Someone should have told Sir Ridley Scott that it’s not about the money. Also that you cannot buy a masterpiece at those bottom line prices. An art dealer with nothing to lose put that to Getty in All The Money. If you want it, you need to pay for it, otherwise you will never have it. Even the old miser concurred.
This should have been a masterpiece. It has it in its genes. But it’s not. Because it was rushed. To make a particular deadline. If you are Ridley Scott you can speed up craft, and run away with it, and that’s a problem. But no one gets away with bullying the muse.
Christopher Plummer was great, maybe too much of an expected performance. Maybe Spacey would have been better. He was a bolder choice, albeit a doomed one.
Michelle Williams and Charlie Plummer who plays young Getty were the key thing about it, beautiful and cursed in that perfect Ridley Scott frame. And if it were up to these three elements, All The Money would have been something special, as the story touches the core of an issue that is difficult to summarise under the hackneyed sin of greed. Because it’s not about greed.
It’s about trust. Or lack of it. To truly love is to trust. No trust, no love.
No love, no masterpiece.