Around the time of the release of OHMSS I remember reading an article where George claimed that he had slept with 5 girls from the cast during the production of the film (very plausible) over time this was exaggerated and it became 5 in one day (very implausible but it makes a good story) something that George has perpetuated in his entertaining reminiscences of the production of OHMSS. It is hardly unknown the sort of things that George says during interviews and it was up to the producer of the event to make him aware of the audience, don’t blame George as if he had been made aware he would have toned down what he said. But the woke brigade need their victims, so not surprising he has been “cancelled” by them, but never by me, George rocks!!!
Yeah, well, sometimes nothin' can be a real cool hand.
1941. Naval Intelligence. Ian Fleming enters and throws his cap onto a convenient hatstand.
Miss Pettaval: There you are, Ian. I’ve been looking all over London for you.
Fleming: You only have to ask, Petty.
(He sits on the arm of her chair and holds her hand, humming a romantic tune.)
Miss Pettaval: Enough of that! The Admiral wants to see you, now.
Fleming: Oh of course, but perhaps later you and I could enjoy a quiet dinner together…?
Miss Pettaval: I know too much about you for that. Now, go in.
Fleming: Yes, ma’am.
(Fleming opens the Admiral’s door and goes in.)
Admiral Godfrey: Come in, Fleming, sit down.
Fleming: Thank you, sir. (Sits.)
Admiral Godfrey: Now, what do you know about Lisbon?
Fleming: Lisbon? Portugal has been trying very hard to maintain its neutrality in this war, and has welcomed both Germans and British within its borders.
Admiral: Quite right. What if I were to tell you that a party of Gestapo agents, under cover as diplomats, have been playing regularly in one of their casinos and raising large sums of negotiable currency for their activities?
Fleming: I would say that we should put a stop to that- and quickly, too. What are they playing?
Admiral: Chemin de fer. I want you to see if the Germans are cheating and if so out them to the casino.
Fleming: And if they aren't cheating? I suppose I can play them and bankrupt them. The service will stake me, of course.
Godfrey: Don't be daft, Fleming. If they win large you can take a SOE team to steal the money. Make it look like a robbery. Play them for the money? (Godfrey roars with laughter.) You're a terrible card player, Fleming.
Doctor: Well, it’s time for your annual check-up…. Again. (Drawing a thick casefile towards him.) Ah yes, Mr Bond. You have been with the Secret Service for a long time. (He examines some dates, does a double take, puts on his glasses and reads again.) A very long time.
Bond: That’s true.
Doctor: (He reads some of the file.) In fact, some of these previous doctors have retired.
Bond: Indeed?
Doctor: (Shaking his head to clear it.) Anyway, you have had a long list of injuries. Please take off everything except your pants and stand over there.
Bond: Certainly.
(He does so. The doctor examines him.)
Doctor: Now… it would seem that the ligature mark around your neck has fully healed.
Bond: Ah, that’s good.
Doctor: Not surprising, really, since it happened in 1963. How old would you have been then, Mr Bond?
Bond: Oh, maybe early 30s.
Doctor: (Reading.) And various cuts and bruises from falling or being pushed onto gold bricks the next year… Ah, a bullet wound in your right leg in 1965. Let me just see… ah, that appears to have completely healed up remarkably quickly.
Bond: Glad to hear it.
Doctor: Now, some knife cuts to your forearm in 1973… Long healed up. How old would you have been then, Mr Bond?
Bond: Oh, mid-30s I think.
Doctor: Right… Now, marks from large steel teeth in 1977.
Bond: Yes, that would be right.
Doctor: And again in 1979. Let’s just have a look… Almost gone.
Bond: Excellent.
Doctor: (Skipping a few pages.) Pulled muscles in 1985?
Bond: Ah yes, that would be from holding a rope beneath an airship.
Doctor: (Raising an eyebrow.) I see. Well, those appear to have cleared up remarkably quickly. Now… burns, cuts and bruises in 1989?
Bond: I, er, fell from a petrol tanker.
Doctor: The burns?
Bond: It was on fire at the time.
Doctor: Right… well, those too appear to have cleared up remarkably quickly. Now… a shoulder injury in 1999- dislocated collarbone, snapped tendons. That must have put you out of duty for a while… Oh, I see that it didn’t. A Dr Warmflash passed you as fit for duty. Noted you have exceptional stamina.
Bond: I’m sure she was touched by my dedication to the job in hand.
Doctor: And how old were you then, Mr Bond?
Bond: Oh, mid-30s I think.
Doctor: Right…. Now, it seems you were severely injured in 2006. “Battered and bruised testicles”, I’m reading.
Bond: Yes, but I recovered-
Doctor: (Reading.)- “remarkably quickly”, yes. I’m beginning to see a pattern here. Now, let’s see…. (Skips a few pages.) It would seem that in 2021 you were shot several times, infected with a biological weapon, and blown to pieces by incoming missiles.
Bond: You mustn’t believe everything you read, Doctor. I recovered remarkably quickly. Can I go now?
Doctor: I’d put on my clothes first if I were you, Mr Bond. I’d like to keep my secretary for the time being.
2008. A dock in Port-au-Prince. A sweeper watches a man go past, then finds a quiet corner. He twists his broom then opens it, to reveal a microphone.
