The Man with the Golden Gun
- PG
- Year:
- 1974
- 125 min
- 2,047 Views
Nick Nack! Tabasco!
Right away, Monsieur Scaramanga!
Hey.
Half. You get the rest later.
Wait for him in there. Through that door.
He will join you in a minute.
Your steam bath is ready,|Monsieur Scaramanga.
Oh, that would have been too easy.
It's locked.
You'll have to look elsewhere, monsieur.
Hey, Al.
Al, wherever you are,|don't hold it against me.
I wonder where you can find your gun,|Monsieur Scaramanga.
Where can it be?
we haven't had before.
I wonder what it can be.
I fooled you!
You're getting warmer.
Much warmer.
Now, how are you going|to get down the stairs?
So near and yet so far.
Bravo, Monsieur Scaramanga.
You've done it again.
- This one was the best, "n'est-ce pas"?|- Not bad. Not bad at all.
But you'll have to do better|to come into my money.
I'll get you yet,|and I'll enjoy every sou you leave me.
You'll be the death of me yet, Nick Nack.
# He has a powerful weapon
# An assassin that's second to none
# Lurking in some darkened doorway
# Or crouched on a rooftop somewhere
# In the next room, or this very one
# The Man with the Golden Gun
# Love is required whenever he's hired
# It comes just before the kill
# No one can catch him
# No hit man can match him
# For his million-dollar skill
# Has come to a glittering end
# For a price, he'll erase anyone
# The Man with the Golden Gun
# His eye may be on you or me
# Who will he bang?
# We shall see
# Love is required whenever he's hired
# It comes just before the kill
# No one can catch him
# No hit man can match him
# For his million-dollar skill
# Has come to a glittering end
# If you want to get rid of someone
# The Man with the Golden Gun
# Will get it done
# He'll shoot anyone
# With his golden gun
Good morning, sir.
Colthorpe.
Chief of Staff.
What do you know|about a man called Scaramanga, 007?
Scaramanga?
Oh, yes! The Man with the Golden Gun.
Born in a circus. Father, the ringmaster.|Mother, English. A snake charmer.
A spectacular trick-shot artist by the time|he was ten and a local Rio gunman at 15.
The KGB trained him in Europe,|where he became
an overworked, underpaid assassin.
He went independent in the '50s.
Current price:
One million dollars a hit.No... er... photograph on file.
But he does have one distinguishing|feature, however. A superfluous papilla.
- A what?|- A mammary gland. A third nipple, sir.
He always uses a golden bullet,|hence "Man with the Golden Gun".
Present domicile unknown.
I think that's all.
Why, sir?
Hm! Charming trinket.
- Even has my number on it.|- Precisely.
Obviously it's useless as a bullet.
Who would pay a million dollars|to have me killed?
Jealous husbands, outraged chefs,|humiliated tailors. The list is endless.
Moreover, this trinket, as you call it,
was sent with a note|requesting "special delivery" to you.
- It's initialled with an S.|- Scaramanga's fingerprints were on it.
They've been verified by the CIA.
- Why would he alert me?|- Psychological.
He counts on his reputation|to terrify his intended victim.
Thank you, gentlemen.
I'm relieving you|of your present assignment, 007.
- Er, sir?|- Yes?
The energy crisis is still with us.
I submit that finding Gibson and his solar|cell data is more important than ever.
It is indeed.
And I can't jeopardise it or any mission|by having Scaramanga put a bullet in you.
I'll endorse your request to resign.
Or you can take a sabbatical|and go to ground until this is settled.
Nobody knows where he is|or what he looks like.
So I think it's fair to assume|that he has the edge on you.
Wouldn't you agree? That's all, 007.
If I found him first, sir,
that might change the situation.
Dramatically, wouldn't you say?
Good day, Bond.
Moneypenny, Fairbanks.
- Alaska.|- No. Bill Fairbanks, 002.
Oh, poor Bill.
- I miss him.|- The Man with the Golden Gun didn't.
Officially that was never confirmed.
Where was 002 when it happened?
Beirut, '69.
In a cabaret with a lady called Saida.
Beirut, hm?
Moneypenny,|you are better than a computer.
In all sorts of ways.
But you never take advantage of them.
- Miss Moneypenny.|- Yes, sir.
Oh, just one moment, darling.
Yes, James?
Why wasn't Scaramanga|confirmed as the killer?
Because they couldn't find the bullet!
Darling!
Ahmed.
Ahmed!
Entrez.
Good evening.|My name is Bond. James Bond.
Your dancing is superb.
- Merci.
And you are very handsome.
Well, I don't usually intrude like this,|but I... I believe we had a mutual friend.
- Bill Fairbanks.|- Fairbanks?
Yes.
I am told you were with him
when he was rather, er...|rudely interrupted.
Ah, "mais oui" - Bill!
What a terrible night. I will never forget it.
- Did you see who shot him?|- No, I was in his arms.
- My eyes were closed.|- At least he died happy.
- Through his back and ended up there?|- No, no, through his neck.
I take it out of the wall|before the police arrive.
And now it is my lucky charm.
I'm sure Bill would have loved that.
But let us forget the past.
Mm! I was hoping you'd say that.
Are you staying long in Beirut?
Oh, it depends.
Clumsy of me.
You really do have|a magnificent abdomen.
Oh, my perfumes! No!
I've lost my charm!
Not from where "I'm" standing.
Taxi? Hotel, mister?
No. To the nearest pharmacy.
Dumdum bullets like this
flatten on impact|for maximum wounding effect.
- Very nasty.|- Yes, I'm sure it is.
But just tell me|where it was made and by whom.
Well, fortunately it's all in one piece.
Which leads us to deduce|it was fired from a 4.2 millimetre gun.
Colthorpe, there's no such thing|as a 4.2 millimetre gun.
The fact that no recognised munitions|manufacturer, military or civil,
produces such a bullet|doesn't mean it doesn't exist, 007.
Q Branch have been making irregular|calibres for most unusual purposes.
- And we don't put markings on them.|- Making identification almost impossible.
You mean we can't trace it? You've|no idea what it went through to get here.
I wouldn't go so far as to say that.
The workmanship is undemanding|according to our standards.
Soft 23-carat gold with traces of... nickel.
Hardly ever used in Europe.|Comes from India.
Far East?
- Why not India?|- Nickel content obviously too low, 007.
- Lazar?|- Lazar!
Hm. Imaginative.
Highly specialised.
Yes, I concur.
- Well, what the hell is Lazar?|- Not what. Who. Portuguese.
- Lives in Macau.|- Chap who made the bullet, 007.
I hate to interrupt your dinner,|but does Senhor Lazar live here?
Lazar.
I was given this address. Does he...
Senhor Lazar?
My name's Bond. James Bond.
An unexpected honour, Mr Bond.
Your reputation precedes you.|This way, please.
It would be my proudest moment if|I could make something for you, Mr Bond.
A rifle, perhaps.
Now, here we have|an interesting problem.
A custom-built model for a client
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"The Man with the Golden Gun" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 7 Nov. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/the_man_with_the_golden_gun_13287>.
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