Because in the end, all the money in the world couldn't buy J. Paul Getty a single tear for the boy whose ear he valued less than a barrel of crude oil.
But Getty cannot compute that. His brain has been rewired by greed. He cannot perform the function of "getting" without a spreadsheet. We often mistake wealth for power. But All the Money in the World suggests that extreme wealth is actually a cage of paranoia. Getty is the richest man in the world, yet he lives in a state of perpetual siege. He cannot leave his estate for fear of kidnappers (the irony is staggering). He trusts no one. He loves no one. He dies surrounded by art, but entirely alone. All the Money in the World
The answer, according to the richest private citizen in history, is exactly nothing. To understand the pathology, you have to look at the patriarch. J. Paul Getty Sr. was worth, at the time, an estimated $4 billion (roughly $25 billion today adjusted). He owned vast swaths of the Middle East’s oil. He lived in a 16th-century Tudor mansion in England (Wormsley Estate) filled with priceless antiques, including the bust of Hadrian he famously purchased to stave off loneliness. He had a payphone installed in his mansion for guests because, as the lore goes, he was afraid his servants would steal his coins. Because in the end, all the money in
Ridley Scott’s 2017 film, All the Money in the World , based on the harrowing true story of the 1973 kidnapping of 16-year-old John Paul Getty III, is not merely a thriller about a ransom gone wrong. It is a philosophical horror show. It is a scalpel dissecting the diseased logic of extreme capitalism. It asks a question so simple it seems naive, yet so profound it haunts you long after the credits roll: What is the actual value of a human life when you have all the money in the world? His brain has been rewired by greed
And that is the poorest man who ever lived.