If I Had a Million

Synopsis: Tycoon John Glidden, dying though still vigorous, is so dissatisfied with his relatives and associates that, rather than will his money to any of them, he decides to give it away in million-dollar amounts to strangers picked from the city directory. He picks a meek china salesman; a prostitute; a forger; two ex-vaudevilleans who hate road hogs; a condemned man; a mild-mannered clerk; a boisterous marine; and an oppressed inmate of an old ladies' home.
Genre: Comedy, Drama
88 min

I'm afraid we can't do anything today.

We're all upset. Mr Glidden, you know?

- Yeah, what's the latest report on him?

- He may die any moment.

I understand he's leaving his business

to his employees.

Where did you hear that?

Who told you? Did you get it straight?

Listen, uh...

It would be impossible for us

to make a decision in this.

Mr Glidden

always takes care of these things.

Oh, I see. You really think

he'll do something for you?

Huh? Oh, no.

I wouldn't dare drop any kind of a hint

or the old boy would cut me off.

No, I think dignified silence is best.

Just pretend I'm worried about him,

not thinking about the money.

Doctor, is Mr Glidden any better?

Well, his temperature's all right,

but his temper's terrible. I think...

- What? Again?

- Again.

- We drew his last will just two hours ago.

- What a man.

I don't wish him hard luck,

but if he is dying...

You wish he'd die

and be done with it?

Well, he's waiting for you.


Don't talk to me

about my employees.


Idiots. Fools.

Not a business head

in the lot of them.

Bankrupt the whole business in a year.

Stupid cowards. No brains, no nerves.

Just a lot of sheep who do what I tell 'em.

When I'm not here to tell them,

they'll make a meal

for the first wolf that finds them.

- He's been going on like that for hours.

- Out of his head?

Who's out of whose head?!

Who said that I...

Where's my glasses?

Hey, you couldn't find a dumbbell...

- Now, Mr Glidden.

- "Now, Mr Glidden."

Shut up! I wish I was out of my head!

Then I wouldn't have the sense to worry.

No, Mr Glidden. There's nothing

to worry about. After all, things are...

Nothing to worry about?

I'm dying and I don't know of one man

in all the thousands that I employ

that's fit to leave in charge

of a peanut stand.

I wouldn't say that.

Your last will...

- My last will's no good!

- Mr Gli...

- You can't...

- I forbid you.

Oh, shut up, all of you!

Get away from me!

What do you know about a will anyhow?

You're only a lawyer.

Now, Mr Glidden,

you shouldn't exert yourself this way.

"Now, Mr Glidden."

I'm up, aren't I?

I walk.

Every time you leave the room, I walk.

I walked over there

just a little bit ago.

Nobody's gonna tell

John Glidden what to do.

What if it does kill me?

I'm gonna die anyhow.

Today, tomorrow,

what's the difference?

Now, just a moment

and I'll fix you up a...

Yes, I know what you'll fix me.

Ten drops

of the most marvellous sedative

ever discovered

by the medical profession.

Ten drops. One of these days

I'm gonna take 11 drops!

Or nine! And see what happens.

I don't want to be fixed, anyhow.

What I want to know is

who's going to take my place when I'm gone?

Well, if you're not satisfied

with your business associates,

perhaps you'd like to make

a more generous bequest to your relatives.


Ha! Relatives!

Did you see 'em

roosting down there like a lot of vultures

waiting for an old steer to die?

Relatives! It's the first time in my life

I saw them all together.

Relatives! Ha!

- Mr Glidden, you can't go out in the hall.

- I can't?

I've been out twice already

this morning. Yes.

And if the sight of those greedy

penny pinchers didn't kill me, well...

- Come on.

- Mr Glidden.

- Shut up, you quack!

- Well, I...

Look at 'em.

My relatives.

Pick out just one for me.

Pick out just one man, woman or child

that's fit to pick up where I leave off.

I'll be glad when you're dead,

you rascal, you

I'll be glad when you're dead,

you rascal

Johnny! Oh!

There. That kid's

the only honest one of the lot.

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Robert Hardy Andrews

Charles Robert Douglas Hardy Andrews (October 19, 1903 – November 11, 1976) was a novelist, screenwriter and radio drama scriptwriter. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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