...and here it is! Welcome to the first part of "The Man With The Edifice Complex", written by a larger than usual team consisting of Thunderpussy, Number24, CoolHandBond, Charmed & Dangerous (welcome back home, C&D), and... er... someone else... can't remember who....
PTS
North Korea. The Ryugyong Hotel, known as The Hotel Of Doom- at least, it’s known as that outside North Korea. No-one is allowed inside, but crowds are walking by and standing in the street. Some of them are looking up at it but only when they are sure that no police or soldiers will see them do so.
There is a deep rumbling sound, like Brian Blessed would make when he is served the wrong breakfast. The whole building begins to crumble and fall.
London. M’s Office. He is watching the scene on television.
M: Impressive. It’s a good thing that no-one has ever stayed there. We can perhaps work with the people who did this since whoever it was clearly shares our political views. Tanner, what’s the North Korean reaction?
Tanner: The news anchor on state TV was very agitated.
M: She is always very agitated. How worked up was she: Double production of busts of Kim at a factory after he visited? Joint US/South Korean exercise across the border? Or Kim died?
Tanner: Somewhere between military exercise and Kim's death, I think.
M: That's bad, but as expected. Any other reactions?
Tanner: A film studio was hacked again. Apparently the script of some spy franchise was leaked online. Luckily the scriptwriters had barely put pen to paper yet....
Act 1, Scene 1. M’s office. He sits behind his desk, playing with a Magic 8-Ball.
M: All right, let’s try again. (He stares hard at the ball.) Magic 8-Ball, Magic 8-Ball! Will this be the day I get my knighthood? (He shakes the ball.) It says… “Try Again Later”. Stupid ball, this IS later! Now, once again- Magic 8-Ball, Magic 8-Ball! Will this be the day I get my knighthood? (He shakes the ball vigourously.) It says…
(The door opens suddenly and Miss Moneypenny comes in. M rapidly hides the ball beneath the desk.)
M: Yes, Miss Moneypenny?
Moneypenny: Message for you, sir. You have to present yourself at Buckingham Palace as soon as possible.
M: (Can’t believe what he’s hearing.) Buckingham Palace?
Moneypenny: Yes, sir.
M: Me?
Moneypenny: Yes, sir.
M: Right now?
Moneypenny: (Eyes rolling.) Yes, sir. You, Buckingham Palace, as soon as possible.
(M stares off into space. He sees the luxuriously appointed interior of Buckingham Palace. He sees The King, standing before a cushioned stool. He sees himself walking slowly towards King Charles and kneeling on the stool. He hears the voice of The King, saying “Arise, Sir Gareth of Mallory” as he is touched on both shoulders by a ceremonial sword. He hears the voice of Miss Moneypenny, saying-
Moneypenny: Sir? Sir? Are you all right?
M: What? Oh. Yes, I’m perfectly all right. Please have a car sent round immediately. Oh wait- have I got time to reinforce the knees of my suit before we leave?
Moneypenny: (A shade doubtfully.) No, sir. But I’ll have the car sent round immediately.
M: Oh, and Miss Moneypenny…?
Moneypenny: Yes, sir?
M: When you came in there, you didn’t… er… see anything, did you?
Moneypenny: No, sir. I didn’t see you playing with your balls at all.
Act 1, Scene 2. Buckingham Palace. The King and Queen are at lunch.
The Queen: Another slice of Corgi, darling?
The King: Oh, no more for me, Camilla, one is still full from the breakfast Cornish pasty. Have you seen today’s newspaper?
The Queen: The Mail?
The King: No, no, I said “newspaper”. I mean The Times, of course.
The Queen: Oh no, they’re not printing more about Harry and Meghan?
The King: No, not that…. Not this week, anyway. It seems that someone has been blowing up famous buildings - the Pompidou Centre in Paris, the Hoover Building in Washington. Oh, and the Scottish Parliament in Edinburgh.
The Queen: Well, at least we can rule out Andrew- he isn’t interested in anything that old.
The King: Yes, but one is concerned in case such intemperate behaviour should spread further to our green and pleasant lands.
The Queen: Oh no, it’s not those dreadful people who throw orange paint onto famous paintings and glue themselves to motorways, is it?
The King: No, though it’s a shame they don’t glue themselves to these buildings before they’re blown up.
The Queen: What do you think we should do?
The King: I have already begun, my darling. I have decided to involve our secret Intelligence people.
The Queen: Not the Government?
The King: No, dear, I said “Intelligence”. I have sent for their man M.
(A footman enters.)
Footman: Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, may I present Colonel Gareth Mallory.
The King: Right on time. Show him in, show him in.
(M enters, looking around hopefully.)
The King: Do come in, Mallory, take a seat.
M: Yes, Your Majesty, thank you.
(He sits down. He hasn’t spotted a sword or a cushioned stool.)
The King: Now, I have a job for that man of yours- the one that threw my dear Mama out from a helicopter a few years ago, now what was his name?
M: Bond. James Bond.
The King: Yes, that’s the chap.
The Queen: One has heard that he had died- something about several bullets, a warship or two full of missiles, and being infected by nanobots?
M: Yes, well, he has made an amazing recovery. Looks a bit different, though.
The King: Bit like the other feller, eh? Well, never mind all that- I want you to put him on this job immediately. Find out who is destroying these wonderful landmarks, as well as the Scottish Parliament, and put a stop to it at once.
M: Yes, sir. (Pauses.) Will that be all, Your Majesty?
The King: For the moment. Get on your way!
M: (Rising, disappointed.) Yes, Your Majesty.
(As M walks to the door, he hears the voices of the Royal couple fading away behind him.)
Act 1, Scene 3 At James Bond’s flat. A couple embrace.
Girl: James, when you said I looked like I needed a "stiff one" I thought you meant a drink.
Bond: I was going to get around to that. Scotch?
Girl: No, I'm Australian, here doing some coursework on those Greek brothers Casper and....
Bond: Pollux?
Girl: No, it's true. I was here with my boyfriend, who left me a year ago today after putting this ring on my finger- I haven't had it off since.
Bond: Well, I'm hoping to change that tonight.
Girl: He was beautiful, strong body, deep brown eyes, jet black hair. Only his teeth were bad. I spent a fortune on fixing his teeth, thousands. I felt when he left he smiled at me with my own teeth. I just don't get it!
Bond: Enough!
Girl: Yes, I'm not getting it enough.
(Bond gets some ice from the kitchen pulling out the ice tray, as the fruit bowl on the coffee table begins to ring. Looking somewhat confused, the girl fishes through the fruit, pushing aside some plums to pick up a banana. She answers it as if it were a phone.)
Girl: Hello?
Moneypenny: (On banana.) Hi, is James there?
Girl: Yes, he's just pulling something out.
Moneypenny: Well, tell him to put it away and talk to me.
Girl: James, there's a girl on your banana.
Bond: Soon, darling, soon, have patience.
(Bond picks up the banana knowing who will be looking for him.)
Bond: Hello Moneypenny, what gives?
Moneypenny: Sorry to interrupt your downtime, James.
Bond: Hadn't gone down yet!
Moneypenny: You're needed, James.
Bond: Yes, I got that impression too, call back in an hour.......
(He looks at the girl sipping her scotch.)
Bond: ....Better make that two.
Girl: I know it's a double!
Moneypenny: Sorry James, M wants you back up at the office.
Bond: Not the first time he's got my back up.
Moneypenny: Just get here James! Bye!
(Bond replaces the banana in the fruit bowl, then picks it up again, thumbing a switch on its side.)
Bond: Finally remembered to turn it to ‘vibrate only’ mode. Now, where we?
Girl: Your fruit bowl is quite something, isn’t it? A phone in a banana, it's like Aladdin rubbing his lamp. What happens if I rub your plums?
(M hides something in a drawer and shuffles some documents on his desk.)
M: A major crisis has arisen.
Bond: I hope it's not like the last one, when we had all 00s on alert for the "Zombie Crisis" only to discover later that you'd misread a note from Moneypenny about "Zumba Classes".
M: Yes, well, anyone can make a mistake and those classes have really helped in the definition of my buttocks.
Bond: I have heard the term "Great Ass" and your name spoken together, sir.
M: Now to business. There have been reports coming in for weeks now of buildings blowing up. One of the Great Pyramids-
Bond: Well, you know my opinion on Egyptian builders.
M: ...... The Pompidou Centre in Paris, the Hoover Building in Washington. Important buildings. Oh, and the Holyrood Parliament Building. Now this comes from the highest level.
Bond: Meghan Markle? Piers Morgan?
M: The highest level.
Bond: Not old Rishi the Prime Minister?
M: Higher than that, 007.
Bond: Not…….?
M: Yes, 007.
Bond: Nicola Sturgeon! I knew she was only pretending to quit!
M: (Sighing.) No, Bond, The King himself!
Bond: I’ve never really believed that Elvis was dead, now I know for sure.
M: Not Elvis- King Charles!!!!
Bond: I've always wanted to be a Kingsman, love the glasses.
M: We've received reports that Trump Tower could be next.
Bond: Oh, we can only hope although that amount of tanning fluid dropping on New Yorkers could be a problem. Do we have any leads?
M: One name has been linked, old “Perfect” or rather Peregrine Carruthers. I'm guessing it's a mistake, obviously.
Bond: Why, sir?
M: I play Ludo with him every Tuesday at the Ludo club. You learn a lot about a man as you stare him in the eye when there’s something hard between you.
Bond: That and a game of Ludo? I’m more of Baccarat man myself, or Poker… which reminds me of what I was hoping to do with my dinner guest before we were interrupted…
M: Good grief, Carruthers is an Old Etonian after all- went there with dear old Boris, was in the Bullingdon club. They’re like Carruthers brothers from other mothers. “Perfect” donates to several charities and is Head of the Amateur National Association of Ludo, ANAL for short.
Bond: I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of it, sir. I assume you'd like me to meet him and check him out?
M: Yes, we will have to look him over though I think it's a waste of time. After all, he makes his own jam and has a huge collection of injured teddy bears. He wears crocs for goodness sake! At any rate, I've been informed he’ll be playing on Tuesday at the Ludo club - I think you should be there, too.
Bond: I'll brush up on my Ludo skills, sir.
M: You'll need them - he's a brilliant player and plays for big money. But first you have time to go to New York and check out Trump Tower.
-------------------------------------------------
Act 2, Scene 1. New York. Bond is in the back seat of a cab, heading for Trump Tower. The radio news is on.
Radio: ….Reports are now coming in about simultaneous multiple explosions around the world. There has been an explosion at the Fray Bentos pie factory in Uruguay, the blast could be heard 3.14 miles away. And elsewhere investigators are combing through the wreckage of an explosion at a hairbrush factory. We’ve just heard that the Nissan factory in Sunderland, England has exploded. Apparently it’s raining Datsun cogs. The Charmin paper factory in Baltimore, USA has just exploded, there is soft tissue damage everywhere. And we’re receiving breaking news that Trump Tower has been razed to the ground, our on the spot reporter said it’s a long story… no, sorry… he said it’s now a short storey…
Driver: Ya hear that, bud?
Bond: Yes, I certainly did.
Driver: Ya still wanna go there?
Bond: I think I have to.
(They arrive at the site of what was once Trump Tower. Bond gets out from the cab, paying off the driver.)
Driver: (Disgustedly.) Ya call that a tip?
Bond: I call you lucky- we drove past the same “Fillet of Soul” bar at least three times on our way here.
Driver: (Heading off.) Wise ass….
(Bond looks at the sight where the Trump Tower used to be, and spots the man himself leaping up and down with anger.)
Rudi: Calm down, boss.
Don Jr: Yeah, keep cool, Dad.
Rudi: You’ll give yourself a heart attack carrying on like that.
Melania: Really? Keep jumping, my dahlink! Do it some more!
Trump: Hey, I’m the best at jumping. You watch me! I’m so good at it. And whoever did this to my beautiful tower will pay. No one touches my impressive monument.
Melania: You can say that again, dahlink.
(As Bond walks around the crater, he comes across two security guards.)
Bond: I take it you used to work here?
1st Guard: That’s right- in fact we’re the ones who found the bomb!
2nd Guard: Yeah, that was us.
Bond: But if you found the bomb, why did the tower still blow up?
1st Guard: We only said we found it- we didn’t tell anyone and just ran away!
2nd Guard: Yeah, we didn’t want to look at that ugly thing one minute longer!
(Bond has by now noticed that he is being observed by a singularly attractive brunette. While behaving very professionally and discreetly, she has a major disadvantage in the art of shadowing people, being stunningly attractive. Her long black hair flows in the wind on this windless day, her skin only bare on her hands, face, neck and most of all her cleavage, but she was probably from a Mediterranean region where they grew olives. Her cheekbones are high and so defined they could probably be used in combat. The eyes are large and deeply brown and seem to signal interest and great relief at the same time. She’s wearing a trench coat, but the effect is very different from when Columbo wore one.)
Young Lady: Good afternoon, Mr Bond.
Bond: You know who I am?
Young Lady: Let’s just say that your reputation precedes you. My name is Enorme, Enorme Scollatura.
Bond: (Eyes staying resolutely straight ahead.) Your parents were prescient. Your accent, clearly Italian, perhaps Sicilian?
Enorme: Well done, Mr Bond, you have an excellent ear.
Bond: Among many other things. Call me James, Enorme.
Enorme: I’d like that.
Bond: I am wondering, now, what interest Italy could have in the destruction of so American a landmark.
Enorme: I’d be happy to discuss that over dinner, perhaps?
Bond: But of course. I know the best place in town.
(20 minutes later…)
Bond: ….so that’s a Quarter Pounder for me, and a Big Mac for the lady.
Young Man: Do you want fries with that?
Bond: Yes, please, and a couple of dips.
Enorme: I’ll sit here and wait.
Young Man: I’ll bring it over to you.
Bond: But of course.
(10 minutes later...)
Enorme: Now, tell me how Britain’s best known secret agent just happens to be on the scene only moments after the Tower has been demolished?
Bond: We have friends in low places, and think this is tied in with the recent destruction of other buildings around the world.
Enorme: Such as in Paris and Pyongyang?
Bond: And Edinburgh.
Enorme: Oh yes, I was forgetting.
Bond: But as far as I know there have been no buildings blown up in Italy, so why have you been sent to investigate?
Enorme: James, you can’t have failed to notice that all these buildings are particularly ugly, the sort of thing your own King once called “carbuncles”.
Bond: Yes, of course.
Enorme: Italy is famous for the beauty of many, many of its buildings. The Italian secret service are nervous because famous buildings are getting blown up and Italy has a lot of them, but I believe that whoever is doing this must be targeting ugly buildings.
Bond: But there is still a question much more important than that which has to be answered first.
It is evening. James Bond and Enorme Scollatura stand outside a stately Victorian building in the City of London, Bond in his customary tuxedo and Enorme in an impressively notable dress. The dress is very frugal since the designer has clearly saved a lot of money on material, especially at the top and bottom.
Enorme: The “Homo Ludens" club is supposed to be here.
Bond: Are we absolutely certain it's a Ludo club? I'm not sure about the name....
Enorme: What do you mean? Maybe the entrance is by the back door?
Bond: (Looking a bit pale.) Th ... the back door? Cover me when we're in there, Enorme. I'll feel much safer with a woman like you by my side!
