I said I'd take you up on this once the July re-runs were over, and here it is:
1964. CIA, Washington HQ. Felix Leiter sits behind his desk, casually stroking a cat. No, not a white Persian.
Cat: Meow!!!!
(The cat loudly expires on Felix’s lap, stabbed through the heart.)
Felix: Oh damn, not again.
(He uses the hand that isn’t a hook to throw the cat over his shoulder, where it lands on a pile of other dead cats.)
Felix: I’m just going to have to learn to do that left-handed.
(The telephone rings. Felix tries to grab it with his hook, grunts exasperatedly, and switches to his left hand.)
Felix: Hello, Export Universal here.
Pussy: (On phone.) You know, you should just answer “CIA”, Mr Leiter. Everyone knows where your office is.
Felix: What? Who is this?
Pussy: Pussy here. Pussy Galore. No, this isn’t a wind-up.
Felix: That’s the most ridiculous name I’ve ever heard.
Pussy: At least you didn’t say “I musht be dreaming”.
Felix: Ah, you know James!
Pussy: He said you knew him.
Felix: Okay, what can I do for you then?
Pussy: Well, you better head down to Fort Knox. Big show going on.
Felix: What?
Pussy: You know a man called Goldfinger?
Felix: Yes, of course. He’s the man, the man with the Midas touch, a spider’s-
Pussy: All right, all right, you know him as well. He’s going to explode an atomic bomb there tomorrow, Sunday.
Felix: What? An atomic bomb?
Pussy: That’s right. And my pilots and I are going to fly over first, spraying gas to kill the entire population of the area.
Felix: Can you get to the bomb?
Pussy: No chance. But I can get to the gas canisters and switch them for something harmless- you’ll have to do the rest. Get all the people to lie down and play dead.
Felix: But, but-
Pussy: No time to do anything else.
Felix: Where’s Jam-
(But Pussy has hung up. Felix excitedly slaps his thigh, forgetting to use his left hand.)
(007 and a beautiful woman in a tight dress with rainbow-coloured stripes enter The 1% Restaurant, a very posh restaurant that also has a collection of art on display. The pink-haired young lady pulls out her own chair before Bond can give her a hand. They both sit down and a waiter appears with a menu.)
Inclusia: I must admit I'm a little bit disappointed: I thought 007 was a black woman?
Bond: That was a dead end. I've been re-imagined with a new timeline since then. Please chose whatever you like from the menu, Miss Inclusia Woak. It's on me.
Inclusia: No, thank you. As an independent and progressive woman I can pay for myself.
(They both open their menus and both grow pale as they see the prices.)
Bond: On second thought, let's have MI6 pick up the bill.
Inclusia: (Relieved.) Great idea, I'm all for public financing.
Bond: I'll have a fullblood tenderloin, thank you.
Inclusia: You're eating murdered cow?!!!
Bond: (Mumbling under his breath.) ... murder .... cow ...
Inclusia: Sorry?
Bond: On second thought, I'll just have something to wet my whistle. Vodka Martini. Shaken, not stirred.
Inclusia: And I'll have lettuce with olives with a prolytic digestive enzyme shake.
Bond: Fine, we're both not eating today. Perhaps just as well since we're on the job. (Empties his drink and pours himself another one.)
Inclusia: - .... Yes. all I was told was we're here after a tip about a possible attack on a valuable target. (Her phone pings.) I just got the details.
(Reads from her mobile phone.)
Inclusia: (Reading.) Cancella Noham is a wealthy heiress and a prolific campaigner for a number of causes. She has been suspected of being involved in green, red and most of the colours of the rainbow terrorism, but nothing sticks so far. Miss Noham is a quarter Korean, a quarter Russian, a quarter African and a quarter Chinese.
(Inclusia and Bond turn to each other and speak simultaneously.)
Inclusia: She's definitely innocent!
Bond: She's definitely a villain!
Inclusia: And the target is .... the statue over there?
(Hey, it's art!)
Bond: I'm usually not into modern art, but that's a very nice statue. As an added bonus many Americans probably faint at the nudity.
Inclusia: I support body positivity, so I'm all for it .....
Bond: I can assure you I'm very positive to your body.
Cancella: Now you're objectifying me!
Bond: Would you object to that?
Inclusia: Not necessarily. I'm open-minded sexually. I don't identify as bi-sexual because I find it too confining. I even find the term quadruple-sexual limiting. Some call me sextette-sexual .....
Bond: I like large numbers in bed myself, but I chose from a smaller portion of humanity. Often I just dip into the secretary pool.
Inclusia: Men! ... and a woman. I think Cancella Noham just arrived.
(A young woman with a perfect mix of ethnicities dressed in the latest fashion walks briskly up to the statue that Bond and Inclusiva have just been discussing.)
Cancella: (Addressing the people in the restaurant.) I'm doing this in protest against climate change, the objectification of women, fascism and the endangerment of the endangered Bog Hoverfly.
Bond: Please chose one motivation! Who do you think you are, Lyutsifer Safin?
(Cancella ignores him and throws a tiny hairless dog out of her Luis Vuitton handbag and takes out a hammer, a tool she looks like she's never handled before. She starts hitting on ..... I mean, striking the statue. Bond casually empties his third glass as Cancella destroys the statue. Then the statue falls over and crashes into the bar, breaking dozens of bottles of the best booze in the world, some presumably older than Inclusia.)
Bond: (Leaping up in anger.) God, it's a terrible terrorist attack! Those poor bottles were innocent!
(Cancella runs out of the restaurant closely followed by Bond and Inclusia. As they get out they see Cancella jumping into a Volvo S90 Hybrid. The car whizzes off with the sound of a hair dryer.)
Inclusia: A hybrid? I agree with you- she could at least commit fully. Let's take my fully electric car! (She runs towards a car that's approximately the size of the passenger compartment of Bond's Aston Martin.)
Bond: No. That golf cart won't be able to follow her Volvo, hybrid or not. Not to mention that my height fluctuates between 6'2 1/2'' and 5'10''. There is no way I can fit into that .......... vehicle.
(Bond jumps into his car and starts the engine with a roar. Inclusia Woak stands between her car and Bonds. She hasn't been more conflicted between her options since last time she chose sex partners, but with a frustrated sigh she joins Bond in his Aston Martin.)
Inclusia: Is it really necessary to drive a carbon-polluting car at a hundred miles an hour after drinking three vodka martinis?
Bond: More often than you'd drink .... think.
Inclusia: Well ..... at least don't smoke while you're driving!
(Bond hesitates before he nods and opens the window on his side.)
Inclusia: NO! Don't throw the cigarette out the window. It's too dangerous - forest fire hazard!
Bond: What she destroyed was some of the finest humankind has ever produced. (In intense DaltonBond mode.) I'm going to take a stab at Cancella ...
Inclusia: I'm sure you mean you'll take the first pass at stopping her?
Bond: Sure. I'll give her a deadline ....
Inclusia: - Why not use the expression "due date" instead? I think people need to evolve from this kind of violent language.
Bond: (Bond is full-on LTK now.) She has to bite the bullet soon ....
Inclusia: I find saying she can't avoid the consequences of her actions any longer is a better expression.
(Cancella's Volvo crashes into a tree.)
Inclusiva: Oh no, not the tree! I feel like hugging it now.
(Bond draws his PKK.)
Bond: Time to cancel Cancella for good!
Inclusiva: What have I been telling you about violent language? Wait .... are you going to kill her?
Bond: My puns are just lost on you, aren't they?
Inclusiva: Why don't we just take her prisoner and let the authorities question her for more information?
Bond: That's a wild idea! But isn't my job to bed and/or kill people?
Inclusiva: Getting information is what spying is all about.
Bond: The newfangled ideas they teach the kids at MI6 these days ...... but won't the authorities just jail her?
Inclusiva: This is California, but I think there's still a danger of Cancella ending up in a jail cell at some point. But why don't we tie her up and see what happens?
Inclusia: Why not tie her up and leave her to the authorities instead?
Bond: Hm .... I like how you think. I have some rope in my car as well as a pair of handcuffs. In case of .... emergencies.
(They enthusiastically tie up Cancella Noham.)
Bond: Make sure you tie her hands behind her back!
Inclusia: That knot is no good. Here, I'll show you.
Cancella: Don't forget to tie up my knees too!
(Finally Bond and Inclusia manage to tear themselves away from tying up Cancella.)
Inclusia: That last knot was a work of art.
Bond: Talking of art - why don't we try to re-create that statue in the car?
2023. Eon HQ, under a modest metallurgical installation in Kent. The writers’ room, in a cellar at the bottom of the building. Neal Purvis and Robert Wade are hard at work (I know, I know- highly unlikely.) on the screenplay for the next Bond film.
Wade: Hey, check the time, Neal.
Purvis: Yeah, it’s gone midnight. Probably time we headed back to our cell in the dungeons.
(A chill wind blows softly through the room as a shape materialises in front of them.)
Ghost: Good evening, gentlemen.
Purvis: What?
Wade: Who are you?
Ghost: Look at the wall.
(There on the wall is a framed portrait of Richard Maibaum and Ian Fleming. Purvis and Wade stare at the ghost, then the portrait, then back again.)
Wade: It can’t be! It's Richard Maibaum!
Purvis: My God!
Ghost: No, just your predecessor.
Purvis/Wade: (Together.) We are not worthy!
Ghost: Well, I can’t argue with you there. In fact, that is the very point of my mission back here on Earth.
Wade: Your mission? Here, in the Eon writers’ room?
Ghost: Listen, I was in this room before you were born. Of course, we weren’t called “Eon” back then and we weren’t making James Bond movies but…. Where was I?
Purvis: Er… your mission?
Ghost: Yes, my mission. I have returned in this, shall we say, spectral form to remonstrate with you over the directions in which you have taken the story of James Bond.
Purvis: What directions do you mean, Mr Maibaum?
