Mortdecai Quotes

Mortdecai: Have you heard the expression, "open your balls"?

Jock: No, sir.

Mortdecai: It made me feel dirty.

Mortdecai: [to Dmitri] Your mother and father only knew each other for a day, and money changed hands.

[Dmitri punches him]

Mortdecai: Probably less than a 20. And they say she was dressed as a man at the time.

Mortdecai: Kissing a man without a mustache is like eating an egg without salt.

Johanna: Uhh, don't point that thing at me.

Jock: Told ya!

Martland: The fact that you're as drunk as a fiddler's bitch in no way obviates the fact that you very nearly caused an international incident. A man your age has no excuse for looking or behaving like a fugitive from a home for alcoholic music hall artistes.

Mortdecai: I will have you know that I am not an alcoholic. I am a drunk, and there is a vast difference.

[first lines]

Mortdecai: As you may well know, I am many things. An arts dealer, an accomplished fencer, fair shot with most weapons. I am loved and respected by all who know me - slightly. But I have always felt as if there's something missing, you see. Some final piece of my personal puzzle. I needed something bold, distinctive.

[his cocktail arrives]

Mortdecai: Ah, thank you. The work of art with which I could declare to the heavens, I am Lord Charlie Mortdecai. And this is a little bit of magic is my mustache...

Mortdecai: [upon viewing a murder victim] Ugh. I think this women has need of a chiropractor.

Martland: Bronwen Fellworthy, Oxford art restorer. Did you know here?

Mortdecai: Slightly. I do recall a vague memory of her having once, involuntarily, one would hope, releasing a fart of such frightening power and timbre that I feared she had done herself a horrible mischief.

Mortdecai: [calling through the door] Johanna. Are you all right in there, darling? It is I, Charlie... Your husband.

Johanna: What is it?

Mortdecai: Oh, moon of my delight. This is your own personalized Sheik of Araby who seeks admission into your tent. I have come to carry you off to the burning desert, and work my greasy will upon you under the tropical stars. Send your camel to bed, damn it!

Johanna: [sighs] My Sheik, does this mean you have excommunicated that mustache of the Prophet?

Mortdecai: ...I'll trim it... Darling. I am embarking on a very dangerous escapade, from which I may not well return. And it is customary in these situations for, you know, a proper send-off. Quick session of congress. Sink the Bismarck, if you will. And by the way, did I mention it is a matter of national security.

Johanna: Mmm.

[Mortdecai forces his way in]

Mortdecai: I should probably mention, this is not the first time I shot Jock.

[shifts to skeet shooting scene]

Mortdecai: What should I do now?

Jock: Run, sir.

Mortdecai: Again?

Jock: Yes!

Mortdecai: Quite a conundrum, this. I shall need a moment to think this through, I'm afraid.

Johanna: Yes, do. Do think. Just bear in mind, I'm standing on a loo, holding a dead man's Goya.

Martland: Can you think of a good reason why I shouldn't arrest you right now?

Mortdecai: I eschew discomfort?

Mortdecai: Oh, my darling, I tried desperately to be unfaithful to you, I really did. But I just couldn't do it.

Johanna: It's a terrible moment when you find yourself falling in love with your own spouse, isn't it?

Mortdecai: Now that is the look that softens every bone in my body, except one.

Mortdecai: [arrives at hotel] Jock. Dear, sweet, sperm-heavy Jock. Behold this America, this new colossus, this fair land of the free!

[sees bikini-clad girls in the lobby]

Mortdecai: What kind of hell-place is this? I feel as though we've made a wrong turn and arrived on the set of a pornographic film.

[asks hotel clerk]

Mortdecai: Have we taken a wrong turn and arrived on the set of a pornographic film?

Hotel Clerk: Checking in?

Mortdecai: I am Mortdecai, Lord of Silverdale. I should like to request a bucket of ice, "Do Not Disturb" sign, and a bulldozer.

Hotel Clerk: Checking in?

Jock: Yeah, we're checking in.

Mortdecai: I suspect I may need to redecorate.

Hotel Clerk: Room 326, overlooks the pool.

[hands over a room card]

Mortdecai: So all I must do is show up, and I'm presented with a credit card. No wonder your country's in financial ruin.

Hotel Clerk: Do you need help with your bags?

Mortdecai: No, I do not need help with my bags. I have a fucking manservant. Strange country.