(The entrance really is at the back. A servant dressed in a red uniform welcomes them to the private members club. Enorme smiles confidently, but Bond has looked less nervous infiltrating Soviet bases in the middle of Afghanistan. He notices that the doorman isn’t wearing the traditional white gloves, but rather thin rubber ones. He gulps.)
Enorme: Remember, your mission is to penetrate Carruthers' intimate circle!
Bond: (White as a sheet.) Pe-pe-pene .....
(They step into a large room much like the best casinos Bond has visited in the past, although the marble floor layout is like a ludo board. The men are in tuxes and suits while the women are in dresses that show only marginally less willingness to take risks than Enorme. Bond regains much of his normal self-confidence.)
Bond: I see Carruthers sitting by that table to our left. Let's get close to him. I mean.....
(Peregrine Carruthers is holding court at a gaming table where they are one player short. Blue, if Bond remembered the Duke of Blackpool's rules of Ludo correctly. A woman in a startling designer dress stands behind Carruthers, the dress clearly designed to show as much brown skin as legally possible. The woman was the ideal date for a man like Carruthers, because she was perfectly designed.
Bond was by now only mildly worried and not scared like he had been a mere moment ago when he had thought that he was walking into a private club for men whose preferences included different lifestyle choices from him. He was, after all, merely about to confront a dangerous villain who had probably been blowing up important buildings all around the world, and the Parliament in Edinburgh too. Nothing unusual there.)
Bond: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. May I join your game?
Carruthers: Are you familiar with the rules of Ludo, sir?
Bond: Oh, I’ve been known to dabble.
Carruthers: Then please sit down, Mr….?
Bond: Bond. James Bond. And this is Enorme Scollatura.
Carruthers: Oh, sicuramente, signorina, ben nominato. Don’t you agree, Mister Bond?
Bond: Er… yes, of course.
Carruthers: May I introduce my associates? (He points to the stunningly beautiful woman to his right). The young lady here is called Taj Mahoney. And the gentleman standing next to you is my, ah, associate…
(Bond jumped. He hadn’t noticed the enormous man standing at his elbow. The imposing figure must have been close to seven feet, and powerfully built. As he looked the giant up and down, Bond noticed that his hands were hidden behind gloves – thin rubber gloves like the doorman’s – and holding a computer tablet. Bond started to sweat again as the giant smiled at him, revealing glinting steel teeth in a shark’s smile.)
Bond: And you are?
Man: They call me Dixie Normous.
Bond: (Gulping again.) I’m not surprised.
(As he sits down Bond sees a plaque on his chair. It said: "The chair of honourary member Hugh Hefner. Now relaxing in his mansion in the sky". Bond smiles, his confident and debonair self now back in full force, enough so to accept the bet of the price of a tailored suit from Anthony Sinclair.The game begins….)
Bond: (Whispering to Enorme.) We're well into the game, but despite my high skill in Ludo I'm not getting anywhere. Carruthers is winning!
Enorme: (Sighing and rolling her eyes.) Look James, every time Taj leans over the table, Dixie uses the distraction to move the pieces. He is using the tablet to control magnets under the table to move the pieces to Carruthers' advantage. Obviously there's metal in the pieces of the game.
Bond: Obviously...… Yes…. I knew that. Yes. Anyway, let's beat them at their own game. Enorme, do you think that you can distract everybody while I move the pieces by hand?
Enorme: (Scoffing.) What sort of woman do you think I am? I can distract the whole room if I want to!
(A woman of her word, Enorme starts to slowly lean over the table while dropping her purse and retrieving it without bending her knees thus drawing the attention of everyone in the club, then sitting on Bond in a way that brought back memories of Bond's visit to Lapland last Christmas. After less than five minutes the club awards Enorme the Hefner Award, a pair of pink bunny ears, for her efforts. Taj looks green with envy.)
Bond: And that’s my last piece inside the square.
(The two other players have barely noticed they're still in the game. Carruthers, Dixie and Taj are fuming with anger. Carruthers writes Bond a check with lots of zeros.)
Carruthers: Make sure you invest your winnings in beautiful real estate quickly, Mister Bond. (Pauses.) Or more realistically in today's market in London, a studio flat in Peckham!
Bond: Thank you for the advice, Carruthers.
Carruthers: No hard feelings, Mister Bond. You seem an interesting character.
Bond: Why, thank you.
Carruthers: Please come and dine with me tomorrow, at my place in the country.
Bond: I'd be delighted.
Carruthers: Dixie!
Dixie: Yes, sir?
(Bond almost jumps, as he realizes the giant is once more by his side without Bond being aware of him having moved.)
Carruthers: Make the arrangements with Mister Bond.
Dixie: My pleasure, sir. (He smiles his gigantic shark smile again.) I have a feeling Mr Bond and I will become, ahh, inseparable.
__________________________________________
Act 3, Scene 1. The beautiful stately home of Peregrine “Perfect” Carruthers. James Bond has been shown in by the butler.
Carruthers: So good of you to accept my request, Mr Bond.
Bond: How could I refuse so gracious an invitation, Mr Carruthers?
Carruthers: Please- my friends call me “Pervy”.
Bond: Well, they would know better than I do.
Carruthers: Please, be seated. It is time for us to dine.
Bond: Certainly.
(A servant dressed as a maitre d’ approaches Bond.)
Maitre d’: Would you like to hear the specials?
Bond: Yes, please.
Maitre d’: This town ahhh ahhhhh is coming like a ghost town!!
Bond: Er… I’ll just have the same as Mr Carruthers.
Maitre d’: Certainly. (Exits.)
Carruthers: While we await our meal, what would you like to discuss, Mr Bond?
Bond: Well, there's been a lot of speculation about what motivates you.Politics, perhaps?
Carruthers: What would you like to know?
Bond: Where do you stand on Brexit?
Carruthers: Never heard of it! I use the Barclay Gold Card myself.
Bond: Well, do you have any thoughts about Putin?
Carruthers:Look, no-one’s disputing Putin, they’re too busy looting or shooting.
Bond: Doesn’t sound like politics is your thing. (He looks around.) You have a magnificent home, Carruthers.
Carruthers: This is true, Mr. Bond, all my life I have been obsessed with things being perfect. At Eton I won the punctuation award.
Bond: That’s very impressive.
Carruthers: Yes, it was a posh trophy.
Bond: Well, yes, I must admit that I like the finer things in life, myself.
Carruthers: But my superiority complex is much better than yours, Mr. Bond!
Bond: (Raising an eyebrow in a very Saintly way.) And does that extend to… architecture?
Carruthers: (His eyes narrow.) What makes you say that, Mr Bond?
Bond: There’s a lot of talk about architecture at the moment. The Pompidou Centre, the Hoover Building, the Trump Tower…
Carruthers: And the Scottish Parliament.
Bond: Oh yes, and that.
Carruthers: All notably ugly buildings! Architecture today has become a pale shadow of what it was in the past- nobody takes the time to create truly beautiful structures any more! Well, I am going to make them change their minds about that!
Bond: You, Mr Carruthers?
Carruthers: Yes, me! I intend, Mr Bond, to destroy all of these horrible edifices and ensure that they are replaced by wonderful, magnificently designed constructions which will have all the peoples of the world saying “There! There is a beautiful development and it is the brainchild of Peregrine “Perfect” Carruthers!”
Bond: I suppose you know you’re mad as a hatter.
Carruthers: So was Frank Lloyd Wright, so was Charles Rennie McIntosh, so was Le Corbusier! I am in good, in illustrious company Mr Bond.
Bond: So where’s your next target- America? Asia?
Carruthers: My next target? Why, Mr Bond, my next target is known very well to you yourself- and everyone in your organisation.
Bond: My organisation…? No! You can’t mean….
Carruthers: But I have said enough- Dixie!
(Bond jumps as he notices the giant at his elbow once again.)
Carruthers: Take Mr Bond to the dungeon. I think you’ll be impressed at its beautiful design, Mr Bond- Dixie thinks the window should be smaller and have metal bars, but the room needs natural light and bars would break up the perfect lines of the window, I think.
(Dixie leads Bond to the dungeon, Peregrine Carruthers following behind. When they arrive, Bond is thrown in. Carruthers is still chattering away happily.)
Carruthers: I had it designed by an architect in the best possible taste. See how the line of the bench works with the wide window above it? And how the spherical shape of the granite vase on the window sill beautifully contrasts with the horizontal lines?
Bond: Yes. I can see how it all opens up the room.…
(Perfect nods and smiles, happy to finally have a prisoner who appreciates his beautiful dungeon. He leaves as Dixie locks the door behind him.
Seconds later, a helicopter spirals down from the sky outside Carruthers's mansion. Enorme jumps out, onto the lawn. With a loud crack, a ball-shaped granite vase smashes through the dungeon window and Bond steps out. He adjusts his tie.)
Bond: English builders...
(He casually walks over to Enorme's helicopter.)
Enorme: Get in, James!
(As Bond runs towards the helicopter, a figure silently appears at his elbow– Dixie.)
Bond: I wish you wouldn’t keep doing that!
Dixie: Come Mr Bond– I had a feeling we’d be grappling before too long!
(The giant lunges at Bond, who feints to his right but, at the last moment, rolls left. The giant, however, is too quick. A vast fist in a rubber glove drives into Bond’s solar plexus, knocking the wind from him. Bond grunts, and as a second giant fist sails towards him, rolls again. Bond staggers to his feet, and in quick succession drives a right hook and a left uppercut into the giant’s jawbone. Bond instantly regrets it as his fists explode in pain from the steel-lined jawbone. The giant smiles and walks towards Bond. At the last moment, Bond flails out, kicking the giant between the legs. Instantly, the giant drops to his knees, howling in pain.)
Bond: That’s the thing, Dixie- you may be quick but you have a ‘normous Achilles Heel.
Enorme: James, hurry!
Bond: (Jumping into the helicopter.) Most certainly. And head for London immediately, please, Enorme- the next target is the MI6 building!
Enorme: The MI6 building? Didn’t that get blown up in “Spectre”?
Bond: Yes, and so did I in the film after that- but just get going. This is no time to clarify.
The roof of the MI6 building. Enorme flies the helicopter very close. Bond is lowered to the top of the building. “Perfect” is waiting for him and hands him a glass.
Perfect: Let’s be civilised, Mr. Bond…three measures of Gordon’s, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet, shaken over ice with a slice of lemon peel. We really are not so different, Mr. Bond.
Bond: (Takes a sip of the drink and nods in appreciation.) Perfect, Carruthers. Except that I don’t go around blowing up magnificent buildings. Or the Scottish Parliament building either.
Perfect: Dr. No’s base, Blofeld’s volcano, Scaramanga’s island lair… I could go on, the list is endless!
Bond: It’s hardly the same thing. The general public wouldn’t know those from Adam.
Perfect: I’m doing the general public a service, Mr. Bond.
Bond: I can’t let you do this, Carruthers. It stops now. These are not the actions of a gentleman.
Perfect: Then I challenge you to a duel as a gentleman, winner takes all. If you win, which of course you won’t, the code to dismantle the bomb is inside my Versace La Medusa wallet.
Bond: A gentleman’s duel?
Perfect: Golf, tennis, bridge, polo, croquet, cricket, fencing, chess, ludo … these are proper games for gentlemen but alas not practical at this moment. I therefore suggest a battle of wits.
Bond: I’d accept that, but I see that you have come unarmed.
Perfect: Please, Mr Bond. Design the perfect dinner for two gentlemen… two courses, one wine.
Bond: Who decides the winner?
Perfect: We do, of course, Mr. Bond. Gentlemen will never argue, they will know which is best.
Bond: Let’s put a stop to this, this is no time to dine. I will make sure you are treated-
Perfect: No deals, Mr. Bond. My choice is Pate de Foie Gras. And your starter?
Bond: Caviar… Royal Beluga… north of the Caspian.
Perfect: (Gnashing his teeth.) Agh, you win, Mr. Bond, there is nothing finer. Main course… Roast Sirloin of Beef. And the wine is Petrus – Pomerol. I think I win, Mr. Bond?
Bond: No, I don’t think so… Phuyuck.
Perfect: (Looking bemused.) Phuyuck?
Bond: ‘74.
(With this, Bond kicks out landing his foot into Perfect’s solar plexus, then an uppercut to the chin knocks him senseless to the ground.)
Bond: Sometimes you just need to channel your inner Jason Statham.
(Bond grabs Perfect’s wallet and retrieves the code… it reads 007. Bond rolls his eyes and mutters “But of course” before running for the rooftop door and down the stairs calling for security to go and get Perfect. He runs into his own office and opens a drawer where he sees a device counting down. Quickly he enters the code “007” and it stops on “003”. He sinks breathlessly into his chair, opens the top drawer and takes a swig from a silver hip flask, apologising to the framed picture of King Charles on the wall. M enters and Bond speedily hides the hip flask.)
M: How did you know it would be here?
Bond: Only one place it could be… where the gentleman secret agent sits.
M: Well done, 007. And pass that flask over here for a moment, would you?
Bond: With pleasure, M, with pleasure. And may I ask… why are there reinforced patches on the shoulders and knees of your suit?
2022. Eon HQ, under a demolished building in London.
BB: ...so, congratulations, the part is yours.
Actor: Well, thank you, Ms Broccoli, I don’t know what to say.
BB: Oh, you can call me Barbara. We’ll be working together for a long time, I hope.
Actor: Certainly, er, Barbara.
MGW: There’s just one thing more.
Actor: What’s that, Mr Wilson?
MGW: You can call me… Mr Wilson. Now, I trust you do realise that there is an NDA attached to the role.
Actor: A non-disclosure agreement? Yes, of course. I won’t be revealing any plot details to the press.
MGW: There’s quite a bit more to it than that. You have not, under any circumstances, to reveal to the press, radio, TV, whatever, that we have signed you up to be the next James Bond. If you do, you will be dropped instantly. That information is only to be given out by Barbara and myself, preferably at a large press conference.
Actor: Yes, I see.
BB: You do understand, don’t you? It’s not that we don’t trust you or anything like that, but we have to co-ordinate all our publicity for maximum effect.
Actor: I understand. Not one word will I say. For one thing, that’s a lot of money you’re proposing to pay me.
MGW: Money isn’t as important to our organisation as knowing who to trust.
(Two weeks later, the actor is leaving an awards ceremony. He is wearing a black tuxedo with a bow tie. His customary four day stubble has gone, and his previously longish hair is now much shorter and parted on the left, with a lock falling like a thick black comma over his right eyebrow. He is beset by the press.)
1st Reporter: Mr Actor! Mr Actor! Is it true that you are the new James Bond?
Actor: Do you expect me to talk?
2nd Reporter: There is nothing you can talk to us about that we don’t already know.
Actor: Can you afford to take that chance?
3rd Reporter: Some newspapers have been reporting you being seen going into Eon HQ, then coming out again later with a big smile on your face.
Actor: They’ll print anything these days.
4th Reporter: Are you feeling under pressure, Mr Actor?
Actor: A little. But I won’t consider myself to be in trouble until I start weeping blood.
M: ….so, I am pleased to say that you have been successful.
Agent: That’s wonderful, thank you very much, sir.
M: Your reports have all been very thorough, Heads Of Section are very happy with your work, and even Q has said that he’d be pleased to see more of you.
Agent: That’s…. most flattering.
M: Therefore it has reached the point of your promotion. I’m putting you in the Double-O Section.
Agent: (Eyes widening.) Thank you, sir.
M: Now to find you a number. (Presses intercom.) Miss Moneypenny?
