Showing posts with label Diana Rigg. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Diana Rigg. Show all posts

Sunday 27 December 2020

Son-in-Law of The Dragon



Do not kill me, Mr Bond. 
At least not until we've had a drink.
Then if you wish, I'll give you another chance.

I'm Draco of Draco Construction.

[ He throws a knife and hits a calendar behind Draco ]

But today is the 13th, Commander.

I'm superstitious.

A Martini for our guest, Olympe. 

A pleasure.

Shaken, not stirred. 

Of course.

Campari for me.

My apologies for the way you were brought here today. 
Please sit down.

I was not sure you would accept a formal invitation.

There's always something formal about the point of a pistol.

Thank you, chérie.

Olympe, we will finish our struggle later.

As you wish.

She also plays a very good game of chess.

Salute. 

Cheers.
You usually drink Corsican brandy.

What else do you know about me?

Marc Ange Draco. Head of Union Corse, one of
Europe's biggest crime syndicates in Europe.

The Biggest. 

Not quite.

An organisation known as SPECTRE operates worldwide.

However, your legitimate business fronts are more extensive.

Construction, electrical supplies, numerous agricultural holdings.

Your dossier on me is not entirely complete.

I am also Teresa's father.

Tracy?

Yes, Tracy. Tracy.

My only child.

Her mother was an English girl, romantic, who had come to Corsica to look for bandits.

Rather like those women who ventured into the desert looking for sheikhs.

She found me in the mountains.

Hiding from the police at the time.

I came to love this girl.

We married. 
The Result: Teresa.

Twelve years later my wife died. 
I sent Teresa to Switzerland to finish her education.

Unfortunately I didn't give her a proper Home.
She was without supervision.

So... she joined the fast international set. 
One scandal after another.

When I disapproved, cut off her allowance, she committed some greater folly.

To spite me.

Yet, behind her bravado, something was eating away at her soul.

This can happen to men and women.

They burn the heart out of themselves by living too greedily.

And suddenly, all is finished. 

Why are you telling me this?

Without telling me, she married. An Italian count who killed himself in a Maserati with one of his mistresses.

I gave her too much, and it brought her nothing.

Now, why did I tell you all this?

I have been informed of everything you have done for my daughter.

Everything?

Don't worry, don't worry about that.

What you did, the way you behaved, might be the beginning of some kind of therapy.

She needs Help.

Your Help.

I find her fascinating, but she needs a psychiatrist, not me.

What she needs is a Man to Dominate her.

To Make Love to her enough to make her Love him.

A Man like you.

You overestimate me, Draco.

She's very attractive, but what you ask is not for me.

Mm.

Listen to me. 
On the day you marry her,

I'll give you a personal dowry of one million pounds in gold.

That's quite an inducement.

But I don't need a million pounds.

Stupid.

And I've a bachelor's taste for freedom.

Please, just see her some more.
Who knows what will come of it?

I'm sorry, Draco, but in my profession, I can't...

What?

You have connections not open to me.
Where is Ernst Stavro Blofeld?

Blofeld?
Some of my men have recently defected to him.
I don't know where he is. 

Can you find out?

If I could, I wouldn't tell Her Majesty's Secret Service.

But I might tell my future son-in-law.

Go on.

Next week is my birthday.

For that, Teresa always comes back to me.

You understand?

Let's say I'll sleep on the idea.

You do that.




James. 
Where have you been? 


Much too far from you, darling.

Oh, same old James.
Ooh. Only more so.
Heartless brute! Letting me pine away without even a postcard.

Pine no more.
Cocktails at my place, eight-ish, just the two of us.

Oh, I'd adore that.
If only I could trust myself.

Same old Moneypenny. 
Britain's last line of defence.

You'd better go in. 
He's running a very tight ship today.

I'm relieving you from Operation Bedlam, 007.

But, sir, Blofeld's something of a must with me.

You've had two years to run him down.

Does this mean you've lost confidence in me?

I'm well aware of your talents, 007.

But a licence to kill is useless, unless one can set up the target.

Sir...

I'll find you a more suitable assignment. That's all.



Sir, under the circumstances... 

