Mortdecai

As you may well know, I am many things.

An arts dealer, an accomplished fencer,

fair shot with most weapons.

I am loved and respected

by all who know me...

slightly.

But I have always felt

there's something missing, you see.

Some final piece of my personal puzzle.

I needed something bold, distinctive.

Thank you.

The work of art with which

I could declare to the heavens,

I am Lord Charlie Mortdecai,

and this little bit of magic

is my moustache.

I see. Shall we to business then, Fang?

Would you mind?

"Find," you said.

And find, I have done.

The Qianlong vase.

Very, very rare.

Low-fired with an immersion glaze?

None of the southern

Yangtze ceramics are low-fired.

But you know that. You're testing me.

I'm so terribly sorry.

Mosquito. You see it?

Why don't you test the vase instead?

I am sure that you will agree it is

a bargain at two million pounds.

Everyone knows you're broke.

You will take one million.

Golly, that was a big one!

Well, have it your way, Fang.

One million pounds.

I trust that you have

brought the treasuries?

I think I'll keep the money.

And the vase.

You cheated me in our last deal.

I paid three million for that tapestry,

then found out it is worth only one!

You took from me.

Now I will take from you.

Now, you look here, Fang!

Fat. Fang Fat.

I'm an art dealer, not a charlatan.

A rogue, perhaps, a scamp

or scoundrel, I will grant you.

But never an outright mountebank.

Enough!

You owe me. I believe a finger

would be fair. Don't you?

No!

Jock!

I wouldn't, mate. I really wouldn't.

Jockie, thank heavens!

Where have you been, man?

Right behind you as always, sir.

Jock!

Well done, Jockie.

It's a privilege, sir!

Jock, you're ablaze!

- Well, I think our work here is done.

- Time to go, sir.

Jock laid out the state

of our financial affairs.

Basically, they involved debt.

Massive, crushing debt.

We hurried back to Mortdecai Manor,

where my beloved wife, Johanna,

having heard of our financial distress,

was arriving home to sell off

some of my prized possessions.

Even my horsey picture

was on the block.

But I was hopeful my new moustache

would cheer her up.

Darling!

Oh, God, I missed you terribly.

Johanna. Love of my life.

Apple of my eye.

I so wish you had been there.

Can you imagine the two of us

in that frigid city,

only our passions keeping us...

Whoa! What is that?

Just a little something I cooked up

whilst you were away, my darling.

I do believe it was

Maggie Thatcher who said

that kissing a man without a moustache

is rather like eating an egg

without salt.

- Oh, don't point that thing at me.

- Told ya.

I have put no inconsiderable thought

and effort into this endeavor.

You see, the domain of a man's

upper lip is his sovereign ground...

- You have five minutes to shave it off.

- Every Mortdecai man before me

had the same. Why can't I?

Oh, I happen to be terribly fond of it,

and I have had every intention

of seeing it through.

You mean it's going to get bigger?

It will come to fruition, yes.

Oh, darling...

You really won't shave it off?

I can't, my duck. Not at this juncture.

It's not even fully corked. It's a baby.

- Jock?

- Yes, madam?

Please, will you make up

the guest bedroom for Mr. Mortdecai?

Already have, madam.

And I shan't be having dinner

downstairs this evening.

I'll just have a supper tray

in my room.

Very good, madam.

I do believe Jock has informed you

that we are staring down

the barrel of insolvency.

What do you plan to do about it?

Right. Yes, well...

That... Well... Quite.

First thing we're doing

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