1983. The Brolin household. James is pacing up and down, never getting too far away from the telephone.
Mrs Brolin: Oh, sit down, James, why don’t you?
James: Sit down? I can’t, I just can’t!
Mrs Brolin: You’re going to wear a hole in my beautiful carpet if you don’t relax.
James: How can I relax at a time like this?
Mrs Brolin: If they want you, they’ll call you.
James: But time’s getting very short now- I’ve been told that shooting starts on “Octopussy” on Monday, in Germany, and I haven’t heard anything! Not a thing!
Mrs Brolin: Well, maybe they have decided that they don’t want you.
James: What? That’s nonsense! I know that I gave a good screen test,
that guy John Glen said so. And I certainly know that Roger Moore is asking for far, far too much money. There’s no way they would pay that much.
Mrs Brolin: Yes, well, unless….
James: Unless what?
Mrs Brolin: Unless Sean Connery is coming back as James Bond for a different film.
James: What? Sean Connery? He said never again!
Mrs Brolin: He’s now saying never say never again, apparently.
James: I can’t believe that.
Mrs Brolin: And if he’s coming back, then Roger Moore can ask what he likes because he knows they will need him.
James: Nonsense.
Mrs Brolin: It’s not nonsense- they’ll want an established James Bond actor to go head to head with Sean Connery, this isn’t the time to start a new one.
James: Oh. I suppose you’re right.
Mrs Brolin: Now sit down and I’ll make you a nice cup of coffee. Play one of your records.
James: Well, okay.
(He reaches for an album.)
Mrs Brolin: Just not Barbra Streisand again!
James: Aw….
Mrs Brolin: What on Earth do you see in her?
James: Ah, yes, well…
Mrs Brolin: “Evergreen” in the morning, “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers” every afternoon- honestly, I just don’t know why you like her so much.
James: Just memories, darling. Memories light the corners of my mind.
Mrs Brolin: Enough is enough! I can’t go on no more!
1964. Fontainebleau Hotel, Miami. Goldfinger’s suite- that’s Mr Goldfinger’s suite! Goldfinger is giving instructions to Oddjob.
Goldfinger: Now, you are sure that you understand everything, Oddjob?
Oddjob: Yes, Mr Goldfinger, I am sure.
Goldfinger: Well, repeat it back to me then.
Oddjob: I am to take a tin of gold paint and a brush from the trunk of the Rolls Royce, and then quietly make my way into the room of that man who shpeaksh like thish using the key which a clerk on the reception desk has been bribed for with a sufficiently high amount of money to keep his mouth closed should the Miami Beach Police come around and start asking troublesome questions.
Goldfinger: Yes, yes, go on.
Oddjob: I will knock the man unconscious and- but wait, are you sure you only want me to knock him out, Mr Goldfinger? It would not be much more effort to simply kill him.
Goldfinger: No, I am sure that simply knocking him out, which is a tactic which I shall be repeating no matter how unlikely, will suffice.
Oddjob: Well, if you’re sure, sir. I then knock out the girl, strip her down to just her panties, and cover her with paint. Gold paint.
Goldfinger: That’s correct. Now remember to leave her panties on, that is very important.
Oddjob: But-
Goldfinger: Just do it, Oddjob.
Oddjob: Yes, sir.
Goldfinger: And what else…?
Oddjob: I must be very careful not to get the gold paint on anything else, such as the bed, while I am painting the Masterson girl.
Goldfinger: That’s right.
Oddjob: And I am allowed to take a drink from the room refrigerator if I get thirsty?
Goldfinger: Yes, I suppose so.
Oddjob: Will that be all, Mr Goldfinger?
Goldfinger: Yes, I think so. Oh, except for one more thing….
Oddjob: Yes?
Goldfinger: What have you to say if you must talk to someone?
2022. A publisher’s office. A prospective writer is being interviewed.
Publisher: Ah, come in, Mr Writer, please take a seat.
Writer: Thank you. (Sits.)
Publisher: Now, you said you had an idea we might be interested in.
Writer: Yes, indeed.
Publisher: And what would that be?
Writer: Well, I’ve been writing a biography of Ian Fleming.
(The writer pulls out a large manuscript.)
Publisher: A Fleming biography, you say? But there have already been many, many biographies of Ian Fleming published both by ourselves and by others.
Writer: Yes, but this time I’ve been able to gain access to previously unavailable sources from the British Government as to what he did during the war.
Publisher: Yes, I thought you’d say that.
Writer: Oh, why?
Publisher: Because they all say that. Look here, see? (He gestures at a crammed bookshelf behind him.) “Ian Fleming- The True Story”, “The True Story of Ian Fleming”, “Very True Ian Fleming Stories”, “Ian (True Story) Fleming”, “The True Ian Fleming Story”, “The Judean Popular Front of Ian Fleming”-
Writer: What?
Publisher: Okay, I made that last one up, but I’m sure you see my point. It’s all been done, Mr Writer, and been done many times. I’m sure there must be dedicated Bond fans who have so many Fleming biographies that they have by now given up collecting them. (Barbel whistles and looks innocently upwards.)
Writer: Look, this one is different. I’ve had access to documents, talked to many surviving witnesses, and-
Publisher: Well, I'd like to see a bit.
Writer: Okay then, read this.
(He picks out a section of the manuscript and passes it across.)
Publisher: All right, let's have a look.
-------------------------
Casually, Fleming opened the door of the desirable Miss Pettival’s office. He slid an elegantly dressed arm around the door and with ease flicked his hat, causing it to land effortlessly on the hatstand.
Miss Pettival looked up from her typing happily, her eyes shining. “Ian! There you are.”
Fleming smiled down at her and his darkly handsome features lit up. A comma of hair fell down over one eye.
“You make my day, Petty, as always. You could make my nights, too, you know.”
Miss Pettival blushed prettily. “If only I could believe you.”
“But of course you can”, said Fleming. “Just come round to my place tonight and allow me to convince you.“
“Now you know I can’t do that. Anyway, you'd better go in. The Admiral is expecting you.”
She gestured towards the padded door.
--------------------------
Publisher: (Suspiciously.) Are you sure this is an accurate account?
Writer: Certainly.
Publisher: Hmmm…. (He flicks through more of the manuscript.) This part here, about him falling out of an aeroplane without a parachute? And this, about the time he was skiing down an Alp with the villains in hot pursuit starting an avalanche? And this here, about submarines being hijacked? Robbing Fort Knox? Stealing atom bombs? A car that can go underwater?
