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Apparently, man-bunned Cary Fukunaga, the director of the upcoming Bond flick, No Time To Die, has a license to kill potential box office before the movie even hits theaters. I’m not so sure producers Barbara Broccoli, Michael Wilson, and Daniel Craig share Fukunaga’s take on Connery’s portrayal of Bond. It’s obvious that John Nolte at Breitbart isn’t pleased:
“Is it Thunderball or Goldfinger where, like, basically Sean Connery’s character rapes a woman?” Fukunaga rhetorically asked the far-left Hollywood Reporter during an interview. “She’s like ‘No, no, no,’ and he’s like, ‘Yes, yes, yes.’ That wouldn’t fly today.”
Well, of course, it wouldn’t fly today, you g__d____ simpleton. But the only reason it wouldn’t fly today is because we now live in a world where everything is rape. Look at a woman wrong; it’s rape. Some woman later regrets her life choices; it’s rape. Micro-aggressions are rape. Everything is rape except when Joe Biden is credibly accused of rape.
Ep. 269 – The Quintessential 007, Part Two: 1987 – 2021 with Author Joseph Darlington, Head of Section at Being James Bond where Joe and Scott review every film from Dr. No through the upcoming No Time To Die. Part 2 focuses on Timothy Dalton, Pierce Brosnan, & Daniel Craig. Settle in with a shaken martini (or single malt) and enjoy this rollicking long-form discussion about the most iconic and longest-running franchise in film. Find part one 1962-1985 here.
Either Poles are too dumb to understand what’s ridiculous about a pornographic butter-churning contest, or they’re not. I’d bet they’re not, and they know a parody of eroticism when they see it. Too bad The Imaginative Conservative doesn’t. Apparently, there’s at least one writer out there lacking the imagination to recognize a parody when he […]
“The apostolic church is a church of the heart. When you steal from it you steal the heart. Hence the theft is easy, and amends are long and hard.” A strange way to sum up a story of erotic love. Nonetheless, it was Scruton’s way, as he described, in the second half of his essay, Stealing from Churches, the thwarted love affair that taught him a “narrative of transubstantiation” transmuting body into soul. In truth, the love affair wasn’t thwarted at all, but one that fulfilled its purpose, a purpose his stubborn young beloved, Basia (pronounced “Basha”), saw more clearly than he did.
Scruton had organized a subversive summer school for the Catholic University in Poland, bringing together Polish and English philosophy students to resist communism. Under the codename “Squirrel” (in Polish “Wiewiorka”, for his red hair) and tailed by at least one jug-eared agent, Scruton had stumbled into more James-Bond mystique than most ginger-haired philosophy dons could hope for. It would be almost cliche, then, for an exotic young thing to throw herself at him. Wry-smiling, stunning Basia was no cliche, though. Or rather, if she were, it would be the cliche in a kind of story too little told these days to count as cliche anymore.
Basia, at 26, the oldest, most academically-advanced of the bright young things attending Scruton’s summer lectures and their unofficial leader, was an uppity young woman with a checkered past. She wasted little time with Scruton: after his second day in Kazimierz, she waylaid him in the woods to announce she noticed no ring on his finger. Such a frank admission of desire seems likely to end in embarrassment all round whether the desire is reciprocated or not, and perhaps it would have if it weren’t accompanied by her equally frank admission that consummating desire was not her aim:
Official Announcement: “On May 12, the International Spy Museum now at L’Enfant Plaza is officially opening its doors to the public! With interactive exhibitions and installations, the foremost collection of spy artifacts in the world, and first-person accounts from top intelligence officers and experts, the new Museum places visitors in the shoes of the spies. […]
Today, I am joined by Theodore Gioia for a conversation on how classical music became the favored soundtrack for evil, villainous masterminds. What happened to classical music in Hollywood! How did we get from classical music ennobling movies and deepening characterization — to Hannibal Lecter murdering people to Bach’s Goldberg variations! We start from his fine essay over at The American Scholar. You can also find more of his essays over at his site!
Roger Moore was never one to take himself, or his acting, too seriously.
“I have three expressions,” he said, “left eye, right eye and none moving at all.” Of the six men who have officially taken on the persona of James Bond on film, his was the lightest of touches. His was the Bond of the double entendre, the raised eyebrow and, uh, keeping the British end up.
While never praised as widely as Sean Connery or Daniel Craig, his Bond was the most enduring, spanning seven films over a twelve year period. Before that he was a television star in ITV’s The Saint, which ran from 1962-69. The first two seasons ran in the US in syndication before being added to NBC’s prime time lineup.
I thought this one might be of interest to the Ricochetti. Some of you, especially James Bond fans, probably know the story, but, here, I examine one of the most infamous and protracted intellectual-property battles in entertainment history. The war over the rights to Bond—specifically, the story and script for Thunderball—took over half a century to […]
I have watched, with growing alarm, the Taylor Swift/Tom Hiddleston showmance. My concern is not for our American, PR savvy, southern songstress. The global attention is only pop gravy for her. My concern is for the man who would be Bond.
Mr. Hiddleston’s turn as “The Night Manager” was charming, sexy, compelling. But to these jaded eyes, unconvincing as a future Bond. Was he too lanky? Too needy? Did he pull one camera mug too many?
Loved him as Loki. His broad, Shakespearean theatrics. Mr. Hiddleston can’t help but run warm.
My husband was watching this early James Bond last night (Dr. No), and there was a scene in which a would-be killer has put a tarantula in Bond’s bed. Bond sweats and trembles as he watches the tarantula crawl over him (but tarantulas aren’t deadly). Once the creature moves on to his pillow, Bond jumps out of bed […]
I spent part of the weekend watching classic 007 films. As weekends go, it’s not the worst way to spend your time. Granted, neither is it the best, particularly if you’re trying to lose weight.
But as I dulled my brain and prepared to accept the absence of the laws of physics, the absurdity of a spy everyone seems to know who always uses his real name, the blatant sexism, the terrible female co-stars and the downright nasty nihilistic violence of the characters in the Bond universe, I had an epiphany. Perhaps that’s too strong. Well, a deep insight.
For you see, midway through the The Man with the Golden Gun, The Spy Who Loved Me, or maybe Moonraker (it was a long weekend) I noticed a common theme. It’s a recurring characteristic of the Bond films set during the Cold War era. A red theme.
Sean Connery, hands down. Indisputable . . . Preview Open
…that Goldfinger is the second best golf movie of all time. Preview Open
Interesting news today for the James Bond franchise: the 24th movie in the series (to be titled Spectre) was announced along with the casting of Italian actress Monica Bellucci. At 50 years of age, she will be the oldest Bond Girl to ever grace the silver screen. Preview Open