Sweeper: Hello? Headquarters?
HQ: Say the password.
Sweeper: Hey, come on, you know it’s me.
HQ: The password.
Sweeper: All right. (Heavy breath.) In San Monique, this is a spring month but here we’re at the height of summer.
HQ: I’ve got you on camera. What have you got to report?
Sweeper: Well, there’s an amateur guy dressed as a wannabe Steve McQueen walking into my operation. I think he’s probably from RICIS.
HQ: What?
Sweeper: The aptly named RICIS- the Republic of Isthmus Counter-Intelligence Service.
HQ: Just you keep an eye on him, let us know what he does.
Sweeper: He passed a card to a guard, who gave it to Elvis.
HQ: Elvis is alive???
Sweeper: No, Mr Greene’s right-hand man Elvis. The card had some kind of bug in it, but all I could hear was some kind of language that sounded a bit like German but not quite. Oh, hold on a minute. A woman just walked out of Greene’s office! She’s a brunette in her twenties with a politically incorrect tan, a short skirt and a really pert… (The transmission begins to break up.)
HQ: Hello?
Sweeper: (Between bursts of static.) ...and perky...
HQ: Hello? Are you there?
Sweeper: Yes, I’m here. Sorry, I must have swept for real for a moment there. How unprofessional of me. But there was this young lady….
HQ: Yes, we saw her on the security camera we’re tapped into. Is that the best sweeping you can do?
Sweeper: When I sweep for real the noise disturbs the microphone.
HQ: I don’t know how long you intend to keep working for the San Monique Off-Island Intelligence Service, but if you don’t improve you’ll find yourself sweeping for real.
This one is specifically targeted at @Hardyboy but I hope others can enjoy it, too.
Madeleine’s previous client.
2015. A clinic high in the Alps. Dr Madeleine Swann sits in her office. Her current client lies on the couch, droning on and on.
Client: ...and then I met Odette. Odette de Crecy. I would say that she might have been the great love of my…
Madeleine: Please, do go on. (She dips her biscuit in her tea.)
Client: Oh, such a lot of time we spend in remembrance of lost times. In fact, one might almost say that….
(The rather boring talk of her client sends Madeleine off into an elusive reverie, one that she conjectures she may have had before but that always slips away before the tentative touches of her conscious mind can seal it into her memory.
She is but a child, a child being pursued by a fearful dragon. This dragon has already proven itself to be deadly. Her mother has gone where she cannot go. Her father disappeared long, long ago. She runs, but it seems as though she is running on ice for her feet keep slipping. She hears a cracking sound, a frightening sound. At first it seems far away but then it gets closer. And closer. She hears the sound of hoof beats and wildly looks around, desperate to see a knight in armour, coming to save her from the dragon.)
Client: ...and I do not know whether to consider myself a fugitive from time, or indeed its captive.
Madeleine: Thank you, Monsieur Proust, I think we have made good progress today. Same time next week?
Proust: (Shrugging.) Who can say?
(M. Proust leaves. Madeleine sits back in her chair, contemplating her unbidden thoughts. The intercom buzzes.)
Madeleine: (On intercom.) Yes?
Secretary: (On intercom.) A man here to see you, Dr Swann. Most unexpectedly.
Madeleine: (On intercom.) Well, show him in. Did he give a name?
Secretary: (On intercom.) He said his name was Bond. James Bond.
You, though, are in a position to get the jokes above. At least I hope so.
Spectre (and to a lesser extent No Time To Die) is the most Proustian of the James Bond films. That requires some explanation, I realize.
Marcel Proust (1871-1922) was a French novelist whose best known work was the mammoth A La Recherche De Temps Perdu (In Search of Lost Time). His main character is called Swann and the narrator finds that the scent of a madeleine cake dipped in tea brings back memories of years before. If you didn’t know earlier, this is why the female lead of both Spectre and No Time To Die is called Madeleine Swann. Since one of the main themes of the Proust series (seven books) is the effect of the past upon the present, this explains why the film Spectre begins with “The dead are alive” straight after the gunbarrel.
So, how do the themes of this long series of books (and I am editing heavily here) mingle with the world of James Bond? Not terribly well, in my humble opinion. James Bond was never intended to carry such heavy weights. Yes, both of these films are concerned with the effects of the past upon the present but that doesn’t mesh very well with an action/adventure series which since 1962 has only made nods to the past and were never meant as more than light entertainment.
I don’t know which of the film makers decided to add in this element- Mendes? Purvis/Wade?- but in my opinion it was a mistake. I suggest it was Purvis & Wade. After getting away with including so much of St George & the Princess of Trebizond in The World Is Not Enough as subtext (Subtext and themes — ajb007) they perhaps felt emboldened to work in some Proust in Spectre but I could be wrong.
Well, that went down like a lead zeppelin (obviously with "Zorin Industries" painted on the side) so back to normal!
1971. An oil rig off Baja, California. James Bond is working a crane, bashing Blofeld’s bathosub into the control room. Tiffany Case tries to hand him a submachine gun.
Tiffany: Here!
(Bond, busy at the controls, indicates some approaching mooks to Tiffany.)
Bond: Shoot them!
