January 1971. First day back at a school near the Boothroyd residence.
The telephone rings.
Headmaster: Hello?
Mrs Boothroyd: Ah good morning, Headmaster.
Headmaster: Mrs Boothroyd? How can I help you?
Mrs Boothroyd: It's - ah - Johnny and his sister. I mean, it's about little Johnny and his sister. They can't come to school today.
Headmaster: Really? Why ever not, Mrs Boothroyd?
Mrs Boothroyd: It's stinky! - ah they have, they both have, ah, stinky colds, is what I meant, sir. Ah, Headmaster.
Headmaster: What's the matter with your voice, Mrs Boothroyd? Have you got a cold too?
Mrs Boothroyd: Never mind about that. We - I mean I - stop it! No you stop it! - ah sorry sir, I mean Headmaster, I - ah - can't let them leave the house today. But if you could arrange for some sweets to be sent round, that'd be boss!
Headmaster: Mrs Boothroyd? Has your husband been making gadgets for the children's Christmas again? (In a home not far away, two children laugh uproariously as they put the phone down.)
A door opens and a tall, glamorous lady enters.
Agent: Ms Janssen, come in! Please, sit down. May I call you Famke?
Famke: Of course, please do.
Agent: We're thrilled to have an actor of your calibre agreeing to join the Bond fraternity. Your appearances in Star Trek, The Untouchables, Melrose Place and, of course, Lord of Illusions speak for themselves.
Famke: Thank you. So tell me more about the role - I can't wait to play the leading lady to the handsome Pierce Brosnan.
Agent: Ah, one small thing, you're not going to be the leading lady.
Famke (slightly crestfallen): No? But I understood...
Agent: You're going to be the villainess!
Famke (brightening): Ok, that's more like it! It's about time that Bond's chief adversary is a woman.
Agent: Ah, chief? Well that's Sean Bean. But you're close behind, well close behind Gottfried John, who's kinda theoretically next major villain. But it's a great part and I know you'll make it your own!
Famke (slightly crestfallen again): Oh. (She brightens again) Well, it's about time we had a female Dutch villain too, so that's positive.
Agent: Ah, well you're playing a Russian.
Famke: Russian?!
Agent: Famke, with your talent, you'll nail it. Think what a great achievement it will be!
Famke: Ok... as long as the script is respectful and there are no ridiculous double-entendres. The dialogue needs to be straight up, without a twist.
Agent: Umm..
Famke: And another thing - just ensure I don't have one of those ridiculous names, like Pussy Galore.
Agent: Let me just go get MGW to have a chat with you... I think I need to quit while I'm ahead...
M: Take off your jacket. Give me your gun. Yes, I thought so. This damn Beretta again. I've told you about this before. You tell him - for the last time.
Easy Andy [code name A; freelance weapons consultant from 'Taxi Driver', 1976, with dubious security clearance]: Nice and light - in a lady's handbag. No stopping power.
M: Any comments, 007?
Bond: I disagree, sir. I've used a Beretta for ten years. I've never missed with it yet.
M: Maybe not, but it jammed on your last job and you spent six months in hospital. A double-O number means you're licensed to kill, not get killed. And another thing. Since I've been head of Ml6, there's been a 40% drop in double-O casualties. From now on you carry a different gun. It's just a question of what. A?
Easy Andy: .44 Magnum. There you go - a supreme high re-sale weapon. Look at that. Look at that. That's a beauty. I could sell those guns to some SMERSH lunatic in Moscow for 40 000 roubles. But I just deal high-quality goods to the right people. How about that? This might be a little too big for practical purposes in which case for you, as someone who favours a light weapon, I'd recommend a .38 snub nose. Look at this. Look at it. That's a beautiful little gun. It's nickel-plated, snub nose, otherwise the same as the service revolver. That'll stop anything that moves. The Magnum - they use that in Africa for killin' elephants. That .38 - it's a fine gun. Some of these guns are like toys. Like your Beretta. That .38 - you go out and hammer nails with it all day, come back and it will cut dead centre on target every time. It's got a really nice action to it and a heck of a wallop. You interested in an automatic? It's a Colt .25 Automatic. It's a nice little gun. It's a beautiful little gun. It holds six shots in the clip, one shot in the chamber - if you're dumb enough to put a round in the chamber. Here, look at this. 380 Walther, holds eight shots in the clip. That's a nice gun. Now that's a beautiful little gun. Look at that. During World War II, they used this gun to replace the P38. Just given out to officers. Ain't that a little honey, Commander?
