Goldfinger (1964) - full transcript

Yahoo.

Congratulations.

Thank you.

Mr Ramirez and his friends
will be out of business.

At least he won't be
using heroin-flavoured

bananas to finance revolutions.

Don't go back to
your hotel, señor.

They'll be watching it.

There's a plane leaving
for Miami in an hour.

I'll be on it, but
first I have some

unfinished business to attend to.



Forgive me.

Why do you always wear that thing?

I have a slight
inferiority complex.

Where was I? Oh, yes.

Shocking.

Positively shocking.

♪ Goldfinger ♪

♪ He's the man ♪

♪ The man with the Midas touch ♪

♪ A spider's touch ♪

♪ Such a cold finger ♪

♪ Beckons you ♪

♪ To enter his web of sin ♪

♪ But don't go in ♪



♪ Golden words he will
pour in your ear ♪

♪ But his lies can't
disguise what you fear ♪

♪ For a golden girl ♪

♪ Knows when he's kissed her ♪

♪ It's the kiss of death ♪

♪ From Mr Goldfinger ♪

♪ Pretty girl ♪

♪ Beware of this heart of gold ♪

♪ This heart is cold ♪

♪ Golden words he will
pour in your ear ♪

♪ But his lies can't
disguise what you fear ♪

♪ For a golden girl ♪

♪ Knows when he's kissed her ♪

♪ It's the kiss of death ♪

♪ From Mr Goldfinger ♪

♪ Pretty girl ♪

♪ Beware of this heart of gold ♪

♪ This heart is cold ♪

♪ He loves only gold ♪

♪ Only gold ♪

♪ He loves gold ♪

♪ He loves only gold ♪

♪ Only gold ♪

♪ He loves gold ♪

How's this?

That's nice. Very nice.

Just here?

No, a little lower, darling.

I thought I'd find
you in good hands.

Felix.

Felix, how are you?

- Dink, meet Felix Leiter.
- Hello.

- Felix, say hello to Dink.
- Hi, Dink.

Dink, say goodbye to Felix.

Man talk.

You must be slipping,
007, letting the

opposition get that close to you.

They got a lot closer to you
in Jamaica, didn't they?

But what's on your
mind? I'm on holiday.

Not any more, you're
not. Signal from London.

Might have known M
wouldn't book me into

the best hotel in Miami Beach
out of pure gratitude.

He asked us to keep an
eye on him for you.

Auric Goldfinger.

Sounds like a French nail varnish.

He's British, but he
doesn't sound like it.

Big operator. Worldwide interests,
all apparently quite reputable.

Owns one of the finest
stud farms in the States.

What's the tie-up with Washington?

He's clean, as far
as CIA is concerned.

And where do I find him?

That's his pigeon
waiting for him now.

Goldfinger's been taking
him to the cleaners

every day for a week.

Morning, Mr Simmons. Ready
for our little game?

Sure, I'm ready.

When you're 10 grand in the hole,

you're ready for anything.

Could I have my usual seat?

You and your suntan.

That Goldfinger's a
fabulous card player.

Same stakes?

Let's double it. $5 a point.

Did you say five?

My luck's got to change sometime.

Okay.

I'll get back to the office and
cable M you're on the job.

You can fill me in on
the rest at dinner.

Fine, I'll call you later.

Four.

So soon?

How many?

Seven, 12, 18, 32, 44.

Miss?

Hey, what do you...

That's Mr Goldfinger's suite.

Yes, I know.

You're very sweet.

He just drew the king of clubs.

That makes his count 59.

He's got a diamond run, 8, 9, 10.

He's holding on to
the six of spades,

so I guess he thinks you want it.

That last draw was
the eight of hearts.

He needs kings and queens.

Who are you?

Bond. James Bond.

Come on, come on.

Ah, that's more like it.

What's your name?

Jill.

Jill who?

Jill Masterson.

Tell me, Jill, why does he do it?

He likes to win.

Why do you do it?

He pays me.

Is that all he pays you for?

And for being seen with him.

Just seen?

Just seen.

I'm so glad.

You're much too

nice to be mixed up in
anything like this, you know.

Now hear this, Goldfinger.

Your luck has just changed.

I doubt very much if
the Miami Beach police

would take kindly to
what you're doing.

Nod your head if you agree.

Nod.

Good. Now start
losing, Goldfinger.

Shall we say, $10,000?

