CnB forum - just opened
glidrose
Posts: 138MI6 Agent
For those wishing to give them a piece of your mind.....
http://www.danielcraigisnotbond.com/forum/index.php
http://www.danielcraigisnotbond.com/forum/index.php
Comments
then we'll just get things from them like: we now have 1000 members, look how many people support our cause.
even though most of them would have joined to disagree.
take my adivce, and leave it alone.
@merseytart
First post I read over there the guy mentions that Craig's Bond isn't a Commander in the Royal Navy. They can't even get their facts straight - it's in the Bond dossier on the CR site in his military history where "Cmd. Bond" is listed all over the dossier. 8-)
There will always be haters. No sense in feeding into their "troll-ness".
The ignorance abounds there. Now I've read where the posters were wondering how movie critics can review a movie before it is released to the general public. Somehow these posters never heard of press screenings.
Obviously a lower IQ average resides over there.
Doubt that, the press have enough difficulty being accurate with the past and present.
Give NO attention to them at all, just send them to Coventry, it's not worth it...
What do you say, Fred?
Roger Moore 1927-2017
If you're 'The Sweeney', I've been enjoying your posts over there just from a quick skim of the site. That's hilarious that a thread was started over there about when Brosnan said Craig is the best Bond ever, and it hasn't been deleted yet.
going on there.
:007)
Sure, there's negativity here...but it's nicely balanced by equally-represented points of view...and even those with wildy divergent (read: Wrong-Headed) opinions {:) can still have interesting---and often riotously amusing---things to say.
Hi JFF!
If there's truly no difference between discussions there and discussions here, I'm glad to hear it---if a bit dubious. However, I've no time for it...
"I am not an entrant in the Shakespeare Stakes." - Ian Fleming
"Screw 'em." - Daniel Craig, The Best James Bond EverTM
By the way, eat your tripe while it's still hot!
Hot tripe
"I am not an entrant in the Shakespeare Stakes." - Ian Fleming
"Screw 'em." - Daniel Craig, The Best James Bond EverTM
“Today‘s the big day, huh, Roger?” whispered Stevens, with a crisp slap to his old friend’s back as he sat down. “Looks like everyone’s here? Say -- how about this meeting place? An old missile silo?”
“That's what it is all right,” said the other man. “Oh look -- there’s Landesman. Pathetic hack.”
Stevens searched the ghostly faces of the two dozen men and women sitting around the long stainless steel table. His eyes found the Sunday Times critic, who was staring rather forlornly at a small intercom in the center of the table.
“Cosmo looks like he’s about to be sick.” Landesman pulled a hankerchief out of the breast pocket of his blazer and dabbed at his forehead.
Roger Ebert snickered: “Can you blame him? ‘The same old tosh.’ That‘s what he called it. I‘m from Chicago, but that can’t be good.”
“I know. Poor bast --”
But before Stevens could speak, the intercom crackled to life.
“Good evening, gentlemen. Ladies,” said a rather cold, thin voice.
“Good evening, No. 1” the table answered in unison.
“Last year I approached you with a dream. Today that dream is a reality, and our organization, of which you, the world’s most respected film critics are the leaders, will soon enjoy the fruit of that dream. And there is more to come.
“But first,” the voice crackled, “we must hear a report from one of our members. Stand up, No. 12.”
Landesman rose slowly, resignedly. His breathing was hard and uneven.
“This operation, you will recall, involved writing certain reviews. For a film entitled ...” the voice paused, as if consulting notes. “Ah yes … Here it is: Casino Royale.” Then, as if delivering a punch line: “A James Bond film, of all things.”
Stevens and Ebert exchanged knowing glances and chuckled. Bond. That has-been.
“No. 12 -- You are a film critic for the Sunday Times entertainment section, are you not?”
The man, who had been standing with downcast eyes, seemed to shrink.
“Yes, No. 1.’’
“And you were quite aware that those reviews were to be positive? Fawning, in fact. Is that correct?”
No. 12 only nodded, but the voice never missed a beat. No. 1 was probably watching the scene through closed-circuit TV, Stevens thought. Then again, maybe not. After all, the question was purely rhetorical.