Moneypenny: (On intercom.) Yes, sir?
M: One moment of your time, please.
Moneypenny: Certainly, sir.
(Moneypenny enters.)
M: Which Double-O numbers are currently vacant?
Moneypenny: Well, there’s OO2 of course, and OO4, and… let me see….
(The Agent looks up at the ceiling and whispers a silent prayer, meanwhile crossing his fingers for luck.)
Moneypenny: ...numbers OO6 through OO8.
(The Agent thanks whatever deities may have been listening.)
M: Thank you, Miss Moneypenny.
Moneypenny: Of course, sir.
(She exits. The Agent mentally looks for other deities to beg in front of.)
M: Congratulations, OO8, welcome to your new post.
OO8: (Stuttering slightly while converting to atheism and not showing any sign of disappointment.) Er, thank you sir.
M: Now, go see Miss Moneypenny for the necessary paperwork.
OO8: Yes, sir, of course.
(He goes through to Moneypenny’s office.)
Moneypenny: Well, I believe congratulations are in order.
OO8: Thank you, of course, Miss Moneypenny, but….
Moneypenny: ...yes?
OO8: I can’t help but be a little disappointed. You clearly told M which Double-O numbers were available, and he… he…
Moneypenny: Let me guess- you’re the new OO6 or OO8?
OO8: OO8 it is.
Moneypenny: Yes, I could tell that you hadn’t been handed the number that you had been hoping for.
OO8: Now how could you know that?
Moneypenny: From the look on your face. It’s always the same when someone gets promoted to the Double O-Section. Well, almost always anyway. There’s only one number that they’re hoping for, and it isn’t OO1.
OO8: It isn’t OO8 either.
Moneypenny: Now, enough of that. You’ve been promoted, you know. Now you’re a Double-O, go and see Q and see what he has ready for you.
OO8: (Glumly.) Yes, Miss Moneypenny. You’re right.
(He exits. After a moment, the intercom buzzes.)
M: (On intercom.) Has he gone?
Moneypenny: Yes, sir.
M: How did he take it?
Moneypenny: Rather better than I expected.
M: Good. (Sighs.) They can’t all be OO7, you know.
2023. Jonathan Cape, publishers. A meeting is being held.
Publisher: ….so now that we have looked at the stories of Roald Dahl with a view to how they look to more modern audiences, I believe that concludes our business for-
PC Rep: No indeed Mr Publisher, it does not.
Publisher: Oh? What else have we to discuss?
PC Rep: We have now to look at the works of another author, one (Looks at paperwork.) Ian Fleming.
Publisher: Ian Fleming? The creator of James Bond?
PC Rep: The very same. Why, his books are rife with words and characters and situations which may upset today’s readership.
Publisher: Such as?
PC Rep: In one book, there is a main character who is best described as an aurophile.
Publisher: An aurophile?
PC Rep: One who loves gold.
Publisher: Oh yes, I think I know that one.
PC Rep: This is, of course, offensive to that segment of the readership who are aurophobes.
Publisher: Er, aurophobes?
PC Rep: People who dislike gold.
Publisher: But surely that’s a vanishingly small percentage of the popu-
PC Rep: And in another there is a character who has a superfluous papilla.
Publisher: (Head beginning to spin.) A what?
PC Rep: A mammary gland. A third nipple, sir.
Publisher: And?
PC Rep: I would have thought that would be obvious. This can clearly cause a sensation of inferiority throughout those readers who possess only two.
Publisher: (Blinking his eyes rapidly.) But, really-
PC Rep: And there is also a character who would most certainly cause offence to any Russian lesbian colonels who read about her- assuming that “she/her” are their preferred pronouns, of course.
Publisher: Are there many Russian lesbian colonels who have expressed an opinion on this subject?
PC Rep: That doesn’t matter. Now, there is a lot more here! There is a character called “Tee Hee” who likes to laugh who would clearly cause great distress to people who don’t, one called Hugo Drax who is exceptionally rich and thus may cause offence to people who are not, and do not get me started on Mr Wint & Mr Kidd!!!
Publisher: (Quickly, during a pause for breath.) Have you by any chance taken any notice of the main character?
PC Rep: Who, James Bond? Of course I’ve noticed him! A sexist. misogynistic dinosaur who thinks of women as disposable pleasures rather than meaningful pursuits.
Publisher: And in which book was that written?
PC Rep: Er…. Which book?
Publisher: Yes, which book?
PC Rep: (Reddening.) Well, I…. I haven’t actually read any of the books.
Publisher: You haven’t?
PC Rep: (Looking down at the desk.) Er… no. But I have seen some of the films!
Publisher: We don’t publish the films. May I suggest you read the books- ALL of them!- and then come back to me and tell me your opinion of James Bond?
PC Rep: (Very quietly.) Yes, sir.
Publisher: And we’ll see if your opinion has changed any by then. All right?
PC Rep: (Heading for door.) Yes, all right.
Publisher: Take your time.
(The PC Rep exits. The Publisher breathes a sigh of relief.)
Assistant: You do realise that once she/he/they actually reads Fleming she/he/they will be back here with a whole armoury of other complaints?
Publisher: Yes, of course- I hope I can manage to take an early retirement before that happens, though!
In my opinion books shouldn't be changed because some may get offended. There are books that are just so horrible that I'm no fan of new prints. "Mein Kampf" is an obvious example. But if a book gets re-printed the text shouldn't be changed. If needed an historian, publisher or a modern author kan write a preface at the start of the book to put it in the right context.
March 2022. Eon HQ, underneath a tournament chess arena in Venice.
MGW: ...so he’s knocked himself off our list of possibles with that stunt!
BB: Yes, definitely. Slapping someone’s face at the Oscars is one certain way to do that.
MGW: So, if you’ll just pass me the list then, Barbara, I’ll score his name off.
BB: Pass you the list?
MGW: Yes, the list.
BB: But you’ve got the list!
MGW: No, no, I clearly remember you taking the list away with you yesterday.
BB: No, Michael, that was the Domino's Pizza menu. We had pizza last night, remember? You had the 4 Seasons one and I had a Hawaiian.
MGW: Look, I for sure do not have that list.
BB: Have you looked in all your pockets?
MGW: Yes!
BB: What about your other jacket, the one at home?
MGW: I was wearing this same jacket!
BB: Well, I definitely do not have it.
(They look at each other in puzzlement for a few moments, then simultaneously reach the same conclusion.)
BB/MGW: Gregg!!!
(The door opens and Gregg Wilson enters.)
Gregg: You’re looking for me, Dad, Aunt Barbara?
BB: Yes we are! You were in this office with us yesterday, weren’t you?
Gregg: Well, yes, of course.
MGW: And we all were thinking about how much longer we could stall before making another James Bond movie, and uselessly killing as much time as possible, before deciding we should all just stop for the day and go home?
Gregg: That’s right.
BB: Now, Gregg, do you remember there was a piece of paper lying on the desk?
Gregg: Let me see... yes, I think there was.
MGW: Do you remember which one of us took it away with them?
Gregg: Oh yes, that’s easy.
BB: Who was it?
Gregg: Nobody did!
MGW: What?
Gregg: Nobody took it away with them, so I picked it up and…
BB: Yes?
Gregg: ...I put in…
MGW: Yes? Yes?
Gregg: I put it in the shredder. That one over there.
(BB squeaks. MGW groans.)
Gregg: Was it something important?
(His aunt and father look at each other with wide eyes.)
MGW: No, not really.
BB: Nothing important.
Gregg: Oh, all right then.
(Gregg leaves.)
BB: What should we do?
MGW: Same as we always do- you talk to the press, tell them we haven't started casting yet, and in fact we don't even have a script.
February 2023. The home of Aaron Taylor-Johnson. He is pacing up and down while his wife watches her nice carpet being worn away.
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: Oh, Aaron, would you sit down, please?
Aaron: I tried, but I can’t. I want to be ready when the phone rings.
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: It’s in your hand, Aaron, like it’s been all morning and all last night. I don’t think you’ll miss it ringing.
Aaron: I can’t take the chance.
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: Anyway, haven’t you still got another movie or two lined up ready to be released?
Aaron: Yes, but they’re finished. I’m free now, and I don’t want to sign up for something else if… well, you know.
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: You mean like what happened before with-
Aaron: Don’t say any names! Don’t jinx my chances!
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: Look, just sit down and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.
Aaron: Tea? I can’t drink anything just now, I’m so impatient for the phone to ring.
(The phone rings. Aaron stares at it for a second in disbelief before answering.)
Aaron: Hello? …. Yes, that’s me …. What? Another superhero movie? ….. Look, I’ll have to think about it, can I get back to you? …. Ok, bye. (He hangs up.)
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: Another superhero movie?
Aaron: Yeah…
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: You told them you’d think about it? How long have you got to think about it before they give the part to Paul Bettany or Nicholas Hoult or someone?
Aaron: But, honey, I stood behind Barbara Broccoli at the last BAFTA awards! I was in all the papers the next morning!
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: Look, darling-
Aaron: And Ralph Fiennes spoke to me during “The King’s Man”- twice!
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: But-
Aaron: I’m just waiting for this phone to ring.
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: But, honey, Barbara Broccoli was on the news earlier. She said that they hadn’t started casting yet, and they didn’t even have a script.
Aaron: Ha! That’s just what she wants you to think!
The home of Bond Fan. Bride of Bond Fan is tidying up.
Bride: I don’t know why he needs so many versions of these- two copies of “The Spy Who Loved Me”, one by Ian Fleming and one by Christopher Wood, the same for “Moonraker”. Maybe he wouldn’t notice if I just slid one of them into the charity bag….? No, he’d probably spot that.
(The door opens and Bond Fan comes home. The Bride very casually moves some random books around.)
Bond Fan: Hi, honey.
Bride: Hello, my love.
(Kiss, kiss.)
Bond Fan: Did you have a nice day?
Bride: Well, there was one strange thing that happened and I really think we need to talk about it.
Bond Fan: (Instantly alert, since he’s pretty sure that he know what’s coming.) Oh, really? What would that be?
Bride: I tried to do some shopping this afternoon, but my card was refused at the supermarket. I know that we should have enough money there, unless you’ve bought something very expensive this morning?
Bond Fan: (Stalling desperately.) Hey, that’s a lovely smell coming from the kitchen. You’ve been busy! What is it?
Bride: Never mind the food. Is there something that I should know?
Bond Fan: (He’s caught, there’s no way out.) Sit down, darling. I… I do have something to tell you. Something important.
Bride: (Sitting.) What is it, darling? Have you lost your job?
Bond Fan: No, no, it’s…. bigger than that.
Bride: Have the bank foreclosed on our mortgage?
Bond Fan: No, not that either- although I did have to take out a second mortgage.
Bride: Second mortgage???!!!
Bond Fan: And I’ve used all our savings.
Bride: But-
Bond Fan: You remember that trip to Spain we were planning in the summer? Well, I’m afraid we won’t be going.
Bride: Oh, and we were both so looking forward to that! Still, I suppose we can wait until next year.
Bond Fan: Not next year either. Or any holidays for the next, oh, twenty years.
Bride: Twenty years??!!!
Bond Fan: And the kids can forget about going to university. Not with us paying for it, anyway. They can get jobs if they like.
Bride: But… but… what’s happened, my love?
Bond Fan: (Taking a deep breath as he stands.) Come with me, darling.
Bride: (Puzzled.) Where are we going?
Bond Fan: To the garage.
(They enter the garage. A shape lies under a large sheet.)
Bride: (Now very suspicious.) What’s going on? Have you murdered somebody?
Bond Fan: No, of course not. (Takes one more deep breath.) Look.
(Decisively he pulls back the protective sheet, to reveal a gleaming, shining, perfect looking silver Aston Martin DB5.)
Bond Fan: I saw this being advertised and I... I just could resist.
Bride: Wha...what?
Bond Fan: The price was the lowest I’d ever seen for one. I knew I’d never see one at that price again.
Bride: And how much was that?
(She stares at him with as much attention as a NASA controller watching a manned capsule coming back through the atmosphere.)
Bond Fan: I’m scared to tell you. Let’s just say that I traded in our last car, remortgaged the house, and spent all our savings.
(The Bride’s face runs through more emotions than Meryl Streep winning her 14th Oscar, leaving her temporarily speechless.)
Bond Fan: Come inside with me, darling, see how beautiful it is! (They slip inside.) Here, you get into the driving seat. Look at these lovely seats, and see this arm here? Open the top and inside are your defence mechanism controls- smoke screen, oil slick, rear bulletproof screen, and left and right front wing machine guns.
Bride: (Blinking her eyes rapidly, while wondering if this is only a crazy dream and she will soon wake up.) Smoke screen? Machine guns?
Bond Fan: Well, of course, they aren’t all real. Let’s drive about a bit, and see what you think then.
(She starts the engine and they carefully drive out from the garage and down the street. The Bride has returned to a state of speechlessness, which Bond Fan mistakenly takes for her coming round to his way of thinking.)
Bond Fan: Now, this one I’m particularly keen about: you see this gear lever here? Now if you take the top off-
Bride: (She holds her hands over her ears while slamming on the brakes, being nearly as familiar with the dialogue of the film of “Goldfinger” as he is, having been forced to sit through it countless times.) Stop! Stop!
Bond Fan: Stop? But I was waiting for you to say “You’re joking”.
Bride: I won’t give you that satisfaction! You take this insanely expensive piece of machinery back to where you got it and demand your money back- no, make that OUR money back- and demand it right now!!!
Bond Fan: Get our money back?
Bride: Yes, get our money back and do it right away!
Bond Fan: But… but… I can’t.
Bride: Yes you can!
Bond Fan: I had to pay extra for the number plates, you see, and that’s non-returnable.
Bride: Number plates?
Bond Fan: Yes, they read “BF 007”- Bond Fan 007, get it? Now that was just too much for me to-
(The Bride quietly takes the top off the gear lever and finds a little red button. She pushes it. Hard.)
Underwriter: ….Fully equipped labora… (Stops writing.) Now, just stop there a moment, Mr de Bleuchamp.
Client: That’s Count de Bleuchamp.
Underwriter: Sorry, Count de Bleuchamp. I believe that we’re already stretching a point letting you claim for a restaurant on top of an Austrian mountain-
Count de Bleuchamp: Swiss mountain.
Underwriter: As you say. Considering that only a couple of years ago we let you claim for a rocket base inside a volcano, again fully equipped-
Count de Bleuchamp: And don’t forget the piranha fish.
Underwriter: Of course, not to forget the piranha fish. Where was I? Oh yes, a volcano somewhere in China-
Count de Bleuchamp: In Japan.
Underwriter: All right, all right, in Japan! These are not insignificant sums of money we are talking about, Count de Bleuchamp. May I ask what you are intending to do with them?
Count de Bleuchamp: I was thinking about an oil rig near Baja, California.
Underwriter: Baja, California?
Count de Bleuchamp: Well, either that or a delicatessen in stainless steel. I will be sure to keep you informed.
2004. Lowry Digital. A technician works on the James Bond films in preparation for the release of the “Ultimate Edition” series in 2006. His boss enters.
Supervisor: So, hi there, how are things going?
Tech: It’s been tough. I’m working on “Moonraker” right now. You remember that scene with the diary, in Holly Goodhead’s hotel room in Venice?
Supervisor: Sure.
Tech: Well, there’s this strange sort of blur, a sort of wobble.
Supervisor: What do you mean?