No, let's be generous.
Let's make it 15,000.

May I see?

Well, I can see this
is really my day.

Gin.

Over and out.

That should keep him occupied
for quite some time.

I'm beginning to
like you, Mr Bond.

Oh, call me James.

More than anyone I've met
in a long time, James.

Well, what on earth are
we going to do about it?

Yes, what?

I'll tell you at dinner.

Where?

Well, I know the
best place in town.

Station W.E.B.S. brings you
the latest in world news.

Washington. At the White
House this afternoon,

the President said he was
entirely satisfied...

That makes two of us.

Hello.

Leiter here.

- Oh, Felix.
- Well, now?

What's that? Dinner?

No. Look, I'm sorry. I can't.

Something big's come up.

Right...

How about breakfast?

Okay.

Not too early.

I'll call you around 9:00.

Yes, 9:00 will be fine.

So long, James. Good night, Felix.

It's lost its chill.

Why, you...

It's all right, there's
another in the fridge.

Who needs it?

My dear girl, there are some
things that just aren't done,

such as drinking Dom Perignon '53

above a temperature of
38 degrees Fahrenheit.

That's as bad as listening to
the Beatles without earmuffs.

Now, where is this passion juice?

Jill?

Yes, Mr Bond?

Beach 77432, room 119.

Hello?

Hello, Felix? Get
over here right away.

What's up?

The girl's dead.

Dink?

No. Masterson, Jill Masterson,

and she's covered in paint.

Gold paint.

Gold? All over?

She died of skin suffocation.

It's been known to happen
to cabaret dancers.

It's all right so long as you
leave a small bare patch

at the base of the spine to
allow the skin to breathe.

Someone obviously didn't.

And I know who.

This isn't a personal
vendetta, 007.

It's an assignment, like any other

and if you can't treat it as
such, coldly and objectively,

008 can replace you.

You've hardly distinguished
yourself, have you?

You were supposed to observe Mr

Goldfinger, not borrow
his girlfriend.

Instead of that, Goldfinger
goes off to Europe,

and it's only by the grace
of God, your friend Leiter,

and my intervention with the
British embassy in Washington,

that you're not in the custody
of the Miami Beach police.

Sir, I'm aware of my shortcomings,

but I'm prepared to
continue this assignment

in the spirit you suggest,

if I knew what it was about.

Sir.

What do you know about
gold? Not paint, bullion.

I know it when I see it.

Meet me here at 7:00. Black tie.

Now, what do you know
about gold, Moneypenny?

Oh, the only gold I know
about is the kind you wear.

You know, on the third
finger of your left hand.

One of these days

we really must look into that.

Well, what about tonight?

You'll come around for dinner,

and I'll cook you a
beautiful angel cake.

Well, nothing would give
me greater pleasure,

but unfortunately I do have
a business appointment.

That's the flimsiest excuse
you've ever given me.

Ah, well, some girls
have all the luck.

Who is she, James?

She is me, Miss Moneypenny,

and kindly omit the
customary by-play with 007.

He's dining with me, and I
don't want him to be late.

So there's hope for me yet.

Moneypenny, won't you
ever believe me?

We here at the Bank
of England, Mr Bond,

are the official depository
for gold bullion

just as Fort Knox, Kentucky,
is for the United States.

We know, of course, the
amounts we each hold,

we know the amounts
deposited in other banks,

and we can estimate what is being
held for industrial purposes.

This enables the two governments
to establish, respectively,

the true value of the
dollar and the pound.

Consequently, we are
vitally concerned

with unauthorised leakages.

I take it you mean smuggling?

Yes.

Gold, gentlemen, which can
be melted down and recast,

is virtually untraceable,

which makes it, unlike
diamonds, ideal for smuggling,

attracting the biggest and
most ingenious criminals.

Thank you, Brunskill.
That'll be all.

Thank you, sir.

Have a little more of this
rather disappointing brandy.

What's the matter with it?

I'd say it was a 30-year-old Fine

indifferently blended, sir...

With an overdose of Bons Bois.

Colonel Smithers is
giving the lecture, 007.

Gentlemen, Mr Goldfinger has
gold bullion on deposit

in Zurich, Amsterdam,
Caracas, and Hong Kong.

Worth 20 million pounds. Most
of it came from this country.

Why move it?

Because the price of gold
varies from country to country.

If you buy it here
at $30 an ounce,

you can sell it in,
say, Pakistan at $110

and triple your money.