“Then how do you explain this notice in the Nov. 12 edition of your newspaper? I quote:
‘James Bond is dead, and no new face can hide the fact that Casino Royale is the same old tosh the producers of the Bond franchise have been serving up since the glory days of the 1960s.’
“You then compound your error by stating: ‘I take that back. Actually, we have here a new and inferior type of tosh …’"
“But No. 1,” Landesman pleaded. “I had no choice. My editor was asking questions. Everyone knew the film was a disaster. And Craig, that disgusting troll …”
“Enough. Sit down, No. 12,” said the voice curtly.
“You were well aware that we have developed the means, through our secret contacts at Eon, of siphoning off the box office of every theater in the world but that our plan required the film to be a monster hit, not only to raise enough funds to make our operation cost-effective, but also to do so without raising suspicion. An invisible hand in the till, that’s what we needed. Hence the necessity for good reviews from the world‘s most influential critics. Your colleagues managed splendidly. More than 90 percent on the Tomato-Meter.”
An appreciative murmur swept the table.
“I suppose you think,” the voice continued, dripping with condescension, “that as an editor for one of the premier newspapers of the Western world, you were too good to stoke the pedestrian tastes of the average moviegoer. You are aware, are you not, that I myself signed up to a Web site, a certain Absolutely James Bond, where under an insipid, saccharine name I struggled tirelessly to squelch all voices that refused to silently accept our organization‘s position that Casino Royale was the Citizen Kane of films involving the character named Bond?”
Crafty old bugger, thought Stevens. And without pity. The way he went after that Napoleon Plural fellow was brutal. Sure, the rubes over at AJB were fooled, but Stevens immediately recognized that “High Hopes’’ wasn’t just some ordinary 007 fan boy with a homo-erotic fascination for that bow-wow Daniel Greg. No, damnit -- that’s not it. Craig. Christ, he’s got to watch that. It’s Craig. C-R-A-I-G, Craig. He got the name wrong in the first draft of his review. His editor had given him a suspicious look. You don’t add superlative upon superlative to a movie, then get the star’s name wrong. How stupid of him. Nearly gave the caper away. And after all that work, too. Months of “correcting” those tabloid pieces that had revealed to potential audiences what a wuss Craig really was behind the macho façade Eon had so carefully crafted for him. For a while it looked as if Casino Royale was finished at the box office before it had even been released. But he’d fixed that, and Stevens felt a flush of pride at having defeated the finest investigative journalists in Britain, those newshounds at the Mirror.
Then suddenly, a flash seemed to burn Stevens' eyes. Just as quickly it was over. Then he saw it: No. 12’s body, seized in the iron fist of 3,000 volts, arced in the armchair as if it had been kicked in the back, then relaxed and sank slowly to the floor, wisps of smoke rising from the temples of the now hideously burned head.
Stevens blanched and glanced at a trembling Ebert beside him.
“Now that we are all on the same page,“ said No. 1 dismissively, “let us discuss new business: We are in a good position to build upon our Casino Royale success with its sequel, currently referred to as Bond 23. We have every reason to believe it could be an even larger hit. And of course there are the DVD sales for this year’s film, where we may also expect a cut. But first we must crush our most implacable enemy.”
At those words and all at once, the table gasped. They could only mean one thing.
“Yes -- it’s true,” said No. 1, and for the first time, Stevens thought he heard a trace of fear in the cold, thin voice.
“CraignotBond has returned …”
Cheers HH! {[]
I salute you, Number One B-)
"I am not an entrant in the Shakespeare Stakes." - Ian Fleming
"Screw 'em." - Daniel Craig, The Best James Bond EverTM
Priceless, hh, totally priceless!
I don't get it. ?:)
Think it comes from CnB. It's a poster for what somebody thinks CR should have, or could have been if it had starred Brosnan. It's impressively done. However, they've used a picture of PB that seems to be from TND period, but PB doesn't look like that anymore and he is to old to have starred in CR. I did like the idea of Jean Reno as a Bond villain though. And the director they've chosen, Cristophe Gans, would be an excellent choice. And Virginie Ledoyen would make a stunning Bond girl. be interesting to know if whoever made this did so before seeing CR and if they still dream about it being a different film, or are happy with what they have been given.
A Drink and A Nightmare
“You did say ‘Water, not soda,’ didn’t you sir? …. Sir … You did say ‘water,’ didn‘t you?”