Writer: Oh yes, all true.
Publisher: I’m not convinced, Mr Writer.
Writer: Oh well, I suppose I'll -
Publisher: Not so fast, I didn't say we wouldn't publish it anyway. There's always a market for Fleming bios!
1981. A recording studio. Sheena Easton is in the vocal booth, wearing headphones. The producer and technical staff are in the control room.
Producer: (Through mic.) All set, then. Are you ready, Sheena?
Sheena: Sure, buddy.
(The recording engineer stifles a snigger.)
Producer: Then let’s go. Three, two, one…
Sheena: (Sings.) For your eyes only
Can see me through the night
For your eyes only…
(As she continues, the tape operator whispers to the engineer.)
Tape Operator: What were you sniggering about?
Engineer: Me? Was I sniggering?
Tape Operator: Yes, when the producer asked Sheena if she was ready and she replied “Sure, buddy”.
Engineer: Oh, right. It’s just that I remember her first recording session, the one where she sang “My baby takes the morning train, he works from 9 to 5 and then”, you know that one?
Tape Operator: Of course, that was a big hit.
Engineer: Well, she had won a TV talent show sort of thing and was just new. When the producer asked her if she was ready, she replied “Aye, aw right, pal” in the thickest Glasgow accent this side of “Taggart”. Then she sang in this beautiful unaccented voice- I was remembering the contrast between her singing and speaking voice, that’s why I sniggered.
Tape Operator: But she didn’t sound like that earlier. Very American.
Engineer: (Sniggers again.) Indeed she did. She got successful, did a residency in Las Vegas, hung around with Prince, and came back with that American accent. The Scottish newspapers ripped her to shreds for that.
Tape Operator: So, what did she do?
Engineer: Well, she toned down the American accent a bit. It’s still there, but her natural accent comes through more.
Tape Operator: Except when she’s singing.
Engineer: Oh yes, she sings great, a beautiful voice with no accent at all.
Tape Operator: You sound as if you know a lot about it.
Engineer: Seen it all before, son. Ever heard of Lulu?
1977. A police station in Corsic… Actually, sir, it is in Sardinia. In a witness room, a sergeant is speaking to a man when the door opens and an inspector comes in.
Sergeant: Now, sir, would you mind going through that all once again please?
Man: But I’ve just told you everything!
Sergeant: (Firmly.) Please, for the benefit of the inspector here.
Man: Oh, all right.
Inspector: Now, can you tell me your name, sir?
Man: Victor Tourjansky.
Inspector: And where were you at the time of the incident?
Victor: On the beach, sunbathing.
Inspector: I see. So, in your own words just tell me your story.
Victor: It’s not a story! It’s true!
Inspector: Please, sir, just tell me.
Victor: (Sullenly.) I was on the beach, sunbathing, when it happened.
Inspector: What happened?
Victor: Look, I‘ve told the sergeant here-
Inspector: Tell me.
Victor: I saw this car.
Inspector: What kind of car?
Victor: I don’t know, a sports car of some sort. It was white.
Inspector: And you saw this white sports car driving along the beach-
Victor: No, that’s the thing. It wasn’t driving along the beach at all, it came out of the water!
Inspector: (Sceptical.) Out of the water.
Victor: Yes, and then it came onto the beach and drove away!
Inspector: Did you get a look at the driver?
Victor: No, I just saw his arm come out of the window holding a fish.
Inspector: (Very patiently.) Holding a fish.
Victor: Then he threw the fish away. Well, sort of dropped it, I suppose.
Inspector: Then drove away?
Victor: Yes, that’s right.
Inspector: Now, please don’t misunderstand me Mr… er…
Victor: Tourjansky.
Inspector: Mr Tourjansky. I have to ask this question. Had you been drinking?
Victor: Drinking? …. Er, yes, I was drinking some wine.
Inspector: And how much wine had you had?
Victor: Well... nearly a bottle. But there’s no law against that!
Inspector: And there’s no law against driving a white sports car under the water, either.
If only Mr Tourjansky thought to use his cameras to take pictures of the gondola. He could have sold them to the press, or at least gotten a payment from MI6 when they got wind of the pictures.
1981. MI6 HQ. A man is being interrogated when a senior official walks in.
Officer: Now, sir, would you mind going through that all once again please?
Man: But I’ve just told you everything!
Officer: (Firmly.) Please, for the benefit of my superior here.
Man: Oh, all right.
Senior Official: Now, can you tell me your name, sir?
Man: Victor Tourjansky.
Senior Official: Now, you were found to be in possession of certain photographs.
Victor: I’m not denying that! I took those photos myself.
Senior Official: Let’s just have a look….
Senior Official: And this would be where, exactly?
Victor: St Mark’s Square, Venice.
Senior Official: Now, what were you doing there, Mr Najinsky?
Victor: That’s Tourjansky.
Senior Official: Yes, Tourjansky.
Victor: I was having a holiday. Just sitting in the sun enjoying a small drink.
Senior Official: A small drink, you say?
Victor: Yes, a small drink. Then this gondola came out of the water and went driving into the square.
Senior Official: Gondolas don’t drive, Mr Naj- er, Tourjansky.
Victor: If their bottom part has blown up like a hovercraft they do.
Senior Official: And you managed to take some photos.
Victor: Yes, that’s right- I had a camera handy, you see. It made me think if only I had had a camera with me that time before, when I was in Sardinia.
(The two MI6 officials exchange glances.)
Senior Official: Sardinia, you say?
Victor: Yes, I saw that same man, the one that was in the gondola. It didn't click with me until later that I had seen him before when he was driving a white sports car out of the ocean.
(Once again the two officials exchange glances.)
Senior Official: A white sports car? Out of the ocean?
Victor: Yes, but I didn't have pictures that time. This time I did.
Senior Official: And you tried to sell these photographs to the press.
Victor: I did indeed. I tried “The Sun”, but they weren’t interested because there were no topless ladies in them. I then tried the “Daily Mail”, but they weren’t interested because they couldn’t find an angle to praise the Conservative Party in them. And then I found myself being bundled into the back of a car and brought here, wherever here is.
Senior Official: You don’t have to know that. All you have to know is that we want those pictures and the film you used.