Ghost: My friends call me Dick- so you can just carry on saying “Mr Maibaum”. What directions, you ask- please tell me what on Earth you were thinking of when you made Bond and Blofeld brothers?
Wade: Ah, well, if you check you’ll see that we actually said-
Ghost: I know what you said- “foster” brothers. (Scoffs.) It’s almost as if, having come up with the frankly ludicrous and eventually self-destructive idea of a fraternal relationship between 007 and his greatest enemy, you didn’t quite have the courage to see things through and take the idea to its logical conclusion.
Purvis: Look, our idea there started off with Fleming, in the story-
Ghost: Oh I know exactly which story you’re going to mention, young Neal, and there is not one mention in it of Hannes Oberhauser having a son at all let alone one that grows up to become Ernst Stavro Blofeld.
Wade: Yes, but that’s where we took our inspiration from, you see.
Ghost: “Inspiration”, is that what you call it? I’d say that “abomination” is closer to the mark!
Purvis: You’re just angry because we killed off Blofeld, aren’t you?
Ghost: Oh no, definitely not. I killed him a couple of times myself, you know, and I knew even then that he would be back and getting killed long after I had gone- which is precisely what has happened. And he’ll be back and getting killed long after both of you are gone, too.
Wade: Are you sure?
Ghost: Of course I’m sure- have you ever heard of Moriarty? Go back through all the films and TV shows about Sherlock Holmes and count how many times he’s been killed.
Purvis: Then you’re mad about the way in which we killed-
Ghost: Felix Leiter? Now you’re getting closer! Do you know how many times I struggled to write lines that would be appropriate for one actor only to find out that when the film was made there was a different one? I was always one Felix behind with my dialogue for him.
Wade: Ah yes, but we had a steady Felix.
Ghost: That you did- for the first time there was a steady Felix actor and what do you two do? You kill him!
Purvis: Yes, but-
Ghost: You kill him, and you didn’t even allow him the dignity of having an arm and a leg chewed off by a shark first!
Wade: But Barbara told us-
Ghost: You have to stand up to those Broccolis sometimes! I didn’t do everything Cubby told me to do, you know.
Purvis: We never got to meet Cubby.
Ghost: I know. Listen, in 27 years I wrote thirteen James Bond movies. In 24 years, you’ve written … oh, tell me, how many was it now? I forget.
Wade: (Mumbles.) Seven.
Ghost: Sorry, can you make that louder please?
Purvis: Seven.
Ghost: Seven. Some might say you’ve been taking things easy.
Wade: Ah, but you see-
Ghost: And there’s one more thing to say, and don’t tell me you didn’t know this was coming. In the name of all things suave and sexy, svelte and sophisticated, shaken not stirred, why did you do what must never be done and kill James Bond himself?
Purvis: Now, Mr Maibaum, that wasn’t our idea. That one came from Barbara herself, who got the idea from-
Ghost: (Raising his metaphorical eyebrows and rolling his eyes.) Oh, I know exactly where she got that senseless idea from. This is what I mean about you having to stand up to those Broccolis sometimes! But I have said enough- my time here is almost over and I must return.
Wade: But wait, wait! Before you go, there is something we must ask.
Ghost: (Impatiently.) Well, what is it?
Purvis: How can we bring James Bond back for the next movie?
Ghost: (Chuckling.) You wrote yourselves into this corner- you get yourselves out of it. And remember, don’t let those Broccolis boss you around.
Voice: (From above.) Dick, hurry up and get back here!
Inclusia Woke's suggestions for less violent language are actually taken directly from a book! When I found an article online about the book, including a list of non-violent expressions to be used instead of violent expressions, I knew I had struck comedy gold! 😂
Monday: Started work today on the Bond film “You Only Live Twice”. I’ve been rather thrown in at the deep end, playing the villain Blofeld on really short notice.
I spent most of the first day in the make-up chair, while they tried to make me look more villainous. They tried a beard, then a hump, then a lame hand. Finally they settled on shaving off the little amount of hair I have then applying a scar down one cheek, pulling down my eye. Makes me look like an egg that has cracked on the boil!
Tuesday: What a magnificent set they have made! Apparently it’s the inside of a volcano, with a full sized space rocket and a working monorail. Definitely Oscar-winning work.
Today I just had to sit in a swivel chair and stroke a white Persian cat. I believe it is called Tiddles, seems to be a nice cat. You can’t see my face yet so I will do the lines later in voiceover.
Wednesday: The cat seems to have something against my suit. It keeps clawing at the lapels, and I have to be very careful about the way I am holding it.
Thursday: That damned cat scratched me today! Several times, all over my hands. The director was most apologetic, he’s a nice chap, but he says we’re stuck with this cat and will have to use it for the rest of the shooting.
Friday: That f*cking cat needs to be taken out and shot, or at least get a damned good kicking. I don’t think I’ve got any skin left on my hands at all. Sean Connery wasn’t much help, as soon as he’s said his lines (with as little emotion in them as he can possibly manage) he just buggers off to his dressing room.
Saturday: No more cat! They started shooting guns rather than film today, and blowing things up. The cat wanted to get the hell out of there and after I tried holding it for a couple of moments it just went. I wasn’t objecting. The director says there will be shots where the cat just disappears, but there doesn’t appear to be anything he can do about it.
Sunday: A few voiceover lines and that’s me finished. Note to self- never work with cats again.
(The details on Mr Pleasence’s make-up come from John Brosnan’s highly recommended “James Bond In The Cinema”)
Montag: I have a most beautiful suit to wear in this scene. I am in a set made to look like men are working on a Rolls Royce car while I am walking around with an actor called Burt Kwouk.
He is a very nice fellow, and tells me that his last film job was trying to kill Peter Sellers as a French police inspector. He wanted to do more of that, but I told him not to get his hopes up. Maybe he’ll get another James Bond film to do.
Dienstag: Today I wear the same suit. James Bond is tied to a table and Goldfinger’s laser beam is slowly heading for him. He says “Do you expect me to talk?” and I say “No, Mr Bond, I expect you to die!”.
Apparently the lines we say in the book are much better but the censor will not allow them. Schade.
Mittwoch: Today the director asked me if I could say my lines more quickly, to aid with them being dubbed over later. I asked why this was necessary, and he said my accent would make it difficult for English-speakers to understand. I laughed and asked then why doesn’t he get Sean Connery dubbed also? He has the worst English accent I have ever heard.
Donnerstag: I have now met the wrestler Harold Sakata, who plays my henchman Oddjob. I think my hand will be painful for weeks after shaking hands with him.
Freitag: Today I had lunch with the very beautiful Honor Blackman. I asked her what part she played in the film, and she looked very embarrassed. I asked her again, and she mumbled something about lots of cats. I don’t see what there is to be embarrassed about.
Monday: Today I started work on my part in the latest James Bond film, which is called “The Man With The Golden Gun”. To the surprise of absolutely no-one I play the villain of the title; as well as a golden gun, I use golden bullets. That is not a problem; silver bullets, now, I would have worried about those.
Tuesday: Today I attempted to talk the director into only shooting at night, telling him that I did my best work at night, but he was unswayed saying that the overtime to shoot at night would be prohibitively expensive. Large parts of this film take place in brilliant sunshine, much to my chagrin.
Wednesday: I was filming scenes with my assistant Renfield- er, Nick Nack. He is an unusual little fellow. At lunch he partook of the local vintage “Phuyuck” rather extensively, and asked me to join him. I had to inform him that I never drink
Thursday: The rather beautiful Britt Ekland I have met before, since we made “The Wicker Man” together recently.
Sadly she won’t be naked in this film, though I did offer to tie her to an altar anyway. She shook her head, saying that it’s James Bond who rescues her here, not Van Helsing.
Friday: I had to tell James Bond a long story about an elephant at a circus. Really! The things I have to say! Sometimes I wish I had followed up that wizarding course old Professor Tolkien was holding. Oh well, maybe I’ll get around to that in a year or two.
2006. The house of Samantha Bond. She is pacing up and down, never getting too far away from where the telephone is placed.
Husband: (I can hardly say “Mr Bond”, now, can I? Barbel) Oh stop that pacing, Samantha, will you please?
Samantha: I can’t, I can’t!
Husband: Sit down and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.
Samantha: How can I sit down? How can I do that??!! They start shooting the next James Bond film next week and I haven’t heard anything!
Husband: But-
Samantha: Not one word!
Husband: But you don’t know if they’ll be wanting you.
Samantha: Not wanting me? After the last four movies?
Husband: Yes, but-
Samantha: I was Miss Moneypenny in all of the most recent films.
They're sure to want me back again!
Husband: Are you sure Miss Moneypenny is even in this film?
Samantha: Don’t be silly, how can they make a James Bond film without Miss Moneypenny? I’ve got the double entendre dialogue down to absolute perfection by now- I could do it lying on my back.
Husband: That’s true, but-
Samantha: And I’ve read the book, she’s definitely in the book.
Husband: Oh? What’s the title?
Samantha: “Casino Royale”.
Husband: Now, hang on a minute, I’m sure that I’ve seen that film a long time ago. It was totally batshit insane.
Samantha: Oh, they’re making it again- long story.
(Her pacing becomes even quicker.)
Samantha: And they even had a Miss Moneypenny in that
so I’m sure they’re going to want me back for this one.
Husband: Just calm down, darling. How about we go out for dinner and-
Samantha: Calm down? I’m perfectly calm!
(Her eyes haven’t left the telephone for one second.)
Husband: You do know Pierce Brosnan isn’t coming back for this film, don’t you?
Samantha: What? No, I didn’t know that- who have they got playing James Bond this time? Hugh Jackman, I’d think, or maybe Henry Cavill?
Husband: This guy.
(He shows her a photograph.)
Samantha: Seriously?
Husband: Yes, that’s the guy.
Samantha: (Takes a deep breath as her eyes leave the telephone.) So…. You said something about dinner?
1977. Eon HQ, in a wretched hive of scum and villainy.
Cubby: Come in, Mr Lucas, have a seat.