Tech: Take a look.
(He shows the offending scene to the supervisor.)
Supervisor: Hmm, I see what you mean. It may be an imperfection- see if you can smooth it out.
Tech: Yeah, I’ll do that then I’ll work on the helicopter in “From Russia With Love”.
Supervisor: No, leave that- we have something more important to do first….
Oh no, what's going on there? How did you get those braces on? That's going to go round the internet and become fact.
Who needs a new Bond film when we've got Barbel coming up with these brilliant posts? More laughs than the whole Craig films put together (not the compliment it ought to be, I grant you...)
Why, thank you @Napoleon Plural - this next one is especially for you.
2006 or 2008, 2012, 2015, or whatever year NTTD claims. Eon HQ, inside a Korean edifice. In the writers room, Neal Purvis and Robert Wade are hard at work.
Neal: (Typing.) ...so he’s just met her.
Robert: Right, so he says “My name’s Bond, James Bond”.
Bond is sitting at a bar in his tux, nursing a vodka martini, when a stunning brunette sits at the empty barstool to his left and confidently orders a vodka martini of her own.
BOND: I admire your choice, Miss...?
BRUNETTE: Conda. Anna Conda. [Looks at Bond's left hand.] I admire your wristwatch, Mr...?
BOND: Bond, James Bond. Thanks, it's an Omega. A remarkable feat of engineering, if I may say so -- I designed it myself.
BRUNETTE: [Coldly and objectively.] Oh please, do tell.
BOND: Well Anna, in addition to telling the time, it's a Geiger counter, a powerful magnet, and a saw that can slice through rope.
BRUNETTE: [Still unimpressed.] All you are saying may be true. Go on.
BOND: Best of all, it has a high-definition video camera that can store up to 12 hours of footage.
BRUNETTE: I don't believe you.
BOND: Fine, I'll prove it to you. Tell me about...oh, your dress. [Bond positions the watch so that the camera is focused on Anna, and proceeds to record 60 seconds of footage as Anna describes her clothing.]
BOND: OK, let's see the recording. [Bond hits the playback, which to both of their surprise shows 60 seconds of Anna naked in bed making bedroom eyes and lascivious gestures to the camera.]
BRUNETTE: [Horrified.] You presume a great deal, Mr. Bond. What the hell was that?!?
BOND: [Tapping the watch, annoyed.] Oh bloody hell, damn thing's an hour fast.
1958. Jamaica. Ian and Anne Fleming sit in their garden at Goldeneye, looking out over the horizon. Anne idly strokes a ginger cat that has wandered in.
Anne: How’s the new book coming along, Ian?
Ian: Slowly, my love, slowly.
Anne: What seems to be the problem?
Ian: I know I’ve got a good story, I know I’ve got some good characters, but I’m struggling to find the right names for them. Names are very important.
Anne: (A woman who knows her man.) Perhaps a drink might help?
Ian: Do you know, I think you may be right. Violet!
(Their faithful housekeeper Violet comes out onto the lawn.)
Violet: Yes, Commander?
Ian: A drink for Mrs Fleming, please- what would you like, darling?
Anne: (Now stroking two cats.) Oh, a vodka and tonic please, Violet.
Ian: And for me, take three measures of-
Violet: I know your drink by now, Commander.
(She goes back to the house.)
Ian: Violet’s wonderful, isn’t she?
(Anne shoots him a suspicious sideways glance. As stated, she’s a woman who knows her man. Ian, however, is staring innocently out to sea.)
Anne: Yes, very wonderful.
(Violet reappears with the drinks.)
Violet: Here you are, one vodka and tonic for Mrs Fleming, and for you, sir…
Anne/Ian: Thank you, Violet.
(Violet turns to go, shaking her right hand.)
Ian: Something wrong with your hand, Violet?
Violet: It’s nothing, Commander, it’s just the ice in your drink. It’s given me such a cold finger.
Ian: Cold finger? Such a cold finger….
Violet: Anyways, I gotta get back inside-I gotta do a lot of odd jobs.
Ian: (Rubbing his chin thoughtfully.) Odd jobs…. Cold finger….
(Violet goes back in. Anne is by now stroking three or four cats which have wandered into their garden.)
Ian: Really, Anne, I wish you wouldn’t encourage them.
Anne: Oh, they’re harmless, Ian, they might even get rid of some of those rats we’ve got here.
Ian: Hmph! Soon we’ll have cats everywhere- lots of cats….
(He drifts off, staring into space.)
Ian: Lots of cats….. Many felines… Kitties aplenty….
Anne: Ian? Are you all right?
Ian: Hmm? Oh, I’m fine, darling, really. I think I’ll just go to my typewriter for a while….
2023. The Broccoli mansion. Barbara Broccoli lies happily fast asleep, her arms tightly clutching her Daniel Craig-shaped teddy bear. A transparent shape appears in her room. The face is familiar, as is the manner.
Ghost: Barbara…
BB: (Turns in her sleep.) Hmmm...mmm?
Ghost: Barbara Broccoli!
BB: (Slowly waking up.) Oh… Daniel…. You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you to… (Wakens.) Ah! Who’s there?
Ghost: It’s me…
BB: Father? You’re here again?
Ghost: Yes, Barbara, it's me and I’m here again. Summoned from my peaceful slumbers once more by another terrible thing that you are doing.
BB: Look, Dad, we’ve been through this- “Another Way To Die” was a long time ago now, about fifteen years, and-
Ghost: No, not that, (He shudders.) although yes, that was pretty terrible.
BB: And if it’s about how we ended “No Time To Die” I’m sure that you went over that with Michael just after it was-
Ghost: No, not that either, although I still haven’t forgiven either of you two for it. Neither have Ian Fleming, Harry Saltzman, and Richard Maibaum come to think of it. They’re talking about paying you a group visit.
BB: What, all of them?
Ghost: And many more besides, here in Double-O Heaven- Roger Moore, for example. Although I do have to admit that Sean Connery wasn’t bothered- he seemed quite happy about it, in fact.
BB: Now that I do believe.
Ghost: But that isn’t what I am here for! You and your brother have committed the most terrible sin against the world of James Bond movies.
BB: Worse than Kevin McClory?
Ghost: Aargh! Do not say that name!
(The Ghost spins three times while saying “Thunderball” out loud between each spin.)
Ghost: Never say that name again!
BB: Yes, Dad, I’m sorry. Worse than Lee Tamahori?
Ghost: Worse!
BB: Worse than Charlie Feldman?
Ghost: Yes, worse even than that. Barbara, do you know how often Harry and I released James Bond movies back when we first started out?
BB: Yes, of course. Every year.
Ghost: Then over time that gave way to every two years, then every three years.
BB: Yes, I know all this.
Ghost: How many years is it since you released that… that… that thing you called “No Time To Die”?
BB: Look, Dad, it’s not the same as back in your-
Ghost: (Firmly.) How many?
BB: Well, it’s heading for four years now.
Ghost: Exactly! Four years!
BB: Times have changed, Dad. You must understand, there’s all sorts of-
Ghost: Is the script written?
BB: Not yet, but-
Ghost: Have you scouted out locations?
BB: No, but-
Ghost: Done any casting?
BB: Well, you have to see-
Ghost: For the love of Miss Moneypenny, have you even picked a new James Bond?
BB: (Very quietly.) No.
Ghost: (Holding a spectral hand to his ear.) Eh? What’s that?
BB: (Louder.) No.
Ghost: You’re taking longer and longer between each film and you and Michael still haven’t selected a new James Bond? All the good candidates will be too old by the time you get round to casting them!
BB: Hey, you picked Roger Moore!
Ghost: He wasn’t too old when I picked him- by the time he did his last movie, yeah, maybe, I’ll grant you that. But me and Harry had had our eyes on him for a while, and you and Michael haven’t even been keeping track of the guys who could do it.
BB: That’s not true- there’s Aidan Turner for example.
Ghost: Barbara, you’ve wasted so much time that he’s 40 already.
BB: Idris Elba?
Ghost: He’s 50! Now wake up, go get your brother and start working right now!
BB: But where should we look?
Ghost: I’m surprised you even have to ask- the cast of the “Harry Potter” movies should be just about the right age now…..
The figures given are at 1971 prices and would be much, much higher today.
1971. Eon HQ, inside a technological complex some miles outside Las Vegas. Not Area 51 at all, most definitely not, and any resemblance is coincidental. Cubby Broccoli sits calmly smoking a cigar, waiting on his partner Harry Saltzman to return from a meeting, and eventually Harry does.
Harry: Hi, Cubby.
Cubby: Hello, Harry. How did the meeting go?
Harry: (Sighing.) Tough, very tough.
Cubby: Was David Picker there?
Harry: Oh yes, in fact he did most of the talking.
Cubby: He did?
Harry: Well, he’d just come back from talking with Sean.
Cubby: (His turn to sigh.) I was afraid of that.
Harry: David says that as president of United Artists it’s his job to put profits first and foremost for both his company and their shareholders.
Cubby: (Sees what’s coming.) Yeah, I can understand that.
Harry: And that when we picked George Lazenby to star in our most recent James Bond film, the profits dropped considerably.
Cubby: That’s true, I can’t deny it.
Harry: So he wants more input this time. In fact, he’s already made the decision.
Cubby: (Stubs his cigar out.) And what would that decision be?
Harry: Cubby, you know perfectly well what his decision is. He wants Sean Connery back as James Bond, whatever it costs.
Cubby: And if we refuse?
Harry: Then United Artists will not finance the making of our next movie, “Diamonds Are Forever”.
Cubby: We could approach some other studio, I suppose.
Harry: That would take years to set up- it might mean that there could be a gap of four years between Bond movies!
Cubby: Good Lord, that would be terrible! We can’t do that!
Harry: Or maybe even longer, like six years.
Cubby: We can’t allow that. That would be a betrayal of all the loyalty our devoted fans have built up with us over the years. (Okay, I’ll stop now. Barbel)
Harry: You’re right.
Cubby: Well, I guess we’re over a barrel here. (Sighs again, this time very heavily.) How much does Sean want?
Harry: One and a quarter million dollars.
Cubby: One and a quarter million????
Harry: Plus £10,000 a week if we go over schedule.
Cubby: (Gasping.) We just better not go over schedule, that’s all.
Harry: Plus UA will finance the making of two films of his own choice.
Cubby: This is crazy, no actor’s ever had a deal like this before.
Harry: We’re not in a position to refuse him.
Cubby: He knows we have signed John Gavin, who’s all ready to go?
Harry: Of course he knows. He says we’ll just have to pay him off.
Cubby: Well, UA will pay that, I suppose.
Harry: No, we’re paying that out of our own pockets.
Cubby: (Looks briefly up at the ceiling.) Is there anything else?
Harry: He wants first class hotel accommodation when we’re on location, within half a mile of a golf course.
Cubby: That’s our own fault, we insisted on him learning golf for “Goldfinger” and now he loves to play it every day.
Harry: Chauffeured limousine, private flights…
Cubby: Yeah, yeah, okay.
Harry: And you have to personally start each day’s filming by wearing a tutu and dancing on one leg.
(Cubby pauses for a moment to take a deep breath before answering.)
Cubby: No. That I will not do. He can have all of the other things, but there is no way I’m going to do that.
Harry: He says if you refuse, I’ve to remind you that he has Kevin McClory’s phone number in his pocket.
Comments
Very good 😄😄😄
Thank you, @chrisno1, there's another in the pipeline.
...and here it is! Welcome to the first part of "The Man With The Edifice Complex", written by a larger than usual team consisting of Thunderpussy, Number24, CoolHandBond, Charmed & Dangerous (welcome back home, C&D), and... er... someone else... can't remember who....
PTS
North Korea. The Ryugyong Hotel, known as The Hotel Of Doom- at least, it’s known as that outside North Korea. No-one is allowed inside, but crowds are walking by and standing in the street. Some of them are looking up at it but only when they are sure that no police or soldiers will see them do so.
There is a deep rumbling sound, like Brian Blessed would make when he is served the wrong breakfast. The whole building begins to crumble and fall.
London. M’s Office. He is watching the scene on television.
M: Impressive. It’s a good thing that no-one has ever stayed there. We can perhaps work with the people who did this since whoever it was clearly shares our political views. Tanner, what’s the North Korean reaction?
Tanner: The news anchor on state TV was very agitated.
M: She is always very agitated. How worked up was she: Double production of busts of Kim at a factory after he visited? Joint US/South Korean exercise across the border? Or Kim died?
Tanner: Somewhere between military exercise and Kim's death, I think.
M: That's bad, but as expected. Any other reactions?
Tanner: A film studio was hacked again. Apparently the script of some spy franchise was leaked online. Luckily the scriptwriters had barely put pen to paper yet....
-----------------------------------------------
THE MAN WITH THE EDIFICE COMPLEX
by (alphabetically)
Barbel, Charmed & Dangerous, CoolHandBond, Number24, Thunderpussy
-----------------------------------------------
Act 1, Scene 1. M’s office. He sits behind his desk, playing with a Magic 8-Ball.
M: All right, let’s try again. (He stares hard at the ball.) Magic 8-Ball, Magic 8-Ball! Will this be the day I get my knighthood? (He shakes the ball.) It says… “Try Again Later”. Stupid ball, this IS later! Now, once again- Magic 8-Ball, Magic 8-Ball! Will this be the day I get my knighthood? (He shakes the ball vigourously.) It says…
(The door opens suddenly and Miss Moneypenny comes in. M rapidly hides the ball beneath the desk.)
M: Yes, Miss Moneypenny?
Moneypenny: Message for you, sir. You have to present yourself at Buckingham Palace as soon as possible.
M: (Can’t believe what he’s hearing.) Buckingham Palace?
Moneypenny: Yes, sir.
M: Me?
Moneypenny: Yes, sir.
M: Right now?
Moneypenny: (Eyes rolling.) Yes, sir. You, Buckingham Palace, as soon as possible.
(M stares off into space. He sees the luxuriously appointed interior of Buckingham Palace. He sees The King, standing before a cushioned stool. He sees himself walking slowly towards King Charles and kneeling on the stool. He hears the voice of The King, saying “Arise, Sir Gareth of Mallory” as he is touched on both shoulders by a ceremonial sword. He hears the voice of Miss Moneypenny, saying-
Moneypenny: Sir? Sir? Are you all right?
M: What? Oh. Yes, I’m perfectly all right. Please have a car sent round immediately. Oh wait- have I got time to reinforce the knees of my suit before we leave?
Moneypenny: (A shade doubtfully.) No, sir. But I’ll have the car sent round immediately.
M: Oh, and Miss Moneypenny…?
Moneypenny: Yes, sir?
M: When you came in there, you didn’t… er… see anything, did you?
Moneypenny: No, sir. I didn’t see you playing with your balls at all.
M: Right….
-------------------------------------------------------
Act 1, Scene 2. Buckingham Palace. The King and Queen are at lunch.
The Queen: Another slice of Corgi, darling?
The King: Oh, no more for me, Camilla, one is still full from the breakfast Cornish pasty. Have you seen today’s newspaper?
The Queen: The Mail?
The King: No, no, I said “newspaper”. I mean The Times, of course.
The Queen: Oh no, they’re not printing more about Harry and Meghan?
The King: No, not that…. Not this week, anyway. It seems that someone has been blowing up famous buildings - the Pompidou Centre in Paris, the Hoover Building in Washington. Oh, and the Scottish Parliament in Edinburgh.