Victor: They’re mine! I paid for them!
Senior Official: Let me put it this way, Mr Tourjansky. You see this document here?
(He produces a very official looking document and puts it on the table between them, together with a fountain pen.)
Victor: Yes….
Senior Official: This is the Official Secrets Act. Not being a British citizen you are not bound by its terms & conditions unless you sign it. Here. At the bottom. Where it says “Sign here”. Stop me if I’m going too fast for you.
Victor: And if I refuse?
Senior Official: Oh, nothing much. Just a small matter of, I think, twenty years to life in Belmarsh Prison.
Victor: Twenty years to life! And if I sign?
Senior Official: You give me your photos, camera and film, we give you some compensation for them plus a little extra for your troubles, and you walk out of here.
Victor: Wherever here is.
Senior Official: Exactly.
Victor: I don’t seem to have much choice. All right.
(Victor signs the document. The official quickly puts it away.)
Senior Official: And that concludes our business. May I ask what your plans are now?
Victor: I think I need another holiday!
Senior Official: Sound idea. Where were you planning?
Victor: Oh, perhaps the north of Italy- where the skiing is.
Senior Official: That’ll be nice. Let you forget about all this…..
Pity Victor signed the Official Secrets Act. He had to keep his mouth shut at the chalet as a loud mouthed American tourist complained about an "English secret agent, from England."
😁 That would be a fun one, but I'm Victor-ed out for the moment and want to write something else next. Please, feel free to write that one up yourself.
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 27,927Chief of Staff
I’ve no idea how you keep coming up with these - but I’m glad you do 🤣
Newman: It’s my music for James Bond films, Doctor.
Doctor: Oh?
Newman: No matter how I try, it comes out bland and uninteresting. This is the second time I’ve composed for a Bond film, and I find I’m just repeating myself- sometimes quite literally- and only having sparks of enthusiasm when I use the main title theme, which of course was composed by somebody else.
Doctor: I see. Well, Mr Newman, it’s pretty evident what your problem is.
Newman: Please, tell me!
Doctor: You won’t like it…
Newman: I don’t care, you have to tell me!
Doctor: All right, you are suffering from a severe case of “Not Being John Barry”, or “Barryabsentia” as we say.
Newman: Not Being John Barry!!! What can be done about this?
Doctor: Well, David Arnold managed by using as many Barry influences and sometimes direct copies as possible, and Sir George Martin survived by having very, very impressive credentials and talent.
Newman: Anyone else?
Doctor: Other than those it’s pretty much 50/50, unless you’re French in which case the prognosis isn’t good.
Newman: What? French?
Doctor: Yes, two Frenchmen have died on their arse from Barryabsentia- or at least their scores did.
Newman: I’m not French, so that’s okay.
Doctor: Not enough, though, to guarantee really James Bond-style music as you have found out.
Newman: Is there any cure for it? Is there anything I could do?
Doctor: It’s possible. I suggest you start with this.
(He hands over a CD.)
Newman: What is this?
Doctor: It’s the soundtrack to “Goldfinger”. Listen to it at least three times daily, then we can move on to “Thunderball”. If that’s too strong, I’ll get you to listen to the “The Man With The Golden Gun” soundtrack instead, that’s pretty weak.
Newman: What about “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service”?
Doctor: Oh no, no, no, Mr Newman. That would be far too strong for you without regular listening to the other soundtracks first.
Newman: I see.
Doctor: We’ll get you to listen to other Barry soundtracks later, such as “You Only Live Twice”, for some variety.
Newman: Thank you, Doctor.
Doctor: Not at all. Come back in a week or two and let me know how it’s going. And don’t try any composing until you’ve listened.
Newman: I won’t.
(Newman exits. The Doctor presses a button on his intercom.)
Doctor: (On intercom.) Anyone else waiting?
Secretary: (On intercom.) There’s a Herr Zimmer, but he isn’t booked in until 2021.
Doctor: That’s a ridiculous amount of time away.
Secretary: Well, he is working for Eon.
Doctor: Oh, of course.
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 27,927Chief of Staff
2024 (I’m an optimist). An actor returns home after doing his long-awaited screen test for a very desirable part.
Actor: Hi, my love, I’m home.
Wife: My darling!
(Kiss, kiss.)
Wife: Well????
Actor: Well what?
Wife: Stop stalling- how did your screen test go?
Actor: Well, it was very strange. You know that Eon always use the same two scenes to screen test potential Bonds?
Wife: Yes, of course. The scene from “From Russia With Love” in which Bond meets Tatiana Romanova-
Actor: Yes, to see how he manages the dialogue and a love scene.
Wife: And the scene from “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service” where Bond goes to meet Tracy in a hotel room, only to find a tough henchman instead.
Actor: Yes, to see how he handles the fight scenes.
Wife: And you have been expecting these two scenes for some time.
Actor: But they didn’t use those!
Wife: What???
Actor: They used the scene from “Thunderball” where Bond comes into his hotel room to find Fiona Volpe in his bath- you know, the one where she asks for something to wear and he passes her the sandals?
Wife: Yes, I know that scene.
Actor: And for the fight they used the scene from “Casino Royale” where he fights the guy in the bathroom, and it’s his first kill.
Wife: Oh, we weren’t expecting those scenes.
Actor: Exactly!
Wife: Maybe they just wanted a change.
Actor: But why did they have to make a change for MY screen test?
Wife: I’m sure you did just fine.
Actor: Hmph. I don’t know….
Wife: Did you ask the director what he thought?
Actor: No, no, it’s not like that. I did see him having a quiet few words with Barbara Broccoli before they let me go.
Wife: That sounds promising.
Actor: Looks like all the time we spent practicing the love scene between James and Tatania went to waste.
Wife: (Glancing lovingly at their five children.) Oh, I wouldn’t say that….
Actor: I suppose all I can do now is wait.
Wife: Just one thing, darling.
Actor: What is it?
Wife: Promise me you won’t start pacing up and down by the telephone.
1969. M’s home, “Quarterdeck”. Bond has interrupted him working on his butterfly collection to ask to be allowed to follow a lead to Switzerland in pursuit of Blofeld, whose lawyer has been in touch with the College of Arms.
Bond: This is a Photostat copy of a letter to our College of Arms in the City of London with the request they try to establish de Bleuchamp´s claim to the title, and Sir Hilary Bray has replied to Gumbold suggesting that he should meet de Bleuchamp in person.