Bond: Hmmmmmmm. Yeaaaasssh. How about if I just take everything?
Easy Andy: Only a jack-ass would carry that cannon on assignment like that. Here. Here's a beautiful hand-made holster I had made in Mexico. $400 dollars... How about some Uppers? Coffee, lots of it, very black? Amphetamines? Benzedrine?
Bond: Hmmmmmmm. Could be useful at a table of bridge... wouldn't you shay sho, shir?
[M's eyes widen in horrified disbelief.]
Easy Andy: Crystal meth. I can get ya crystal meth. Nitrous oxide. How about that? How about a DB4? I get ya a brand new Series 5 Vantage Convertible. With the pink slip for two grand.
M [snaps]: Oh, shut up, A! That will be all, that will be all!
Critics and material I don't need. I haven't changed my act in 53 years.
I can't take any credit for this next one - it's Barbel's brainchild and all the best gags (in fact, all the gags) are his. -{ -{
1987. Royal Premiere of "The Living Daylights”.
Cubby: Your Royal Highnesses, welcome to our Royal Premiere. Princess Diana, I haven’t seen you since you visited our set in December, and broke that sugar-glass prop over His Royal Highness’s head.
Princess Diana: Yes, my favourite day out last year – I had a smashing time.
Prince Charles (Moving down the line.): Roger! You look younger every time I see you.
Cubby: Ahem. I’m afraid not, your Royal Highness. Let me introduce you to the star of our movie, the new James Bond, the one and only..... Mr Pierce Bro-
MGW: (Quickly.) Cubby!
Cubby: Er, Mr Timothy Dalton.
Timothy Dalton (Welling up.): ‘Tis an honour, your Royal Highness.
Princess Diana: Mr Dalton, I enjoyed your performance as Prince Barin – you certainly know how to treat a Princess.
Prince Charles: Hmmph, a bit Flash for my liking.
Cubby: And this is our leading lady, Miss Maryam d'Abo.
Princess Diana: What part do you play, Miss d'Abo?
Maryam: I play a lovely blonde lady who has been terribly deceived and betrayed by the man she thought loved her.
Princess Diana: What a terrible situation!
Maryam: Yes, he was only using her but eventually she manages to get free from him.
Princess Diana: I just cannot imagine what that would be like for someone.
Cubby: Next in line your Royal Highnesses, and I’m sure no introduction is needed, is our composer, Mr John Barry.
JB: Pleasure to meet you again. I suppose you (He sniffs.) may have heard of the band murdering – ah, playing, our film’s theme song?
Princess Diana: Oh yes, big fan!
JB: Hmmph. Here is the lead singer of that band, Mr Mortal Combat. Sorry, Mr Mini Market. Sorry!
Prince Charles: Oh yes! Hungry Like The Wolf is my favourite, y’know.
Princess Diana: Charles! (She nudges him in the ribs again. In the background, Morten Harket snaps JB’s baton, while JB snaps Morten’s guitar strings).
Cubby: (Moving them swiftly on until he reaches Caroline Bliss.) And here is Miss Moneypenny.
Prince Charles: Lois? By Jove, you look younger than ever too!
Princess Diana: Charles! (She nudges him in the ribs a third time) This is Caroline Bliss. She plays MoneyPenny now.
Bliss: Yes, I replaced the previous lady.