(Tiffany closes her eyes and wildly shoots. A shell from one of the attacking helicopters lands in front of the mooks, knocking them down. The recoil from the gun sends Tiffany off the edge and into the water. Bond finishes crashing Blofeld’s bathosub into the control room when fire starts, thus saving Washington from destruction by diamond-powered laser. He looks round for Tiffany.)
Bond: (Seeing that everything is about to go Ka-Boom.) Jump!
(She’s nowhere to be seen. Assuming she has already jumped, he dives into the water to find her awkwardly spluttering and splashing around. He swims over to her.)
There are old stories of female soldiers not handling the recoil of their rifle much like Tiffany. This was back in the day when the Norwegian military was using very powerful AG3 rifles (HK G3 produced under license). I don't know if the stories are true.
Son: You seem very thoughtful, how did things go today?
Father: Very unusual. I have been asked to build a large house.
Son: An igloo?
Father: No, much bigger- the size of a palace!
Son: A palace?
Father: Yes, a palace- made of ice, no less.
Son: That is, as you say, very unusual.
Father: Very unusual indeed. And, they have also given me an artist's impression of what it is to finally look like. Here, have a look for yourself.
Son: Wow!
Father: And there’s something else, something else very strange.
Son: Well, tell me what it is.
Father: They want a diamond mine beside it.
Son: A diamond mine? But there are no diamonds near here.
Father: They said that didn't matter, they want it built anyway.
Son: Huh?
Father: That’s what they said.
Son: This has become very strange.
Father: Even stranger- the man who asked me had his face covered with diamonds.
Son: What???
Father: I know, ridiculous isn’t it? His face was covered in diamonds! You’d think that he’d have had them removed after whatever did that to him! Must have been worth quite a bit.
Son: So, what did you tell them?
Father: I told them I’d have a think about it, but to be honest I think I’m going to have to pass on this one.
Son: Give it to Lairs International?
Father: Yes, I’ve got the number of our old friend Pradeep around here somewhere. Now, where did I put it…?
Solitaire: A man comes… He travels quickly… He has purpose… He comes over water…. He travels with others…. He will oppose… He brings violence and destruction.
Mr Big: Yes, yes, Solitaire, but what is his name?
Solitaire: The cards do not reveal this.
Mr Big: Well, which hotel will he be staying at?
Solitaire: This is hidden.
Mr Big: What kind of fortune teller are you? You don’t tell me what I need to know!
Solitaire: I can only say what the cards tell me to say.
Mr Big: Where is he coming from?
Solitaire: From over water.
Mr Big: (Starting to become slightly nettled.) Yes, you said that. Can’t you be just a little more precise?
Solitaire: The cards can only-
Mr Big: Yes, yes, yes, the cards. Look, what time will he arrive?
Solitaire: This is hidden.
Mr Big: (Trying to hide his rising temper.) So all you know is that he is travelling from overseas?
Solitaire: (Turning a few cards.) I know that he brings violence and destruction.
Mr Big: (Taking a deep breath.) Thank you, Solitaire. (He turns to go.) Now...
(Solitaire turns over another card.)
Solitaire: He will be arriving at JFK International Airport. He will be met by a car, registration number 545 BBB.
Mr Big: That’s more like it! Now, where’s Whisper….?
Thank you very much, guys! Since you enjoyed that, here's a little bit more....
Part Two.
The door opens and Whisper enters. He is a large, round man and speaks in a very quiet voice- hence the name he is known by. (Fleming tells us that this is because he has only a part of one lung, owing to TB, but this isn’t in the film. Hardly surprising, since he then wouldn't have been able to lift and carry a man Roger Moore's size with one hand, as he does later.)
Whisper: You sent for me, boss?
Mr Big: What?
Whisper: (Not much louder.) You sent for me, boss.
Mr Big: Yes, Whisper, I have a job for you. I want you to waste a guy who’s about to arrive at JFK.
Whisper: Do we have his name?
Mr Big: (Deep breath, resists looking at Solitaire.) No, we don’t have his name.
Whisper: Well, do we know what he looks like?
Mr Big: (He can’t resist a sidelong glance over at Solitaire, who is sitting calmly shuffling her cards.) No, we don’t know what he looks like either.
Whisper: Well, then, how-
Mr Big: Look, I want you to take the pimpmobile and head out towards JFK. You’re looking for the passenger in a car, registration 545 BBB.
Whisper: 545 BBB. Got it.
Mr Big: When you’re out on the road, I want you to use the dart in the door mirror to kill the driver, so that the car veers out of control and crashes, killing the passenger.
Whisper: Why don’t I just shoot him?
Mr Big: What?
Whisper: I said, why don’t I just shoot him? I’ve got a gun in my room, you just give me five seconds, I’ll get it, I’ll come back down here and-
Pick a year. The household of Mr James Brond. He is pacing the floor, furiously.
Mrs Brond: Oh James, please just sit down.
Brond: I can’t, I can’t do that.
Mrs Brond: All this walking back and forward won’t make the telephone ring any more quickly, you know.
Brond: I know, but I can’t sit down. It’s been two days now.
Mrs Brond: Well, they have a lot of people to see and a lot of references to check. You can’t expect them to call instantly.