Providing, of course, you have the
facilities for melting it down.

And has he?

Apart from being a
legitimate bullion dealer,

Mr Goldfinger poses...

No, that's not quite fair.

Is, among his many
other interests, a

legitimate international jeweller.

He's legally entitled

to operate modest
metallurgical installations.

His British one is down in Kent.

As yet, we have failed to discover

how he transfers
his gold overseas.

And Lord knows we've tried.

If your department can establish
that it is done illegally,

then the bank could
institute proceedings

to recover the bulk
of his holdings.

I think it's time Mr
Goldfinger and I met.

Socially, of course.

I was hoping you'd say that.

It might lead to a business talk,

Mr Goldfinger's kind of business.

I'll need some sort of bait.

I quite agree. This is
the only one we have

from the Nazi hoard at the
bottom of Lake Toplitz

in the Salzkammergut.

But there are undoubtedly others.

Mr Bond can make whatever
use of it he thinks fit,

providing he returns
it, of course.

It's worth £5,000.

You'll draw it from
Q branch with the

rest of your equipment
in the morning.

Of course, sir.

Morning, Q.

Good morning, 007.
This way, please.

My, we are busy this morning.

It's not perfected yet.

Where's my Bentley?

Oh, it's had its day, I'm afraid.

But it's never let me down.

M's orders, 007.

You'll be using this Aston
Martin DB5, with modifications.

Now, pay attention, please.

Windscreen, bulletproof.

As are the side and
the rear windows.

Revolving number
plates, naturally.

Valid all countries.

Here's a nice little transmitting
device called a homer.

You prime it by pressing
that back like this.

You see? The smaller model
is now standard field issue,

to be fitted into the
heel of your shoe.

Its larger brother is magnetic.

Right.

To be concealed in the
car you're trailing

while you keep out of sight.

Reception on the dashboard here.

Auto-visual. Range, 150 miles.

Ingenious. And useful, too.

Allow a man to stop off
for a quick one en route.

It has not been perfected after
years of patient research

entirely for that purpose, 007.

And incidentally, we'd
appreciate its return,

along with all your
other equipment,

intact, for once, when you
return from the field.

Well, you'd be surprised

the amount of wear and tear that
goes on out there in the field.

Anything else?

Well, I won't keep you for
more than an hour or so,

if you give me your
undivided attention.

We've installed some rather
interesting modifications.

You see this arm here?

Now, open the top, and inside are
your defence mechanism controls.

Smoke screen, oil slick,
rear bulletproof screen,

and left and right
front-wing machine guns.

Now, this one I'm
particularly keen about.

You see the gear lever here?

Now, if you take the top off,

you'll find a little red button.

Whatever you do, don't touch it.

And why not?

Because you'll release
this section of the roof

and engage and then fire the
passenger ejector seat.

Ejector seat? You're joking.

I never joke about my work, 007.

Ready, Blacking?

Yes, sir. There's an old
member dropped by, sir.

Same handicap as yours, I wondered
if you'd rather play with him.

Where is he?

- Mr Bond?
- Yes?

This is Mr Goldfinger.

- How do you do?
- How do you do?

You can go straight off,
the first tee is clear.

Fine.

I'll get Hawker to carry
for you, Mr Bond.

Well, that'll be splendid.

Shall we make it a
shilling a hole?

I'll take some tees.

Yes, of course.

Oh, you must excuse
Oddjob, Mr Bond.

He's an admirable
manservant, but mute.

He's not a very good caddie.

Golf is not yet the national
game of Korea, hey?

This meeting is not a coincidence?

What's your game, Mr Bond?

My game?

You didn't come here to play golf.

The 1940 smelt from the
Weigenhaler foundry at Essen.

Part of a smelt of 600.

They vanished in 1944.

When the Nazis were on the run.

And you have access to more?

Yes, from the same source.

Interesting.

Two holes to go.

Yes, and all square.

Then you have no objection
to increasing the stakes?

No, what do you have in mind?

The bar of gold you have
with you, naturally.

It's worth £5,000.

Oh, I'll stake the
cash equivalent.

Naturally.

Strict rules of golf?

But of course.

Oh, bad luck. You're in the rough.

Oh, what a pity. Here it is.

No, it's not. He
plays a Slazenger 1.

Strict rules of golf, Goldfinger.

Five minutes are almost up.