M: So, you’re suggesting that we give this Sir Hilary a very quick course in “How To Be A Secret Agent” (available in all good comic shops.) before he goes there, and he reports back to us on what he finds?
Bond: No, sir, not at all. I am suggesting that I take the place of Sir Hilary and travel to Piz Gloria in his guise to confirm that this Count de Bleuchamp is indeed Ernst Stavro Blofeld, erstwhile head of S.P.E.C.T.R.E., and attempt to convince him, using his craving for an aristocratic title as bait, out of Switzerland and into somewhere we can pick him up.
M: Kidnap him, you mean.
Bond: Yes, sir, since clearly we cannot do that in Switzerland.
M: Hmmm, you have evidently given this a great deal of thought, 007.
Bond: (Pleased.) Thank you, sir.
M: There’s just one thing, though…
Bond: What’s that?
M: You seem to have forgotten that Blofeld knows what you look like.
Bond: He does?
M: Yes, of course he does. The world is not full of madmen with hollowed out volcanoes, in one of which you and he met only recently. You ruined his plans to cause World War Three by using a spacecraft to swallow up both US and USSR space capsules, caused the destruction of all his equipment and the death of hundreds of his people, from all of which he only escaped by the skin of his teeth.
Bond: But, sir-
M: And, no doubt more important to him, you caused his cat to take fright from all the explosions and run off to hide, never to be seen again!
Bond: Yes, sir, but-
M: Do you seriously think that he wouldn’t remember a little thing like that and more to the point the one man who caused it all?
(Silence.)
M: Well, DO you?
Bond: (Sheepishly.) No, sir.
M: As I thought.
Bond: (Desperately.) I will be wearing a disguise, sir.
M: Disguise?
Bond: Yes, I’ll be wearing a hat and smoking a pipe.
M: You’re not Sherlock Holmes, 007!
Bond: No, sir.
M: Now, go back to whatever you use as a drawing board and come up with a better idea.
Bond: Yes, sir.
M: Right, then. After all, it’s not as if all that happened to another fellow.
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 27,927Chief of Staff
Even if they had filmed OHMSS after Thunderball the fact is Blofeld should have recognized Bond. Spectre made a lifelike Bond mask for the pre-title sequence of FRWL, and Bond was the focus of Spectre's plot in that film.
Monday. Miami is some kinda town, never been here before. Not thrilled at being a messenger boy for the British; I had to find James and pass a message on from his chief, N. No, make that M. It wasn’t too difficult finding James, I just had to look for some gorgeous blonde and he wouldn’t be far away.
We made a date for dinner, but he broke it saying that something big had come up. Pretty sure I knew what that would be.
Tuesday. Spent most of the day keeping James outta prison. The Miami Beach Police Department were very interested in talking to him about a dead blonde- not the one he’d been with yesterday, a different one. This guy sure gets around.
She was covered in paint, gold paint, and he was sure it was something to do with an Auric Goldfinger I’d told him about yesterday, but Goldfinger had a cast iron alibi and had checked out of the hotel, anyway. Had to talk to M in London to intervene to keep James outta jail.
Wednesday. Spoke with my chief. I’ve to watch for James coming back into the States and after yesterday I’m not surprised.
Thursday. James has turned up, in Baltimore of all places. Travel plans indicate Kentucky, so Johnny and I are headed out there. Goldfinger has a stud farm there so that’s our target.
Friday. Long wastes of time looking at Goldfinger’s farm, Auric Stud, through binoculars. Finally spotted James, who, you mighta guessed, was hanging about with another blonde.
Left when he took her into a barn. Funny, she looked strictly the outdoor type.
Saturday: This has been one helluva day! The blonde James had been entertaining yesterday walked into our Baltimore branch, demanding to see the chief, and told him some crazy tale about Goldfinger wanting to break into Fort Knox with an A-bomb. As if that wasn’t ridiculous enough, she was the leader of a bunch of female pilots who would be spraying the whole town with Delta 9 nerve gas to knock everybody out first.
The head man there was just about to kick her out when she mentioned James Bond and showed him a canister of the gas.
Well, the rest of the day was just a blur- we had to let her go back with canisters of some harmless gas while we told the whole town of Fort Knox, soldiers and all, to fall down and make like they were dead when the plans flew overhead. We had to do it like that so we could be sure of grabbing the A-bomb and it wasn’t sent somewhere else.
The whole operation worked like a charm, except that Goldfinger managed to get away. We had to rescue James from the A-bomb. You’d think he mighta been more grateful.
Sunday. Took James to the airport, he was en route to meet the President. Now, howdya like that? I bust my ass getting that whole operation together and all he did was kiss a few blondes, and he gets to meet the President! Something better change around here!
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 27,927Chief of Staff
Comments
Thanks, guys.
1983. The Brolin household. James is pacing up and down, never getting too far away from the telephone.
Mrs Brolin: Oh, sit down, James, why don’t you?
James: Sit down? I can’t, I just can’t!
Mrs Brolin: You’re going to wear a hole in my beautiful carpet if you don’t relax.
James: How can I relax at a time like this?
Mrs Brolin: If they want you, they’ll call you.
James: But time’s getting very short now- I’ve been told that shooting starts on “Octopussy” on Monday, in Germany, and I haven’t heard anything! Not a thing!
Mrs Brolin: Well, maybe they have decided that they don’t want you.
James: What? That’s nonsense! I know that I gave a good screen test,
that guy John Glen said so. And I certainly know that Roger Moore is asking for far, far too much money. There’s no way they would pay that much.
Mrs Brolin: Yes, well, unless….
James: Unless what?
Mrs Brolin: Unless Sean Connery is coming back as James Bond for a different film.
James: What? Sean Connery? He said never again!
Mrs Brolin: He’s now saying never say never again, apparently.
James: I can’t believe that.
Mrs Brolin: And if he’s coming back, then Roger Moore can ask what he likes because he knows they will need him.
James: Nonsense.
Mrs Brolin: It’s not nonsense- they’ll want an established James Bond actor to go head to head with Sean Connery, this isn’t the time to start a new one.
James: Oh. I suppose you’re right.
Mrs Brolin: Now sit down and I’ll make you a nice cup of coffee. Play one of your records.
James: Well, okay.
(He reaches for an album.)
Mrs Brolin: Just not Barbra Streisand again!