Brond: This is the job I’ve been waiting for all these years! Chief accountant at the local pet food factory. It doesn’t get any better or more exciting than that!
Mrs Brond: Yes, dear, well, just sit down and I’ll make you a nice cup of-
(The telephone rings. Mrs & Mrs Brond stare at each other before he seems to fly through the air towards it.)
Brond: (Trying to be calm.) Hello?
Tanner: (On phone.) Hello, Bond, is that you?
Brond: Hang on, this is a very bad line, could you repeat that please?
Tanner: This is Tanner.
Brond: Who?
Tanner: (Inured to people forgetting his name.) It’s the Chief Of Staff.
Brond: (Gulping.) Chief Of Staff.. yes?
Tanner: We need you to come into the office immediately.
Brond: Immediately?
Tanner: Yes, immediately. There’s a situation brewing in Peru.
Brond: Peru? I didn’t know you, I mean we, had a branch down there.
Tanner: What? Of course we have a branch down there! We have people everywhere.
Brond: Like a florist, you mean?
Tanner: Yes, like a flo- no, of course not like a florist!
Brond: Oh, right.
Tanner: You know what we do, Bond.
Brond: It’s “Brond”, actually.
Tanner: What?
Brond: “B-R-O-N-D”, Brond.
Tanner: This isn’t James Bond?
Brond: No, I’m James Brond. Do you mean you’re not the pet food factory?
Tanner: No, we’re the- ahem, no we are most definitely not the pet food factory!
Brond: Well then, who are you?
Tanner: Is this not 007-00007?
Brond: No, this is 006-00007.
Tanner: Ah… sorry, wrong number.
Brond: Any time.
(He hangs up and resumes his pacing.)
Mrs Brond: Who was that, dear?
Brond: Well, he said his name but I’ve forgotten it….
1996. Switzerland. The household of Herr Mendel. He comes home.
Mendel: Hello!
Frau Mendel: Hello my darling, how lovely to see you! (Kiss, kiss.) But you don’t seem your usual happy self today, mein Lieber, what is wrong?
Mendel: Nothing is wrong, I’m fine.
Fr Mendel: You don’t fool me- something is wrong.
Mendel: (Sighing.) Oh, I should have known you’d see through me. I am very unhappy at work, mein Schatz, I’ve been unhappy for some time.
Fr Mendel: But I thought you loved your job!
Mendel: Well, I did at first- who wouldn’t? Just walking about with a big smile on my face carrying a big chocolate bar.
Fr Mendel: Well, of course.
Mendel: But gradually it has crept up on me. I can’t walk down the street without children running after me asking for chocolate. In a cafe the waitress always thinks she’s being very funny by offering me chocolate when all I want is a coffee.
Fr Mendel: Yes, I know.
Mendel: Everywhere I go, people run after me. “That’s the Big Chocolate guy” they say, they think I have lots of bars of chocolate to give them like I do on the television.
Fr Mendel: I know, I know.
Mendel: I thought that this job would lead somewhere, but I’m still walking about with big chocolate bars. I suppose I was being unrealistic- nobody ever got anywhere doing TV advertisements for chocolate bars.
Fr Mendel: Poor darling.
Mendel: Well, I’ve had enough! Enough, do you hear? Not one more day! I never want anything to do with chocolate ever again.
Fr Mendel: Would you like me to have a word with my father? Perhaps he can get you a job in his bank.
Mendel: You know, I think that would be very nice. (Rubs chin.) Yes, a bank. If I ever hear “chocolate” again, I’ll scream.
2006. James Bond is lying on a reclining chair, recovering from his maltreatment at the hands of Le Chiffre. Vesper is with him. Herr Mendel is running down the road screaming, his hands in the air.
Bond: Was it something I said?
Vesper: You just asked him if he’d brought any chocolates. No reason for him to react like that.
Comments
Around the time of the release of OHMSS I remember reading an article where George claimed that he had slept with 5 girls from the cast during the production of the film (very plausible) over time this was exaggerated and it became 5 in one day (very implausible but it makes a good story) something that George has perpetuated in his entertaining reminiscences of the production of OHMSS. It is hardly unknown the sort of things that George says during interviews and it was up to the producer of the event to make him aware of the audience, don’t blame George as if he had been made aware he would have toned down what he said. But the woke brigade need their victims, so not surprising he has been “cancelled” by them, but never by me, George rocks!!!
With the assistance of Westward_Drift.
1941. Naval Intelligence. Ian Fleming enters and throws his cap onto a convenient hatstand.
Miss Pettaval: There you are, Ian. I’ve been looking all over London for you.
Fleming: You only have to ask, Petty.
(He sits on the arm of her chair and holds her hand, humming a romantic tune.)
Miss Pettaval: Enough of that! The Admiral wants to see you, now.
Fleming: Oh of course, but perhaps later you and I could enjoy a quiet dinner together…?
Miss Pettaval: I know too much about you for that. Now, go in.
Fleming: Yes, ma’am.
(Fleming opens the Admiral’s door and goes in.)
Admiral Godfrey: Come in, Fleming, sit down.
Fleming: Thank you, sir. (Sits.)
Admiral Godfrey: Now, what do you know about Lisbon?
