The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)
F. Murray Abraham: Mr. Moustafa
Mr. Moustafa : There are still faint glimmers of civilization left in this barbaric slaughterhouse that was once known as humanity... He was one of them. What more is there to say?
Young Writer : Is it simply your last connection to that banished world - his world, if you will?
Mr. Moustafa : His world? No, I don't think so. You see, we shared a vocation, it wouldn't have been necessary. No, the hotel I keep for Agatha. We were happy here, for a little while. To be frank, I think his world had vanished long before he ever entered it. But I will say, he certainly sustained the illusion with a marvelous grace.
Mr. Moustafa : When the destiny of a great fortune is at stake, men's greed spreads like a poison in the bloodstream. Uncles, nephews, cousins, in-laws of increasingly tenuous connection. The old woman's distant relations had come foraging out of the woodwork.
Mr. Moustafa : [Recounting his memories of M. Gustave at the Budapest Hotel] I began to realize that many of the hotel's most valued and distinguished guests came for him. It seemed to be an essential part of his duties... But I believe it was also his pleasure. The requirements were always the same. They had to be rich, old, insecure, vain, superficial, blonde, needy.
Young Writer : Why blonde?
Mr. Moustafa : Because they all were.
Mr. Moustafa : [Recounting his memories of M. Gustave at the Budapest Hotel] He was, by the way, the most liberally perfumed man I had ever encountered. The scent announced his approach from a great distance and lingered for many minutes after he was gone.
Young Writer : At this point in the story, the old man fell silent and pushed away his saddle of lamb. His eyes went blank as two stones. I could see he was in distress. "Are you ill, Mr. Mustafa?" I finally asked.
Mr. Moustafa : Oh dear me, no.
Young Writer : He said.
Mr. Moustafa : It's only that I don't know how to proceed.
Young Writer : He was crying!
Mr. Moustafa : You see, I never speak of Agatha, because even at the thought of her name I'm unable to control my emotions.
[wipes the tears]
Mr. Moustafa : Well, I suppose there's no way around it. You see, she saved us.