George: Thank you. (Sits.)
Cubby: This is my stepson, Michael G. Wilson.
George: Hello.
MGW: Hello.
Cubby: Now, as you know we have asked several writers to come up with pitches for our new James Bond film.
George: Yes, indeed.
MGW: And we have just finished reading yours.
George: (Trying not to look excited.) Oh yes?
Cubby: While there are several interesting ideas there, we do have a few points that we have to make. Firstly, I see that you have included a beautiful girl in a starring role which is just what we have come to expect in a Bond film.
George: Yes, of course.
MGW: However, we were very unhappy when it turns out that she is Bond’s sister. (Makes “squick” noise.) We did not like that at all, and we are sure that neither would our audience.
George: Ah, but-
Cubby: We find this out only much too late, after they have been through several adventures together and even kissed a couple of times.
George: Yes, but-
MGW: Now, we see that you have written in a long swordfight between Bond and Blofeld towards the end of the film. That’s good, we like that, but we were very unhappy with some of the lines.
George: Oh?
Cubby: One line to be exact. “No. I am your father”.
George: You don’t like that idea?
Cubby: No, not at all. It goes against everything that’s ever been in one of our James Bond films, it goes against everything that Ian Fleming ever wrote. The only idea that could be worse would be to make Blofeld Bond’s brother.
MGW: ….Blofeld is Bond’s brother…
Cubby: Michael, are you writing something down?
MGW: Er, no, Cubby, of course not.
George: So, what else did you think?
Cubby: Well, we didn’t like your title. You have to stick with the title we gave you- this film is definitely called “The Spy Who Loved Me”, not “The Jedi Who Loved Me”.
George: Well, how about-
Cubby: No, you can’t call it “The Man With The Golden Light Sabre” either.
George: I see. Well, thank you for your time, gentlemen. (Rises.)
1972. An agent’s office somewhere in London. No, a theatrical agent, not the secret kind. The door opens and Roger Moore enters, smoothly as always.
Roger: Good morning.
Agent: Ah, good morning Roger- or should I say, James.
Roger: Yes, well-
Agent: Just my way of saying congratulations, my man, and a hearty well done.
Roger: Well, thank you.
Agent: Not the first time your name came up, of course, but this time you were the successful candidate. Hmm, that almost sounds as if you were running for Parliament!
Roger: Oh, God forbid.
Agent: Yes, I think so too. Anyway, Cubby and Harry have sent over your contract for us to have a look through before you sign it.
Roger: Yes, of cou-
(He is startled as the agent begins to unfold a long document. Very long.)
Roger: Good heavens, that thing is as long as the Magna Carta!
Agent: Magna who now?
Roger: Never mind. What does it say?
Agent: Well, the first thing is quite simple. You have to get your hair cut.
Roger: My hair?
Agent: Yes, they think you’ve been wearing it too long
and they want it shorter.
Roger: That’s no problem. What else do they want?
Agent: They’d like you to lose some weight, as well.
Roger: I’m hardly fat!
Agent: It’s to do with the image they want to project. Also, you won’t get to pick your own clothes as you did on “The Persuaders!”, they have a whole wardrobe department who will be doing that for you.
Roger: But I like-
Agent: Do I have to remind you how much money they’re paying you to do this?
Roger: (Grumbling.) And you, too, Mr 10%.
Agent: Yes, all right. Now, the car…
Roger: Car? Surely I’ll be driving an Aston Martin DB5, with lethal accessories!
Agent: It’s had its day, I’m afraid. Cubby’s orders. You were driving an Aston Martin in “The Persuaders!”
so no way are you to drive an Aston Martin as James Bond. They’ll think of a suitable car for you to drive later.
Roger: But I could, if I liked, drive one in a different film.
Agent: I’m not with you, Roger.
Roger: Just suppose, for argument’s sake, I felt like driving an Aston Martin DB5 with lethal accessories in a different film, one that wasn’t James Bond?
Agent: Well, I suppose you could, there’s nothing to stop you. But why on Earth would you want to do that?
Roger: Oh, I don’t know…. Something may turn up…..
Monday. My first day of shooting! I prepared carefully, reading both “Hamlet” and “Macbeth” last night since they contain large amounts of death and violence, and I have been given to understand that this Bond fellow comes across both of those in his travels around the world. I was very disappointed to find that today I was to do a scene in a gents toilet, discreetly opening a large white cello case to find a rifle inside. What a waste of my talents!
Tuesday. Today was spent on publicity, basically talking to one reporter after another. By the third one I was able to simply repeat the answers I had given the first two. No, I wouldn’t be copying any of my predecessors. Yes, I had read the books. No, I wasn’t Pierce Brosnan.
In the next room on my left was the director, John, and on my right was the film’s composer, also called John, and a music group who would be singing the title song. Sometimes I couldn’t hear the reporters asking me questions because of the noises of shouting and fighting coming from that room.
Wednesday. Big argument today with the director, the stuntman, and myself. John wanted the stunt man to be hanging on the roof of a Land Rover as it drove at breakneck speeds around Gibraltar while I wanted to do that myself. John said he could afford for the stuntman to break his neck but not for me to do the same, and the stuntman was not impressed with this comment. Eventually we compromised and I can do some of the shots myself. The stuntman went off mumbling something like “We never had this problem with Roger Moore”.
Thursday. I spent most of the day in a fairground with a cuddly toy called Maryam. Sorry, I mean a cuddly toy and Maryam, our leading lady. She was very nice, once she stopped calling me “Pierce”.
Friday. Today we are shooting something they called the “gunbarrel”. The director for this part was called Maurice, and he told me that apparently I have to walk along a few paces dressed in a tuxedo, then suddenly turn and shoot towards the camera. I was completely appalled by this. Who was I meant to be shooting at? Did I know him, or her as the case may be? Did I like them or hate them? What, above all, was my motivation in making this seemingly senseless act of random violence?
Maurice just smiled patiently. I imagine he has had this talk with all the previous Bonds- well, except George Lazenby, obviously. And Roger Moore, come to think of it. Maybe I was the first Bond actor to raise these, to my mind, very pertinent points. I considered phoning Sean Connery to ask him, but was advised that asking him James Bond questions was not a wise move.
1973. San Monique, which does not resemble Jamaica in any way at all. Solitaire’s house stands at the top of a cliff. A guard is on watch outside, but does not look up in time to see 007 dropping in using a hang glider and kicking him off the top of the cliff.
Guard: Aargh!
(The guard falls to his doom. Bond puts the glider down, adjusts his clothing from night style to day, and walks into the house. He checks his pocket for the deck of tarot cards he has bought, which have been carefully made to his specifications with only one raised eyebrow at the shop, then sits down and begins to deal them. An outraged Solitaire appears in a doorway.)
Solitaire: What the hell are you doing here? And who the hell are you?
Bond: (Rather taken aback by this, but of course not showing it.) Why, Solitaire, I’m surprised that you-
Solitaire: (Angrily.) How do you know my name?
Bond: But we met in New York only a-
Solitaire: Oh yes, the snooping British agent. Why aren’t you dead?
Bond: Well-
Solitaire: Never mind that- guard! Guard!
Bond: I’m afraid he won’t be joining us. Now, take a look at these cards I’ve got here and-
Solitaire: Cards? I’m the one who handles cards! Why on Earth would I want to look at cards which you’ve been dealing?
Bond: Just look.
(He holds out the cards in a fan shape for Solitaire to pick one. Furiously she picks one.)
Bond: Well?
Solitaire: What do you mean, “well”?
Bond: Which card is it?
Solitaire: You really don’t know how this works, do you? You’re just some random guy, you know nothing about the cards, what does it matter which card I pick from your hand?
Bond: But-
Solitaire: (Turning the card over.) It’s The Lovers. That might mean something if I had given you the card, but it means absolutely nothing if you give me it.
Bond: But-
Solitaire: I mean, you and me The Lovers? I’ve only known you for about five minutes total. It’s more likely that Kananga and I will be The Lovers, at least I know him!
Bond: Look, Soli-
Solitaire: (Picking up the telephone and beginning to dial.) Now get out of here right now before I call on Tee Hee to come and make you do it!
1973. San Monique, which does not resemble Jamaica in any way at all. Solitaire’s house stands at the top of a cliff. A guard is on watch outside, but does not look up in time to see 007 dropping in using a hang glider and kicking him off the top of the cliff.
Guard: Aargh!
(The guard falls to his doom. Bond puts the glider down, adjusts his clothing from night style to day, and walks into the house. He checks his pocket for the deck of tarot cards he has bought, which have been carefully made to his specifications with only one raised eyebrow at the shop, then sits down and begins to deal them. He is surprised to hear the sound of voices, and follows them to outside Solitaire’s bedroom.)
Solitaire: Is there time before we leave for Lesson Number 3?
Man: Absolutely. There’s no sense in going off half-cocked.
(Outraged, Bond bursts into the bedroom. Solitaire squeals in fright, but the man, who was busy putting on or maybe taking off his shirt, only looks up pleasantly.)
Man: Hello, James.
Bond: Alec!
Alec: What brings you here, 007?
(Bond looks behind Alec and sees a row of cards on the table. They are all The Lovers.)
1963. A hotel in Istanbul. James Bond awakes in his suite, a soft smile on his face as he recalls the previous night with Tatania who has now disappeared.
He rubs his eyes as he wonders what has awakened him before realising there is a banging noise filling the room.
Voice: (Muffled.) Mr Bond! Mr Bond!
(Bond realises that the voice and the banging noise are coming from the same source, the door to his suite to be exact. He gets out of bed, wrapping the towel around his waist which he had discarded several hours previously upon realising the situation with Tatania, and starts walking to the door. He is mildly puzzled to find that “walking” is the wrong verb to describe his progress; “wading” would be more accurate.)
Voice: (Now more clearly identifiable as coming from the other side of the door.) Mr Bond! Open the door, please, at once!