James: Aw….
Mrs Brolin: What on Earth do you see in her?
James: Ah, yes, well…
Mrs Brolin: “Evergreen” in the morning, “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers” every afternoon- honestly, I just don’t know why you like her so much.
James: Just memories, darling. Memories light the corners of my mind.
Mrs Brolin: Enough is enough! I can’t go on no more!
1964. Fontainebleau Hotel, Miami. Goldfinger’s suite- that’s Mr Goldfinger’s suite! Goldfinger is giving instructions to Oddjob.
Goldfinger: Now, you are sure that you understand everything, Oddjob?
Oddjob: Yes, Mr Goldfinger, I am sure.
Goldfinger: Well, repeat it back to me then.
Oddjob: I am to take a tin of gold paint and a brush from the trunk of the Rolls Royce, and then quietly make my way into the room of that man who shpeaksh like thish using the key which a clerk on the reception desk has been bribed for with a sufficiently high amount of money to keep his mouth closed should the Miami Beach Police come around and start asking troublesome questions.
Goldfinger: Yes, yes, go on.
Oddjob: I will knock the man unconscious and- but wait, are you sure you only want me to knock him out, Mr Goldfinger? It would not be much more effort to simply kill him.
Goldfinger: No, I am sure that simply knocking him out, which is a tactic which I shall be repeating no matter how unlikely, will suffice.
Oddjob: Well, if you’re sure, sir. I then knock out the girl, strip her down to just her panties, and cover her with paint. Gold paint.
Goldfinger: That’s correct. Now remember to leave her panties on, that is very important.
Oddjob: But-
Goldfinger: Just do it, Oddjob.
Oddjob: Yes, sir.
Goldfinger: And what else…?
Oddjob: I must be very careful not to get the gold paint on anything else, such as the bed, while I am painting the Masterson girl.
Goldfinger: That’s right.
Oddjob: And I am allowed to take a drink from the room refrigerator if I get thirsty?
Goldfinger: Yes, I suppose so.
Oddjob: Will that be all, Mr Goldfinger?
Goldfinger: Yes, I think so. Oh, except for one more thing….
Oddjob: Yes?
Goldfinger: What have you to say if you must talk to someone?
Oddjob: Wait a moment, I remember- “Ah-ha!”
Goldfinger: That’s right, just that.
Oddjob: But sir-
Goldfinger: That’s all, Oddjob. Just “Ah-ha!”
Oddjob: Yes, Mr Goldfinger.
Goldfinger: Now, go!
I like these scenes that must have happened but we don’t get to see - excellent as usual, Barbel 😁😁😁
Inspired 🤣🤣
A few too many for me to catch up on, but I did enjoy the Christmas themed special and those Gardner imaginings were ripe.
Thanks, everyone. Now to see if I can come up with another for today...
2022. A publisher’s office. A prospective writer is being interviewed.
Publisher: Ah, come in, Mr Writer, please take a seat.
Writer: Thank you. (Sits.)
Publisher: Now, you said you had an idea we might be interested in.
Writer: Yes, indeed.
Publisher: And what would that be?
Writer: Well, I’ve been writing a biography of Ian Fleming.
(The writer pulls out a large manuscript.)
Publisher: A Fleming biography, you say? But there have already been many, many biographies of Ian Fleming published both by ourselves and by others.
Writer: Yes, but this time I’ve been able to gain access to previously unavailable sources from the British Government as to what he did during the war.
Publisher: Yes, I thought you’d say that.
Writer: Oh, why?
Publisher: Because they all say that. Look here, see? (He gestures at a crammed bookshelf behind him.) “Ian Fleming- The True Story”, “The True Story of Ian Fleming”, “Very True Ian Fleming Stories”, “Ian (True Story) Fleming”, “The True Ian Fleming Story”, “The Judean Popular Front of Ian Fleming”-
Writer: What?
Publisher: Okay, I made that last one up, but I’m sure you see my point. It’s all been done, Mr Writer, and been done many times. I’m sure there must be dedicated Bond fans who have so many Fleming biographies that they have by now given up collecting them. (Barbel whistles and looks innocently upwards.)
Writer: Look, this one is different. I’ve had access to documents, talked to many surviving witnesses, and-
Publisher: Well, I'd like to see a bit.
Writer: Okay then, read this.
(He picks out a section of the manuscript and passes it across.)
Publisher: All right, let's have a look.
-------------------------
Casually, Fleming opened the door of the desirable Miss Pettival’s office. He slid an elegantly dressed arm around the door and with ease flicked his hat, causing it to land effortlessly on the hatstand.
Miss Pettival looked up from her typing happily, her eyes shining. “Ian! There you are.”
Fleming smiled down at her and his darkly handsome features lit up. A comma of hair fell down over one eye.
“You make my day, Petty, as always. You could make my nights, too, you know.”
Miss Pettival blushed prettily. “If only I could believe you.”
“But of course you can”, said Fleming. “Just come round to my place tonight and allow me to convince you.“
“Now you know I can’t do that. Anyway, you'd better go in. The Admiral is expecting you.”
She gestured towards the padded door.
--------------------------
Publisher: (Suspiciously.) Are you sure this is an accurate account?
Writer: Certainly.
Publisher: Hmmm…. (He flicks through more of the manuscript.) This part here, about him falling out of an aeroplane without a parachute? And this, about the time he was skiing down an Alp with the villains in hot pursuit starting an avalanche? And this here, about submarines being hijacked? Robbing Fort Knox? Stealing atom bombs? A car that can go underwater?
Writer: Oh yes, all true.
Publisher: I’m not convinced, Mr Writer.
Writer: Oh well, I suppose I'll -
Publisher: Not so fast, I didn't say we wouldn't publish it anyway. There's always a market for Fleming bios!
1981. A recording studio. Sheena Easton is in the vocal booth, wearing headphones. The producer and technical staff are in the control room.
Producer: (Through mic.) All set, then. Are you ready, Sheena?
Sheena: Sure, buddy.
(The recording engineer stifles a snigger.)
Producer: Then let’s go. Three, two, one…
Sheena: (Sings.) For your eyes only
Can see me through the night
For your eyes only…
(As she continues, the tape operator whispers to the engineer.)
Tape Operator: What were you sniggering about?
Engineer: Me? Was I sniggering?
Tape Operator: Yes, when the producer asked Sheena if she was ready and she replied “Sure, buddy”.