Fleming: Lisbon? Portugal has been trying very hard to maintain its neutrality in this war, and has welcomed both Germans and British within its borders.
Admiral: Quite right. What if I were to tell you that a party of Gestapo agents, under cover as diplomats, have been playing regularly in one of their casinos and raising large sums of negotiable currency for their activities?
Fleming: I would say that we should put a stop to that- and quickly, too. What are they playing?
Admiral: Chemin de fer. I want you to see if the Germans are cheating and if so out them to the casino.
Fleming: And if they aren't cheating? I suppose I can play them and bankrupt them. The service will stake me, of course.
Godfrey: Don't be daft, Fleming. If they win large you can take a SOE team to steal the money. Make it look like a robbery. Play them for the money? (Godfrey roars with laughter.) You're a terrible card player, Fleming.
Sounds pretty awful if true:
Since this is the Imaginary Conversations thread, I'd be inclined to say: "You couldn't make it up!"
Great work guys!
Ian Fleming... the original Bond!
Thanks, Shady. 😊
2024. Secret Service HQ. Doctor’s office.
Doctor: Ah, come in, Mr….?
Bond: Bond. James Bond.
Doctor: Well, it’s time for your annual check-up…. Again. (Drawing a thick casefile towards him.) Ah yes, Mr Bond. You have been with the Secret Service for a long time. (He examines some dates, does a double take, puts on his glasses and reads again.) A very long time.
Bond: That’s true.
Doctor: (He reads some of the file.) In fact, some of these previous doctors have retired.
Bond: Indeed?
Doctor: (Shaking his head to clear it.) Anyway, you have had a long list of injuries. Please take off everything except your pants and stand over there.
Bond: Certainly.
(He does so. The doctor examines him.)
Doctor: Now… it would seem that the ligature mark around your neck has fully healed.
Bond: Ah, that’s good.
Doctor: Not surprising, really, since it happened in 1963. How old would you have been then, Mr Bond?
Bond: Oh, maybe early 30s.
Doctor: (Reading.) And various cuts and bruises from falling or being pushed onto gold bricks the next year… Ah, a bullet wound in your right leg in 1965. Let me just see… ah, that appears to have completely healed up remarkably quickly.
Bond: Glad to hear it.
Doctor: Now, some knife cuts to your forearm in 1973… Long healed up. How old would you have been then, Mr Bond?
Bond: Oh, mid-30s I think.
Doctor: Right… Now, marks from large steel teeth in 1977.
Bond: Yes, that would be right.
Doctor: And again in 1979. Let’s just have a look… Almost gone.
Bond: Excellent.
Doctor: (Skipping a few pages.) Pulled muscles in 1985?
Bond: Ah yes, that would be from holding a rope beneath an airship.
Doctor: (Raising an eyebrow.) I see. Well, those appear to have cleared up remarkably quickly. Now… burns, cuts and bruises in 1989?
Bond: I, er, fell from a petrol tanker.
Doctor: The burns?
Bond: It was on fire at the time.
Doctor: Right… well, those too appear to have cleared up remarkably quickly. Now… a shoulder injury in 1999- dislocated collarbone, snapped tendons. That must have put you out of duty for a while… Oh, I see that it didn’t. A Dr Warmflash passed you as fit for duty. Noted you have exceptional stamina.
Bond: I’m sure she was touched by my dedication to the job in hand.
Doctor: And how old were you then, Mr Bond?
Bond: Oh, mid-30s I think.
Doctor: Right…. Now, it seems you were severely injured in 2006. “Battered and bruised testicles”, I’m reading.
Bond: Yes, but I recovered-
Doctor: (Reading.)- “remarkably quickly”, yes. I’m beginning to see a pattern here. Now, let’s see…. (Skips a few pages.) It would seem that in 2021 you were shot several times, infected with a biological weapon, and blown to pieces by incoming missiles.
Bond: You mustn’t believe everything you read, Doctor. I recovered remarkably quickly. Can I go now?
Doctor: I’d put on my clothes first if I were you, Mr Bond. I’d like to keep my secretary for the time being.
That last one is hilarious. 😄😄😄
[First quotation made in error but I can't see how to delete it]
Fantastic, Barbel…fantastic 🤣👏🏻
Absolutely terrific.
Good thing the doctor didn't ask how old Bond was in 1985.
The healing quickly was certainly on display in Casino Royale. Cuts, bruises, and scars faded and disappeared within a couple of days.
I'm very happy you liked that, gentlemen, thank you very much.
This is by Number 24. I just edited, etc.
2008. A dock in Port-au-Prince. A sweeper watches a man go past, then finds a quiet corner. He twists his broom then opens it, to reveal a microphone.
Sweeper: Hello? Headquarters?
HQ: Say the password.
Sweeper: Hey, come on, you know it’s me.
HQ: The password.
Sweeper: All right. (Heavy breath.) In San Monique, this is a spring month but here we’re at the height of summer.
HQ: I’ve got you on camera. What have you got to report?
Sweeper: Well, there’s an amateur guy dressed as a wannabe Steve McQueen walking into my operation. I think he’s probably from RICIS.
HQ: What?
Sweeper: The aptly named RICIS- the Republic of Isthmus Counter-Intelligence Service.