The Queen: Well, at least we can rule out Andrew- he isn’t interested in anything that old.
The King: Yes, but one is concerned in case such intemperate behaviour should spread further to our green and pleasant lands.
The Queen: Oh no, it’s not those dreadful people who throw orange paint onto famous paintings and glue themselves to motorways, is it?
The King: No, though it’s a shame they don’t glue themselves to these buildings before they’re blown up.
The Queen: What do you think we should do?
The King: I have already begun, my darling. I have decided to involve our secret Intelligence people.
The Queen: Not the Government?
The King: No, dear, I said “Intelligence”. I have sent for their man M.
(A footman enters.)
Footman: Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, may I present Colonel Gareth Mallory.
The King: Right on time. Show him in, show him in.
(M enters, looking around hopefully.)
The King: Do come in, Mallory, take a seat.
M: Yes, Your Majesty, thank you.
(He sits down. He hasn’t spotted a sword or a cushioned stool.)
The King: Now, I have a job for that man of yours- the one that threw my dear Mama out from a helicopter a few years ago, now what was his name?
M: Bond. James Bond.
The King: Yes, that’s the chap.
The Queen: One has heard that he had died- something about several bullets, a warship or two full of missiles, and being infected by nanobots?
M: Yes, well, he has made an amazing recovery. Looks a bit different, though.
The King: Bit like the other feller, eh? Well, never mind all that- I want you to put him on this job immediately. Find out who is destroying these wonderful landmarks, as well as the Scottish Parliament, and put a stop to it at once.
M: Yes, sir. (Pauses.) Will that be all, Your Majesty?
The King: For the moment. Get on your way!
M: (Rising, disappointed.) Yes, Your Majesty.
(As M walks to the door, he hears the voices of the Royal couple fading away behind him.)
The King: Who do we have this afternoon, Camilla?
The Queen: I believe it’s Colin Firth.
The King: Hmm. Better get the sword out then.
(Ralph… er… Gareth chokes back his tears.)
--------------------------------------------
To be continued....
Act 1, Scene 3 At James Bond’s flat. A couple embrace.
Girl: James, when you said I looked like I needed a "stiff one" I thought you meant a drink.
Bond: I was going to get around to that. Scotch?
Girl: No, I'm Australian, here doing some coursework on those Greek brothers Casper and....
Bond: Pollux?
Girl: No, it's true. I was here with my boyfriend, who left me a year ago today after putting this ring on my finger- I haven't had it off since.
Bond: Well, I'm hoping to change that tonight.
Girl: He was beautiful, strong body, deep brown eyes, jet black hair. Only his teeth were bad. I spent a fortune on fixing his teeth, thousands. I felt when he left he smiled at me with my own teeth. I just don't get it!
Bond: Enough!
Girl: Yes, I'm not getting it enough.
(Bond gets some ice from the kitchen pulling out the ice tray, as the fruit bowl on the coffee table begins to ring. Looking somewhat confused, the girl fishes through the fruit, pushing aside some plums to pick up a banana. She answers it as if it were a phone.)
Girl: Hello?
Moneypenny: (On banana.) Hi, is James there?
Girl: Yes, he's just pulling something out.
Moneypenny: Well, tell him to put it away and talk to me.
Girl: James, there's a girl on your banana.
Bond: Soon, darling, soon, have patience.
(Bond picks up the banana knowing who will be looking for him.)
Bond: Hello Moneypenny, what gives?
Moneypenny: Sorry to interrupt your downtime, James.
Bond: Hadn't gone down yet!
Moneypenny: You're needed, James.
Bond: Yes, I got that impression too, call back in an hour.......
(He looks at the girl sipping her scotch.)
Bond: ....Better make that two.
Girl: I know it's a double!
Moneypenny: Sorry James, M wants you back up at the office.
Bond: Not the first time he's got my back up.
Moneypenny: Just get here James! Bye!
(Bond replaces the banana in the fruit bowl, then picks it up again, thumbing a switch on its side.)
Bond: Finally remembered to turn it to ‘vibrate only’ mode. Now, where we?
Girl: Your fruit bowl is quite something, isn’t it? A phone in a banana, it's like Aladdin rubbing his lamp. What happens if I rub your plums?
Bond: (Smiling.) Here, let me show you….
---------------------------------------------------------------
Act 1, Scene 4. M’s office. Bond enters.
Bond: Good evening, sir.
M: Sit down, 007.
(M hides something in a drawer and shuffles some documents on his desk.)
M: A major crisis has arisen.
Bond: I hope it's not like the last one, when we had all 00s on alert for the "Zombie Crisis" only to discover later that you'd misread a note from Moneypenny about "Zumba Classes".
M: Yes, well, anyone can make a mistake and those classes have really helped in the definition of my buttocks.
Bond: I have heard the term "Great Ass" and your name spoken together, sir.
M: Now to business. There have been reports coming in for weeks now of buildings blowing up. One of the Great Pyramids-
Bond: Well, you know my opinion on Egyptian builders.
M: ...... The Pompidou Centre in Paris, the Hoover Building in Washington. Important buildings. Oh, and the Holyrood Parliament Building. Now this comes from the highest level.
Bond: Meghan Markle? Piers Morgan?
M: The highest level.
Bond: Not old Rishi the Prime Minister?
M: Higher than that, 007.
Bond: Not…….?
M: Yes, 007.
Bond: Nicola Sturgeon! I knew she was only pretending to quit!
M: (Sighing.) No, Bond, The King himself!
Bond: I’ve never really believed that Elvis was dead, now I know for sure.
M: Not Elvis- King Charles!!!!
Bond: I've always wanted to be a Kingsman, love the glasses.
M: We've received reports that Trump Tower could be next.
Bond: Oh, we can only hope although that amount of tanning fluid dropping on New Yorkers could be a problem. Do we have any leads?
M: One name has been linked, old “Perfect” or rather Peregrine Carruthers. I'm guessing it's a mistake, obviously.
Bond: Why, sir?
M: I play Ludo with him every Tuesday at the Ludo club. You learn a lot about a man as you stare him in the eye when there’s something hard between you.
Bond: That and a game of Ludo? I’m more of Baccarat man myself, or Poker… which reminds me of what I was hoping to do with my dinner guest before we were interrupted…
M: Good grief, Carruthers is an Old Etonian after all- went there with dear old Boris, was in the Bullingdon club. They’re like Carruthers brothers from other mothers. “Perfect” donates to several charities and is Head of the Amateur National Association of Ludo, ANAL for short.
Bond: I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of it, sir. I assume you'd like me to meet him and check him out?
M: Yes, we will have to look him over though I think it's a waste of time. After all, he makes his own jam and has a huge collection of injured teddy bears. He wears crocs for goodness sake! At any rate, I've been informed he’ll be playing on Tuesday at the Ludo club - I think you should be there, too.
Bond: I'll brush up on my Ludo skills, sir.
M: You'll need them - he's a brilliant player and plays for big money. But first you have time to go to New York and check out Trump Tower.
-------------------------------------------------
Act 2, Scene 1. New York. Bond is in the back seat of a cab, heading for Trump Tower. The radio news is on.
Radio: ….Reports are now coming in about simultaneous multiple explosions around the world. There has been an explosion at the Fray Bentos pie factory in Uruguay, the blast could be heard 3.14 miles away. And elsewhere investigators are combing through the wreckage of an explosion at a hairbrush factory. We’ve just heard that the Nissan factory in Sunderland, England has exploded. Apparently it’s raining Datsun cogs. The Charmin paper factory in Baltimore, USA has just exploded, there is soft tissue damage everywhere. And we’re receiving breaking news that Trump Tower has been razed to the ground, our on the spot reporter said it’s a long story… no, sorry… he said it’s now a short storey…
Driver: Ya hear that, bud?
Bond: Yes, I certainly did.
Driver: Ya still wanna go there?
Bond: I think I have to.
(They arrive at the site of what was once Trump Tower. Bond gets out from the cab, paying off the driver.)
Driver: (Disgustedly.) Ya call that a tip?
Bond: I call you lucky- we drove past the same “Fillet of Soul” bar at least three times on our way here.
Driver: (Heading off.) Wise ass….
(Bond looks at the sight where the Trump Tower used to be, and spots the man himself leaping up and down with anger.)
Rudi: Calm down, boss.
Don Jr: Yeah, keep cool, Dad.
Rudi: You’ll give yourself a heart attack carrying on like that.
Melania: Really? Keep jumping, my dahlink! Do it some more!
Trump: Hey, I’m the best at jumping. You watch me! I’m so good at it. And whoever did this to my beautiful tower will pay. No one touches my impressive monument.
Melania: You can say that again, dahlink.
(As Bond walks around the crater, he comes across two security guards.)
Bond: I take it you used to work here?
1st Guard: That’s right- in fact we’re the ones who found the bomb!
2nd Guard: Yeah, that was us.
Bond: But if you found the bomb, why did the tower still blow up?
1st Guard: We only said we found it- we didn’t tell anyone and just ran away!
2nd Guard: Yeah, we didn’t want to look at that ugly thing one minute longer!
(Bond has by now noticed that he is being observed by a singularly attractive brunette. While behaving very professionally and discreetly, she has a major disadvantage in the art of shadowing people, being stunningly attractive. Her long black hair flows in the wind on this windless day, her skin only bare on her hands, face, neck and most of all her cleavage, but she was probably from a Mediterranean region where they grew olives. Her cheekbones are high and so defined they could probably be used in combat. The eyes are large and deeply brown and seem to signal interest and great relief at the same time. She’s wearing a trench coat, but the effect is very different from when Columbo wore one.)
Young Lady: Good afternoon, Mr Bond.
Bond: You know who I am?
Young Lady: Let’s just say that your reputation precedes you. My name is Enorme, Enorme Scollatura.
Bond: (Eyes staying resolutely straight ahead.) Your parents were prescient. Your accent, clearly Italian, perhaps Sicilian?
Enorme: Well done, Mr Bond, you have an excellent ear.
Bond: Among many other things. Call me James, Enorme.
Enorme: I’d like that.
Bond: I am wondering, now, what interest Italy could have in the destruction of so American a landmark.
Enorme: I’d be happy to discuss that over dinner, perhaps?
Bond: But of course. I know the best place in town.
(20 minutes later…)
Bond: ….so that’s a Quarter Pounder for me, and a Big Mac for the lady.
Young Man: Do you want fries with that?
Bond: Yes, please, and a couple of dips.
Enorme: I’ll sit here and wait.
Young Man: I’ll bring it over to you.
Bond: But of course.
(10 minutes later...)
Enorme: Now, tell me how Britain’s best known secret agent just happens to be on the scene only moments after the Tower has been demolished?
Bond: We have friends in low places, and think this is tied in with the recent destruction of other buildings around the world.
Enorme: Such as in Paris and Pyongyang?
Bond: And Edinburgh.
Enorme: Oh yes, I was forgetting.
Bond: But as far as I know there have been no buildings blown up in Italy, so why have you been sent to investigate?
Enorme: James, you can’t have failed to notice that all these buildings are particularly ugly, the sort of thing your own King once called “carbuncles”.
Bond: Yes, of course.
Enorme: Italy is famous for the beauty of many, many of its buildings. The Italian secret service are nervous because famous buildings are getting blown up and Italy has a lot of them, but I believe that whoever is doing this must be targeting ugly buildings.
Bond: But there is still a question much more important than that which has to be answered first.
Enorme: Oh? What’s that?
Bond: Will my milkshake be shaken or stirred?
--------------------------------------------------------------
To be continued...
Act 2, Scene 2
It is evening. James Bond and Enorme Scollatura stand outside a stately Victorian building in the City of London, Bond in his customary tuxedo and Enorme in an impressively notable dress. The dress is very frugal since the designer has clearly saved a lot of money on material, especially at the top and bottom.
Enorme: The “Homo Ludens" club is supposed to be here.
Bond: Are we absolutely certain it's a Ludo club? I'm not sure about the name....
Enorme: What do you mean? Maybe the entrance is by the back door?
Bond: (Looking a bit pale.) Th ... the back door? Cover me when we're in there, Enorme. I'll feel much safer with a woman like you by my side!
(The entrance really is at the back. A servant dressed in a red uniform welcomes them to the private members club. Enorme smiles confidently, but Bond has looked less nervous infiltrating Soviet bases in the middle of Afghanistan. He notices that the doorman isn’t wearing the traditional white gloves, but rather thin rubber ones. He gulps.)
Enorme: Remember, your mission is to penetrate Carruthers' intimate circle!
Bond: (White as a sheet.) Pe-pe-pene .....
(They step into a large room much like the best casinos Bond has visited in the past, although the marble floor layout is like a ludo board. The men are in tuxes and suits while the women are in dresses that show only marginally less willingness to take risks than Enorme. Bond regains much of his normal self-confidence.)
Bond: I see Carruthers sitting by that table to our left. Let's get close to him. I mean.....
(Peregrine Carruthers is holding court at a gaming table where they are one player short. Blue, if Bond remembered the Duke of Blackpool's rules of Ludo correctly. A woman in a startling designer dress stands behind Carruthers, the dress clearly designed to show as much brown skin as legally possible. The woman was the ideal date for a man like Carruthers, because she was perfectly designed.
Bond was by now only mildly worried and not scared like he had been a mere moment ago when he had thought that he was walking into a private club for men whose preferences included different lifestyle choices from him. He was, after all, merely about to confront a dangerous villain who had probably been blowing up important buildings all around the world, and the Parliament in Edinburgh too. Nothing unusual there.)
Bond: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. May I join your game?
Carruthers: Are you familiar with the rules of Ludo, sir?
Bond: Oh, I’ve been known to dabble.
Carruthers: Then please sit down, Mr….?
Bond: Bond. James Bond. And this is Enorme Scollatura.
Carruthers: Oh, sicuramente, signorina, ben nominato. Don’t you agree, Mister Bond?
Bond: Er… yes, of course.
Carruthers: May I introduce my associates? (He points to the stunningly beautiful woman to his right). The young lady here is called Taj Mahoney. And the gentleman standing next to you is my, ah, associate…
(Bond jumped. He hadn’t noticed the enormous man standing at his elbow. The imposing figure must have been close to seven feet, and powerfully built. As he looked the giant up and down, Bond noticed that his hands were hidden behind gloves – thin rubber gloves like the doorman’s – and holding a computer tablet. Bond started to sweat again as the giant smiled at him, revealing glinting steel teeth in a shark’s smile.)
Bond: And you are?
Man: They call me Dixie Normous.
Bond: (Gulping again.) I’m not surprised.
(As he sits down Bond sees a plaque on his chair. It said: "The chair of honourary member Hugh Hefner. Now relaxing in his mansion in the sky". Bond smiles, his confident and debonair self now back in full force, enough so to accept the bet of the price of a tailored suit from Anthony Sinclair. The game begins….)
Bond: (Whispering to Enorme.) We're well into the game, but despite my high skill in Ludo I'm not getting anywhere. Carruthers is winning!
Enorme: (Sighing and rolling her eyes.) Look James, every time Taj leans over the table, Dixie uses the distraction to move the pieces. He is using the tablet to control magnets under the table to move the pieces to Carruthers' advantage. Obviously there's metal in the pieces of the game.
Bond: Obviously...… Yes…. I knew that. Yes. Anyway, let's beat them at their own game. Enorme, do you think that you can distract everybody while I move the pieces by hand?
