Life imitates art. As crime.
In 2001, David Mamet makes a film called Heist, in which a gang of thieves steal a consignment of Swiss gold at an airport.
In 2013, thieves heist a consignment of diamonds, at the airport in Brussels.
Thieves watch films. For gold, read diamonds; money; power.
Everybody needs money. That's why they call it money.
Makes the world go round.
What's that?
Gold.
Some people say love.
Well, they're right, too. It is love. Love of gold.
Thieves collude and make clever plans. At summits in Swiss mountain resorts.
So, is he going to be cool?
My motherfucker is so cool, when he goes to bed, sheep count him.
Hey, I'm as quiet as an ant pissing on cotton.
I don't want you as quiet as an ant pissing on cotton. I want you as quiet as an ant not even thinking about pissing on cotton.
Thieves are powerful and adamant. They use violence, directly, sincerely and, at all times, indirectly.
Why doesn't he shoot me?
That's the deal.
He ain't gonna shoot me?
No.
Then he hadn't ought to point a gun at me. It's insincere.
I hate to do anything as dramatic as count to three but one, two, three.
Don't you want to hear my last words?
I just did.
Thieves count on the violence. And on duplicity, itself a form of violence.
The way you're looking at the deal, the deal was we get away with the gold. Cute, huh?
No, that's charming. And then what?
We slip away.
We go looking for the gold. We say to the thieves: no more slipping away.
Where's the gold?
You know, I'm reluctant to tell you.
When we put it to you, you know when we put it to you, you're gonna be telling us the gross national product of Bolivia. You're gonna be telling us the area codes of Belgium and Luxembourg.
We plan things differently. No more slipping away. No more violence, direct or indirect.
What, do you want to tell me what made you a criminal?
What made you a criminal?
Nothing made me a criminal. I am a criminal.
It could get tricky. It could swing all the way from Swiss mountain resorts to Belgian airports, Greek cities, Chinese uber-factories, Brazilian rainforests. There could be no end to it.
You're a pretty smart fella.
Ah, not that smart.
[ If] you're not that smart, how'd you figure it out?
I tried to imagine a fella smarter than myself. Then I tried to think, "what would he do?"
It requires imagination. And resolve. Because the thieves have power, control, brains, tradition, religion and the appeal to democracy in their armoury of weapons of duplicity.
She could talk her way out of a sunburn.
And they are not afraid to bring all their weapons to bear to preserve the status quo, even though it does none of us any good.
Sometimes adrenaline gives people the shakes, some might think it's cowardice, so maybe you'd want to pray about it.
I'm not a religious man.
There's nothing wrong with prayer. We knew this firefighter, this trooper, who always carried a bible next to his heart. We used to mock him, but that bible stopped a bullet.
No shit.
Hand of God, that bible stopped a bullet, would of ruined that fucker's heart. And had he had another bible in front of his face, that man would be alive today.
Thieves have the getaways all worked out.
You plan a good enough getaway, you could steal Ebbets Field.
Ebbets Field's gone.
What did I tell you?
We shine a light on it all. The diamond and gold markets; the trading that occurs across continents in commodities stolen from the earth and the people who live on it; the ones who dig and sweat in deep caverns and dim factories.
Stay in the shadows.
Hey, everybody's gonna be looking in the shadows.
So where's the place to be?
The place to be is in the sun.
This is not a time for calm. It is a time for agitation. Together with imagination.
Don't smoke a cigarette.
Makes me look calm.
What kind of person tries to look calm?
Ask the questions.
Where's the gold?
In the heart of the pure.
It is time. Now.
Nice day for the race.
What race is that?
The human race. Kids growing up, so on. Hope for the future.
Where are the thieves? Who owns the diamonds? Who paid pittances to have them dug out of the earth? Who benefits?
Who are the thieves?
www.facebook.com/DaveDugganWriter
No comments:
Post a Comment