(Bond opens the door to reveal the distraught hotel manager. Some of the water flows out and into the corridor, over the manager’s feet.)
Bond: (At his most urbane.) Hello, what can I do for you?
Manager: (Incredulous.) What do you mean, “What can I do for you”? Mr Bond, have you not noticed the water everywhere?
Bond: Well, now that you come to mention it…
Manager: It is all over the floor below and it is coming from your bathroom! Has your bath perhaps sprung a leak?
(At the mention of the word “bath” Bond’s mind flicks back to the night before. He had gone to the bathroom, taken his clothes off and started to run a bath, but had then been distracted- very pleasantly so, but distracted nonetheless- by the unexpected presence of the delectable Tatania in his bed.
He begins to smile at the memory, then realises that he had never actually gone back to turn off the bathtaps.)
Bond: Ah…. I’m afraid that is all my fault. I seem to have inadvertently left the bathtaps running and then fallen asleep.
Manager: You did what? Do you realise the amount of damage you have caused, “inadvertently” or not, to my hotel?
Bond: Yes, I’m terribly sorry about that.
Manager: I will have to add the cost of repairs to your bill!
Bond: That’s no problem- just send the bill to Kerim Bey. You know Kerim Bey, of course.
Manager: Oh! Kerim Bey! That is very different. It was not realised that you were the friend of Kerim Bey.
Bond: Yes, thank you. Please have breakfast sent up immediately.
Manager: Of course, Mr Bond. The waiter is putting the wetsuit on as we speak.
2012. MI6 Temporary HQ. James Bond walks down a corridor until he finds the door he is seeking. “Legal & Financial Department” reads the sign. He knocks and enters, to find a bespectacled man with a moustache sitting behind a desk.
Bond: Good morning, my name is-
Man: Yes, yes, you’re James Bond. I’ve been exp-
Bond: (Thinking, two can play at that game.) You’ve been expecting me.
Man: …..yes. Sit down there, please.
Bond: (Sitting down.) I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve asked to see you.
Man: Not at all. It’s part of our business to keep an eye on the financial affairs of all senior members of staff.
Bond: It is?
Man: Yes, of course. If someone were to suddenly have a large sum of money deposited in their account, we would be very interested in where it came from. I’m sure you understand what I’m getting at.
Bond: Of course.
Man: Now there might be a very good reason for this- a relative may have died and left them money, for example, or perhaps they have won money gambling.
Bond: Ah. Now, about that…
Man: Oh, we know you’ve done that more than once, 007. There isn’t anything suspicious about it if the source is legit and can be accounted for. However, apparent wins at gambling are often a cover for payments for illicit services. You have come across this yourself, when “winning” at gambling in Las Vegas was merely a front for you being paid to smuggle diamonds from this country to the USA.
Bond: Which explains why agents have to report such events as soon as possible.
Man: Exactly. And obviously we have access to the private banking details of all our operatives.
Bond: The consent to which is part of our contracts.
Man: Of course, and having such access I already have a good idea why you have asked to come here today.
Bond: It hardly seems worthwhile telling you about it, then.
Man: Oh, not at all, I do appreciate your honesty and straightforwardness.
Bond: Well, then, you should know that a property in Scotland which belonged to my family was recently totally destroyed.
Man: “Gas explosion”, was the reason given to the insurance company, I believe.
Bond: (Raising one eyebrow.) Indeed. I was prepared for some resistance from them, but strangely enough they paid up immediately with no argument.
Man: Nothing strange about it at all, we had a quiet word with them as soon as this came up.
Bond: Ah, I see. Then you will know that they made a substantial payment to my bank account just a few days ago.
Man: We do indeed, and since the source for that is clear there is no problem. As I said, though, we do appreciate you coming in of your own volition.
Bond: (Getting ready to leave.) Then I shall keep you no-
Man: There is one matter to discuss, though.
Bond: (Sitting down again.) Oh? And what would that be?
Man: You appear to have been receiving regular payments, some comprising very large amounts, from some people called Eon Productions. Care to comment?
1893. A publisher in London. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle enters.
Publisher: Ah, Sir Arthur, how good to see you. Do have a seat.
Doyle: (Sitting down.) Thank you.
Publisher: Now, I expect you’re wondering why I asked you to drop in.
Doyle: Not at all. I assume that you’re wanting to ask me about my latest story, “The Final Problem”.
Publisher: …er, yes, that’s it.
Doyle: You’re wanting to know why I killed off Dr Watson, perhaps? Having him shot by a traitor while they’re in a ship that quickly sinks, leaving a touching moment between him and Holmes before Holmes manages to escape and be picked up by a conveniently passing ship?
Publisher: Well, true, we weren’t terribly keen on that. Watson is a very popular figure with the fanbase.
Doyle: “Fanbase”?
Publisher: Your reading public. That’s a modern word, it means people who are devoted to your franchise.
Doyle: “Franchise”????
Publisher: Never mind.
Doyle: Well, then, I expect you’re concerned about Moriarty being killed accidentally by Holmes while in prison?
Publisher: Oh no, we weren’t worried about that at all.
Doyle: Really?
Publisher: Yes, you’ve killed Moriarty before. Once he got dropped down a very high chimney,
and once he was blown up on an oil rig-
excellent piece of foreshadowing there, since oil rigs hadn’t actually been invented yet.
Doyle: And he’ll be killed again, though not necessarily by me personally.
Publisher: Yes, I believe so.
Doyle: So, was there anything else?
Publisher: Well, yes. Look, Sir Arthur, there’s just no way to sugarcoat this- did you really have to kill off Sherlock Holmes?
Doyle: What do you mean?
Publisher: What I mean is, you had him blown up by British missiles on an island somewhere between Russia and Japan.
Doyle: Yes?
Publisher: Well, that does seem pretty final to me.
Doyle: What about to the public, or to use that word you mentioned earlier, the fanbase?
Publisher: Oh, they have come up with all sorts of theories to explain how he didn’t die- I believe it is called fan fiction, or “fanfic” for short.
Doyle: That’s interesting, I’d like to hear some of those.
Publisher: You should have no difficulty finding at least some of them.
Doyle: Who knows, maybe I can use one of them.
Publisher: Why on Earth didn’t you have him die in a less final sort of way- like perhaps, oh I don’t know, falling down a waterfall in Switzerland?
That’s the sort of thing that only seems pretty final but you can actually talk your way out of in a year or two.
Doyle: A year or two?
Publisher: Oh please, don’t make it last for years and years until you figure out what’s going to happen next!
Doyle: (Very innocently.) Of course not- that would be terrible....
Comments
My blushes, CHB, I'll simply say thank you.
Tomorrow we're back to normal, with new Conversations starting again.
Hello, @Napoleon Plural !! Do you remember this....
Goldeneye PTS — ajb007
I said I'd take you up on this once the July re-runs were over, and here it is:
1964. CIA, Washington HQ. Felix Leiter sits behind his desk, casually stroking a cat. No, not a white Persian.
Cat: Meow!!!!
(The cat loudly expires on Felix’s lap, stabbed through the heart.)
Felix: Oh damn, not again.
(He uses the hand that isn’t a hook to throw the cat over his shoulder, where it lands on a pile of other dead cats.)
Felix: I’m just going to have to learn to do that left-handed.
(The telephone rings. Felix tries to grab it with his hook, grunts exasperatedly, and switches to his left hand.)
Felix: Hello, Export Universal here.
Pussy: (On phone.) You know, you should just answer “CIA”, Mr Leiter. Everyone knows where your office is.
Felix: What? Who is this?
Pussy: Pussy here. Pussy Galore. No, this isn’t a wind-up.
Felix: That’s the most ridiculous name I’ve ever heard.
Pussy: At least you didn’t say “I musht be dreaming”.
Felix: Ah, you know James!
Pussy: He said you knew him.
Felix: Okay, what can I do for you then?
Pussy: Well, you better head down to Fort Knox. Big show going on.
Felix: What?
Pussy: You know a man called Goldfinger?
Felix: Yes, of course. He’s the man, the man with the Midas touch, a spider’s-
Pussy: All right, all right, you know him as well. He’s going to explode an atomic bomb there tomorrow, Sunday.
Felix: What? An atomic bomb?
Pussy: That’s right. And my pilots and I are going to fly over first, spraying gas to kill the entire population of the area.
Felix: Can you get to the bomb?
Pussy: No chance. But I can get to the gas canisters and switch them for something harmless- you’ll have to do the rest. Get all the people to lie down and play dead.
Felix: But, but-
Pussy: No time to do anything else.
Felix: Where’s Jam-
(But Pussy has hung up. Felix excitedly slaps his thigh, forgetting to use his left hand.)
Felix: Ow!!!!
2002. Eon HQ, under a minefield in North Korea. Madonna comes bursting in, surprising BB and MGW.
MGW: What the hell?
BB: Madonna! What are you doing here?
Madonna: I’m here about… this!
(As dramatically as she can manage, she produces a sheaf of papers and throws it down on the desk.)
BB: The script?
Madonna: Yes, the script!
MGW: What about it?
Madonna: You remember that I agreed to sing the title song to your film as long as I got a part in it as well?
BB: Of course, and that’s what we have done.
Madonna: Well, look at it- look at it!
MGW: (Picking up the script and leafing through it.) What seems to be the problem?
Madonna: What seems to be the problem? I’ve read it twice, and at no point does it say “Here Madonna takes her clothes off”.
BB: We can’t do that!
MGW: Think of the certificate!
BB: We have to keep the age limit as low as possible to allow more young people in to see the movie.
MGW: If the younger people can’t get to see it, there goes a large chunk of our audience.
Madonna: But if I don’t take my clothes off, there goes a large chunk of my audience!
BB: Look, Madonna, this is a James Bond film.
Madonna: Speaking of James Bond, there’s a perfect opportunity for him to take my clothes off written right here in the script.
MGW: Eh? Where?
Madonna: Right where I ask him to lace me up- any red-blooded male would unlace me at that point and leap on top of me.