“Sorry?”
“Your bourbon, sir. That was with water rather than soda, right?”
The flight attendant, a pretty redhead with rather pneumatic qualities, looked at him strangely. “Are you all right, sir?”
“I’m fine, and yes -- that was with water” said Brad "BS" Stevens. “A touch of air sickness, perhaps. This should help,” he added, motioning with his chin towards the plastic cup she had set on the fold-down tray in front of him.
“I hope so, sir. If not, we have Dramamine. But we will be landing soon.”
Stevens lifted the plastic cup to his lips and took a long draught. But neither it nor the perfectly shaped buttocks of the flight attendant that were now moving down the aisle of the Airbus offered him any real comfort.
“CraignotBond is back …”
No. 1’s words came rushing back with all their ferocity. He’d been unable to put them out of his mind for long during the 10-hour flight back to Cawker City, Kansas. In fact, the more he tried, the more insistent they became. The old ******* was scared, wasn’t he? Well, Stevens thought, why shouldn't he be? CraignotBond wasn’t one of those AJB boys, all plot-points and “reality-this and reality-that,” whining about M’s attitude toward Bond and wondering “Where‘s Q?” These CraignotBond types were the real deal . They didn’t sit around sweating over a couple of octogenarians like Dench and Llewellyn. It was all well and good to torment some guy Down Under named Dan Same. As if Aussies knew anything about Bond. Stevens shook his head ruefully. He had one word for them: Lazenby. But these CraignotBonders were unfazed by putdowns, however savage. One kind word about CR and they ripped out your jugular and handed it you. They could hurt you.
But if Stevens truly understood No.1, it was because he too felt a sense of dread. CraignotBond’s tentacles reached everywhere, and though many in his line might scoff, he knew in the marrow of his bones that they were always near. Others in the organization, for example, would have shrugged “coincidence” at the inflight movie he had watched a few hours before. No, Stevens wasn’t by nature a superstitious man, but when the familiar “dum-da-da-da-dum-dum-dum-dum” heralded a showing of Goldeneye, Stevens felt CraignotBond’s clammy grip grab hold of him and squeeze his very being as if to say, “Did you really think we’d gone away, BS? That we cannot get to you any time we wish? That we would allow you, deceiver that you are, to come between us, faithful keepers of the 007 flame, and the One True Bond?” Stevens felt the chill.
But a thrill as well. That was the damnable thing about it. He suddenly felt the guilt accumulated over these many months of lies and disinformation. Damn that Pierce Brosnan. Damn him all to hell. He really was the fly in the ointment, wasn’t he? Watching the film, Stevens was struck once again by what had become obvious to 007 fans all over the world: Best Bond Ever, just as the CraignotBonders claimed, and watching the film, Stevens once again felt the power he had first recognized during an early episode of Remington Steele. Yes -- even now, with all that there was at stake, he could not deny it. It reminded him how tenuous No. 1’s scheme really was, how vulnerable he and his fellow conspirators were to CraignotBond's machinations. There, flickering on the screen, male passengers teary-eyed with admiration and envy, children wide-eyed with wonder and amazement, trembling female passengers unashamedly drooling with lust, was a true man, the true 007, exercising his license to thrill with the ease of a young god. Not that frog, that usurper, that Cr...
Stevens shook the thought from his head. It was no use thinking like that. What’s done is done. No. 1 understood that. Brosnan had grated on Babs, reminding her of every handsome sports hero who in high school had not asked her to the prom despite her wealth, beauty and breeding. No.1 explained it all. She had sought a replacement, someone she felt more comfortable with, somehow to worship her like the goddess she was and as Brosnan never would. Craig fit the bill. Soon it was “Goodbye Pierce; hello Danny.”
No. 1, with undisguised contempt, described how Babs hadn’t anticipated the furor in the press and among the fans. She had somehow come to believe that the things about Brosnan she found so unappealing — the swarthy good looks, the easy charm, good hygiene, and overwhelming masculinity that both thrilled and frightened her — were liabilities. Certainly, she reasoned, audiences were ready for a short man whose very appearance suggested a knuckle sandwich. The fact that he couldn’t drive a stick, fought like a girl and was afraid of guns would only serve to endear him to audiences.