HQ: Just you keep an eye on him, let us know what he does.
Sweeper: He passed a card to a guard, who gave it to Elvis.
HQ: Elvis is alive???
Sweeper: No, Mr Greene’s right-hand man Elvis. The card had some kind of bug in it, but all I could hear was some kind of language that sounded a bit like German but not quite. Oh, hold on a minute. A woman just walked out of Greene’s office! She’s a brunette in her twenties with a politically incorrect tan, a short skirt and a really pert… (The transmission begins to break up.)
HQ: Hello?
Sweeper: (Between bursts of static.) ...and perky...
HQ: Hello? Are you there?
Sweeper: Yes, I’m here. Sorry, I must have swept for real for a moment there. How unprofessional of me. But there was this young lady….
HQ: Yes, we saw her on the security camera we’re tapped into. Is that the best sweeping you can do?
Sweeper: When I sweep for real the noise disturbs the microphone.
HQ: I don’t know how long you intend to keep working for the San Monique Off-Island Intelligence Service, but if you don’t improve you’ll find yourself sweeping for real.
This one is specifically targeted at @Hardyboy but I hope others can enjoy it, too.
Madeleine’s previous client.
2015. A clinic high in the Alps. Dr Madeleine Swann sits in her office. Her current client lies on the couch, droning on and on.
Client: ...and then I met Odette. Odette de Crecy. I would say that she might have been the great love of my…
Madeleine: Please, do go on. (She dips her biscuit in her tea.)
Client: Oh, such a lot of time we spend in remembrance of lost times. In fact, one might almost say that….
(The rather boring talk of her client sends Madeleine off into an elusive reverie, one that she conjectures she may have had before but that always slips away before the tentative touches of her conscious mind can seal it into her memory.
She is but a child, a child being pursued by a fearful dragon. This dragon has already proven itself to be deadly. Her mother has gone where she cannot go. Her father disappeared long, long ago. She runs, but it seems as though she is running on ice for her feet keep slipping. She hears a cracking sound, a frightening sound. At first it seems far away but then it gets closer. And closer. She hears the sound of hoof beats and wildly looks around, desperate to see a knight in armour, coming to save her from the dragon.)
Client: ...and I do not know whether to consider myself a fugitive from time, or indeed its captive.
Madeleine: Thank you, Monsieur Proust, I think we have made good progress today. Same time next week?
Proust: (Shrugging.) Who can say?
(M. Proust leaves. Madeleine sits back in her chair, contemplating her unbidden thoughts. The intercom buzzes.)
Madeleine: (On intercom.) Yes?
Secretary: (On intercom.) A man here to see you, Dr Swann. Most unexpectedly.
Madeleine: (On intercom.) Well, show him in. Did he give a name?
Secretary: (On intercom.) He said his name was Bond. James Bond.
Appreciated, Barbel, though I've never read a word of Proust. . . 😏
You, though, are in a position to get the jokes above. At least I hope so.
Spectre (and to a lesser extent No Time To Die) is the most Proustian of the James Bond films. That requires some explanation, I realize.
Marcel Proust (1871-1922) was a French novelist whose best known work was the mammoth A La Recherche De Temps Perdu (In Search of Lost Time). His main character is called Swann and the narrator finds that the scent of a madeleine cake dipped in tea brings back memories of years before. If you didn’t know earlier, this is why the female lead of both Spectre and No Time To Die is called Madeleine Swann. Since one of the main themes of the Proust series (seven books) is the effect of the past upon the present, this explains why the film Spectre begins with “The dead are alive” straight after the gunbarrel.
So, how do the themes of this long series of books (and I am editing heavily here) mingle with the world of James Bond? Not terribly well, in my humble opinion. James Bond was never intended to carry such heavy weights. Yes, both of these films are concerned with the effects of the past upon the present but that doesn’t mesh very well with an action/adventure series which since 1962 has only made nods to the past and were never meant as more than light entertainment.
I don’t know which of the film makers decided to add in this element- Mendes? Purvis/Wade?- but in my opinion it was a mistake. I suggest it was Purvis & Wade. After getting away with including so much of St George & the Princess of Trebizond in The World Is Not Enough as subtext (Subtext and themes — ajb007) they perhaps felt emboldened to work in some Proust in Spectre but I could be wrong.
I'll write some more usual silliness tomorrow.
Now I don't feel bad about the density of in jokes and allusions I crammed into Nay Time to Die and The Ipcress Folio.
Well, that went down like a lead zeppelin (obviously with "Zorin Industries" painted on the side) so back to normal!
1971. An oil rig off Baja, California. James Bond is working a crane, bashing Blofeld’s bathosub into the control room. Tiffany Case tries to hand him a submachine gun.
Tiffany: Here!
(Bond, busy at the controls, indicates some approaching mooks to Tiffany.)
Bond: Shoot them!
(Tiffany closes her eyes and wildly shoots. A shell from one of the attacking helicopters lands in front of the mooks, knocking them down. The recoil from the gun sends Tiffany off the edge and into the water. Bond finishes crashing Blofeld’s bathosub into the control room when fire starts, thus saving Washington from destruction by diamond-powered laser. He looks round for Tiffany.)