BB: But they’re in public, there’s a lot of people there.
Madonna: (Genuinely puzzled.) That’s never stopped me before.
MGW: Well, it has to stop you this time. No taking clothes off.
Madonna: But Halle Berry gets a bikini scene and TWO bed scenes with James Bond!
BB: Yes, well, you come back with an Oscar and we’ll discuss that then.
(Madonna fumes off.)
BB: I think we’re on safe ground there.
MGW: I suppose it’s too late to get Beyonce instead?
BB: Afraid so, she’s signed up with Austin Powers.
MGW: Oh well…..
🤣🤣🤣
San Francisco. 2023.
(007 and a beautiful woman in a tight dress with rainbow-coloured stripes enter The 1% Restaurant, a very posh restaurant that also has a collection of art on display. The pink-haired young lady pulls out her own chair before Bond can give her a hand. They both sit down and a waiter appears with a menu.)
Inclusia: I must admit I'm a little bit disappointed: I thought 007 was a black woman?
Bond: That was a dead end. I've been re-imagined with a new timeline since then. Please chose whatever you like from the menu, Miss Inclusia Woak. It's on me.
Inclusia: No, thank you. As an independent and progressive woman I can pay for myself.
(They both open their menus and both grow pale as they see the prices.)
Bond: On second thought, let's have MI6 pick up the bill.
Inclusia: (Relieved.) Great idea, I'm all for public financing.
Bond: I'll have a fullblood tenderloin, thank you.
Inclusia: You're eating murdered cow?!!!
Bond: (Mumbling under his breath.) ... murder .... cow ...
Inclusia: Sorry?
Bond: On second thought, I'll just have something to wet my whistle. Vodka Martini. Shaken, not stirred.
Inclusia: And I'll have lettuce with olives with a prolytic digestive enzyme shake.
Bond: Fine, we're both not eating today. Perhaps just as well since we're on the job. (Empties his drink and pours himself another one.)
Inclusia: - .... Yes. all I was told was we're here after a tip about a possible attack on a valuable target. (Her phone pings.) I just got the details.
(Reads from her mobile phone.)
Inclusia: (Reading.) Cancella Noham is a wealthy heiress and a prolific campaigner for a number of causes. She has been suspected of being involved in green, red and most of the colours of the rainbow terrorism, but nothing sticks so far. Miss Noham is a quarter Korean, a quarter Russian, a quarter African and a quarter Chinese.
(Inclusia and Bond turn to each other and speak simultaneously.)
Inclusia: She's definitely innocent!
Bond: She's definitely a villain!
Inclusia: And the target is .... the statue over there?
(Hey, it's art!)
Bond: I'm usually not into modern art, but that's a very nice statue. As an added bonus many Americans probably faint at the nudity.
Inclusia: I support body positivity, so I'm all for it .....
Bond: I can assure you I'm very positive to your body.
Cancella: Now you're objectifying me!
Bond: Would you object to that?
Inclusia: Not necessarily. I'm open-minded sexually. I don't identify as bi-sexual because I find it too confining. I even find the term quadruple-sexual limiting. Some call me sextette-sexual .....
Bond: I like large numbers in bed myself, but I chose from a smaller portion of humanity. Often I just dip into the secretary pool.
Inclusia: Men! ... and a woman. I think Cancella Noham just arrived.
(A young woman with a perfect mix of ethnicities dressed in the latest fashion walks briskly up to the statue that Bond and Inclusiva have just been discussing.)
Cancella: (Addressing the people in the restaurant.) I'm doing this in protest against climate change, the objectification of women, fascism and the endangerment of the endangered Bog Hoverfly.
Bond: Please chose one motivation! Who do you think you are, Lyutsifer Safin?
(Cancella ignores him and throws a tiny hairless dog out of her Luis Vuitton handbag and takes out a hammer, a tool she looks like she's never handled before. She starts hitting on ..... I mean, striking the statue. Bond casually empties his third glass as Cancella destroys the statue. Then the statue falls over and crashes into the bar, breaking dozens of bottles of the best booze in the world, some presumably older than Inclusia.)
Bond: (Leaping up in anger.) God, it's a terrible terrorist attack! Those poor bottles were innocent!
(Cancella runs out of the restaurant closely followed by Bond and Inclusia. As they get out they see Cancella jumping into a Volvo S90 Hybrid. The car whizzes off with the sound of a hair dryer.)
Inclusia: A hybrid? I agree with you- she could at least commit fully. Let's take my fully electric car! (She runs towards a car that's approximately the size of the passenger compartment of Bond's Aston Martin.)
Bond: No. That golf cart won't be able to follow her Volvo, hybrid or not. Not to mention that my height fluctuates between 6'2 1/2'' and 5'10''. There is no way I can fit into that .......... vehicle.
(Bond jumps into his car and starts the engine with a roar. Inclusia Woak stands between her car and Bonds. She hasn't been more conflicted between her options since last time she chose sex partners, but with a frustrated sigh she joins Bond in his Aston Martin.)
Inclusia: Is it really necessary to drive a carbon-polluting car at a hundred miles an hour after drinking three vodka martinis?
Bond: More often than you'd drink .... think.
Inclusia: Well ..... at least don't smoke while you're driving!
(Bond hesitates before he nods and opens the window on his side.)
Inclusia: NO! Don't throw the cigarette out the window. It's too dangerous - forest fire hazard!
Bond: What she destroyed was some of the finest humankind has ever produced. (In intense DaltonBond mode.) I'm going to take a stab at Cancella ...
Inclusia: I'm sure you mean you'll take the first pass at stopping her?
Bond: Sure. I'll give her a deadline ....
Inclusia: - Why not use the expression "due date" instead? I think people need to evolve from this kind of violent language.
Bond: (Bond is full-on LTK now.) She has to bite the bullet soon ....
Inclusia: I find saying she can't avoid the consequences of her actions any longer is a better expression.
(Cancella's Volvo crashes into a tree.)
Inclusiva: Oh no, not the tree! I feel like hugging it now.
(Bond draws his PKK.)
Bond: Time to cancel Cancella for good!
Inclusiva: What have I been telling you about violent language? Wait .... are you going to kill her?
Bond: My puns are just lost on you, aren't they?
Inclusiva: Why don't we just take her prisoner and let the authorities question her for more information?
Bond: That's a wild idea! But isn't my job to bed and/or kill people?
Inclusiva: Getting information is what spying is all about.
Bond: The newfangled ideas they teach the kids at MI6 these days ...... but won't the authorities just jail her?
Inclusiva: This is California, but I think there's still a danger of Cancella ending up in a jail cell at some point. But why don't we tie her up and see what happens?
Inclusia: Why not tie her up and leave her to the authorities instead?
Bond: Hm .... I like how you think. I have some rope in my car as well as a pair of handcuffs. In case of .... emergencies.
(They enthusiastically tie up Cancella Noham.)
Bond: Make sure you tie her hands behind her back!
Inclusia: That knot is no good. Here, I'll show you.
Cancella: Don't forget to tie up my knees too!
(Finally Bond and Inclusia manage to tear themselves away from tying up Cancella.)
Inclusia: That last knot was a work of art.
Bond: Talking of art - why don't we try to re-create that statue in the car?
2023. Eon HQ, under a modest metallurgical installation in Kent. The writers’ room, in a cellar at the bottom of the building. Neal Purvis and Robert Wade are hard at work (I know, I know- highly unlikely.) on the screenplay for the next Bond film.
Wade: Hey, check the time, Neal.
Purvis: Yeah, it’s gone midnight. Probably time we headed back to our cell in the dungeons.
(A chill wind blows softly through the room as a shape materialises in front of them.)
Ghost: Good evening, gentlemen.
Purvis: What?
Wade: Who are you?
Ghost: Look at the wall.
(There on the wall is a framed portrait of Richard Maibaum and Ian Fleming. Purvis and Wade stare at the ghost, then the portrait, then back again.)
Wade: It can’t be! It's Richard Maibaum!
Purvis: My God!
Ghost: No, just your predecessor.
Purvis/Wade: (Together.) We are not worthy!
Ghost: Well, I can’t argue with you there. In fact, that is the very point of my mission back here on Earth.
Wade: Your mission? Here, in the Eon writers’ room?
Ghost: Listen, I was in this room before you were born. Of course, we weren’t called “Eon” back then and we weren’t making James Bond movies but…. Where was I?
Purvis: Er… your mission?
Ghost: Yes, my mission. I have returned in this, shall we say, spectral form to remonstrate with you over the directions in which you have taken the story of James Bond.
Purvis: What directions do you mean, Mr Maibaum?
Ghost: My friends call me Dick- so you can just carry on saying “Mr Maibaum”. What directions, you ask- please tell me what on Earth you were thinking of when you made Bond and Blofeld brothers?
Wade: Ah, well, if you check you’ll see that we actually said-
Ghost: I know what you said- “foster” brothers. (Scoffs.) It’s almost as if, having come up with the frankly ludicrous and eventually self-destructive idea of a fraternal relationship between 007 and his greatest enemy, you didn’t quite have the courage to see things through and take the idea to its logical conclusion.
Purvis: Look, our idea there started off with Fleming, in the story-
Ghost: Oh I know exactly which story you’re going to mention, young Neal, and there is not one mention in it of Hannes Oberhauser having a son at all let alone one that grows up to become Ernst Stavro Blofeld.
Wade: Yes, but that’s where we took our inspiration from, you see.
Ghost: “Inspiration”, is that what you call it? I’d say that “abomination” is closer to the mark!
Purvis: You’re just angry because we killed off Blofeld, aren’t you?
Ghost: Oh no, definitely not. I killed him a couple of times myself, you know, and I knew even then that he would be back and getting killed long after I had gone- which is precisely what has happened. And he’ll be back and getting killed long after both of you are gone, too.
Wade: Are you sure?
Ghost: Of course I’m sure- have you ever heard of Moriarty? Go back through all the films and TV shows about Sherlock Holmes and count how many times he’s been killed.