Engineer: Oh, right. It’s just that I remember her first recording session, the one where she sang “My baby takes the morning train, he works from 9 to 5 and then”, you know that one?
Tape Operator: Of course, that was a big hit.
Engineer: Well, she had won a TV talent show sort of thing and was just new. When the producer asked her if she was ready, she replied “Aye, aw right, pal” in the thickest Glasgow accent this side of “Taggart”. Then she sang in this beautiful unaccented voice- I was remembering the contrast between her singing and speaking voice, that’s why I sniggered.
Tape Operator: But she didn’t sound like that earlier. Very American.
Engineer: (Sniggers again.) Indeed she did. She got successful, did a residency in Las Vegas, hung around with Prince, and came back with that American accent. The Scottish newspapers ripped her to shreds for that.
Tape Operator: So, what did she do?
Engineer: Well, she toned down the American accent a bit. It’s still there, but her natural accent comes through more.
Tape Operator: Except when she’s singing.
Engineer: Oh yes, she sings great, a beautiful voice with no accent at all.
Tape Operator: You sound as if you know a lot about it.
Engineer: Seen it all before, son. Ever heard of Lulu?
1977. A police station in Corsic… Actually, sir, it is in Sardinia. In a witness room, a sergeant is speaking to a man when the door opens and an inspector comes in.
Sergeant: Now, sir, would you mind going through that all once again please?
Man: But I’ve just told you everything!
Sergeant: (Firmly.) Please, for the benefit of the inspector here.
Man: Oh, all right.
Inspector: Now, can you tell me your name, sir?
Man: Victor Tourjansky.
Inspector: And where were you at the time of the incident?
Victor: On the beach, sunbathing.
Inspector: I see. So, in your own words just tell me your story.
Victor: It’s not a story! It’s true!
Inspector: Please, sir, just tell me.
Victor: (Sullenly.) I was on the beach, sunbathing, when it happened.
Inspector: What happened?
Victor: Look, I‘ve told the sergeant here-
Inspector: Tell me.
Victor: I saw this car.
Inspector: What kind of car?
Victor: I don’t know, a sports car of some sort. It was white.
Inspector: And you saw this white sports car driving along the beach-
Victor: No, that’s the thing. It wasn’t driving along the beach at all, it came out of the water!
Inspector: (Sceptical.) Out of the water.
Victor: Yes, and then it came onto the beach and drove away!
Inspector: Did you get a look at the driver?
Victor: No, I just saw his arm come out of the window holding a fish.
Inspector: (Very patiently.) Holding a fish.
Victor: Then he threw the fish away. Well, sort of dropped it, I suppose.
Inspector: Then drove away?
Victor: Yes, that’s right.
Inspector: Now, please don’t misunderstand me Mr… er…
Victor: Tourjansky.
Inspector: Mr Tourjansky. I have to ask this question. Had you been drinking?
Victor: Drinking? …. Er, yes, I was drinking some wine.
Inspector: And how much wine had you had?
Victor: Well... nearly a bottle. But there’s no law against that!
Inspector: And there’s no law against driving a white sports car under the water, either.
Let him go, Sergeant.
Victor: But-
Sergeant: Come on, you, out of here!
1979. A police station in Venice. In a witness room, a sergeant is speaking to a man when the door opens and an inspector comes in.
Sergeant: Now, sir, would you mind going through that all once again please?
Man: But I’ve just told you everything!
Sergeant: (Firmly.) Please, for the benefit of the inspector here.
Man: Oh, all right.
Inspector: Now, can you tell me your name, sir?
Man: Victor Tourjansky.
Inspector: And where were you at the time of the incident?
Victor: In St Mark’s Square.
Inspector: I see. So, in your own words just tell me your story.
Victor: It’s not a story! It’s true!
Inspector: Please, sir, just tell me.
Victor: (Sullenly.) I was in the square, drink… er, dining, when it happened.
Inspector: What happened?
Victor: Look, I‘ve told the sergeant here-
Inspector: Tell me.
Victor: I saw this gondola.
Inspector: What kind of gondola?
Victor: I don’t know, they all look the same- just a gondola.
Inspector: And you saw this gondola sailing along the canal-
Victor: No, that’s the thing. It wasn’t sailing along the canal at all, it came out of the water!
Inspector: (Sceptical.) Out of the canal.
Victor: Yes, and then it came into the square and drove away!
Inspector: Did you get a look at the driver?
Victor: No, I just got the vague idea that I had seen him before.
Inspector: Seen him before?
Victor: Yes, that’s right.
Inspector: Now, please don’t misunderstand me Mr… er…
Victor: Tourjansky.
Inspector: Mr Tourjansky. I have to ask this question. Had you been drinking?
Victor: Drinking? …. Er, yes, I was drinking some wine.
Inspector: And how much wine had you had?
Victor: Well... not too much. But there’s no law against that!
Inspector: And there’s no law against driving a gondola on land, either. Let him go, Sergeant.
Victor: But-
Sergeant: Come on, you, out of here!
🤣🤣🤣
If only Mr Tourjansky thought to use his cameras to take pictures of the gondola. He could have sold them to the press, or at least gotten a payment from MI6 when they got wind of the pictures.
Your wish is my command, W_D!
1981. MI6 HQ. A man is being interrogated when a senior official walks in.
Officer: Now, sir, would you mind going through that all once again please?
Man: But I’ve just told you everything!
Officer: (Firmly.) Please, for the benefit of my superior here.
Man: Oh, all right.
Senior Official: Now, can you tell me your name, sir?
Man: Victor Tourjansky.
Senior Official: Now, you were found to be in possession of certain photographs.
Victor: I’m not denying that! I took those photos myself.
Senior Official: Let’s just have a look….
Senior Official: And this would be where, exactly?
Victor: St Mark’s Square, Venice.
Senior Official: Now, what were you doing there, Mr Najinsky?
Victor: That’s Tourjansky.
Senior Official: Yes, Tourjansky.
Victor: I was having a holiday. Just sitting in the sun enjoying a small drink.
Senior Official: A small drink, you say?
Victor: Yes, a small drink. Then this gondola came out of the water and went driving into the square.
Senior Official: Gondolas don’t drive, Mr Naj- er, Tourjansky.
Victor: If their bottom part has blown up like a hovercraft they do.
