David Golder

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1

Watch out.

Golder is a scoundrel.

Golder is a great man.

Mr. Marcus

is waiting in your study.

I thought you and he

had a falling-out.

My dear Soifer...

are you having dinner

with me tonight?

I'd love to.

I'm in no hurry

to head home to Mrs. Soifer.

What now?

I told you no yesterday

before I left for London.

Wasn't that enough for you?

Come now, David.

We've been partners

for 26 years.

It's been fifty-fifty

down the line...

and yet...

now...

Your memory's failing you.

What about

that Mexican oil deal last year?

Have you forgotten

all those millions

that made their way

from my pocket to yours?

And yet we were partners.

Oh, you know

how business is!

Now you need old Golder.

You know the Soviets

will negotiate with him.

Don't deny that for a year now

you've been negotiating a deal

with General Petroleum

behind my back.

The Soviets are going to negotiate

with General Petroleum.

No.

General Petroleum

had an option,

but it ran out last night.

So you know about that too?

You see?

General Petroleum

is finished.

The Russians will sign

with Tbingen and me.

Fifty-fifty, Golder!

I need money desperately.

Everyone needs money,

my friend.

So you mean...

you'd ruin me financially?

I don't care.

Bastard!

That's right.

Isn't Mr. Soifer tired

of walking on his tiptoes?

It's a habit now.

This way

I don't wear out the soles.

- May we eat now?

- Yes, sir. It's ready.

Does a Jew

need all this to live?

What were you doing

in London?

I was buying emeralds.

Splendid ones!

Now, that's money!

Better than

all your filthy paper.

Diamonds neatly

locked up in a safe.

You sit on your millions

like an old hen.

And you throw

your millions away.

I enjoy it.

Sure. Today a billionaire,

and tomorrow as poor as

As Soifer!

Or as young Golder arriving

from Poland 40 years ago

with his frockcoat

and sidelocks.

That's life!

What about...

Marcus?

That's taken care of.

You work too much.

You should rest.

Yes...

I'm a bit tired.

And I'm fed up.

I'm leaving for Biarritz

tomorrow.

Ten days of rest

or I'll collapse.

Is your wife

down there now?

Yes...

with Joyce.

I haven't seen

your daughter in a long time.

How old is she?

Seventeen.

I hope she doesn't look

like her father.

She's a beauty.

She'll make a good match.

Yes...

she'll have money.

How's business?

I just had a bad setback...

but in 12 days I'll be meeting

with Tbingen in Berlin.

Then I'll see

the Soviets in Baku...

and old Golder

will be back on top.

A telegram.

Here's the sort of news

my wife has sent me

for the last 30 years.

NEED MONEY GLORIA

150,000 for rent on this place.

One million for furniture.

And who lives here?

Just me.

They never come here.

But they'll go to Deauville,

Biarritz, Cairo, Venice.

It's the fate of all men:

We work ourselves to death

so our wives can get rich.

Take my wife.

The other day

she buys a new hat.

Seventy-two francs...

for an upside-down pot.

If at least she got

some use out of it,

but she won't wear it

for more than two seasons.

And at her age!

What's that?

It can't be!

What is it? Bad news?

The idiot!

You don't just go kill yourself.

Marcus!

Didn't you have a tiny part

in causing his ruin?

His ruin?

Ruin! Hah!

You start over again!

I've started over 20 times!

Is this why

we knock ourselves out?

To come to this?

What a fool!

Whose car is this?

It's Madame's new Rolls.

She was tired

of the Hispano.

Miss Joyce isn't here?

No, Miss Joyce has guests.

Too weak, Fred.

More gin.

Yes, Miss Joyce.

You still owe me a fox-trot,

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