A lost ball will cost you
a stroke and distance.

Aha.

Oh.

I'm still training
him as a caddie.

Successfully, too.

Slazenger Number 1?

Good.

If that's his original
ball, I'm Arnold Palmer.

It isn't.

How do you know?

I'm standing on it.

Why, you crafty old...

Leave it.

The ball you found, sir?

Yes, Slazenger 7.

Let's have a little fun
with Mr Goldfinger.

Would you like me to
mark it or knock it in?

Play it.

This for a half.

That's right.

One to go. That'll
be the clincher.

Fine.

Did you switch them, sir?

Huh.

Then we've got him.

If he doesn't notice the switch.

It's your honour, sir.

It's all right.

Down in five.

I have to sink this to
halve the game, right?

You win, Goldfinger.

It seems I'm too good for you.

You play a Slazenger 1, don't you?

Yes, why?

Well, this is a Slazenger 7.

Here's my Penfold Hearts.

You must have played
the wrong ball

somewhere on the 18th fairway.

We are playing strict rules,

so I'm afraid you lose
the hole and the match.

She's a beauty.

Phantom III, '37, isn't she?

You are a clever,
resourceful man, Mr Bond.

Why, thank you.

Perhaps too clever.

Twice our paths have crossed,

let's leave it at that.

I should think our first meeting
would have convinced you.

Oh, I see.

You're worried about me not
giving you a return game.

Both of us know perfectly well

what we're talking about, Mr Bond.

But I see that it is
necessary to remind you.

Oddjob.

Many people have tried
to involve themselves

in my affairs, unsuccessfully.

Remarkable. But what does the
club secretary have to say?

Oh, nothing, Mr Bond.

I own the club.

I assume you want the
cheque made out to cash?

That would be perfectly
satisfactory.

Goodbye, Mr Bond.

Oh, I believe this is yours.

May I have your attention, please?

British United Air Ferries
announcing final call

for the departure of their
DS-400 flight to Geneva.

British United Air Ferries
announce the departure

of their DS-400 flight to Geneva.

Mr Bond?

That's all right, I've
got you booked out

on the next flight to Geneva
leaving in half an hour.

- Oh, thank you very much.
- Right, sir.

Discipline, 007.

Discipline.

Are you all right?

Here, let me help you. You know,
you're lucky to be alive.

No thanks to you.

You should have
pulled over further.

Look at them.

A double blowout. I've never
seen one of these before.

How could new tyres...

Defect of some kind, most likely.

Anyway, I'm so glad it's
only the car and not you.

You don't look like the sort
of girl who should be ditched.

Never mind that. Please take
me to the nearest garage.

Certainly. By the way,
my name is Bond...

As quickly as possible.

I'll take that.

Yes, of course.

What's your name, by the way?

Soames.

Tilly Soames.

Here for the hunting season?

I had a case just like that one.

It's for my ice skates.

Lovely sport.

Where do you skate?

St. Moritz.

I didn't know there was ice
there this time of the year.

There's a garage.

I've had an accident.

How long will it take? Thank you.

They say it will take 24
hours to get new tyres.

There's a hotel nearby.

Oh, jump in. I'll run you down.

That won't be necessary.

Well, I hate to leave
you here alone.

I can take care of myself.

Yes, I'm sure you can.

Well, don't forget to write.

Smuggling is an art, Mr Ling.

And art requires...

In this case, the bodywork
of my Rolls Royce

is 18-carat gold.

We dismantle it here,

reduce the gold in this
special furnace to ingots,

which in turn will
be released on the

board and weigh
approximately two tons.

I make six trips a
year to the continent

in the Rolls Royce, Mr Ling.

It would be wiser to suspend
your other activities.

Now, Mr Ling, please
assure your principals

Operation Grand Slam will
have my undivided attention.

Now, there are certain
matters we must discuss.

Let me go. You're
breaking my back.

What the hell are you doing here?

I want to kill him.

- Kill who?
- Goldfinger.

Well, I want him alive.

I want him dead. He
killed my sister.

T.M. Tilly Masterson.

I knew your sister, Jill.

I know what he did
to her in Miami.

No, you don't. Let me go.

If you wanted to kill him,
why did you shoot at me?

I didn't. I was shooting at him.

Well, you're a lousy shot.

Somebody else around here isn't.

Come on.

Quick. Get in the car.
I'll take care of him.