Senior Official: And you managed to take some photos.
Victor: Yes, that’s right- I had a camera handy, you see. It made me think if only I had had a camera with me that time before, when I was in Sardinia.
(The two MI6 officials exchange glances.)
Senior Official: Sardinia, you say?
Victor: Yes, I saw that same man, the one that was in the gondola. It didn't click with me until later that I had seen him before when he was driving a white sports car out of the ocean.
(Once again the two officials exchange glances.)
Senior Official: A white sports car? Out of the ocean?
Victor: Yes, but I didn't have pictures that time. This time I did.
Senior Official: And you tried to sell these photographs to the press.
Victor: I did indeed. I tried “The Sun”, but they weren’t interested because there were no topless ladies in them. I then tried the “Daily Mail”, but they weren’t interested because they couldn’t find an angle to praise the Conservative Party in them. And then I found myself being bundled into the back of a car and brought here, wherever here is.
Senior Official: You don’t have to know that. All you have to know is that we want those pictures and the film you used.
Victor: They’re mine! I paid for them!
Senior Official: Let me put it this way, Mr Tourjansky. You see this document here?
(He produces a very official looking document and puts it on the table between them, together with a fountain pen.)
Victor: Yes….
Senior Official: This is the Official Secrets Act. Not being a British citizen you are not bound by its terms & conditions unless you sign it. Here. At the bottom. Where it says “Sign here”. Stop me if I’m going too fast for you.
Victor: And if I refuse?
Senior Official: Oh, nothing much. Just a small matter of, I think, twenty years to life in Belmarsh Prison.
Victor: Twenty years to life! And if I sign?
Senior Official: You give me your photos, camera and film, we give you some compensation for them plus a little extra for your troubles, and you walk out of here.
Victor: Wherever here is.
Senior Official: Exactly.
Victor: I don’t seem to have much choice. All right.
(Victor signs the document. The official quickly puts it away.)
Senior Official: And that concludes our business. May I ask what your plans are now?
Victor: I think I need another holiday!
Senior Official: Sound idea. Where were you planning?
Victor: Oh, perhaps the north of Italy- where the skiing is.
Senior Official: That’ll be nice. Let you forget about all this…..
Perfect, Barbel.
Pity Victor signed the Official Secrets Act. He had to keep his mouth shut at the chalet as a loud mouthed American tourist complained about an "English secret agent, from England."
Thanks, W_D.
😁 That would be a fun one, but I'm Victor-ed out for the moment and want to write something else next. Please, feel free to write that one up yourself.
I’ve no idea how you keep coming up with these - but I’m glad you do 🤣
Thank you, Sir M! Tbh, I have no idea either 😁
2015. A consulting room. Thomas Newman enters.
Doctor: Ah, come in, Mr Newman, do take a seat.
Newman: Thank you. (Sits.)
Doctor: Now what seems to be the problem?
Newman: It’s my music for James Bond films, Doctor.
Doctor: Oh?
Newman: No matter how I try, it comes out bland and uninteresting. This is the second time I’ve composed for a Bond film, and I find I’m just repeating myself- sometimes quite literally- and only having sparks of enthusiasm when I use the main title theme, which of course was composed by somebody else.
Doctor: I see. Well, Mr Newman, it’s pretty evident what your problem is.
Newman: Please, tell me!
Doctor: You won’t like it…
Newman: I don’t care, you have to tell me!
Doctor: All right, you are suffering from a severe case of “Not Being John Barry”, or “Barryabsentia” as we say.
Newman: Not Being John Barry!!! What can be done about this?
Doctor: Well, David Arnold managed by using as many Barry influences and sometimes direct copies as possible, and Sir George Martin survived by having very, very impressive credentials and talent.
Newman: Anyone else?
Doctor: Other than those it’s pretty much 50/50, unless you’re French in which case the prognosis isn’t good.
Newman: What? French?
Doctor: Yes, two Frenchmen have died on their arse from Barryabsentia- or at least their scores did.
Newman: I’m not French, so that’s okay.
Doctor: Not enough, though, to guarantee really James Bond-style music as you have found out.
Newman: Is there any cure for it? Is there anything I could do?
Doctor: It’s possible. I suggest you start with this.
(He hands over a CD.)
Newman: What is this?
Doctor: It’s the soundtrack to “Goldfinger”. Listen to it at least three times daily, then we can move on to “Thunderball”. If that’s too strong, I’ll get you to listen to the “The Man With The Golden Gun” soundtrack instead, that’s pretty weak.
Newman: What about “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service”?
Doctor: Oh no, no, no, Mr Newman. That would be far too strong for you without regular listening to the other soundtracks first.
Newman: I see.
Doctor: We’ll get you to listen to other Barry soundtracks later, such as “You Only Live Twice”, for some variety.
Newman: Thank you, Doctor.
Doctor: Not at all. Come back in a week or two and let me know how it’s going. And don’t try any composing until you’ve listened.
Newman: I won’t.
(Newman exits. The Doctor presses a button on his intercom.)
Doctor: (On intercom.) Anyone else waiting?
Secretary: (On intercom.) There’s a Herr Zimmer, but he isn’t booked in until 2021.
Doctor: That’s a ridiculous amount of time away.
Secretary: Well, he is working for Eon.
Doctor: Oh, of course.
Another cracker 🤣🤣🤣
Doctor: That’s a ridiculous amount of time away.
Secretary: Well, he is working for Eon.
Priceless 😂
Definitely one of your best, Barbel, keep ‘em coming!
Thank you, fellas, I'm glad you enjoyed that.
2024 (I’m an optimist). An actor returns home after doing his long-awaited screen test for a very desirable part.
Actor: Hi, my love, I’m home.
Wife: My darling!
(Kiss, kiss.)
Wife: Well????
Actor: Well what?
Wife: Stop stalling- how did your screen test go?
Actor: Well, it was very strange. You know that Eon always use the same two scenes to screen test potential Bonds?
Wife: Yes, of course. The scene from “From Russia With Love” in which Bond meets Tatiana Romanova-
Actor: Yes, to see how he manages the dialogue and a love scene.
Wife: And the scene from “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service” where Bond goes to meet Tracy in a hotel room, only to find a tough henchman instead.
Actor: Yes, to see how he handles the fight scenes.
Wife: And you have been expecting these two scenes for some time.
Actor: But they didn’t use those!
Wife: What???