That's all. That's all.

That was a quick conference.

How do you expect a girl to keep herself alluring...

Take a memo, please, Moneypenny.

Ready, James.

Sir, I have the honour to request, if you'll accept, my resignation effective forthwith.


Resignation from what?

Her Majesty's Secret Service.

And kindly present it to that monument in there.

♪ Underneath the mango tree ♪

♪ Me honey and me come watch for the moon ♪

Sorry, ma'am.

007... James Bond here.
 
He wants you, James.

Request granted.

Request granted. Not even with regret.

What did you expect? A knighthood?

Why don't you read it?

Two weeks' leave.

Well, you didn't really want to resign, did you?

Moneypenny, what would I do without you?

My problem is that you never do anything with me.

It's a date. The moment I get back.

Where are you off to?

Oh, just some place to laze about.

Beachcombing.

What would I do without you, Miss Moneypenny? Thank you.

Hello, Miguel.

Teresa. It's so long since we see you.

- Yes, very well. - There's Tracy.

- Huh? - Tracy.

Where is she? Ah, there she is.

- Teresa. - Happy birthday, Papa.

You make it so by being here. You look marvellous.

There's someone I want you to meet. Come on.

- Salud, Olympe. How are you? - It's good to have you back.

- You look wonderful. - Thanks.

Good day. Hello.

Mr Bond, may I introduce my daughter? Teresa.

Contessa.

Mr Bond and I've already met.

But each time is a renewed pleasure.

Madame always makes one feel so welcome.

She likes you, I can see it.

You must give me the name of your oculist.

Brilliant.

I didn't know Mr Bond knew Papa.

There are many things about Mr Bond one does not know.

It would be interesting to attend night school perhaps.

Papa is up to something, I'm sure of it.

Your father loves you very much, Tracy.

Whatever he may arrange, I know it's for your happiness.

What has Papa arranged?

Ah. Mr Bond.

Thank you.

Thank you.
 
Many happy returns.

The best years are still to come, let's hope.

Oh, allow me.

What are you doing here?

Yes, wasn't it kind of your father to invite me?

Mr Bond and I are discussing a business deal, Theresa.

Really?

No woman would waste excellent champagne discussing a business deal.

Unless, of course, she happened to be part of the arrangement.

Olympe, what have you said?

Don't blame Olympe, Papa. 
I'm not your daughter for nothing.

I detect a certain family resemblance.

I suggest you revise the terms of your contract, Mr Bond.

You'll find your liability far too expensive.

There you're mistaken.

- Papa. - Yes?

Mr Bond wants some information.
 
 
What are you talking about?

You always taught me a good host supplies his guest's needs.

Huh.
And without obligation.

And then?

I'm not sure obligation is quite the right word.

Tell him, Papa.

Tell him what he wants to know.

- Now. - Please, please, Teresa.

It's only a possibility, nothing definite.

Tell him, Papa, or you'll never see me again.

All right.
All right.

There may be a connection between that man Blofeld and the lawyer

with offices in Bern, Switzerland.

- Named Gumbold. - Gumbold?

- Bern, Switzerland? - Yes, Gumbold.

So, now Mr Bond need have no further interest in me.

Another mistake.

She always was a headstrong child.

I'm sorry...

Where has he gone?

Tracy.
Tracy.

I was always taught that mistakes should be remedied.
Especially between friends.
Or lovers.

Wednesday 28 November 2018

Theatre of Blood






Peregrine Devlin: 
You did kill Larding and the others didn't you? 

Edward Lionheart: 
How many actors have you destroyed as you destroyed me? 

How many talented lives have you cut down with your glib attacks? 

What do you know of the blood, sweat and toil of a theatrical production? 

Of the dedication of the men and the women in the noblest profession of them all? 

How could you know you talentless fools who spew vitriol on the creative efforts of others because because you lack the ability to create yourselves! 

No Devlin, no! I did not kill Larding and the others. 

PUNISHED them my dear boy, punished them. 

Just as you shall have to be punished. 


Peregrine Devlin: 
Well get it over with then, just so you don't have to make me listen to that demented rubbish of yours. Go on, kill me then!