(ticking)
(music and loud conversation)
(screaming)
Congratulations. Romales and his friends will be out of business.
He won't be using heroin-flavored bananas to finance revolutions.
Don't go back to your hotel. They'll be watching you.
The plane to Miami leaves in an hour.
I'll be on it, but first I have some unfinished business to attend to.
Oh!
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? - It's nice, very nice.
- Just here? - A little lower.
I thought I'd find you in good hands.
Felix, how are you?
- Dink, meet Felix Leiter. - Hello.
- Felix, say hello to Dink. - Hi.
- Dink, say goodbye to Felix. - Hmm?
Uh, man talk.
You must be slipping, letting the opposition get so close.
They got a lot closer to you in Jamaica.
- What's on your mind? I'm on holiday. - Not any more. Signal from London.
I might have known M wouldn't book me into the best hotel out of gratitude.
We've been keeping an eye on him for you.
Auric Goldfinger. Sounds like a French nail varnish.
He's British, but he doesn't sound it. Worldwide interests, all reputable.
- Owns one of our finest stud farms. - What's the tie-up with Washington?
- He's clean as far as CIA's concerned. - Where do I find him?
That's his pigeon waiting for him now.
Goldfinger's been taking him to the cleaners all week.
Morning, Mr. Simmons. Ready for our little game?
Sure. When you're ten grand in the hole, you're ready for anything.
- Could I have my usual seat? - You and your suntan.
Goldfinger's a fabulous card player.
- Same stakes? - Let's double it to five dollars a point.
- Did you say five? - My luck's gotta change sometime.
- I'll cable M you're on the job. - Fill me in on the rest at dinner.
Fine, I'll call you later.
- Four. - So soon?
- How many? - 7, 12, 18, 32...
44.
Miss.
What are 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: eight, nine, ten.
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.
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.
(distortion)
Now hear this, Goldfinger. Your luck has just changed.
I doubt 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?
Let's be generous. Let's make it 15,000.
May I see?
I can see this is really my day.
Gin.
Over and out.
That should keep him occupied for some time.
- I'm beginning to like you, Mr. Bond. - Call me James.
More than anyone I've met in a long time, James.
What are we going to do about it?
- Yes. What? - I'll tell you at dinner.
Where?
I know the best place in town.
Station WEDS brings you the latest in world news. Washington.
At the White House the President said he was entirely satisfied...
That makes two of us.
(phone rings)
- Hello. - Leiter here.
Hello, Felix.
What's that? Dinner?
Look, I'm sorry. I can't. Something big's come up.
- How about breakfast? - Not too early.
- I'll call you around nine. - Nine o'clock will be fine.
Good night, Felix.
It's lost its chill.
- Why, you. - There's another in the fridge.
- Who needs it? - Some things just aren't done.
Such as drinking Dom Pérignon '53 above a temperature of 38° Fahrenheit.
That's as bad as listening to the Beatles without earmuffs.
Where is this passion juice?
Jill?
- (receptionist) Yes, Mr. Bond? - Beach 79432. 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 can happen to cabaret dancers.
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.
If you can't treat it as such, coldly and objectively, 008 can replace you.
You hardly distinguished yourself.
You were supposed to observe Goldfinger, not borrow his girlfriend.
Now he goes to Europe and it's only thanks to Leiter
and my diplomatic intervention that you're not in the custody of the police.
Sir, I am 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 seven. Black tie.
What do you know about gold, Moneypenny?
I only know the kind you wear. On the third finger of your left hand.
One of these days we really must look into that.
What about tonight? You come around for dinner...
and I'll cook you a beautiful angel cake.
Nothing would give me greater pleasure but 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? - (M) 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 are the official depository for gold bullion.
Just as Fort Knox, Kentucky, is for the US.
We know what we each hold, what is deposited in other banks,
and what is being held for industrial purposes.
This enables us to establish the true value of the dollar and the pound.
Consequently, we are concerned with unauthorized leakages.
- I take it you mean smuggling. - Yes.
Gold, gentlemen, which can be melted down and recast, is virtually untraceable,
which makes it ideal for smuggling, attracting the most ingenious criminals.