Enorme: (Scoffing.) What sort of woman do you think I am? I can distract the whole room if I want to!
(A woman of her word, Enorme starts to slowly lean over the table while dropping her purse and retrieving it without bending her knees thus drawing the attention of everyone in the club, then sitting on Bond in a way that brought back memories of Bond's visit to Lapland last Christmas. After less than five minutes the club awards Enorme the Hefner Award, a pair of pink bunny ears, for her efforts. Taj looks green with envy.)
Bond: And that’s my last piece inside the square.
(The two other players have barely noticed they're still in the game. Carruthers, Dixie and Taj are fuming with anger. Carruthers writes Bond a check with lots of zeros.)
Carruthers: Make sure you invest your winnings in beautiful real estate quickly, Mister Bond. (Pauses.) Or more realistically in today's market in London, a studio flat in Peckham!
Bond: Thank you for the advice, Carruthers.
Carruthers: No hard feelings, Mister Bond. You seem an interesting character.
Bond: Why, thank you.
Carruthers: Please come and dine with me tomorrow, at my place in the country.
Bond: I'd be delighted.
Carruthers: Dixie!
Dixie: Yes, sir?
(Bond almost jumps, as he realizes the giant is once more by his side without Bond being aware of him having moved.)
Carruthers: Make the arrangements with Mister Bond.
Dixie: My pleasure, sir. (He smiles his gigantic shark smile again.) I have a feeling Mr Bond and I will become, ahh, inseparable.
__________________________________________
Act 3, Scene 1. The beautiful stately home of Peregrine “Perfect” Carruthers. James Bond has been shown in by the butler.
Carruthers: So good of you to accept my request, Mr Bond.
Bond: How could I refuse so gracious an invitation, Mr Carruthers?
Carruthers: Please- my friends call me “Pervy”.
Bond: Well, they would know better than I do.
Carruthers: Please, be seated. It is time for us to dine.
Bond: Certainly.
(A servant dressed as a maitre d’ approaches Bond.)
Maitre d’: Would you like to hear the specials?
Bond: Yes, please.
Maitre d’: This town ahhh ahhhhh is coming like a ghost town!!
Bond: Er… I’ll just have the same as Mr Carruthers.
Maitre d’: Certainly. (Exits.)
Carruthers: While we await our meal, what would you like to discuss, Mr Bond?
Bond: Well, there's been a lot of speculation about what motivates you. Politics, perhaps?
Carruthers: What would you like to know?
Bond: Where do you stand on Brexit?
Carruthers: Never heard of it! I use the Barclay Gold Card myself.
Bond: Well, do you have any thoughts about Putin?
Carruthers: Look, no-one’s disputing Putin, they’re too busy looting or shooting.
Bond: Doesn’t sound like politics is your thing. (He looks around.) You have a magnificent home, Carruthers.
Carruthers: This is true, Mr. Bond, all my life I have been obsessed with things being perfect. At Eton I won the punctuation award.
Bond: That’s very impressive.
Carruthers: Yes, it was a posh trophy.
Bond: Well, yes, I must admit that I like the finer things in life, myself.
Carruthers: But my superiority complex is much better than yours, Mr. Bond!
Bond: (Raising an eyebrow in a very Saintly way.) And does that extend to… architecture?
Carruthers: (His eyes narrow.) What makes you say that, Mr Bond?
Bond: There’s a lot of talk about architecture at the moment. The Pompidou Centre, the Hoover Building, the Trump Tower…
Carruthers: And the Scottish Parliament.
Bond: Oh yes, and that.
Carruthers: All notably ugly buildings! Architecture today has become a pale shadow of what it was in the past- nobody takes the time to create truly beautiful structures any more! Well, I am going to make them change their minds about that!
Bond: You, Mr Carruthers?
Carruthers: Yes, me! I intend, Mr Bond, to destroy all of these horrible edifices and ensure that they are replaced by wonderful, magnificently designed constructions which will have all the peoples of the world saying “There! There is a beautiful development and it is the brainchild of Peregrine “Perfect” Carruthers!”
Bond: I suppose you know you’re mad as a hatter.
Carruthers: So was Frank Lloyd Wright, so was Charles Rennie McIntosh, so was Le Corbusier! I am in good, in illustrious company Mr Bond.
Bond: So where’s your next target- America? Asia?
Carruthers: My next target? Why, Mr Bond, my next target is known very well to you yourself- and everyone in your organisation.
Bond: My organisation…? No! You can’t mean….
Carruthers: But I have said enough- Dixie!
(Bond jumps as he notices the giant at his elbow once again.)
Carruthers: Take Mr Bond to the dungeon. I think you’ll be impressed at its beautiful design, Mr Bond- Dixie thinks the window should be smaller and have metal bars, but the room needs natural light and bars would break up the perfect lines of the window, I think.
(Dixie leads Bond to the dungeon, Peregrine Carruthers following behind. When they arrive, Bond is thrown in. Carruthers is still chattering away happily.)
Carruthers: I had it designed by an architect in the best possible taste. See how the line of the bench works with the wide window above it? And how the spherical shape of the granite vase on the window sill beautifully contrasts with the horizontal lines?
Bond: Yes. I can see how it all opens up the room.…
(Perfect nods and smiles, happy to finally have a prisoner who appreciates his beautiful dungeon. He leaves as Dixie locks the door behind him.
Seconds later, a helicopter spirals down from the sky outside Carruthers's mansion. Enorme jumps out, onto the lawn. With a loud crack, a ball-shaped granite vase smashes through the dungeon window and Bond steps out. He adjusts his tie.)
Bond: English builders...
(He casually walks over to Enorme's helicopter.)
Enorme: Get in, James!
(As Bond runs towards the helicopter, a figure silently appears at his elbow– Dixie.)
Bond: I wish you wouldn’t keep doing that!
Dixie: Come Mr Bond– I had a feeling we’d be grappling before too long!
(The giant lunges at Bond, who feints to his right but, at the last moment, rolls left. The giant, however, is too quick. A vast fist in a rubber glove drives into Bond’s solar plexus, knocking the wind from him. Bond grunts, and as a second giant fist sails towards him, rolls again. Bond staggers to his feet, and in quick succession drives a right hook and a left uppercut into the giant’s jawbone. Bond instantly regrets it as his fists explode in pain from the steel-lined jawbone. The giant smiles and walks towards Bond. At the last moment, Bond flails out, kicking the giant between the legs. Instantly, the giant drops to his knees, howling in pain.)
Bond: That’s the thing, Dixie- you may be quick but you have a ‘normous Achilles Heel.
Enorme: James, hurry!
Bond: (Jumping into the helicopter.) Most certainly. And head for London immediately, please, Enorme- the next target is the MI6 building!
Enorme: The MI6 building? Didn’t that get blown up in “Spectre”?
Bond: Yes, and so did I in the film after that- but just get going. This is no time to clarify.
-------------------------------------------------
To be continued
Act 3, Scene 2.
The roof of the MI6 building. Enorme flies the helicopter very close. Bond is lowered to the top of the building. “Perfect” is waiting for him and hands him a glass.
Perfect: Let’s be civilised, Mr. Bond…three measures of Gordon’s, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet, shaken over ice with a slice of lemon peel. We really are not so different, Mr. Bond.
Bond: (Takes a sip of the drink and nods in appreciation.) Perfect, Carruthers. Except that I don’t go around blowing up magnificent buildings. Or the Scottish Parliament building either.
Perfect: Dr. No’s base, Blofeld’s volcano, Scaramanga’s island lair… I could go on, the list is endless!
Bond: It’s hardly the same thing. The general public wouldn’t know those from Adam.
Perfect: I’m doing the general public a service, Mr. Bond.
Bond: I can’t let you do this, Carruthers. It stops now. These are not the actions of a gentleman.
Perfect: Then I challenge you to a duel as a gentleman, winner takes all. If you win, which of course you won’t, the code to dismantle the bomb is inside my Versace La Medusa wallet.
Bond: A gentleman’s duel?
Perfect: Golf, tennis, bridge, polo, croquet, cricket, fencing, chess, ludo … these are proper games for gentlemen but alas not practical at this moment. I therefore suggest a battle of wits.
Bond: I’d accept that, but I see that you have come unarmed.
Perfect: Please, Mr Bond. Design the perfect dinner for two gentlemen… two courses, one wine.
Bond: Who decides the winner?
Perfect: We do, of course, Mr. Bond. Gentlemen will never argue, they will know which is best.
Bond: Let’s put a stop to this, this is no time to dine. I will make sure you are treated-
Perfect: No deals, Mr. Bond. My choice is Pate de Foie Gras. And your starter?
Bond: Caviar… Royal Beluga… north of the Caspian.
Perfect: (Gnashing his teeth.) Agh, you win, Mr. Bond, there is nothing finer. Main course… Roast Sirloin of Beef. And the wine is Petrus – Pomerol. I think I win, Mr. Bond?
Bond: No, I don’t think so… Phuyuck.
Perfect: (Looking bemused.) Phuyuck?
Bond: ‘74.
(With this, Bond kicks out landing his foot into Perfect’s solar plexus, then an uppercut to the chin knocks him senseless to the ground.)
Bond: Sometimes you just need to channel your inner Jason Statham.
(Bond grabs Perfect’s wallet and retrieves the code… it reads 007. Bond rolls his eyes and mutters “But of course” before running for the rooftop door and down the stairs calling for security to go and get Perfect. He runs into his own office and opens a drawer where he sees a device counting down. Quickly he enters the code “007” and it stops on “003”. He sinks breathlessly into his chair, opens the top drawer and takes a swig from a silver hip flask, apologising to the framed picture of King Charles on the wall. M enters and Bond speedily hides the hip flask.)
M: How did you know it would be here?
Bond: Only one place it could be… where the gentleman secret agent sits.
M: Well done, 007. And pass that flask over here for a moment, would you?
Bond: With pleasure, M, with pleasure. And may I ask… why are there reinforced patches on the shoulders and knees of your suit?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Epilogue. Bond’s flat. The door opens and he enters with Enorme.
Bond: Well, if you’d like to come in, Enorme…
(She brushes right past him into the flat.)
Enorme: Just moved in, have you?
Bond: Not you as well. (He sighs, and they kiss.)
Bond: Shall we have a drink?
(He motions her over to the sofa, quickly grabbing a bra that was lying there and stuffing it behind a cushion.)
Enorme: Yes, I would like that.
(She grabs him again and they kiss, falling towards the sofa.)
Bond: (Surfacing.) If you’re not thirsty, I will quite understand.
(Enorme looks puzzledly over at the fruit bowl.)
Enorme: James?
Bond: Yes?
Enorme: I think your banana is throbbing.
Bond: Oh no, not again….
@Charmed & Dangerous, @CoolHandBond, @Number24, @Thunderpussy
2022. Eon HQ, under a demolished building in London.
BB: ...so, congratulations, the part is yours.
Actor: Well, thank you, Ms Broccoli, I don’t know what to say.
BB: Oh, you can call me Barbara. We’ll be working together for a long time, I hope.
Actor: Certainly, er, Barbara.
MGW: There’s just one thing more.
Actor: What’s that, Mr Wilson?
MGW: You can call me… Mr Wilson. Now, I trust you do realise that there is an NDA attached to the role.
Actor: A non-disclosure agreement? Yes, of course. I won’t be revealing any plot details to the press.
MGW: There’s quite a bit more to it than that. You have not, under any circumstances, to reveal to the press, radio, TV, whatever, that we have signed you up to be the next James Bond. If you do, you will be dropped instantly. That information is only to be given out by Barbara and myself, preferably at a large press conference.
Actor: Yes, I see.
BB: You do understand, don’t you? It’s not that we don’t trust you or anything like that, but we have to co-ordinate all our publicity for maximum effect.
Actor: I understand. Not one word will I say. For one thing, that’s a lot of money you’re proposing to pay me.
MGW: Money isn’t as important to our organisation as knowing who to trust.
(Two weeks later, the actor is leaving an awards ceremony. He is wearing a black tuxedo with a bow tie. His customary four day stubble has gone, and his previously longish hair is now much shorter and parted on the left, with a lock falling like a thick black comma over his right eyebrow. He is beset by the press.)
1st Reporter: Mr Actor! Mr Actor! Is it true that you are the new James Bond?
Actor: Do you expect me to talk?
2nd Reporter: There is nothing you can talk to us about that we don’t already know.
Actor: Can you afford to take that chance?
3rd Reporter: Some newspapers have been reporting you being seen going into Eon HQ, then coming out again later with a big smile on your face.
Actor: They’ll print anything these days.
4th Reporter: Are you feeling under pressure, Mr Actor?
Actor: A little. But I won’t consider myself to be in trouble until I start weeping blood.
1st Reporter: So how are you feeling, then?
Actor: (Raising an eyebrow.) Shaken…
An uncertain year. M’s office.
M: ….so, I am pleased to say that you have been successful.
Agent: That’s wonderful, thank you very much, sir.
M: Your reports have all been very thorough, Heads Of Section are very happy with your work, and even Q has said that he’d be pleased to see more of you.
Agent: That’s…. most flattering.
M: Therefore it has reached the point of your promotion. I’m putting you in the Double-O Section.
Agent: (Eyes widening.) Thank you, sir.
M: Now to find you a number. (Presses intercom.) Miss Moneypenny?
Moneypenny: (On intercom.) Yes, sir?
M: One moment of your time, please.
Moneypenny: Certainly, sir.
(Moneypenny enters.)
M: Which Double-O numbers are currently vacant?
Moneypenny: Well, there’s OO2 of course, and OO4, and… let me see….
(The Agent looks up at the ceiling and whispers a silent prayer, meanwhile crossing his fingers for luck.)
Moneypenny: ...numbers OO6 through OO8.
(The Agent thanks whatever deities may have been listening.)
M: Thank you, Miss Moneypenny.
Moneypenny: Of course, sir.
(She exits. The Agent mentally looks for other deities to beg in front of.)
M: Congratulations, OO8, welcome to your new post.
OO8: (Stuttering slightly while converting to atheism and not showing any sign of disappointment.) Er, thank you sir.
M: Now, go see Miss Moneypenny for the necessary paperwork.
OO8: Yes, sir, of course.
(He goes through to Moneypenny’s office.)
Moneypenny: Well, I believe congratulations are in order.
OO8: Thank you, of course, Miss Moneypenny, but….
Moneypenny: ...yes?
OO8: I can’t help but be a little disappointed. You clearly told M which Double-O numbers were available, and he… he…
Moneypenny: Let me guess- you’re the new OO6 or OO8?
OO8: OO8 it is.
Moneypenny: Yes, I could tell that you hadn’t been handed the number that you had been hoping for.
OO8: Now how could you know that?
Moneypenny: From the look on your face. It’s always the same when someone gets promoted to the Double O-Section. Well, almost always anyway. There’s only one number that they’re hoping for, and it isn’t OO1.
OO8: It isn’t OO8 either.
Moneypenny: Now, enough of that. You’ve been promoted, you know. Now you’re a Double-O, go and see Q and see what he has ready for you.
OO8: (Glumly.) Yes, Miss Moneypenny. You’re right.
(He exits. After a moment, the intercom buzzes.)
M: (On intercom.) Has he gone?
Moneypenny: Yes, sir.
M: How did he take it?
Moneypenny: Rather better than I expected.
M: Good. (Sighs.) They can’t all be OO7, you know.
Moneypenny: Yes, sir.