Bond: (Seeing that everything is about to go Ka-Boom.) Jump!
(She’s nowhere to be seen. Assuming she has already jumped, he dives into the water to find her awkwardly spluttering and splashing around. He swims over to her.)
Bond: It’sh alright, Tiffany, I’m here. I’ve got you.
Tiffany: You’ve got me? Who’s got you? I was only joking earlier when I called you Superman!
Bond: Jusht relax, everything’sh okay.
(The oil rig continues to explode.)
Tiffany: What the hell happened there? I was shooting these guys and the next thing I know I’m in the drink!
Bond: That would be the recoil from the gun. I didn’t really have any time to warn you about that.
Tiffany: Well, next time you- next time? What the hell am I saying? There ain’t gonna be no next time!
Bond: It’sh okay, we’ll be picked up shoon.
Tiffany: How can they find us out here? You just tell me that!
Bond: A reshently developed harmlessh radioactive devishe.
Tiffany: Harmless???? Radioactive????
Bond: It shendsh out a shignal to a shpecial resheiver.
Tiffany: And what did you do with that?
Bond: Obvioushly, I shwallowed it. Felix will be here to pick ush up.
Tiffany: Well, you did say he can fix anything. Just one more thing, though…
(She slaps Bond across the face.)
Bond: Ow! What wash that for?
Tiffany: You never asked me if I could swim.
There are old stories of female soldiers not handling the recoil of their rifle much like Tiffany. This was back in the day when the Norwegian military was using very powerful AG3 rifles (HK G3 produced under license). I don't know if the stories are true.
Quality TV 👍
Where on earth did you find that, TP?
It's from my collection of " Specialist Gentleman's Interest " videos. 😉 Although I think it shows
that women can handle a weapon as well as any man, and as a Modern Man I felt compelled to
come to the defence of the little ladies.
Of course. I should have known.
Iceland, 2002. A local father comes home.
Son: Hello father, would you like some coffee?
Father: (Slowly.) Yes, thank you.
Son: You seem very thoughtful, how did things go today?
Father: Very unusual. I have been asked to build a large house.
Son: An igloo?
Father: No, much bigger- the size of a palace!
Son: A palace?
Father: Yes, a palace- made of ice, no less.
Son: That is, as you say, very unusual.
Father: Very unusual indeed. And, they have also given me an artist's impression of what it is to finally look like. Here, have a look for yourself.
Son: Wow!
Father: And there’s something else, something else very strange.
Son: Well, tell me what it is.
Father: They want a diamond mine beside it.
Son: A diamond mine? But there are no diamonds near here.
Father: They said that didn't matter, they want it built anyway.
Son: Huh?
Father: That’s what they said.
Son: This has become very strange.
Father: Even stranger- the man who asked me had his face covered with diamonds.
Son: What???
Father: I know, ridiculous isn’t it? His face was covered in diamonds! You’d think that he’d have had them removed after whatever did that to him! Must have been worth quite a bit.
Son: So, what did you tell them?
Father: I told them I’d have a think about it, but to be honest I think I’m going to have to pass on this one.
Son: Give it to Lairs International?
Father: Yes, I’ve got the number of our old friend Pradeep around here somewhere. Now, where did I put it…?
So that's what he looks like, I'd been wondering!
1972. New York. Solitaire uses her cards.
Solitaire: A man comes… He travels quickly… He has purpose… He comes over water…. He travels with others…. He will oppose… He brings violence and destruction.
Mr Big: Yes, yes, Solitaire, but what is his name?
Solitaire: The cards do not reveal this.
Mr Big: Well, which hotel will he be staying at?
Solitaire: This is hidden.
Mr Big: What kind of fortune teller are you? You don’t tell me what I need to know!
Solitaire: I can only say what the cards tell me to say.
Mr Big: Where is he coming from?
Solitaire: From over water.
Mr Big: (Starting to become slightly nettled.) Yes, you said that. Can’t you be just a little more precise?
Solitaire: The cards can only-
Mr Big: Yes, yes, yes, the cards. Look, what time will he arrive?
Solitaire: This is hidden.
Mr Big: (Trying to hide his rising temper.) So all you know is that he is travelling from overseas?
Solitaire: (Turning a few cards.) I know that he brings violence and destruction.
Mr Big: (Taking a deep breath.) Thank you, Solitaire. (He turns to go.) Now...
(Solitaire turns over another card.)
Solitaire: He will be arriving at JFK International Airport. He will be met by a car, registration number 545 BBB.
Mr Big: That’s more like it! Now, where’s Whisper….?
Yes, that's a great one!
Thank you very much, guys! Since you enjoyed that, here's a little bit more....
Part Two.
The door opens and Whisper enters. He is a large, round man and speaks in a very quiet voice- hence the name he is known by. (Fleming tells us that this is because he has only a part of one lung, owing to TB, but this isn’t in the film. Hardly surprising, since he then wouldn't have been able to lift and carry a man Roger Moore's size with one hand, as he does later.)
Whisper: You sent for me, boss?
Mr Big: What?
Whisper: (Not much louder.) You sent for me, boss.
Mr Big: Yes, Whisper, I have a job for you. I want you to waste a guy who’s about to arrive at JFK.