Thank you, Brunskill. That'll be all.
Have a little more of this rather disappointing brandy.
- What's the matter with it? - A 30-year-old Fine, indifferently blended.
With an overdose of Bons Bois.
Colonel Smithers is giving the lecture, 007.
Mr. Goldfinger has gold bullion on deposit
in Zurich, Amsterdam, Caracas and Hong Kong - worth £20 million.
- Most of it from this country. - Why move it?
The price of gold varies from country to country.
If you buy it here at $30 an ounce, you can sell it in Pakistan and triple your money.
- Providing you have the melting facilities. - And has he?
Apart from being a legitimate bullion dealer, Mr. Goldfinger poses...
er, no, that's not quite fair...
is, among his many other interests, a legitimate international jeweler.
He's legally entitled to operate modest metallurgical installations.
His British one is down in Kent.
As yet we've failed to discover how he transfers his gold overseas.
And, Lord knows, we've tried.
If you can establish that it's done illegally, then the bank can take action against him.
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 in Lake Toplitz.
But there are undoubtedly others.
Mr. Bond can make whatever use of it he thinks fit, providing he returns it.
It's worth £5000.
You'll draw it from Q branch with the rest of your equipment in the morning.
Of course, sir.
- Morning, Q. - Morning, 007. This way, please.
My, we are busy this morning.
It's not perfected yet.
- Where's my Bentley? - 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. Valid all countries.
Here's a nice little transmitting device, called a homer.
You prime it by pressing that back like this, do you see?
The smaller model is standard field issue, to be fitted into the heel of your shoe.
Its larger brother is magnetic.
It'll be concealed in the car you're trailing while you keep out of sight.
Reception on the dashboard here.
Audiovisual, range 150 miles.
Ingenious, and useful too.
Allow a man to stop off for a quick one en route.
It has not been perfected out of years of research entirely for that purpose, 007.
Incidentally, we'd appreciate its return, along with all your other equipment.
Intact, for once, when you return from the field.
You'd be surprised at the wear and tear that goes on in the field. Anything else?
I won't keep you for more than an hour if you give me your undivided attention.
We've installed some rather interesting modifications.
You see this arm here?
Open the top, and inside are your defense mechanism controls.
Smoke screen, oil slick, rear bulletproof screen,
and left and right front-wing machine guns.
This one I'm particularly keen about. You see the gear lever?
If you take the top off, you'll find a little red button.
- Whatever you do, don't touch it. - Why not?
You'll release this section of the roof and 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. I'll get Hawker to caddy for you.
That'll be splendid.
- Shall we make it a shilling a hole? - Mm-hm.
Oh, you must excuse Oddjob, Mr. Bond.
He's an admirable manservant but mute. And not a very good caddy.
Golf is not yet the national game of Korea.
This meeting is not a coincidence, eh?
What's your game, Mr. Bond?
- My game? - You didn't come here to play golf.
A 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. - Do you have 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? - Your bar of gold, naturally.
- It's worth £5000. - I'll stake the cash equivalent.
Naturally.
Strict rules of golf?
But of course.
Oh, bad luck. You're in the rough.
What a pity. Here it is.
No, it's not. He plays a Slazenger 1.
Strict rules of golf. Five minutes are almost up.
A lost ball will cost you stroke and distance.
Aha!
I'm still training him as a caddy.
Successfully, too.
Slazenger No. 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.
- 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 'em, sir? - Uh-huh.
- Then we've got him. - If he doesn't notice the switch.
- It's your honor, sir. - It's all right.
- Down in five. - I have to sink this to halve the game.
- You win, Goldfinger. - It seems I'm too good for you.
Hmm.
- You play a Slazenger 1, don't you? - Yes, why?
This is a Slazenger 7. Here's my Penfold Hearts.
You must have played the wrong ball somewhere on the 18th.
We are playing strict rules, so I'm afraid you lose the hole and the match.
(beeps)
She's a beauty. Phantom III, '37, isn't she?
- You are a clever and resourceful man. - Well, 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.
(beeping)
(PA) Your attention, please.