Run for that bracken
when I tell you.

Now.

Good evening, 007.

My name is James Bond.

And members of your curious
profession are few in number.

You have been recognised,

let's say, by one of
your opposite numbers,

who is also licenced to kill.

Oh, that interesting car of yours.

I, too, have a new toy,

but considerably more practical.

You are looking at
an industrial laser

which emits an extraordinary
light not to be found in nature.

It can project a spot on the moon,

or at closer range cut
through solid metal.

I will show you.

This is gold, Mr Bond.

All my life, I've been
in love with its colour,

its brilliance, its
divine heaviness.

I welcome any enterprise
that will increase my stock.

Which is considerable.

I think you've made
your point, Goldfinger.

Thank you for the demonstration.

Choose your next witticism
carefully, Mr Bond.

It may be your last.

The purpose of our two
previous encounters

is now very clear to me.

I do not intend to be
distracted by another.

Good night, Mr Bond.

Do you expect me to talk?

No, Mr Bond. I expect you to die.

There is nothing you
can talk to me about

that I don't already know.

You're forgetting one thing.

If I fail to report,
008 replaces me.

I trust he will be
more successful.

But he knows what I know.

You know nothing, Mr Bond.

Operation Grand
Slam, for instance.

Two words you may have overheard,

which cannot possibly have
any significance to you

or anyone in your organisation.

Can you afford to
take that chance?

You are quite right, Mr Bond.

You are worth more to me alive.

Who are you?

My name is Pussy Galore.

I must be dreaming.

I thought I'd wake up dead.

Tranquilliser gun. Knock-out shot.

I see.

Well, I'm delighted to be here.

And by the way, where is here?

35,000 feet, flying southwest
over Newfoundland.

Oh, that explains the humming.

The humming means you're
in Mr Goldfinger's

Lockheed Jetstar
heading for Baltimore,

and you're his guest.

I'm honoured.

I never realised he enjoyed
my company that much.

I don't suppose it'll
be all fun and games.

Mei-lei.

Can I do something
for you, Mr Bond?

Just a drink. A Martini.

Shaken, not stirred.

Won't you join me?

Not on duty.

I'm Mr Goldfinger's
personal pilot.

You are?

And just how personal is that?

I'm a damned good pilot.

Period.

Well, that's good news.

By the way, where is our host?

He flew on ahead.

Thank you.

Well, here's to
Operation Grand Slam.

This should be a memorable flight.

You can turn off the charm.

I'm immune.

We'll be landing in Baltimore,

our port of entry into
the United States,

in 55 minutes.

Mei-Lei, I would like to arrive
more appropriately dressed.

Did any of my baggage
survive with me?

Ah.

And my attaché case?

Black attaché case
damaged when examined.

So sorry.

Apology is quite unnecessary.

Sydney, tell Mei-Lei
to keep an eye on him.

We'll be landing in 20 minutes.

Do you want to play it
easy or the hard way?

And this isn't a tranquilliser.

Now, Pussy, you know a lot
more about planes than guns.

That's a Smith and Wesson .45,

and if you fired at
this close range,

the bullet will pass through
me and the fuselage

like a blowtorch through butter.

The cabin will depressurise,

and we'll both be sucked
into outer space together.

But if that's how
you want to enter

the United States, you're welcome.

As for me, I prefer
the easier way.

That's very sensible.

Oh, besides, there's
always so much

going on around Mr Goldfinger.

I wouldn't dream of not
accepting his hospitality.

He'll be glad to see you, too.

You like close shaves, don't you?

Washington, sir, on
the green scrambler.

- M here.
- Leiter, sir.

Leiter.

It's about 007, sir. We
picked up his homer signal.

It's monitored into Friendship
Airport, Baltimore,

where he's just landed.

Baltimore? Nice of
him to let us know.

Last we heard, he
was in Switzerland.

He came in on a private
jet, ex-Geneva,

registered to our old
friend, Auric Goldfinger.

Well, I'm glad he's
making progress.

- Yes, sir.
- Keep an eye on him for us.

Their flight plan gives
Blue Grass Field,

Kentucky, as their
final destination.

Don't charge in on him and
spoil anything, will you?

He's evidently well
on top at the moment.

- Mr Bond, please.
- Of course.

Any time.

Thank you.

Do mind your step, Captain.

Just keep playing it easy.

Mei-Lei, will you see everything's
all right with Mr Goldfinger?

