A Good Year

(rousing orchestral fanfare playing)

MAN (calls): Max!

Uh-huh?

Ready to concede?

No!

I thought as it's your last night here,

it only appropriate that we open something extra special.

Bandol.

Excellent choice.

Tempier Bandol, 1969.

The kind of wine that'll pickle even the toughest of men.

I once saw a Castilian prizefighter

collapse in a heap

after drinking just a single glass.

Perhaps my knee landing squarely in his testicles...

...may have been partly to blame.

What was I talking about before?

You said the importance of a good blue suit

can never be overstated.

Quite right.

A blue suit is the most versatile of accoutrements.

More important than the suit itself

is the man who fits it for you.

Once you find a good tailor,

you must never give his name away,

not even under the threat

of bodily harm.

Now, where were we?

- Whose turn is it? - Mine.

Uh-huh.

Uh-huh.

Max, have I told you why I enjoy

- making wine so much? - You don't

make the wine, Uncle Henry, that guy Duflot does.

In France, it's always the landowner

who makes the wine.

Even though he does nothing more than supervise

with binoculars from the comfort of his study.

No, I enjoy making wine because this sublime nectar

is quite simply incapable of lying.

Picked too early, picked too late, it matters not.

The wine will always whisper into your mouth

with complete, unabashed honesty,

every time you take a sip.

Mmm,

delightful.

Now, Maximillian,

now you know why I love wine so much,

have you anything you want to tell me?

Yes, I do.

Yes, what is it?

Checkmate.

You little shit.

##

- Good morning, lab rats. Good morning, Max.

Today we're shifting gear.

Today... is Greedy Bastard Day.

The secret to riches, lab rats,

is the same as the secret to comedy...

timing.

- (indistinct chatter) 115.10, Max.

So I thought we should move now.

- Not yet, Alf. - Boss,

why do you keep calling me Alf?

Because you're an aggressive little flunky, Kenny.

And as your boss

and genetic superior,

I can call you whatever I want.

Max Skinner's phone.

It's Kimberly. Is Max there?

Yeah. One moment, please.

It's Kimberly.

- Sorry, Kimberly, Max isn't here. Where is he?

He and his fiancée

are at their wedding rehearsal today.

- Their what? - Do you want me to leave him a message?

No, I don't want to leave him a message!

Okay.

115.90...

116...

116.10.

All right, lab rats, just remember

we're not here for the dental plan.

50 big! People are buying! Max?

Sell.

That's yours!

I said that's yours!

That miserable sod Skinner's dumping bonds

- onto the market. - But he can't do that.

There's a gentleman's agreement on the exchange.

A gentleman's agreement presupposes

- there's a gentleman involved. - Amis,

he put out $5 billion in sell orders— prices are

- crashing through the floor! - Come on,

people, get off your asses!

Come on, step to it! Start selling!

- (frantic shouting) - Sell!

They should bury you face down, Max,

because that's the way you're going.

Free big figures to 113.50!

Sell! Sell!

Still going down.

Buy.

Fuckin' buy it all back!

Buy it all back immediately!

Buy it all back! It's yours to buy back!

Don't worry about it! Buy it all back!

You're a genius, Max!

Filthy bugger, he's forced down prices.

He's gonna buy everything back on the cheap!

Start buying!

Buying now! Start buying!

- I can! - I can!

Well done today, lab rats.

Wonderful work.

We all made a spectacular amount of money.

Today we proved the adage that

winning isn't everything...

It's the only thing!

And there were strange goings-on

on the bond market today.

Prices crashed to 112.5, after Lorden Brothers

unloaded $3 billion in sell orders.

Then in an extraordinary move, the company bought the bonds back

at a substantially reduced price,

making over $77 million

- in the process. - (whistles): Blimey.

Cries of foul play were loud

and widespread, with talks of an inquiry to follow.

Morning, Mr. Skinner.

- Morning, Bert. - And congratulations.

- Thank you. - You might've tipped me off,

Mr. Skinner.

I'll give you a tip, Bert:

Never pat a burning dog.

: Wanker.

##

##

##

Oh, Henry, bloody hell.

Ready for the fan mall?

Shoot, sunshine.

- "Bastard." - Uh-huh.

"Bastard."

Uh-huh.

- "Burn in hell." - Right.

"Rot in hell."

Oh. Lovely.

"Die."

Charming.

Maxie?

"Congratulations, you're my hero."

Who said that?

Your lawyer.

- Oh. - Maxie, listen,

I just got off the phone with, uh, Auzet.

That's the notaire handling your Uncle Henry's estate.

She the one that sent me the letter?

Yeah.

Anyway, listen, uh, it seems that

your Uncle Henry

hasn't updated his will

in over 20 years.

Which is why, in typical frog fashion,

they take over a month

to notify us.

All right, so what do we do with that?

Is there a reading of the will,

or do we just download

that sort of thing these days? What happens?

No, that's the point, Max.

Sorry?

There is no legal will.

Really?

You're his closest blood relative,

- so you get everything. - What, his clothes

and his Edmundo Ross LPs?

The house, you git.

You get to keep his house.

What, the old farmhouse