British United Air Ferries announce the final call
for the departure of their VF400 flight to Geneva.
British United Air Ferries announce the departure of their VF400 flight to Geneva.
Mr. Bond? I've got you booked on the next flight to Geneva, leaving in half an hour.
- Thank you very much. - Right, sir.
(beeping)
(car horn)
(accelerates)
(beeping)
Discipline, 007.
Discipline.
(car horn)
(horn blaring)
Are you all right? Here, let me help you.
- You're lucky to be alive. - No thanks to you.
You should've pulled over further.
- Look at them. - A double blowout.
I've never seen one of these before.
- How could new tires...? - A defect of some kind, most likely.
I'm so glad it's only the car. You don't look like a girl who should be ditched.
Never mind that. Please take me to a garage.
Certainly.
By the way, my name is Bond...
Erm, 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.
Fräulein.
(beeping)
(Tilly) How long will it take? Thank you.
They say it'll take 24 hours to get new tires. There's a hotel nearby.
- Jump in. I'll run you down. - That won't be necessary.
- 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.
(low chatter)
Smuggling is an art, Mr. Ling, and art requires...
(hissing)
In this case, the bodywork of my Rolls-Royce is 18-carat gold.
We dismantle it here.
We reduce the gold in this furnace,
turning it into this bullion, weighing approximately two tons.
I make six trips a year to the continent in the Rolls-Royce, Mr. Ling.
You would be wiser to suspend your other activities.
Please assure your principals Operation Grand Slam has my undivided attention.
(footsteps)
(alarm)
Let me go. You're breaking my back.
- What the hell are you doing here? - I want to kill him.
- Kill who? - Goldfinger.
- I want him alive. - I want him dead. He killed my sister.
TM. Tilly Masterson.
I know your sister Jill. I know what he did to her.
- You don't. Let me go. - Then why did you shoot at me?
- I didn't. I was shooting at him. - Well, you're a lousy shot.
- (gunshot) - But somebody else around here isn't.
- Come on. - (gunshot)
(shouts)
Quick. Get in the car. I'll take care of him.
(gunshots)
(shouting)
(gunshots)
Run for that bracken when I tell you.
Now.
Ah. Ah.
(car horn)
Agh!
(gunshots)
(Goldfinger) Good evening, 007.
My name is James Bond.
And members of your curious profession are few in number.
You have been recognized.
Let's say by one of your opposite numbers, who is also licensed 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 color, brilliance and divine heaviness.
I welcome any enterprise that will increase my stock,
which is considerable.
I think you've made your point. Thank you for the demonstration.
Choose your next witticism carefully. 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.
- He knows what I know. - You know nothing, Mr. Bond.
Operation Grand Slam, for instance.
Two words you may have overheard
which cannot have any significance to you or anyone in your organization.
Can you afford to take that chance?
You are quite right, Mr. Bond. You are worth more to me alive.
(thud)
(humming)
Who are you?
My name is Pussy Galore.
I must be dreaming.
- I thought I'd wake up dead. - Tranquillizer gun. Knockout shot.
I see.
Well, I'm delighted to be here.
And, by the way, where is here?
35,000 feet flying southwest over Newfoundland.
That explains the humming.
You're in Mr. Goldfinger's Lockheed JetStar, heading for Baltimore.
- And you're his guest. - I'm honored.
I never realized 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 damn good pilot. Period.
That's good news. By the way, where is our host?
He flew on ahead.
Thank you.
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 in the United States, in 55 minutes.
Mei-Lei.
I would like to arrive more appropriately dressed.
Did any of my luggage survive with me?
Ah.
And my attaché case?
Black attaché case damaged when examined. So sorry.
Apologies quite unnecessary.
(beep)
Sydney, tell Mei-Lei to keep an eye on him.
(beeps)
We'll be landing in 20 minutes. Do you want to play it easy or the hard way?
- And this isn't a tranquillizer. - Pussy...
You know a lot more about planes than guns.
That's a Smith & Wesson .45.
The bullet will pass through me and the fuselage like a blowtorch through butter.
The cabin will depressurize and we'll both be sucked into outer space.
If that's how you want to arrive, you're welcome.