Of course.

And I'll see the
supplies are here soon.

Talented chaps.

They should be. I trained them.

Come on.

You're a woman of
many parts, Pussy.

I believe that the bourbon and
branch water's rather splendid

here in Kentucky.

Well, now that we're both
off duty, perhaps...

Manners, Oddjob.

I thought you always took
your hat off to a lady.

You know, he kills
little girls like you.

Little boys, too.

Well?

Dress rehearsal went
like a dream, Skipper.

Good. You'll get your
final briefing tonight.

That'll be all for now.

Ya. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Ah, welcome to Auric
Stud, Mr Bond.

Lovely animal, isn't she?

Certainly better
bred than the owner.

Show Mr Bond to his
quarters, please.

Felix?

Maybe we should just
drop in on him.

He'll shout if he needs us.

They're all here, Mr Goldfinger.

Huh? Oh, yes. Yes.

Thank you, Kisch.

That guy Solo's going to
wear a hole in his shoes.

Hey, I like this.

Hey. Wait.

Gentlemen.

Goldfinger, why weren't
we told that New

York and the West Coast
were in on this?

Look who's talking.

I do not do business with Chicago.

I thought we had a private
business deal to settle.

Now I find I'm attending
a hood's convention.

Goldfinger, I made a
delivery. Where is my money?

I made a delivery, too.

You all made the deliveries
we contracted for.

And you owe me 1 million bucks.

I owe each of you a
million in gold bullion.

So pay.

Gentlemen, you can have
the million today...

Or 10 millions tomorrow.

Did you say 10 million?

As soon as my bank
opens in the morning.

Banks don't open on Sunday.

My bank will.

What's with that trick pool table?

Cover him.

Hey, cover those doors.

Turn those lights back on.

What are you trying
to pull, Goldfinger?

There's no cause for
alarm, gentlemen.

I don't like being
cooped up like this.

What's that map doing there?

This is my bank,

the gold depository at
Fort Knox, gentlemen.

In its vaults are $15 billion,

the entire gold supply
of the United States.

Knock off Fort Knox?

Got a key or something?

Of a kind.

There are 35,000 troops
stationed around there.

41,000.

And who's going to say
boo to them, Goldfinger?

- Hey, what's going on here?
- Hey, what is this?

The floor.

What is this, a merry-go-round?

Man has climbed Mount Everest,

gone to the bottom of the ocean.

He has fired rockets to the moon,

split the atom,

achieved miracles in every
field of human endeavour

except crime.

The underworld will rock
with applause for centuries.

- Cut the commercial.
- Yeah, get to the point.

You're wasting my
time, Goldfinger.

The depository is impregnable.

Look, the joint is bombproof,
electrified, lousy with...

Bear with me, please.

Fort Knox is a bank,
like any other.

Larger, better protected perhaps,

but, nonetheless, a bank.

It can be, I think the
expression is, blown.

My plan is foolproof, gentlemen.

I call it Operation Grand Slam.

I have devoted 15 years
of my life to it.

Every detail has been
scrupulously prepared.

Every eventuality has
been considered.

We'll operate on a
split-second schedule.

Your organisation, Mr Midnight,
brought the consignment

of these canisters across
the Canadian border.

They contain Delta 9.

- Delta 9?
- What's that?

An invisible nerve gas
which disperses 15 minutes

after inducing complete
unconsciousness for 24 hours.

Tomorrow at dawn,

the flying circus of my personal
pilot, Miss Pussy Galore,

will spray it into the atmosphere.

Once the population, including the
military, has been immobilised,

my task force,

which Mr Strap had his people

smuggle across the Rio
Grande from Mexico,

will approach Fort Knox
in motorised equipment

along Bullion Boulevard

which runs past the
depository here,

and intersects with
Gold Vault Road.

This fence surrounding
the depository,

as Mr Strap reminded
us, is electrified.

It will be dynamited.

My task force will
then move to the

main entrance and demolish it.

How, may I ask?

You made that possible, Mr Solo,

by arranging through
your considerable

influence in shipping circles

to bring through
customs uninspected

a consignment labelled
"machine parts."

All that will then remain is
to descend to the vaults,

where the bullion is stored.

- I've heard enough.
- Let him finish.

If you have no objection,
I'll take my money now.

What's the matter, Solo,

too big for you to handle?

Gentlemen, we must respect
Mr Solo's decision.