Actor: They used the scene from “Thunderball” where Bond comes into his hotel room to find Fiona Volpe in his bath- you know, the one where she asks for something to wear and he passes her the sandals?
Wife: Yes, I know that scene.
Actor: And for the fight they used the scene from “Casino Royale” where he fights the guy in the bathroom, and it’s his first kill.
Wife: Oh, we weren’t expecting those scenes.
Actor: Exactly!
Wife: Maybe they just wanted a change.
Actor: But why did they have to make a change for MY screen test?
Wife: I’m sure you did just fine.
Actor: Hmph. I don’t know….
Wife: Did you ask the director what he thought?
Actor: No, no, it’s not like that. I did see him having a quiet few words with Barbara Broccoli before they let me go.
Wife: That sounds promising.
Actor: Looks like all the time we spent practicing the love scene between James and Tatania went to waste.
Wife: (Glancing lovingly at their five children.) Oh, I wouldn’t say that….
Actor: I suppose all I can do now is wait.
Wife: Just one thing, darling.
Actor: What is it?
Wife: Promise me you won’t start pacing up and down by the telephone.
1969. M’s home, “Quarterdeck”. Bond has interrupted him working on his butterfly collection to ask to be allowed to follow a lead to Switzerland in pursuit of Blofeld, whose lawyer has been in touch with the College of Arms.
Bond: This is a Photostat copy of a letter to our College of Arms in the City of London with the request they try to establish de Bleuchamp´s claim to the title, and Sir Hilary Bray has replied to Gumbold suggesting that he should meet de Bleuchamp in person.
M: So, you’re suggesting that we give this Sir Hilary a very quick course in “How To Be A Secret Agent” (available in all good comic shops.) before he goes there, and he reports back to us on what he finds?
Bond: No, sir, not at all. I am suggesting that I take the place of Sir Hilary and travel to Piz Gloria in his guise to confirm that this Count de Bleuchamp is indeed Ernst Stavro Blofeld, erstwhile head of S.P.E.C.T.R.E., and attempt to convince him, using his craving for an aristocratic title as bait, out of Switzerland and into somewhere we can pick him up.
M: Kidnap him, you mean.
Bond: Yes, sir, since clearly we cannot do that in Switzerland.
M: Hmmm, you have evidently given this a great deal of thought, 007.
Bond: (Pleased.) Thank you, sir.
M: There’s just one thing, though…
Bond: What’s that?
M: You seem to have forgotten that Blofeld knows what you look like.
Bond: He does?
M: Yes, of course he does. The world is not full of madmen with hollowed out volcanoes, in one of which you and he met only recently. You ruined his plans to cause World War Three by using a spacecraft to swallow up both US and USSR space capsules, caused the destruction of all his equipment and the death of hundreds of his people, from all of which he only escaped by the skin of his teeth.
Bond: But, sir-
M: And, no doubt more important to him, you caused his cat to take fright from all the explosions and run off to hide, never to be seen again!
Bond: Yes, sir, but-
M: Do you seriously think that he wouldn’t remember a little thing like that and more to the point the one man who caused it all?
(Silence.)
M: Well, DO you?
Bond: (Sheepishly.) No, sir.
M: As I thought.
Bond: (Desperately.) I will be wearing a disguise, sir.
M: Disguise?
Bond: Yes, I’ll be wearing a hat and smoking a pipe.
M: You’re not Sherlock Holmes, 007!
Bond: No, sir.
M: Now, go back to whatever you use as a drawing board and come up with a better idea.
Bond: Yes, sir.
M: Right, then. After all, it’s not as if all that happened to another fellow.
Another tour de force 🙌🏻👏🏻
Love it.
Even if they had filmed OHMSS after Thunderball the fact is Blofeld should have recognized Bond. Spectre made a lifelike Bond mask for the pre-title sequence of FRWL, and Bond was the focus of Spectre's plot in that film.
Much appreciated, gents.
1964
The Diary Of Felix Leiter.
Monday. Miami is some kinda town, never been here before. Not thrilled at being a messenger boy for the British; I had to find James and pass a message on from his chief, N. No, make that M. It wasn’t too difficult finding James, I just had to look for some gorgeous blonde and he wouldn’t be far away.
We made a date for dinner, but he broke it saying that something big had come up. Pretty sure I knew what that would be.
Tuesday. Spent most of the day keeping James outta prison. The Miami Beach Police Department were very interested in talking to him about a dead blonde- not the one he’d been with yesterday, a different one. This guy sure gets around.
She was covered in paint, gold paint, and he was sure it was something to do with an Auric Goldfinger I’d told him about yesterday, but Goldfinger had a cast iron alibi and had checked out of the hotel, anyway. Had to talk to M in London to intervene to keep James outta jail.
Wednesday. Spoke with my chief. I’ve to watch for James coming back into the States and after yesterday I’m not surprised.
Thursday. James has turned up, in Baltimore of all places. Travel plans indicate Kentucky, so Johnny and I are headed out there. Goldfinger has a stud farm there so that’s our target.
Friday. Long wastes of time looking at Goldfinger’s farm, Auric Stud, through binoculars. Finally spotted James, who, you mighta guessed, was hanging about with another blonde.
Left when he took her into a barn. Funny, she looked strictly the outdoor type.
Saturday: This has been one helluva day! The blonde James had been entertaining yesterday walked into our Baltimore branch, demanding to see the chief, and told him some crazy tale about Goldfinger wanting to break into Fort Knox with an A-bomb. As if that wasn’t ridiculous enough, she was the leader of a bunch of female pilots who would be spraying the whole town with Delta 9 nerve gas to knock everybody out first.
The head man there was just about to kick her out when she mentioned James Bond and showed him a canister of the gas.
Well, the rest of the day was just a blur- we had to let her go back with canisters of some harmless gas while we told the whole town of Fort Knox, soldiers and all, to fall down and make like they were dead when the plans flew overhead. We had to do it like that so we could be sure of grabbing the A-bomb and it wasn’t sent somewhere else.
The whole operation worked like a charm, except that Goldfinger managed to get away. We had to rescue James from the A-bomb. You’d think he mighta been more grateful.
Sunday. Took James to the airport, he was en route to meet the President. Now, howdya like that? I bust my ass getting that whole operation together and all he did was kiss a few blondes, and he gets to meet the President! Something better change around here!
🤣👏🏻