Whisper: Do we have his name?
Mr Big: (Deep breath, resists looking at Solitaire.) No, we don’t have his name.
Whisper: Well, do we know what he looks like?
Mr Big: (He can’t resist a sidelong glance over at Solitaire, who is sitting calmly shuffling her cards.) No, we don’t know what he looks like either.
Whisper: Well, then, how-
Mr Big: Look, I want you to take the pimpmobile and head out towards JFK. You’re looking for the passenger in a car, registration 545 BBB.
Whisper: 545 BBB. Got it.
Mr Big: When you’re out on the road, I want you to use the dart in the door mirror to kill the driver, so that the car veers out of control and crashes, killing the passenger.
Whisper: Why don’t I just shoot him?
Mr Big: What?
Whisper: I said, why don’t I just shoot him? I’ve got a gun in my room, you just give me five seconds, I’ll get it, I’ll come back down here and-
Mr Big: Whisper… you just don’t get it, do you?
😂😂😂
Pick a year. The household of Mr James Brond. He is pacing the floor, furiously.
Mrs Brond: Oh James, please just sit down.
Brond: I can’t, I can’t do that.
Mrs Brond: All this walking back and forward won’t make the telephone ring any more quickly, you know.
Brond: I know, but I can’t sit down. It’s been two days now.
Mrs Brond: Well, they have a lot of people to see and a lot of references to check. You can’t expect them to call instantly.
Brond: This is the job I’ve been waiting for all these years! Chief accountant at the local pet food factory. It doesn’t get any better or more exciting than that!
Mrs Brond: Yes, dear, well, just sit down and I’ll make you a nice cup of-
(The telephone rings. Mrs & Mrs Brond stare at each other before he seems to fly through the air towards it.)
Brond: (Trying to be calm.) Hello?
Tanner: (On phone.) Hello, Bond, is that you?
Brond: Hang on, this is a very bad line, could you repeat that please?
Tanner: This is Tanner.
Brond: Who?
Tanner: (Inured to people forgetting his name.) It’s the Chief Of Staff.
Brond: (Gulping.) Chief Of Staff.. yes?
Tanner: We need you to come into the office immediately.
Brond: Immediately?
Tanner: Yes, immediately. There’s a situation brewing in Peru.
Brond: Peru? I didn’t know you, I mean we, had a branch down there.
Tanner: What? Of course we have a branch down there! We have people everywhere.
Brond: Like a florist, you mean?
Tanner: Yes, like a flo- no, of course not like a florist!
Brond: Oh, right.
Tanner: You know what we do, Bond.
Brond: It’s “Brond”, actually.
Tanner: What?
Brond: “B-R-O-N-D”, Brond.
Tanner: This isn’t James Bond?
Brond: No, I’m James Brond. Do you mean you’re not the pet food factory?
Tanner: No, we’re the- ahem, no we are most definitely not the pet food factory!
Brond: Well then, who are you?
Tanner: Is this not 007-00007?
Brond: No, this is 006-00007.
Tanner: Ah… sorry, wrong number.
Brond: Any time.
(He hangs up and resumes his pacing.)
Mrs Brond: Who was that, dear?
Brond: Well, he said his name but I’ve forgotten it….
1996. Switzerland. The household of Herr Mendel. He comes home.
Mendel: Hello!
Frau Mendel: Hello my darling, how lovely to see you! (Kiss, kiss.) But you don’t seem your usual happy self today, mein Lieber, what is wrong?
Mendel: Nothing is wrong, I’m fine.
Fr Mendel: You don’t fool me- something is wrong.
Mendel: (Sighing.) Oh, I should have known you’d see through me. I am very unhappy at work, mein Schatz, I’ve been unhappy for some time.
Fr Mendel: But I thought you loved your job!
Mendel: Well, I did at first- who wouldn’t? Just walking about with a big smile on my face carrying a big chocolate bar.
Fr Mendel: Well, of course.
Mendel: But gradually it has crept up on me. I can’t walk down the street without children running after me asking for chocolate. In a cafe the waitress always thinks she’s being very funny by offering me chocolate when all I want is a coffee.
Fr Mendel: Yes, I know.
Mendel: Everywhere I go, people run after me. “That’s the Big Chocolate guy” they say, they think I have lots of bars of chocolate to give them like I do on the television.
Fr Mendel: I know, I know.
Mendel: I thought that this job would lead somewhere, but I’m still walking about with big chocolate bars. I suppose I was being unrealistic- nobody ever got anywhere doing TV advertisements for chocolate bars.
Fr Mendel: Poor darling.
Mendel: Well, I’ve had enough! Enough, do you hear? Not one more day! I never want anything to do with chocolate ever again.
Fr Mendel: Would you like me to have a word with my father? Perhaps he can get you a job in his bank.
Mendel: You know, I think that would be very nice. (Rubs chin.) Yes, a bank. If I ever hear “chocolate” again, I’ll scream.
2006. James Bond is lying on a reclining chair, recovering from his maltreatment at the hands of Le Chiffre. Vesper is with him. Herr Mendel is running down the road screaming, his hands in the air.
Bond: Was it something I said?
Vesper: You just asked him if he’d brought any chocolates. No reason for him to react like that.