Please excuse me for a few minutes
while I take care of him.

Make yourselves comfortable.

- How do we get it out?
- That's the bit I want to hear.

Pussy.

Who taught you judo?

The gun you took.

Oh, the gun.

The gun, of course.

We must have a few fast
falls together sometime.

Hey, Strap, if he's got
the right answers,

you and me don't even
have to be there.

The boys can handle everything.

Hey, they closed up the fireplace.

What's going on?

- I don't like this.
- Hey, what the...

What's going on here?

The gas.

Such a pity you did not choose to
remain with the others, Mr Solo.

However...

Ah, Mr Bond, I thought you
were resting in your quarters.

Oh, they are delightful, but it's
much too nice to stay indoors.

I ran into Miss Galore, and she
suggested that we join you.

Mr Solo, Mr Bond,

another of my
distinguished guests.

- Hello.
- Leaving us so soon, Mr Solo?

Unfortunately, he has a
pressing engagement.

Yeah. I'd like to get
started, Goldfinger.

Boy.

Ah, when you gotta
go, you gotta go.

My plane will get you
to New York on time...

With your excess baggage.

Allow me.

My chauffeur's an
excellent driver.

You'll be at the airport
in a few minutes.

Goodbye, Mr Solo.

Some other time, perhaps.

Happy landings, old boy.

I found him under the model.

Operation Grand Slam. I
did enjoy your briefing.

So did I.

He's on the move.

Slow down. Don't crowd him.

Are you blind or something?
You missed the turn.

They've turned to the right
just ahead here somewhere.

Where's this old pal
of yours headed?

10 will get you 1, it's
a drink or a dame.

Dead.

Mechanical failure, maybe.

Unless he switched it off.

Why would he do that?

Drive to the farm.
It's all we can do.

Right.

Thank you.

Your share of Operation Grand Slam

will make you a very
rich woman, my dear.

Why else would I be
in it, Mr Goldfinger?

You'll retire to
England, I suppose?

No, I've spotted a little
island in the Bahamas.

I'll hang up a sign,
"No trespassing,"

and go back to nature.

Yes, Kisch?

Two men in a car with binoculars.

Touts looking for racing tips.

There's another
possibility, however.

Kisch, ask Mr Bond to join us.

We were quite right to spare
Mr Bond's life in Switzerland

if those gentlemen
are his friends.

Let's convince them he
needs no assistance.

For their benefit, Pussy,

let's make him as
happy as possible.

I suggest you change into
something more suitable.

Certainly.

Business before pleasure.

He wants you.

Ah, Mr Bond. Sit down, please.

Mint julep?

Traditional, but satisfying.

Yes, thanks.

Sour mash, but not
too sweet, please.

You disappoint me, Goldfinger.

You know Operation Grand
Slam simply won't work.

And incidentally, Delta
9 nerve gas is fatal.

You are unusually
well-informed, Mr Bond.

You'll kill 60,000
people uselessly.

American motorists kill
that many every two years.

Yes, well, I've worked out a
few statistics of my own.

$15 billion in gold bullion
weighs 10,500 tons.

60 men would take 12 days
to load it onto 200 trucks.

Now, at the most, you're
gonna have two hours

before the Army, Navy, Air
Force, Marines move in

and make you put it back.

Who mentioned anything
about removing it?

The julep tart enough for you?

You plan to break into the
world's largest bank,

but not to steal anything?

Why?

Go on, Mr Bond.

Mr Ling, the red Chinese
agent at the factory,

he's a specialist
in nuclear fission.

But of course.

His government's given you a bomb.

I prefer to call it
an atomic device.

It's small, but
particularly dirty.

Cobalt and iodine?

Precisely.

If you explode it
in Fort Knox, the,

entire gold supply of the United
States will be radioactive for...

57 years.

58, to be exact.

I apologise, Goldfinger.
It's an inspired deal.

They get what they want,
economic chaos in the West,

and the value of your gold
increases many times.

I conservatively
estimate 10 times.

Brilliant.

But the atomic device,
as you call it,

is already obviously
in this country.

Obviously.

But bringing it to
Fort Knox undetected

could be risky, very risky.

On the contrary, Mr Bond, the
risk is all on your side.

If the authorities should
attempt to locate it,

who knows where it
might be exploded?

Perhaps the Polaris submarine
pens at New London,

Cape Kennedy,

near the White House.