“When the storm broke,” No. 1 had said, “She turned to me.”
Stevens could have sketched in the rest: One doesn’t easily extricate themselves from the spider’s web. Within a week, No. 1 had recruited the world’s foremost film critics and writers, dispatching those who held their objectivity in too high regard. Teen-age theater ushers, mostly young males easily plied with false promises of liaisons with seductive “Bond girls,” were soon onboard. The plot had begun.
No. 1 then went to work on Craig. Craig was the key. The scriptwriters, Purvis and Wade, were hopeless. No. 1 knew that. It was better to let them write their usual meandering drivel, then work from the inside to convince the sheep that lined up at the world’s theaters that this mish-mash of neither fish nor fowl, this visual excrement as it were, was in fact a brilliant piece of film literature with a capital “L.” If only the audience was smart enough to see it, of course. “They’lll eat it up with a spoon, “ No.1 had said, with a cackle that made Stevens’ blood turn cold.
But Craig had to be right, and No. 1 was determined to make it so. First there was the matter of his voice, a high pitched, rather effeminate squeal. It was then that No. 1 displayed his true genius.
“Brosnan, Babs felt, was unattainable,” No. 1 explained. “Yet I knew, she wanted him – desperately. But how? The answer, I soon theorized, was by proxy: sampling of the rough trade that frequents the seedy pubs on London’s waterfront. So one night I followed her on her rounds. Of course, even afterwards, Craig was instructed to speak in monosyllables during interviews, just in case. But within a week, Craig had his basso profundo, thanks to concealed miniature speakers and microphones. ”
But he did not yet have his Bond. That’s where Stevens came in. It began with Craig’s coronation as Bond, and the Mirror fired the first salvo. Newspaper staffers, dressed as Royal Marines, offered Craig a lifejacket. Before Stevens could react, Craig had, of course, accepted, giving the Mirror its first hard evidence of Craig’s unsuitability as a icon of rogue masculinity.
That was bad enough, but a new player had entered the game. A Web site announced its intentions in no uncertain terms: Craig, it said, was not Bond. The die was cast.
The next few months saw a flurry of charges as newspaper after newspaper, television program after television program – all of them CraignotBond stooges -- piled on, sensing that while the Mirror had scored first blood and a journalistic coup, the stodgy conservative publication was dropping the ball. It would take the combined efforts of CraignotBond’s membership to fully reveal the less-than-fully-manly James Bond Eon had in store for fans of Britain’s secret agent hero.
As the headlines became grimmer and grimmer, Babs panicked and made secrets arrangements for Craig to kill a man with his bare hands during a live televised “news conference.”
“That’s ought to convince them, BS. It has to. Tell me it will” she cried in desperation one evening.
“Not a chance, Dollface,” Stevens had told her. “Doesn’t have it in him. The sap couldn’t lick his own lips, much less kill a guy. You just leave it to me. No. 1 didn’t put me in charge of this part of the caper for nothing, you know.”
So Stevens went to work. In a savage display of journalistic fury, he struck again and again, his mighty fingers beating out the stories on this trusty keyboard, beating the truth about Craig bloody until finally – on America’s Entertainment Tonight – the storm clouds began to clear. The interviewer, a young woman, had acted somewhat giddy while interviewing Craig. Stevens knew he had won.
The tide had turned. Then one day, a strange, unexpected announcement was posted on CraignotBond. Apparently punch-drunk and reeling from the blows of Stevens’ ferocious assaults, a desperate post appeared. The site was in its death-throes. Something incoherent, babbling homophobic nonsense about foulmouthed slander and threats. Then the post on Absolutely James Bond by High Hopes, aka No. 1, expressing tender concern for the poster and urging someone, anyone, who might know this person to intervene and call the guys with the butterfly nets. For the person's own good, of course.
Stevens knew then that No. 1 had triumphed. CraignotBond was finished. And it was. Until yesterday, when No. 1 announced more struggle ahead.
Stevens then felt the shake of the airline wheels touching down, shaking him from his reverie
I'm just glad we didn't have to wait until 75 years after the deaths of all the particulars for this to be declassified...
"I am not an entrant in the Shakespeare Stakes." - Ian Fleming
"Screw 'em." - Daniel Craig, The Best James Bond EverTM