'Absurd censorship': Roald Dahl's books have been rewritten, these are the changes and why - Manchester Evening News
Roald Dahl: Rishi Sunak joins criticism of changes to author's books - BBC News
2023. Jonathan Cape, publishers. A meeting is being held.
Publisher: ….so now that we have looked at the stories of Roald Dahl with a view to how they look to more modern audiences, I believe that concludes our business for-
PC Rep: No indeed Mr Publisher, it does not.
Publisher: Oh? What else have we to discuss?
PC Rep: We have now to look at the works of another author, one (Looks at paperwork.) Ian Fleming.
Publisher: Ian Fleming? The creator of James Bond?
PC Rep: The very same. Why, his books are rife with words and characters and situations which may upset today’s readership.
Publisher: Such as?
PC Rep: In one book, there is a main character who is best described as an aurophile.
Publisher: An aurophile?
PC Rep: One who loves gold.
Publisher: Oh yes, I think I know that one.
PC Rep: This is, of course, offensive to that segment of the readership who are aurophobes.
Publisher: Er, aurophobes?
PC Rep: People who dislike gold.
Publisher: But surely that’s a vanishingly small percentage of the popu-
PC Rep: And in another there is a character who has a superfluous papilla.
Publisher: (Head beginning to spin.) A what?
PC Rep: A mammary gland. A third nipple, sir.
Publisher: And?
PC Rep: I would have thought that would be obvious. This can clearly cause a sensation of inferiority throughout those readers who possess only two.
Publisher: (Blinking his eyes rapidly.) But, really-
PC Rep: And there is also a character who would most certainly cause offence to any Russian lesbian colonels who read about her- assuming that “she/her” are their preferred pronouns, of course.
Publisher: Are there many Russian lesbian colonels who have expressed an opinion on this subject?
PC Rep: That doesn’t matter. Now, there is a lot more here! There is a character called “Tee Hee” who likes to laugh who would clearly cause great distress to people who don’t, one called Hugo Drax who is exceptionally rich and thus may cause offence to people who are not, and do not get me started on Mr Wint & Mr Kidd!!!
Publisher: (Quickly, during a pause for breath.) Have you by any chance taken any notice of the main character?
PC Rep: Who, James Bond? Of course I’ve noticed him! A sexist. misogynistic dinosaur who thinks of women as disposable pleasures rather than meaningful pursuits.
Publisher: And in which book was that written?
PC Rep: Er…. Which book?
Publisher: Yes, which book?
PC Rep: (Reddening.) Well, I…. I haven’t actually read any of the books.
Publisher: You haven’t?
PC Rep: (Looking down at the desk.) Er… no. But I have seen some of the films!
Publisher: We don’t publish the films. May I suggest you read the books- ALL of them!- and then come back to me and tell me your opinion of James Bond?
PC Rep: (Very quietly.) Yes, sir.
Publisher: And we’ll see if your opinion has changed any by then. All right?
PC Rep: (Heading for door.) Yes, all right.
Publisher: Take your time.
(The PC Rep exits. The Publisher breathes a sigh of relief.)
Assistant: You do realise that once she/he/they actually reads Fleming she/he/they will be back here with a whole armoury of other complaints?
Publisher: Yes, of course- I hope I can manage to take an early retirement before that happens, though!
The very day after I wrote the above -
And many more. You couldn't make it up.... Oh wait....
In my opinion books shouldn't be changed because some may get offended. There are books that are just so horrible that I'm no fan of new prints. "Mein Kampf" is an obvious example. But if a book gets re-printed the text shouldn't be changed. If needed an historian, publisher or a modern author kan write a preface at the start of the book to put it in the right context.
I hope the new editions are a complete failure and the publisher loses a fortune.
Conversely, it should make my collection of first editions shoot up in value, so not all bad news.
N24, they are putting a short preface to that effect. CHB, I hope exactly the same as you!
As I understood they're both censoring the books and writing a preface. I think a preface should be enough.
March 2022. Eon HQ, underneath a tournament chess arena in Venice.
MGW: ...so he’s knocked himself off our list of possibles with that stunt!
BB: Yes, definitely. Slapping someone’s face at the Oscars is one certain way to do that.
MGW: So, if you’ll just pass me the list then, Barbara, I’ll score his name off.
BB: Pass you the list?
MGW: Yes, the list.
BB: But you’ve got the list!
MGW: No, no, I clearly remember you taking the list away with you yesterday.
BB: No, Michael, that was the Domino's Pizza menu. We had pizza last night, remember? You had the 4 Seasons one and I had a Hawaiian.
MGW: Look, I for sure do not have that list.
BB: Have you looked in all your pockets?
MGW: Yes!
BB: What about your other jacket, the one at home?
MGW: I was wearing this same jacket!
BB: Well, I definitely do not have it.
(They look at each other in puzzlement for a few moments, then simultaneously reach the same conclusion.)
BB/MGW: Gregg!!!
(The door opens and Gregg Wilson enters.)
Gregg: You’re looking for me, Dad, Aunt Barbara?
BB: Yes we are! You were in this office with us yesterday, weren’t you?
Gregg: Well, yes, of course.
MGW: And we all were thinking about how much longer we could stall before making another James Bond movie, and uselessly killing as much time as possible, before deciding we should all just stop for the day and go home?
Gregg: That’s right.
BB: Now, Gregg, do you remember there was a piece of paper lying on the desk?
Gregg: Let me see... yes, I think there was.
MGW: Do you remember which one of us took it away with them?
Gregg: Oh yes, that’s easy.
BB: Who was it?
Gregg: Nobody did!
MGW: What?
Gregg: Nobody took it away with them, so I picked it up and…
BB: Yes?
Gregg: ...I put in…
MGW: Yes? Yes?
Gregg: I put it in the shredder. That one over there.
(BB squeaks. MGW groans.)
Gregg: Was it something important?
(His aunt and father look at each other with wide eyes.)
MGW: No, not really.
BB: Nothing important.
Gregg: Oh, all right then.
(Gregg leaves.)
BB: What should we do?
MGW: Same as we always do- you talk to the press, tell them we haven't started casting yet, and in fact we don't even have a script.
BB: Do you think it will work?
MGW: It always has….
February 2023. The home of Aaron Taylor-Johnson. He is pacing up and down while his wife watches her nice carpet being worn away.
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: Oh, Aaron, would you sit down, please?
Aaron: I tried, but I can’t. I want to be ready when the phone rings.
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: It’s in your hand, Aaron, like it’s been all morning and all last night. I don’t think you’ll miss it ringing.
Aaron: I can’t take the chance.
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: Anyway, haven’t you still got another movie or two lined up ready to be released?
Aaron: Yes, but they’re finished. I’m free now, and I don’t want to sign up for something else if… well, you know.
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: You mean like what happened before with-
Aaron: Don’t say any names! Don’t jinx my chances!
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: Look, just sit down and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.
Aaron: Tea? I can’t drink anything just now, I’m so impatient for the phone to ring.
(The phone rings. Aaron stares at it for a second in disbelief before answering.)
Aaron: Hello? …. Yes, that’s me …. What? Another superhero movie? ….. Look, I’ll have to think about it, can I get back to you? …. Ok, bye. (He hangs up.)
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: Another superhero movie?
Aaron: Yeah…
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: You told them you’d think about it? How long have you got to think about it before they give the part to Paul Bettany or Nicholas Hoult or someone?
Aaron: But, honey, I stood behind Barbara Broccoli at the last BAFTA awards! I was in all the papers the next morning!
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: Look, darling-
Aaron: And Ralph Fiennes spoke to me during “The King’s Man”- twice!
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: But-
Aaron: I’m just waiting for this phone to ring.
Mrs Taylor-Johnson: But, honey, Barbara Broccoli was on the news earlier. She said that they hadn’t started casting yet, and they didn’t even have a script.
Aaron: Ha! That’s just what she wants you to think!
1962. The Broccoli mansion. Dana Broccoli is playing with her infant daughter, Barbara.
Dana: Mama loves her little girl! Can you say “Mama”?
(Little Barbara smiles but says nothing.)
Dana: Say “Mama”, Barbara. Please say “Mama”!
(Barbara kisses her mother and laughs.)
Dana: Oh well, maybe later. (Looks at her watch.) I’d better go into the kitchen, your father is coming home soon.
(Dana puts Barbara safely into her baby chair and heads for the kitchen.)
Barbara: Mama.
(Dana turns in pleasurable shock.)
Dana: Barbara! What did you say?
Barbara: (With a big smile.) Mama!
Dana: Oh my darling!
(She picks up her beloved daughter and kisses her. Both laugh happily. The door opens and Cubby Broccoli enters the room.)
Cubby: Hi, my loves.
(He heads over to kiss them but Dana interrupts him.)
Dana: Cubby, Barbara just spoke!
Cubby: No!
Dana: Yes, just a moment ago.
Cubby: That’s wonderful, what did she say?
Barbara: Mama.
Cubby: Oh Barbara! (He kisses her.) Say it again.
Barbara: Mama.
(Dana and Cubby kiss happily.)
Cubby: I wonder if she’ll say “Dada” soon?
Dana: Give her a chance, darling, she’s only just starting.
Cubby: Yeah, I suppose you’re right.
(Dana puts Barbara back safely into the baby chair.)
Dana: Come with me into the kitchen, Cubby, let’s see what we’re having for dinner.
Cubby: Sure, Dana.
Barbara: Dada!
Cubby: Barbara! (He kisses her.)
Dana: Oh, you clever girl!
Barbara: Mama!
Dana: Yes, I’m Mama! Let me go and see to our dinner. Come along, Cubby.
(They start heading for the kitchen.)
Dana: So, how was your day today?
Cubby: Hey, we’re having some problems with the music. I think the guy we’ve got is…
(They go into the kitchen while little Barbara plays with her toys. The door opens, and Michael Wilson enters.)
MGW: Hello! I’m home!
Dana: (From the kitchen.) Hello, Michael, how was university?
MGW: Oh fine, fine, Mother. I’m thinking of taking a course in how to prolong breaks between films in a series.
Cubby: (Also from the kitchen.) Sit and have a chat with your sister- she’s just started talking!
MGW: Really?!
Dana: Yes, she said “Mama” and “Dada”. You talk to her, see if she’ll do it for you.
(MGW sits next to infant BB.)
MGW: Barbara, say “Mama”.
Barbara: Mama.
MGW: You clever girl! (BB giggles.)
Barbara: Dada!!
MGW: Yes, Mama and Dada. Can you say Michael? Michael?
Barbara: We… we…
MGW: Yes, Barbara?
Barbara: We haven’t made any casting decisions yet. In fact, we don’t even have a script.
MGW: (Kisses her.) Oh, you’ve got a great future ahead of you.
The home of Bond Fan. Bride of Bond Fan is tidying up.
Bride: I don’t know why he needs so many versions of these- two copies of “The Spy Who Loved Me”, one by Ian Fleming and one by Christopher Wood, the same for “Moonraker”. Maybe he wouldn’t notice if I just slid one of them into the charity bag….? No, he’d probably spot that.
(The door opens and Bond Fan comes home. The Bride very casually moves some random books around.)
Bond Fan: Hi, honey.
Bride: Hello, my love.
(Kiss, kiss.)
Bond Fan: Did you have a nice day?
Bride: Well, there was one strange thing that happened and I really think we need to talk about it.
Bond Fan: (Instantly alert, since he’s pretty sure that he know what’s coming.) Oh, really? What would that be?
Bride: I tried to do some shopping this afternoon, but my card was refused at the supermarket. I know that we should have enough money there, unless you’ve bought something very expensive this morning?
Bond Fan: (Stalling desperately.) Hey, that’s a lovely smell coming from the kitchen. You’ve been busy! What is it?
Bride: Never mind the food. Is there something that I should know?
Bond Fan: (He’s caught, there’s no way out.) Sit down, darling. I… I do have something to tell you. Something important.
Bride: (Sitting.) What is it, darling? Have you lost your job?
Bond Fan: No, no, it’s…. bigger than that.
Bride: Have the bank foreclosed on our mortgage?
Bond Fan: No, not that either- although I did have to take out a second mortgage.
Bride: Second mortgage???!!!
Bond Fan: And I’ve used all our savings.
Bride: But-
Bond Fan: You remember that trip to Spain we were planning in the summer? Well, I’m afraid we won’t be going.
Bride: Oh, and we were both so looking forward to that! Still, I suppose we can wait until next year.
Bond Fan: Not next year either. Or any holidays for the next, oh, twenty years.
Bride: Twenty years??!!!
Bond Fan: And the kids can forget about going to university. Not with us paying for it, anyway. They can get jobs if they like.
Bride: But… but… what’s happened, my love?
Bond Fan: (Taking a deep breath as he stands.) Come with me, darling.
Bride: (Puzzled.) Where are we going?
Bond Fan: To the garage.
(They enter the garage. A shape lies under a large sheet.)
Bride: (Now very suspicious.) What’s going on? Have you murdered somebody?
Bond Fan: No, of course not. (Takes one more deep breath.) Look.
(Decisively he pulls back the protective sheet, to reveal a gleaming, shining, perfect looking silver Aston Martin DB5.)
Bond Fan: I saw this being advertised and I... I just could resist.
Bride: Wha...what?
Bond Fan: The price was the lowest I’d ever seen for one. I knew I’d never see one at that price again.
Bride: And how much was that?
(She stares at him with as much attention as a NASA controller watching a manned capsule coming back through the atmosphere.)
Bond Fan: I’m scared to tell you. Let’s just say that I traded in our last car, remortgaged the house, and spent all our savings.
(The Bride’s face runs through more emotions than Meryl Streep winning her 14th Oscar, leaving her temporarily speechless.)
Bond Fan: Come inside with me, darling, see how beautiful it is! (They slip inside.) Here, you get into the driving seat. Look at these lovely seats, and see this arm here? Open the top and inside are your defence mechanism controls- smoke screen, oil slick, rear bulletproof screen, and left and right front wing machine guns.
Bride: (Blinking her eyes rapidly, while wondering if this is only a crazy dream and she will soon wake up.) Smoke screen? Machine guns?
Bond Fan: Well, of course, they aren’t all real. Let’s drive about a bit, and see what you think then.
(She starts the engine and they carefully drive out from the garage and down the street. The Bride has returned to a state of speechlessness, which Bond Fan mistakenly takes for her coming round to his way of thinking.)
Bond Fan: Now, this one I’m particularly keen about: you see this gear lever here? Now if you take the top off-
Bride: (She holds her hands over her ears while slamming on the brakes, being nearly as familiar with the dialogue of the film of “Goldfinger” as he is, having been forced to sit through it countless times.) Stop! Stop!
Bond Fan: Stop? But I was waiting for you to say “You’re joking”.
Bride: I won’t give you that satisfaction! You take this insanely expensive piece of machinery back to where you got it and demand your money back- no, make that OUR money back- and demand it right now!!!
Bond Fan: Get our money back?
Bride: Yes, get our money back and do it right away!
Bond Fan: But… but… I can’t.
Bride: Yes you can!
Bond Fan: I had to pay extra for the number plates, you see, and that’s non-returnable.
Bride: Number plates?
Bond Fan: Yes, they read “BF 007”- Bond Fan 007, get it? Now that was just too much for me to-
(The Bride quietly takes the top off the gear lever and finds a little red button. She pushes it. Hard.)
Some may cheer, I suppose, but every time I try to post today's Imaginary Conversation I get the "Internal Server Error" message. 😥
It's EON hacking you ....