But we are speculating idly.

Operation Grand Slam
will be successful.

You will be there to
see for yourself.

Too closely for
comfort, I'm afraid.

Forgive me, Mr Bond, but I must
arrange to separate my gold

from the late Mr Solo.

As you said, he had a
pressing engagement.

Ah, very chic, Miss
Galore. Don't you agree?

Please entertain Mr
Bond for me, Pussy.

I'll join you both later.

Well, how about it, handsome?

Don't you think it's time we got
to know each other socially?

Well, the new Miss Galore.

Where do you hide your gold
knuckles in this outfit?

Oh, I never carry weapons
after business hours.

Yeah?

So you're off duty.

I'm completely defenceless.

So am I.

That's my James.

Beautiful place
Goldfinger has here.

Yes. I'm glad you're enjoying it.

Too bad it all has to
end tomorrow morning.

He's quite mad, you know.

Well, now, what do we have here?

007 seems to have the
situation well in hand.

Come on, I'm bushed. Let's
get back to the motel.

You're quite a girl, Pussy.

I'm strictly the outdoor type.

I'd like to think you're
not in all of this caper.

Skip it. I'm not
interested. Let's go.

What would it take for you
to see things my way?

A lot more than you've got.

How do you know?

I don't want to know.

Isn't it customary

to grant a condemned
man his last request?

You've asked for this.

Get up.

Certainly.

Ooh.

There.

Now, let's both play.

Pussy Galore to Champagne leader.

Commence Rock-a-bye Baby.

Good luck.

Speed, 220.

Wind check, westerly.

Champagne leader to
Champagne section.

Commence dive now.

Ready for Rock-a-bye Baby.

Commence spray on countdown.

Five,

four, three, two,

zero.

Champagne leader to Grand
Slam task force leader.

The baby is asleep.

I repeat, the baby is asleep.

We're going home now. Out.

Chafoo.

Good morning, Mr Bond.

For once, you're exactly
where I want you.

- The bomb's here.
- Let's get moving, Brigadier.

Right, Jack. Move in.

Move in, commando tactics.

Minimum offensive fire until I
signal bomb has been neutralised.

- Minimum offensive fire...
- Come on.

Until I signal bomb
has been neutralised.

Bomb disposal unit
to accompany dog.

Goodbye, Mr Bond.

Mr Ling, it is merely
a matter of timing...

Goldfinger.

Please, Mr Gold...

He's one of them. So's
the girl. I'll get her.

You get the door open.

We're trapped.

The bomb.

I'll take the fuse out.

Don't be a fool.

You can be a hero. I'm not.

No. No.

Come on, you boys.
Get going. Hurry up.

What kept you?

You okay, James? Where's
your butler friend?

Oh, he blew a fuse.

Three more ticks and Mr Goldfinger
would have hit the jackpot.

Did you get him?

Not yet, but he won't get far.

And Pussy?

She helped us switch the
gas in the canisters.

By the way, what made
her call Washington?

I must have appealed to
her maternal instincts.

Come on, James. Get aboard. You
can't keep the President waiting.

Special plane, lunch at the
White House. How come?

The President wants to
thank you personally.

Oh, it was nothing, really.

I know that, but he doesn't.

I suppose I'll be able
to get a drink here?

I told the stewardess
liquor for three.

Who are the other two?

Oh, there are no other two.

- Goodbye, Felix.
- So long, James. Good luck.

- Thank you, Brigadier.
- Good luck.

I'm glad to have you
aboard, Mr Bond.

Well, congratulations on
your promotion, Goldfinger.

Are you having lunch at
the White House, too?

In two hours, I shall be in Cuba.

And you have interfered with my
plans for the last time, Mr Bond.

It's very dangerous to
fire guns in planes.

I even had to warn Pussy about it.

By the way, where is she?

I will deal with her later.

At the moment, she is where she
ought to be. At the controls.

Pussy.

What happened? Where's Goldfinger?

Playing his golden harp.

It's no good.

Oh, no, you don't.

This is no time to be rescued.

♪ Goldfinger ♪

♪ He's the man ♪

♪ The man with the Midas touch ♪

♪ A spider's touch ♪

♪ Such a cold finger ♪

♪ Beckons you ♪

♪ To enter his web of sin ♪

♪ But don't go in ♪

♪ He loves only gold ♪

♪ Only gold ♪

♪ He loves gold ♪