Purvis: Then you’re mad about the way in which we killed-
Ghost: Felix Leiter? Now you’re getting closer! Do you know how many times I struggled to write lines that would be appropriate for one actor only to find out that when the film was made there was a different one? I was always one Felix behind with my dialogue for him.
Wade: Ah yes, but we had a steady Felix.
Ghost: That you did- for the first time there was a steady Felix actor and what do you two do? You kill him!
Purvis: Yes, but-
Ghost: You kill him, and you didn’t even allow him the dignity of having an arm and a leg chewed off by a shark first!
Wade: But Barbara told us-
Ghost: You have to stand up to those Broccolis sometimes! I didn’t do everything Cubby told me to do, you know.
Purvis: We never got to meet Cubby.
Ghost: I know. Listen, in 27 years I wrote thirteen James Bond movies. In 24 years, you’ve written … oh, tell me, how many was it now? I forget.
Wade: (Mumbles.) Seven.
Ghost: Sorry, can you make that louder please?
Purvis: Seven.
Ghost: Seven. Some might say you’ve been taking things easy.
Wade: Ah, but you see-
Ghost: And there’s one more thing to say, and don’t tell me you didn’t know this was coming. In the name of all things suave and sexy, svelte and sophisticated, shaken not stirred, why did you do what must never be done and kill James Bond himself?
Purvis: Now, Mr Maibaum, that wasn’t our idea. That one came from Barbara herself, who got the idea from-
Ghost: (Raising his metaphorical eyebrows and rolling his eyes.) Oh, I know exactly where she got that senseless idea from. This is what I mean about you having to stand up to those Broccolis sometimes! But I have said enough- my time here is almost over and I must return.
Wade: But wait, wait! Before you go, there is something we must ask.
Ghost: (Impatiently.) Well, what is it?
Purvis: How can we bring James Bond back for the next movie?
Ghost: (Chuckling.) You wrote yourselves into this corner- you get yourselves out of it. And remember, don’t let those Broccolis boss you around.
Voice: (From above.) Dick, hurry up and get back here!
Ghost: Yes, Cubby, just coming!
(The Ghost fades away.)
London, 2015:
Inclusia Woke's suggestions for less violent language are actually taken directly from a book! When I found an article online about the book, including a list of non-violent expressions to be used instead of violent expressions, I knew I had struck comedy gold! 😂
1967.
The diary of Donald Pleasence.
Monday: Started work today on the Bond film “You Only Live Twice”. I’ve been rather thrown in at the deep end, playing the villain Blofeld on really short notice.
I spent most of the first day in the make-up chair, while they tried to make me look more villainous. They tried a beard, then a hump, then a lame hand. Finally they settled on shaving off the little amount of hair I have then applying a scar down one cheek, pulling down my eye. Makes me look like an egg that has cracked on the boil!
Tuesday: What a magnificent set they have made! Apparently it’s the inside of a volcano, with a full sized space rocket and a working monorail. Definitely Oscar-winning work.
Today I just had to sit in a swivel chair and stroke a white Persian cat. I believe it is called Tiddles, seems to be a nice cat. You can’t see my face yet so I will do the lines later in voiceover.
Wednesday: The cat seems to have something against my suit. It keeps clawing at the lapels, and I have to be very careful about the way I am holding it.
Thursday: That damned cat scratched me today! Several times, all over my hands. The director was most apologetic, he’s a nice chap, but he says we’re stuck with this cat and will have to use it for the rest of the shooting.
Friday: That f*cking cat needs to be taken out and shot, or at least get a damned good kicking. I don’t think I’ve got any skin left on my hands at all. Sean Connery wasn’t much help, as soon as he’s said his lines (with as little emotion in them as he can possibly manage) he just buggers off to his dressing room.
Saturday: No more cat! They started shooting guns rather than film today, and blowing things up. The cat wanted to get the hell out of there and after I tried holding it for a couple of moments it just went. I wasn’t objecting. The director says there will be shots where the cat just disappears, but there doesn’t appear to be anything he can do about it.
Sunday: A few voiceover lines and that’s me finished. Note to self- never work with cats again.
(The details on Mr Pleasence’s make-up come from John Brosnan’s highly recommended “James Bond In The Cinema”)
1964. Das Tagebuch von Gert Fröbe.
Montag: I have a most beautiful suit to wear in this scene. I am in a set made to look like men are working on a Rolls Royce car while I am walking around with an actor called Burt Kwouk.
He is a very nice fellow, and tells me that his last film job was trying to kill Peter Sellers as a French police inspector. He wanted to do more of that, but I told him not to get his hopes up. Maybe he’ll get another James Bond film to do.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Dienstag: Today I wear the same suit. James Bond is tied to a table and Goldfinger’s laser beam is slowly heading for him. He says “Do you expect me to talk?” and I say “No, Mr Bond, I expect you to die!”.
Apparently the lines we say in the book are much better but the censor will not allow them. Schade.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Mittwoch: Today the director asked me if I could say my lines more quickly, to aid with them being dubbed over later. I asked why this was necessary, and he said my accent would make it difficult for English-speakers to understand. I laughed and asked then why doesn’t he get Sean Connery dubbed also? He has the worst English accent I have ever heard.
------------------------------------------------------------------
Donnerstag: I have now met the wrestler Harold Sakata, who plays my henchman Oddjob. I think my hand will be painful for weeks after shaking hands with him.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Freitag: Today I had lunch with the very beautiful Honor Blackman. I asked her what part she played in the film, and she looked very embarrassed. I asked her again, and she mumbled something about lots of cats. I don’t see what there is to be embarrassed about.
I’m enjoying these diaries 😁😆😂
😂😂😂
Thanks, guys. I'm out most of today (going to see "Oppenheimer") but I'll see if I can come up with something tonight.
1974. The Diary Of
CountSIR Christopher Lee.Monday: Today I started work on my part in the latest James Bond film, which is called “The Man With The Golden Gun”. To the surprise of absolutely no-one I play the villain of the title; as well as a golden gun, I use golden bullets. That is not a problem; silver bullets, now, I would have worried about those.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday: Today I attempted to talk the director into only shooting at night, telling him that I did my best work at night, but he was unswayed saying that the overtime to shoot at night would be prohibitively expensive. Large parts of this film take place in brilliant sunshine, much to my chagrin.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wednesday: I was filming scenes with my assistant
Renfield- er, Nick Nack. He is an unusual little fellow. At lunch he partook of the local vintage “Phuyuck” rather extensively, and asked me to join him. I had to inform him that I never drinkwine.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday: The rather beautiful Britt Ekland I have met before, since we made “The Wicker Man” together recently.
Sadly she won’t be naked in this film, though I did offer to tie her to an altar anyway. She shook her head, saying that it’s James Bond who rescues her here, not Van Helsing.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Friday: I had to tell James Bond a long story about an elephant at a circus. Really! The things I have to say! Sometimes I wish I had followed up that wizarding course old Professor Tolkien was holding. Oh well, maybe I’ll get around to that in a year or two.
(Or thirty.)
This is specifically for @Sir Miles
2023. Gorky Park, Moscow. Two men meet by “accident” on a park bench. They look around to make sure they are being unobserved before speaking.
1st Spy: (Looking straight ahead.) The double-sided eagles await at Pinocchio’s.
2nd Spy: (The same.) And the sparrows fly high over Capistrano.
(They shake hands surreptitiously.)
1st Spy: Ivan Ivanovich!
2nd Spy: Alexander Alexandrovich!
Ivan: It is good to see you again, Alex.
Alex: And you, Ivan.
Ivan: Now, what brings you here on such a dismal morning?
Alex: It is, shall we say, a most delicate matter.
Ivan: It always is.
Alex: It concerns our spambots.
Ivan: Spambots?
Alex: Yes, the ones we are aiming at British spy-themed websites.
Ivan: And what appears to be the problem?
Alex: No matter how many we continue to plant at a certain site, they are always, how do you say, “zapped” within a short space of time.
Ivan: This is incredible!
Alex: I cannot understand it.
Ivan: Have you been using the very convincing names which we have selected?
Alex: But of course. We have been using DimDick, GregorySex, ConstantTit, and all the rest and then repeating them when we have run out.
Ivan: Amazing! I cannot see how the people who are supposed to be guarding the site see through these so quickly.
Alex: What shall we do?
Ivan: Just keep using these names- now, the ones who are guarding the site, what do you call them?
Alex: Fools? Mugs?
Ivan: No, not what they get called. The name they use.
Alex: Oh, “Moderators”.
Ivan: Yes, that was it, “Moderators”. They are sure to give up with our relentless bombardment very soon.
Alex: You think so?
Ivan: Oh, yes.
Alex: I disagree.They clearly have nothing better to do than “zap” our spambots all day long.
Ivan: They will tire of it eventually.
Alex: If you say so, Ivan.
Ivan: Then we shall meet again soon. Goodbye for now, Alexander Alexandrovitch.
Alex: And goodbye to you, Ivan Ivanovich.
🤣 brilliant 🤣 frighteningly true though 😳
And my finger is going numb 🤨🤣
2006. The house of Samantha Bond. She is pacing up and down, never getting too far away from where the telephone is placed.
Husband: (I can hardly say “Mr Bond”, now, can I? Barbel) Oh stop that pacing, Samantha, will you please?
Samantha: I can’t, I can’t!
Husband: Sit down and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.
Samantha: How can I sit down? How can I do that??!! They start shooting the next James Bond film next week and I haven’t heard anything!
Husband: But-
Samantha: Not one word!
Husband: But you don’t know if they’ll be wanting you.
Samantha: Not wanting me? After the last four movies?
Husband: Yes, but-
Samantha: I was Miss Moneypenny in all of the most recent films.
They're sure to want me back again!
Husband: Are you sure Miss Moneypenny is even in this film?
Samantha: Don’t be silly, how can they make a James Bond film without Miss Moneypenny? I’ve got the double entendre dialogue down to absolute perfection by now- I could do it lying on my back.
