Worst, it feels artificial. It’s not a long scene but it does considerable damage.Other People’s Money, the motion picture adaptation of Jerry Sterner’s 1989 play, opens with a deliciously cynical monologue by Danny DeVito that captures public perceptions from the era: “I love money.Whereas, in fact:It was furnished with an old desk, a small wardrobe with grated door, a few shelves upon which were piled some bandboxes and bundles of old newspapers, and two or three deal chairs.“I know well enough the gentleman’s business,” remarked the servant; “but what sort of a man is he?That’s what my cousin would like to know.”“Where is my bouquet, father?” she asked.It felt tacked on, manufactured, concocted out of a Hollywood studio’s knee-jerk need to provide a smileyface ending that was not in the spirit of the film.What differentiates Other People’s Money is that, when you listen to the argument presented by the selfish, greedy bastard, it’s harder to refute than the one presented by the upright, righteous man.All the guests enumerated by the shop-keeper, and a few others besides, were in the parlor when M. Favoral came in.Under a futile pretext, the little servant was dismissed.He tightened the strings of his purse.The commissary shook his head.In the neighborhood they call him Old Punctuality; and, when he passes through the Rue Turenne, the merchants set their watches by him.His own life is ruled and regulated like the pages of his ledger.
“It isn’t always pleasant,” remarked the wine-man; “and the best evidence is, that the son, M. Maxence, got tired of it.”Suppers, cards, amusements, absorbed his time, to the utter detriment of his business.Jewison wanted us to be torn about Lawrence – to despise his ethics even though we might like to hang out with him.“Hem!” grumbled the servant with a look of contempt, “the question is, will my cousin be willing to live with a man who is a sort of walking clock?”He is tall and thin, with neatly-trimmed whiskers, thin lips, and small yellow eyes; not talkative.With the same methodical step, he reached his house, walked up the two pairs of stairs, and, taking out his pass-key, opened the door of his apartment.He required but a single glance of his small but clear eyes to decipher the physiognomies of all these worthy people standing around the disordered table.The eight thousand francs seemed in imminent danger.“There are certain passions,” he interrupted, “which nothing betrays externally.Gambling is more terrible than fire.After a fire, some charred remnants are found.What is there left after a lost game?
Fortunes may be thrown into the vortex of the bourse, without a trace of them being left.”“I am expecting him, my dear,” said Mme. Favoral gently.They are not quite so rare in Paris, where one is, so to speak, lost in the crowd, and where the restraining power of the neighbor’s opinion is lacking.And it was further explained, that M. Favoral was chief cashier, and probably, also, one of the principal stockholders, of the Mutual Credit Society, one of those admirable financial institutions which have sprung up with the second empire, and which had won at the bourse the first installment of their capital, the very day that the game of the Coup d’Etat was being played in the street.The room which M. Favoral called loftily his study was a small room with a tile floor, white-washed walls, and meanly lighted through a narrow transom.“Always behind time,” he scolded.“It is too trifling.”I didn’t like the very last scene of “Other People’s Money.”He confessed to have received a most imperfect education, and declared himself quite ignorant of life.“And is the amount large?”Happy, she might have been beautiful still,—of that autumnal beauty whose maturity has the splendors of the luscious fruits of the later season.
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