stealing to stay alive,

found out that it made him feel alive?

Primo.

Salute.

And while 1973 turned inexorably

to 1974 for us ordinary folk,

guess which guy was trying to run time backwards.

Healing well.

Mm.

Never trust the promises of a doctor.

Von Block?

Oh.

It's very good, Paul.

- Hmm? - Very good.

It takes ten years off you, I'd say.

Hmm.

Yes?

Your grandson is on the telephone, sir.

Now?

Why?

- I am unable to... - I will not...

speak to him.

Tell him I'm busy.

Certainly, sir.

The boy lied to me, Von Block.

They all lie to me.

Sons.

Grandsons.

I'm done with them.

The lot of them.

What do I need with successors, hmm?

What indeed?

I regret to say your grandfather is unable

- to speak to you, sir. - Really?

Why?

I regret I am un...

I don't know.

I never know why he behaves the way that he does.

Why do you stay with him, Bullimore?

Good-bye, sir.

But I'm happy to report

a heartwarming reconciliation with his loving father.

Oh, come on, who am I kidding?

You're not gonna believe this.

He's getting married.

Who?

Paul. My son.

Who else would send a wedding invitation

that looks like a flyer to a fucking rock concert?

It's wonderful.

Where's the ceremony?

In Italy.

Well, he knows I can't go to Italy.

I pay his ransom, and this is how he thanks me.

Banning me from his fucking wedding?

Not that I would go, anyway. Not to that.

Little Paul is getting married in Italy

because that's where he lives.

You paid his ransom because you're his father.

After refusing even to discuss it for five months.

Paul, you need help.

I know. That's what you do.

That's right.

Trust me, my darling...

I am going to help you.

Thank you.

But not everyone deserted the young man

in his hour of need.

One way or another,

the Getty dynasty was back on the road.

Yeah, can we try and... hang it over to the...

the right.

Yeah, yeah, right there. Perfect.

That's great.

Oh.

Hey.

Ah.

- Christ! - Was the Vatican booked?

- Ciao, Paul! - Uncle Gordon, Uncle Ronald.

- Buongiorno. - Buongiorno. You came.

- Hello. - Uncle Gordon, how you doing?

- I'm well. - Good to see you.

- You look, you look wonderful. - Thanks.

- Really. - Thanks for coming.

- Of course, of course. - Wow.

Bet there's no air con.

Come on. Come on, guys,

there's some wine waiting for you.

- Thank you. Grazie. - Oh, wow.

Is your father coming?

Uh, he's invited. But... who knows with him?

- I don't know. - Where's Gail? Is your mom here?

Mom? Uh, she...

I-I haven't... I haven't heard, so...

- Really? - Yeah.

- I'm sorry. - Yeah, it's all right.

- Hi. - Hi. Oh!

- This is... - Hey. Martine.

Lovely. I'm Paul's Uncle Gordon. Hi.

- Hi. Nice to meet you. - Now I get it. No Getty

disinherits himself without a very good reason.

- All right, Ronald. - I see it.

- All right. - Jutta, come here.

- This is... - Oh. I'm-I'm Paul's Uncle Gordon.

- Hello. Jutta. - Jutta.

- Ronald. - Hello.

Twins.

- Let's get a drink, guys. - Yeah. Wine?

No, I'm all done with that.

The movie business is for idiots.

Yeah. I heard you lost all your money.

- Not all. - Mm?

Not by any means.

Now, real estate, that's where it's at.

I don't know if it's crazy, but...

I just figure I'd try

and do some good for the baby, you know?

Give him or her what I didn't have,

what... you didn't have.

I don't want the trust money, Gordon.

I never did.

Just be careful, all right?

Of what?

We've been brought up swimming in money.

In a great big sea of the stuff.

If you want to beach yourself, that's fine, that's great,

just... make sure you can walk first.

You know?

Yeah.

I gotcha.

- I'll be damned. It's Gail. - Mom?

You're here.

- I wasn't sure if you'd come. - Oh.

Oh, and miss my boy getting married?

Thank you.

Hey, listen, I'm... I'm really sorry...

No. Please, Paul, don't be.

It all happened because I let a little kid drift away.

- No. - I shouldn't have let that happen.

Whatever happened after that was my fault.

- I can't see how. - Stop.

You're getting married.

And I'm gonna be a grandmother.

Yeah, you are.

What a future.

Give me that.

- Oh, Ronald made it. - Yep.

I think he's trying to score with Jutta.

I have a terrible feeling he might succeed.

Gail!

- Hello, Gordon. - Hello. How are you?

So good to see you.

You look beautiful.

Maybe I'm wrong.

Maybe that doesn't happen.

Maybe...

just maybe, you can outrun your fate on wings of gold.

Google it.

Salute.

I know what you're thinking, but worry not.

The Lord brings justice to both the righteous and the sinner.

Unless the righteous have enough money to pay off the justice,

and the sinners don't, of course.

In the spring of 1974,

those two guys right there

got eight years in a state penitentiary

for their part in the kidnapping.

But who cares about the losers in life, right?

The little people. What we want to see are winners.

Lord Jeffries.

Mr. Getty.

I-I'm prepared to go

to $550 million.

Then the price is $550 million...

plus one dollar.

$600 million.

You can buy the whole of Greece for that.

Then the price is $600 million

plus one dollar.

And if I were to offer you,

for the sake of argument of course,

$1 billion, everything that I have?

Then it would have to be everything you have...

plus one dollar.

Good day.

Khan, good to see you again, old chap.

Indeed.

You know this man, Jeffries?

We were at school together, sir.

- You went to Eton? - Briefly, sir.

That's worse than the mafia.