Husband: That’s true, but-
Samantha: And I’ve read the book, she’s definitely in the book.
Husband: Oh? What’s the title?
Samantha: “Casino Royale”.
Husband: Now, hang on a minute, I’m sure that I’ve seen that film a long time ago. It was totally batshit insane.
Samantha: Oh, they’re making it again- long story.
(Her pacing becomes even quicker.)
Samantha: And they even had a Miss Moneypenny in that
so I’m sure they’re going to want me back for this one.
Husband: Just calm down, darling. How about we go out for dinner and-
Samantha: Calm down? I’m perfectly calm!
(Her eyes haven’t left the telephone for one second.)
Husband: You do know Pierce Brosnan isn’t coming back for this film, don’t you?
Samantha: What? No, I didn’t know that- who have they got playing James Bond this time? Hugh Jackman, I’d think, or maybe Henry Cavill?
Husband: This guy.
(He shows her a photograph.)
Samantha: Seriously?
Husband: Yes, that’s the guy.
Samantha: (Takes a deep breath as her eyes leave the telephone.) So…. You said something about dinner?
I like this one - exactly my reaction to DC's appointment 😀
Thanks, Chris.
1977. Eon HQ, in a wretched hive of scum and villainy.
Cubby: Come in, Mr Lucas, have a seat.
George: Thank you. (Sits.)
Cubby: This is my stepson, Michael G. Wilson.
George: Hello.
MGW: Hello.
Cubby: Now, as you know we have asked several writers to come up with pitches for our new James Bond film.
George: Yes, indeed.
MGW: And we have just finished reading yours.
George: (Trying not to look excited.) Oh yes?
Cubby: While there are several interesting ideas there, we do have a few points that we have to make. Firstly, I see that you have included a beautiful girl in a starring role which is just what we have come to expect in a Bond film.
George: Yes, of course.
MGW: However, we were very unhappy when it turns out that she is Bond’s sister. (Makes “squick” noise.) We did not like that at all, and we are sure that neither would our audience.
George: Ah, but-
Cubby: We find this out only much too late, after they have been through several adventures together and even kissed a couple of times.
George: Yes, but-
MGW: Now, we see that you have written in a long swordfight between Bond and Blofeld towards the end of the film. That’s good, we like that, but we were very unhappy with some of the lines.
George: Oh?
Cubby: One line to be exact. “No. I am your father”.
George: You don’t like that idea?
Cubby: No, not at all. It goes against everything that’s ever been in one of our James Bond films, it goes against everything that Ian Fleming ever wrote. The only idea that could be worse would be to make Blofeld Bond’s brother.
MGW: ….Blofeld is Bond’s brother…
Cubby: Michael, are you writing something down?
MGW: Er, no, Cubby, of course not.
George: So, what else did you think?
Cubby: Well, we didn’t like your title. You have to stick with the title we gave you- this film is definitely called “The Spy Who Loved Me”, not “The Jedi Who Loved Me”.
George: Well, how about-
Cubby: No, you can’t call it “The Man With The Golden Light Sabre” either.
George: I see. Well, thank you for your time, gentlemen. (Rises.)
Cubby: So, what are your plans, then?
George: I’m going to rewrite this.
MGW: And where are you thinking of doing this?
George: Oh, in a galaxy far, far away.
1972. An agent’s office somewhere in London. No, a theatrical agent, not the secret kind. The door opens and Roger Moore enters, smoothly as always.
Roger: Good morning.
Agent: Ah, good morning Roger- or should I say, James.
Roger: Yes, well-
Agent: Just my way of saying congratulations, my man, and a hearty well done.
Roger: Well, thank you.
Agent: Not the first time your name came up, of course, but this time you were the successful candidate. Hmm, that almost sounds as if you were running for Parliament!
Roger: Oh, God forbid.
Agent: Yes, I think so too. Anyway, Cubby and Harry have sent over your contract for us to have a look through before you sign it.
Roger: Yes, of cou-
(He is startled as the agent begins to unfold a long document. Very long.)
Roger: Good heavens, that thing is as long as the Magna Carta!
Agent: Magna who now?
Roger: Never mind. What does it say?
Agent: Well, the first thing is quite simple. You have to get your hair cut.
Roger: My hair?
Agent: Yes, they think you’ve been wearing it too long
and they want it shorter.
Roger: That’s no problem. What else do they want?
Agent: They’d like you to lose some weight, as well.
Roger: I’m hardly fat!
Agent: It’s to do with the image they want to project. Also, you won’t get to pick your own clothes as you did on “The Persuaders!”, they have a whole wardrobe department who will be doing that for you.
Roger: But I like-
Agent: Do I have to remind you how much money they’re paying you to do this?
Roger: (Grumbling.) And you, too, Mr 10%.
Agent: Yes, all right. Now, the car…
Roger: Car? Surely I’ll be driving an Aston Martin DB5, with lethal accessories!
Agent: It’s had its day, I’m afraid. Cubby’s orders. You were driving an Aston Martin in “The Persuaders!”
so no way are you to drive an Aston Martin as James Bond. They’ll think of a suitable car for you to drive later.
Roger: But I could, if I liked, drive one in a different film.
Agent: I’m not with you, Roger.
Roger: Just suppose, for argument’s sake, I felt like driving an Aston Martin DB5 with lethal accessories in a different film, one that wasn’t James Bond?
Agent: Well, I suppose you could, there’s nothing to stop you. But why on Earth would you want to do that?
Roger: Oh, I don’t know…. Something may turn up…..
1987. The diary of Timothy Dalton.
Monday. My first day of shooting! I prepared carefully, reading both “Hamlet” and “Macbeth” last night since they contain large amounts of death and violence, and I have been given to understand that this Bond fellow comes across both of those in his travels around the world. I was very disappointed to find that today I was to do a scene in a gents toilet, discreetly opening a large white cello case to find a rifle inside. What a waste of my talents!
Tuesday. Today was spent on publicity, basically talking to one reporter after another. By the third one I was able to simply repeat the answers I had given the first two. No, I wouldn’t be copying any of my predecessors. Yes, I had read the books. No, I wasn’t Pierce Brosnan.
In the next room on my left was the director, John, and on my right was the film’s composer, also called John, and a music group who would be singing the title song. Sometimes I couldn’t hear the reporters asking me questions because of the noises of shouting and fighting coming from that room.
Wednesday. Big argument today with the director, the stuntman, and myself. John wanted the stunt man to be hanging on the roof of a Land Rover as it drove at breakneck speeds around Gibraltar while I wanted to do that myself. John said he could afford for the stuntman to break his neck but not for me to do the same, and the stuntman was not impressed with this comment. Eventually we compromised and I can do some of the shots myself. The stuntman went off mumbling something like “We never had this problem with Roger Moore”.
Thursday. I spent most of the day in a fairground with a cuddly toy called Maryam. Sorry, I mean a cuddly toy and Maryam, our leading lady. She was very nice, once she stopped calling me “Pierce”.
Friday. Today we are shooting something they called the “gunbarrel”. The director for this part was called Maurice, and he told me that apparently I have to walk along a few paces dressed in a tuxedo, then suddenly turn and shoot towards the camera. I was completely appalled by this. Who was I meant to be shooting at? Did I know him, or her as the case may be? Did I like them or hate them? What, above all, was my motivation in making this seemingly senseless act of random violence?
Maurice just smiled patiently. I imagine he has had this talk with all the previous Bonds- well, except George Lazenby, obviously. And Roger Moore, come to think of it. Maybe I was the first Bond actor to raise these, to my mind, very pertinent points. I considered phoning Sean Connery to ask him, but was advised that asking him James Bond questions was not a wise move.
1973. San Monique, which does not resemble Jamaica in any way at all. Solitaire’s house stands at the top of a cliff. A guard is on watch outside, but does not look up in time to see 007 dropping in using a hang glider and kicking him off the top of the cliff.
Guard: Aargh!
(The guard falls to his doom. Bond puts the glider down, adjusts his clothing from night style to day, and walks into the house. He checks his pocket for the deck of tarot cards he has bought, which have been carefully made to his specifications with only one raised eyebrow at the shop, then sits down and begins to deal them. An outraged Solitaire appears in a doorway.)
Solitaire: What the hell are you doing here? And who the hell are you?
Bond: (Rather taken aback by this, but of course not showing it.) Why, Solitaire, I’m surprised that you-
Solitaire: (Angrily.) How do you know my name?
Bond: But we met in New York only a-
Solitaire: Oh yes, the snooping British agent. Why aren’t you dead?
Bond: Well-
Solitaire: Never mind that- guard! Guard!
Bond: I’m afraid he won’t be joining us. Now, take a look at these cards I’ve got here and-
Solitaire: Cards? I’m the one who handles cards! Why on Earth would I want to look at cards which you’ve been dealing?
Bond: Just look.
(He holds out the cards in a fan shape for Solitaire to pick one. Furiously she picks one.)
Bond: Well?
Solitaire: What do you mean, “well”?
Bond: Which card is it?
Solitaire: You really don’t know how this works, do you? You’re just some random guy, you know nothing about the cards, what does it matter which card I pick from your hand?
Bond: But-
Solitaire: (Turning the card over.) It’s The Lovers. That might mean something if I had given you the card, but it means absolutely nothing if you give me it.
Bond: But-
Solitaire: I mean, you and me The Lovers? I’ve only known you for about five minutes total. It’s more likely that Kananga and I will be The Lovers, at least I know him!
Bond: Look, Soli-
Solitaire: (Picking up the telephone and beginning to dial.) Now get out of here right now before I call on Tee Hee to come and make you do it!
(Sheepishly, Bond picks up his cards and leaves.)
And, specifically for @caractacus potts
1973. San Monique, which does not resemble Jamaica in any way at all. Solitaire’s house stands at the top of a cliff. A guard is on watch outside, but does not look up in time to see 007 dropping in using a hang glider and kicking him off the top of the cliff.