1969. Lloyds of London, Insurance. A client is making a claim.
Underwriter: Er… how much did you say?
Client: Ten million, five hundred thousand pounds.
Underwriter: That’s rather more than we were expecting.
Client: I cannot help that.
Underwriter: Tell me please, what is the basis of your claim?
Client: To begin with, there is… perhaps I should say was, the restaurant. Fully fitted, able to cope with cuisine from all around the world.
Underwriter: All right, I can allow that.
Client: Then there were the sleeping areas. Twenty individual bedrooms, all decorated and accessorised to the highest standard.
Underwriter: (Writing furiously.) Twenty bedrooms, right.
Client: And a cable car.
Underwriter: ...Cable car…
Client: And a fully equipped laboratory.
Underwriter: ….Fully equipped labora… (Stops writing.) Now, just stop there a moment, Mr de Bleuchamp.
Client: That’s Count de Bleuchamp.
Underwriter: Sorry, Count de Bleuchamp. I believe that we’re already stretching a point letting you claim for a restaurant on top of an Austrian mountain-
Count de Bleuchamp: Swiss mountain.
Underwriter: As you say. Considering that only a couple of years ago we let you claim for a rocket base inside a volcano, again fully equipped-
Count de Bleuchamp: And don’t forget the piranha fish.
Underwriter: Of course, not to forget the piranha fish. Where was I? Oh yes, a volcano somewhere in China-
Count de Bleuchamp: In Japan.
Underwriter: All right, all right, in Japan! These are not insignificant sums of money we are talking about, Count de Bleuchamp. May I ask what you are intending to do with them?
Count de Bleuchamp: I was thinking about an oil rig near Baja, California.
Underwriter: Baja, California?
Count de Bleuchamp: Well, either that or a delicatessen in stainless steel. I will be sure to keep you informed.
I beat them! 😁
For @emtiem because of https://www.ajb007.co.uk/discussion/55790/holly-goodheads-deadly-diary-vanishing-dart
2004. Lowry Digital. A technician works on the James Bond films in preparation for the release of the “Ultimate Edition” series in 2006. His boss enters.
Supervisor: So, hi there, how are things going?
Tech: It’s been tough. I’m working on “Moonraker” right now. You remember that scene with the diary, in Holly Goodhead’s hotel room in Venice?
Supervisor: Sure.
Tech: Well, there’s this strange sort of blur, a sort of wobble.
Supervisor: What do you mean?
Tech: Take a look.
(He shows the offending scene to the supervisor.)
Supervisor: Hmm, I see what you mean. It may be an imperfection- see if you can smooth it out.
Tech: Yeah, I’ll do that then I’ll work on the helicopter in “From Russia With Love”.
Supervisor: No, leave that- we have something more important to do first….
Oh no, what's going on there? How did you get those braces on? That's going to go round the internet and become fact.
Who needs a new Bond film when we've got Barbel coming up with these brilliant posts? More laughs than the whole Craig films put together (not the compliment it ought to be, I grant you...)
Roger Moore 1927-2017
Why, thank you @Napoleon Plural - this next one is especially for you.
2006 or 2008, 2012, 2015, or whatever year NTTD claims. Eon HQ, inside a Korean edifice. In the writers room, Neal Purvis and Robert Wade are hard at work.
Neal: (Typing.) ...so he’s just met her.
Robert: Right, so he says “My name’s Bond, James Bond”.
Neal: Of course, and she says…
Robert: “Pleased to meet you, Mr Bond. I’m Alotta- Ilikeit Alotta”
Neal: Right, and he says “Oh I do hope that’s true.”
(The door opens and Daniel Craig bursts in, a script in hand.)
Daniel: What’s this???
Robert: Oh, hi Daniel.
Neal: Nice to see you.
Daniel: Never mind about all that- have you seen this script???
Neal: Well, I should think so- we wrote it.
Daniel: Do you know what I found?
Robert: Er… words for you to say?
Daniel: Jokes! I found jokes!
Neal: Jokes, you say?
Daniel: Yes, I found that you have James Bond saying witty things.
Robert: Shocking.
Neal: Positively shocking.
Daniel: Stop that! I mean things like, when M tells me to go on vacation I ask if I have a licence to chill.
Neal: Rather neat, that.
Robert: Yes, we were quite pleased with that.
Daniel: And when I ask for eggs for breakfast I order them “baked, not shirred”.
Robert: Yes…
Neal: We weren’t too thrilled with that ourselves.
Daniel: And I’m not even going to mention the one with the girl in the bar and the watch that’s an hour fast.
Neal: Aw…
Robert: We took ages thinking that one up.
Daniel: Enough! No more damn jokes!
(He goes out, slamming the door.)
Neal: So, what should we do?
Robert: Same as always, I suppose.
Neal: Yeah, we’ll transfer them all to the next Johnny English script.
Okay, what watch joke? 'I'll make you come in a second'? 'It's not happy hour here, we get extra'?
Roger Moore 1927-2017
This one, posted several years ago in
The James Bond Joke Thread — ajb007
by @Sir Hillary Bray -
Bond is sitting at a bar in his tux, nursing a vodka martini, when a stunning brunette sits at the empty barstool to his left and confidently orders a vodka martini of her own.
BOND: I admire your choice, Miss...?
BRUNETTE: Conda. Anna Conda. [Looks at Bond's left hand.] I admire your wristwatch, Mr...?
BOND: Bond, James Bond. Thanks, it's an Omega. A remarkable feat of engineering, if I may say so -- I designed it myself.
BRUNETTE: [Coldly and objectively.] Oh please, do tell.
BOND: Well Anna, in addition to telling the time, it's a Geiger counter, a powerful magnet, and a saw that can slice through rope.
BRUNETTE: [Still unimpressed.] All you are saying may be true. Go on.
BOND: Best of all, it has a high-definition video camera that can store up to 12 hours of footage.
BRUNETTE: I don't believe you.
BOND: Fine, I'll prove it to you. Tell me about...oh, your dress. [Bond positions the watch so that the camera is focused on Anna, and proceeds to record 60 seconds of footage as Anna describes her clothing.]
BOND: OK, let's see the recording. [Bond hits the playback, which to both of their surprise shows 60 seconds of Anna naked in bed making bedroom eyes and lascivious gestures to the camera.]
BRUNETTE: [Horrified.] You presume a great deal, Mr. Bond. What the hell was that?!?
BOND: [Tapping the watch, annoyed.] Oh bloody hell, damn thing's an hour fast.
1958. Jamaica. Ian and Anne Fleming sit in their garden at Goldeneye, looking out over the horizon. Anne idly strokes a ginger cat that has wandered in.
Anne: How’s the new book coming along, Ian?
Ian: Slowly, my love, slowly.
Anne: What seems to be the problem?
Ian: I know I’ve got a good story, I know I’ve got some good characters, but I’m struggling to find the right names for them. Names are very important.
Anne: (A woman who knows her man.) Perhaps a drink might help?
Ian: Do you know, I think you may be right. Violet!
(Their faithful housekeeper Violet comes out onto the lawn.)
Violet: Yes, Commander?
Ian: A drink for Mrs Fleming, please- what would you like, darling?
Anne: (Now stroking two cats.) Oh, a vodka and tonic please, Violet.
Ian: And for me, take three measures of-
Violet: I know your drink by now, Commander.
(She goes back to the house.)
Ian: Violet’s wonderful, isn’t she?
(Anne shoots him a suspicious sideways glance. As stated, she’s a woman who knows her man. Ian, however, is staring innocently out to sea.)
Anne: Yes, very wonderful.
(Violet reappears with the drinks.)
Violet: Here you are, one vodka and tonic for Mrs Fleming, and for you, sir…
Anne/Ian: Thank you, Violet.
(Violet turns to go, shaking her right hand.)
Ian: Something wrong with your hand, Violet?
Violet: It’s nothing, Commander, it’s just the ice in your drink. It’s given me such a cold finger.
Ian: Cold finger? Such a cold finger….
Violet: Anyways, I gotta get back inside-I gotta do a lot of odd jobs.
Ian: (Rubbing his chin thoughtfully.) Odd jobs…. Cold finger….
(Violet goes back in. Anne is by now stroking three or four cats which have wandered into their garden.)
Ian: Really, Anne, I wish you wouldn’t encourage them.
Anne: Oh, they’re harmless, Ian, they might even get rid of some of those rats we’ve got here.
Ian: Hmph! Soon we’ll have cats everywhere- lots of cats….
(He drifts off, staring into space.)
Ian: Lots of cats….. Many felines… Kitties aplenty….
Anne: Ian? Are you all right?
Ian: Hmm? Oh, I’m fine, darling, really. I think I’ll just go to my typewriter for a while….
2023. The Broccoli mansion. Barbara Broccoli lies happily fast asleep, her arms tightly clutching her Daniel Craig-shaped teddy bear. A transparent shape appears in her room. The face is familiar, as is the manner.
Ghost: Barbara…
BB: (Turns in her sleep.) Hmmm...mmm?
Ghost: Barbara Broccoli!
BB: (Slowly waking up.) Oh… Daniel…. You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you to… (Wakens.) Ah! Who’s there?
Ghost: It’s me…
BB: Father? You’re here again?
Ghost: Yes, Barbara, it's me and I’m here again. Summoned from my peaceful slumbers once more by another terrible thing that you are doing.
BB: Look, Dad, we’ve been through this- “Another Way To Die” was a long time ago now, about fifteen years, and-
Ghost: No, not that, (He shudders.) although yes, that was pretty terrible.
BB: And if it’s about how we ended “No Time To Die” I’m sure that you went over that with Michael just after it was-
Ghost: No, not that either, although I still haven’t forgiven either of you two for it. Neither have Ian Fleming, Harry Saltzman, and Richard Maibaum come to think of it. They’re talking about paying you a group visit.
BB: What, all of them?
Ghost: And many more besides, here in Double-O Heaven- Roger Moore, for example. Although I do have to admit that Sean Connery wasn’t bothered- he seemed quite happy about it, in fact.
BB: Now that I do believe.
Ghost: But that isn’t what I am here for! You and your brother have committed the most terrible sin against the world of James Bond movies.
BB: Worse than Kevin McClory?
Ghost: Aargh! Do not say that name!
(The Ghost spins three times while saying “Thunderball” out loud between each spin.)
Ghost: Never say that name again!
BB: Yes, Dad, I’m sorry. Worse than Lee Tamahori?
Ghost: Worse!
BB: Worse than Charlie Feldman?
Ghost: Yes, worse even than that. Barbara, do you know how often Harry and I released James Bond movies back when we first started out?
BB: Yes, of course. Every year.
Ghost: Then over time that gave way to every two years, then every three years.
BB: Yes, I know all this.
Ghost: How many years is it since you released that… that… that thing you called “No Time To Die”?
BB: Look, Dad, it’s not the same as back in your-
Ghost: (Firmly.) How many?
BB: Well, it’s heading for four years now.
Ghost: Exactly! Four years!
BB: Times have changed, Dad. You must understand, there’s all sorts of-
Ghost: Is the script written?
BB: Not yet, but-
Ghost: Have you scouted out locations?
BB: No, but-
Ghost: Done any casting?
BB: Well, you have to see-
Ghost: For the love of Miss Moneypenny, have you even picked a new James Bond?
BB: (Very quietly.) No.
Ghost: (Holding a spectral hand to his ear.) Eh? What’s that?
BB: (Louder.) No.
Ghost: You’re taking longer and longer between each film and you and Michael still haven’t selected a new James Bond? All the good candidates will be too old by the time you get round to casting them!
BB: Hey, you picked Roger Moore!
Ghost: He wasn’t too old when I picked him- by the time he did his last movie, yeah, maybe, I’ll grant you that. But me and Harry had had our eyes on him for a while, and you and Michael haven’t even been keeping track of the guys who could do it.
BB: That’s not true- there’s Aidan Turner for example.
Ghost: Barbara, you’ve wasted so much time that he’s 40 already.
BB: Idris Elba?
Ghost: He’s 50! Now wake up, go get your brother and start working right now!
BB: But where should we look?
Ghost: I’m surprised you even have to ask- the cast of the “Harry Potter” movies should be just about the right age now…..
The figures given are at 1971 prices and would be much, much higher today.
1971. Eon HQ, inside a technological complex some miles outside Las Vegas. Not Area 51 at all, most definitely not, and any resemblance is coincidental. Cubby Broccoli sits calmly smoking a cigar, waiting on his partner Harry Saltzman to return from a meeting, and eventually Harry does.
Harry: Hi, Cubby.
Cubby: Hello, Harry. How did the meeting go?
Harry: (Sighing.) Tough, very tough.
Cubby: Was David Picker there?
Harry: Oh yes, in fact he did most of the talking.
Cubby: He did?
Harry: Well, he’d just come back from talking with Sean.
Cubby: (His turn to sigh.) I was afraid of that.
Harry: David says that as president of United Artists it’s his job to put profits first and foremost for both his company and their shareholders.
Cubby: (Sees what’s coming.) Yeah, I can understand that.
Harry: And that when we picked George Lazenby to star in our most recent James Bond film, the profits dropped considerably.
Cubby: That’s true, I can’t deny it.
Harry: So he wants more input this time. In fact, he’s already made the decision.
Cubby: (Stubs his cigar out.) And what would that decision be?
Harry: Cubby, you know perfectly well what his decision is. He wants Sean Connery back as James Bond, whatever it costs.
Cubby: And if we refuse?
Harry: Then United Artists will not finance the making of our next movie, “Diamonds Are Forever”.
Cubby: We could approach some other studio, I suppose.
Harry: That would take years to set up- it might mean that there could be a gap of four years between Bond movies!
Cubby: Good Lord, that would be terrible! We can’t do that!
Harry: Or maybe even longer, like six years.
Cubby: We can’t allow that. That would be a betrayal of all the loyalty our devoted fans have built up with us over the years. (Okay, I’ll stop now. Barbel)
Harry: You’re right.
Cubby: Well, I guess we’re over a barrel here. (Sighs again, this time very heavily.) How much does Sean want?
Harry: One and a quarter million dollars.
Cubby: One and a quarter million????
Harry: Plus £10,000 a week if we go over schedule.
Cubby: (Gasping.) We just better not go over schedule, that’s all.
Harry: Plus UA will finance the making of two films of his own choice.
Cubby: This is crazy, no actor’s ever had a deal like this before.
Harry: We’re not in a position to refuse him.
Cubby: He knows we have signed John Gavin, who’s all ready to go?
Harry: Of course he knows. He says we’ll just have to pay him off.
Cubby: Well, UA will pay that, I suppose.
Harry: No, we’re paying that out of our own pockets.
Cubby: (Looks briefly up at the ceiling.) Is there anything else?
Harry: He wants first class hotel accommodation when we’re on location, within half a mile of a golf course.
Cubby: That’s our own fault, we insisted on him learning golf for “Goldfinger” and now he loves to play it every day.
Harry: Chauffeured limousine, private flights…
Cubby: Yeah, yeah, okay.
Harry: And you have to personally start each day’s filming by wearing a tutu and dancing on one leg.
(Cubby pauses for a moment to take a deep breath before answering.)
Cubby: No. That I will not do. He can have all of the other things, but there is no way I’m going to do that.
Harry: He says if you refuse, I’ve to remind you that he has Kevin McClory’s phone number in his pocket.
Cubby: (Instantly.) Right leg or left leg?