Take me to Belinda.

I wish to see my son.

It's, um, it's like a doll's house.

I think it's rather sweet.

- Do you want to... - No.

I'm putting his name down for Eton.

- Who? - Him, the baby.

Why?

It's where the aristocratic mafia make their connections.

No better education, I'm told.

But I don't want him to go away.

They're just gonna hate having a Getty in their midst.

I'll never see him from one term to the next.

Don't think of yourself, think of him.

I am thinking of him.

He needs a mother, not a prefect.

Besides, he's not actually a Getty, is he?

- What? - I signed a contract,

specifically denying me or my progeny...

such a funny word, that... any rights to the Getty...

What was it? Fortune, trust, and all benefits consequent.

Are you suggesting that he is not my child?

Well, biologically, no question, darling,

but legally, not according to the small print.

Unless you want to renegotiate, of course.

He'd been on a winning streak so long,

he wouldn't know what a losing streak looked like

if it bit him in the eye, but change was coming.

Was it those Etonians and their marbles?

Or the baby who refused an education?

Who knows what falling snowflake starts the avalanche.

All right, I'm coming, partner.

All right, let's just take a look.

Good girl, good girl.

They've got mouth ulcers,

inflammation of the esophagus,

and tissue damage. It's something they've eaten.

Feeding them the same as usual. They were fine this morning,

had a run in the park, then...

You've got it, too?

I think not. Thank you, sir.

Finally, the day arrived

when the Getty Museum was complete.

Oh, perhaps there were a few gaps in the collection,

but as it turned out, the Parthenon Frieze

wasn't that important after all.

True, it was across an ocean he refused to cross,

but still, Mr. Getty had himself his very own museum.

They're sending them this instant.

The reviews from The New York Times,

The Washington Post,

- and the L.A. Times. - Hot off the press.

- How exciting. - Where is the man?

About time.

- Give them to Von Block. - Well...

Thank you.

- Come on. - Ah.

"Entering the Getty Museum, oh, I-I expected grandeur..."

"...but not in such copious amounts.

"This reproduction Roman villa

"is... eh...

"is-is vulgar,

"tasteless,

and straight out of Disneyland."

I love Disneyland.

What? It's very popular, no?

The New York Times is not the paper it was.

Another.

Oh, the-the L.A. Times.

"Modelled on an ancient Roman villa,

the Getty Museum..."

Read.

"...would've been better if it had stayed as a model."

Paul, think of Stravinsky's Rite of Spring.

Van Gogh's Sunflowers. What do critics know? Nothing.

Read.

"It is hard to decide

"whether Jean Paul Getty's folly

"is merely incongruous...

or genuinely... ludicrous."

Leave.

All of you.

Now.

Get out!

Oh... oh...

I'll drive.

Go.

Do you not wish me to accompany you, sir?

No.

Hello.

I've come to see Penelope.

Ah.

Penelope's not in, I'm afraid.

Back later.

Shall I say who called?

Yes.

The oil-producing countries

of the Arab world decided to use their oil

as a political weapon.

They will reduce the oil production

by five percent amount until the Israelis withdraw...

Well, there's another billion to the man

who can export oil.

Where is he, anyway?

Looks like we've got another night off.

Oh, darling, he hasn't humped me for weeks.

Are you still writing your pornographic stories

for the old goat, Von Block?

If you mean my research into sexual mores, no.

His... literary tastes have changed.

He lost interest. Finally.

Thank God for that. Mm.

Get me another Whisky Mac, would you, Bullimore, darling?

Bullimore?

It's one part ginger wine to three parts whisky, madam.

Bullimore?

Really? God!

Not my idea of immortality,

stuffed and stuck on a cricket ball in the MCC Museum,

but, you know, sparrows can't be choosers.

Hello, old chap.

I never thought I'd see it.

I thought you might like it. Thanks for ringing.

I wanted to return this.

Clematis, narcissus,

cyclamen, oleander.

Tell me something new.

All poisonous to dogs.

Vomit all over the stairs, the afghan rugs.

Golly.

- But-but no fatalities, I trust. - No.

But they won't be biting anybody for a while.

Did you, um...

did you start the nursery?

Garden Center.

That's what they're calling them these days.

Oh.

Going all right, too.

Can you imagine spending eternity

clinging to the thing that kills you?

You caught me out just in time.

"The Lord changes times and seasons.

He removes kings, and He sets up kings."

Daniel 2:21.

Turns out the Lord has a sense of humor.

The old man who hated drugs paid for the port

that now provides 80% of Europe's cocaine...

...making a bunch of former goat farmers

the most feared crime syndicate in the world.

And the richest.

Consequences, Mr. Getty.

Consequences.

Drugs are menacing our society.

They're killing our children.

And if that irony don't grab you,

how about the fact that the port is built

in the shape of an ear, huh?

Drinks before dinner?

I don't think there's a bar, darling.

Oh, what kind of hotel doesn't have a bar?

This isn't a hotel, Paul.

It's a clinic.

A very nice clinic.

What? What, you...? Fuck.

You tricked me.

Yes.

I mean, I-I can't. I can't.

No, Paul, I can't.

Not anymore.

Check in here, and I'll think about staying with you,

but if you leave, I leave, too.

And however you want to take it,

just for a while, peace,

like a river, flowed amongst them.

King Midas had a gift.

Everything he touched turned to gold.

Everybody knows that part of the story.

Funny, not so many know how King Midas died.

Starvation, of course.

As for me, I learned something.

'Cause, man, if you don't learn from this,

then... I give up on y'all.

May I help you?

Alex.

I'm Fletcher.

Synced & corrected by kinglouisxx www.addic7ed.com