Guard: Aargh!
(The guard falls to his doom. Bond puts the glider down, adjusts his clothing from night style to day, and walks into the house. He checks his pocket for the deck of tarot cards he has bought, which have been carefully made to his specifications with only one raised eyebrow at the shop, then sits down and begins to deal them. He is surprised to hear the sound of voices, and follows them to outside Solitaire’s bedroom.)
Solitaire: Is there time before we leave for Lesson Number 3?
Man: Absolutely. There’s no sense in going off half-cocked.
(Outraged, Bond bursts into the bedroom. Solitaire squeals in fright, but the man, who was busy putting on or maybe taking off his shirt, only looks up pleasantly.)
Man: Hello, James.
Bond: Alec!
Alec: What brings you here, 007?
(Bond looks behind Alec and sees a row of cards on the table. They are all The Lovers.)
Bond: Ohhh….
(Bond leaves, his head down.)
the Exciting Adventures of Those Two Inseparable Pals
Those will turn up from time to time, it's unpredictable.
1963. A hotel in Istanbul. James Bond awakes in his suite, a soft smile on his face as he recalls the previous night with Tatania who has now disappeared.
He rubs his eyes as he wonders what has awakened him before realising there is a banging noise filling the room.
Voice: (Muffled.) Mr Bond! Mr Bond!
(Bond realises that the voice and the banging noise are coming from the same source, the door to his suite to be exact. He gets out of bed, wrapping the towel around his waist which he had discarded several hours previously upon realising the situation with Tatania, and starts walking to the door. He is mildly puzzled to find that “walking” is the wrong verb to describe his progress; “wading” would be more accurate.)
Voice: (Now more clearly identifiable as coming from the other side of the door.) Mr Bond! Open the door, please, at once!
(Bond opens the door to reveal the distraught hotel manager. Some of the water flows out and into the corridor, over the manager’s feet.)
Bond: (At his most urbane.) Hello, what can I do for you?
Manager: (Incredulous.) What do you mean, “What can I do for you”? Mr Bond, have you not noticed the water everywhere?
Bond: Well, now that you come to mention it…
Manager: It is all over the floor below and it is coming from your bathroom! Has your bath perhaps sprung a leak?
(At the mention of the word “bath” Bond’s mind flicks back to the night before. He had gone to the bathroom, taken his clothes off and started to run a bath, but had then been distracted- very pleasantly so, but distracted nonetheless- by the unexpected presence of the delectable Tatania in his bed.
He begins to smile at the memory, then realises that he had never actually gone back to turn off the bathtaps.)
Bond: Ah…. I’m afraid that is all my fault. I seem to have inadvertently left the bathtaps running and then fallen asleep.
Manager: You did what? Do you realise the amount of damage you have caused, “inadvertently” or not, to my hotel?
Bond: Yes, I’m terribly sorry about that.
Manager: I will have to add the cost of repairs to your bill!
Bond: That’s no problem- just send the bill to Kerim Bey. You know Kerim Bey, of course.
Manager: Oh! Kerim Bey! That is very different. It was not realised that you were the friend of Kerim Bey.
Bond: Yes, thank you. Please have breakfast sent up immediately.
Manager: Of course, Mr Bond. The waiter is putting the wetsuit on as we speak.
2012. MI6 Temporary HQ. James Bond walks down a corridor until he finds the door he is seeking. “Legal & Financial Department” reads the sign. He knocks and enters, to find a bespectacled man with a moustache sitting behind a desk.
Bond: Good morning, my name is-
Man: Yes, yes, you’re James Bond. I’ve been exp-
Bond: (Thinking, two can play at that game.) You’ve been expecting me.
Man: …..yes. Sit down there, please.
Bond: (Sitting down.) I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve asked to see you.
Man: Not at all. It’s part of our business to keep an eye on the financial affairs of all senior members of staff.
Bond: It is?
Man: Yes, of course. If someone were to suddenly have a large sum of money deposited in their account, we would be very interested in where it came from. I’m sure you understand what I’m getting at.
Bond: Of course.
Man: Now there might be a very good reason for this- a relative may have died and left them money, for example, or perhaps they have won money gambling.
Bond: Ah. Now, about that…
Man: Oh, we know you’ve done that more than once, 007. There isn’t anything suspicious about it if the source is legit and can be accounted for. However, apparent wins at gambling are often a cover for payments for illicit services. You have come across this yourself, when “winning” at gambling in Las Vegas was merely a front for you being paid to smuggle diamonds from this country to the USA.
Bond: Which explains why agents have to report such events as soon as possible.
Man: Exactly. And obviously we have access to the private banking details of all our operatives.
Bond: The consent to which is part of our contracts.
Man: Of course, and having such access I already have a good idea why you have asked to come here today.
Bond: It hardly seems worthwhile telling you about it, then.
Man: Oh, not at all, I do appreciate your honesty and straightforwardness.
Bond: Well, then, you should know that a property in Scotland which belonged to my family was recently totally destroyed.
Man: “Gas explosion”, was the reason given to the insurance company, I believe.
Bond: (Raising one eyebrow.) Indeed. I was prepared for some resistance from them, but strangely enough they paid up immediately with no argument.
Man: Nothing strange about it at all, we had a quiet word with them as soon as this came up.
Bond: Ah, I see. Then you will know that they made a substantial payment to my bank account just a few days ago.
Man: We do indeed, and since the source for that is clear there is no problem. As I said, though, we do appreciate you coming in of your own volition.
Bond: (Getting ready to leave.) Then I shall keep you no-
Man: There is one matter to discuss, though.
Bond: (Sitting down again.) Oh? And what would that be?
Man: You appear to have been receiving regular payments, some comprising very large amounts, from some people called Eon Productions. Care to comment?
Bond: Ah…..
With thanks to CoolHandBond
2023. Eon HQ, in an old Scottish castle.
BB: I suppose it might be time for us to go over some candidates again. People are starting to grumble.
MGW: Oh, are they? I hadn’t noticed.
BB: Well, neither have I but I suppose they must be.
MGW: Yes, I agree.
BB: When’s the next anniversary?
MGW: 2032.
BB: Let’s wait until then!
MGW: I think that might be just a shade too long, Barbara.
BB: Well, is Dick Van Dyke still alive for a Chitty remake?
MGW: We’d better stick with Bond, I think.
BB: Oh well, I suppose you’re right.
MGW: Okay then. Let’s go back through some older candidates to start.
(He picks up a handful of publicity portraits, blows the dust off them, and starts laying them out on the desk.)
BB: Hey, that guy looks good.
MGW: He does, doesn’t he? (He turns the pic over.) Ah….
BB: What’s up?
MGW: I’m afraid he’s dead.
BB: Then how about this guy? (She points.) He looks dark and dynamic.
MGW: I’m afraid he’s dead, too.
BB: Then this guy- he looks very professional.
MGW: I’m afraid-
BB: Yeah, I can see the way this is going. What about actors we actually have tested, like Sam Neill or James Brolin?
MGW: Barbara, they’re too old these days.
BB: If only there were some obvious candidates today.
MGW: Yes, I suppose we’d better just wait again.
BB: And wait.
MGW: And wait…..
I have to say that these latter ones are up to the usual high standards 🤣🍸
Thank you, Sir Miles. 😊
1893. A publisher in London. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle enters.
Publisher: Ah, Sir Arthur, how good to see you. Do have a seat.
Doyle: (Sitting down.) Thank you.
Publisher: Now, I expect you’re wondering why I asked you to drop in.
Doyle: Not at all. I assume that you’re wanting to ask me about my latest story, “The Final Problem”.
Publisher: …er, yes, that’s it.
Doyle: You’re wanting to know why I killed off Dr Watson, perhaps? Having him shot by a traitor while they’re in a ship that quickly sinks, leaving a touching moment between him and Holmes before Holmes manages to escape and be picked up by a conveniently passing ship?
Publisher: Well, true, we weren’t terribly keen on that. Watson is a very popular figure with the fanbase.
Doyle: “Fanbase”?
Publisher: Your reading public. That’s a modern word, it means people who are devoted to your franchise.
Doyle: “Franchise”????
Publisher: Never mind.
Doyle: Well, then, I expect you’re concerned about Moriarty being killed accidentally by Holmes while in prison?
Publisher: Oh no, we weren’t worried about that at all.
Doyle: Really?
Publisher: Yes, you’ve killed Moriarty before. Once he got dropped down a very high chimney,
and once he was blown up on an oil rig-
excellent piece of foreshadowing there, since oil rigs hadn’t actually been invented yet.
Doyle: And he’ll be killed again, though not necessarily by me personally.
Publisher: Yes, I believe so.
Doyle: So, was there anything else?
Publisher: Well, yes. Look, Sir Arthur, there’s just no way to sugarcoat this- did you really have to kill off Sherlock Holmes?
Doyle: What do you mean?
Publisher: What I mean is, you had him blown up by British missiles on an island somewhere between Russia and Japan.
Doyle: Yes?
Publisher: Well, that does seem pretty final to me.
Doyle: What about to the public, or to use that word you mentioned earlier, the fanbase?
Publisher: Oh, they have come up with all sorts of theories to explain how he didn’t die- I believe it is called fan fiction, or “fanfic” for short.
Doyle: That’s interesting, I’d like to hear some of those.
Publisher: You should have no difficulty finding at least some of them.
Doyle: Who knows, maybe I can use one of them.
Publisher: Why on Earth didn’t you have him die in a less final sort of way- like perhaps, oh I don’t know, falling down a waterfall in Switzerland?
That’s the sort of thing that only seems pretty final but you can actually talk your way out of in a year or two.
Doyle: A year or two?
Publisher: Oh please, don’t make it last for years and years until you figure out what’s going to happen next!
Doyle: (Very innocently.) Of course not- that would be terrible....
so in real life, how many years did Doyle wait to resurrect Sherlock Holmes?
perhaps that will give us a clue when Bond26 is coming out