Princess Diana: What a terrible situation!
Bliss: Yes, sadly her face no longer fitted the bill, so she was quietly replaced.
Princess Diana: I just cannot imagine what that would be like for someone.
(In the background, Morten takes a swing at John Barry with his guitar, while John swipes at the Aha singer with his trumpet. Dalton begins to weep again.)
Cubby: Shall we go in now, Your Royal Highnesses?
Diana: Yes, I think that might be best.
Note: this is loosely based on an actual conversation that reportedly took place in 1986…
Backstage, a London theatre. 1986.
TIMOTHY DALTON: *sigh* It’s so difficult to find acting work these days, you know.
SYLVESTER MCCOY: Cheer up, pal. Something will come along eventually, you wait and see.
TIMOTHY DALTON: Well, guess what? I’ve just been cast in a really long-running British franchise!
SYLVESTER MCCOY: Guess what? So have I!
TIMOTHY DALTON: Really? What an astonishing coincidence…
SYLVESTER MCCOY: I’ve been cast as the new Doctor Who, starting next year.
TIMOTHY DALTON: I can top that. From next summer, I’ll be starring as the new James Bond!
SYLVESTER MCCOY: Well done, old chap.
TIMOTHY DALTON: This is our big break, kid. The endless months of avant-garde plays and reciting thick tomes of tongue-twisting Shakespeare are over. We’re famous…
SYLVESTER MCCOY: You got that right!
TIMOTHY DALTON: Break out the champagne, then.
SYLVESTER MCCOY: Here’s to the next ten years, eh?
TIMOTHY DALTON: Let’s hope so…
A park bench. 1989.
SYLVESTER MCCOY: So how’s the whole international stardom gig coming along?
TIMOTHY DALTON: I'm afraid it’s not working out too well…
SYLVESTER MCCOY: (sympathetically) Tell me about it.
TIMOTHY DALTON: Erm...you go first…
SYLVESTER MCCOY: No, you can start...
TIMOTHY DALTON: Ah...um...
2008. A florist's shop in an undisclosed location.
(An interviewer sits behind a vast wooden desk. There's a tentative knock at a large, imposing-looking door set into one wall.)
Interviewer: Come in!
(A man enters - strong, physically fit looking - and strides across the expansive carpet).
Interviewer: Sit down. You must be, ah (he looks up from a clipboard) - Craig Mitchell.
Mitchell: How do you do. I must say, I love what you've done with this place, sir.
Interviewer: Thank you. You don't think it's a bit overdone though? The sign above the shopfront door?
Mitchell: "We have people everywhere"? No - I think it's a lovely touch! Though I'm not a big fan of the background music.
Interviewer: Well Tosca isn't for everybody. Now why don't we get down to business. I've been reviewing your application to join our organisation. You have a pretty impressive CV. What exactly do you feel you can bring to, umm, Quantum?
Mitchell: Well there's my running skills. Across rooftops and through underground tunnels are my speciality. I'm very fleet-footed. And I'm pretty adept at checking perimeters too.
Interviewer: We could do with some of those skills. Any languages?
Mitchell: Italian?
Interviewer: Perfect. And why exactly do you want this role? Not too happy at MI6?
Mitchell (exploding in anger): That's an understatement! Civil service wages are terrible! You know how much I have in my account? Less than a hundred pounds, and about the same in euros and dollars. And don't get me started on what my boss gave me for Christmas. A bloody ashtray!
Interviewer: Umm, I should mention, we're a no smoking organisation, Mr Mitchell...
Mitchell (Fuming now): I don't bloody smoke!
Interviewer: Well I think I've heard enough - you've got the job. Please come in for your induction on Monday, reporting to a Mr White. Though the lads in accounts call him 'The Pale King' - behind his back of course, haha.
Mitchell: Good one, sir! And thank you. Say - that's a beautiful cat. Do you get many white hairs on your tunic?
This one is based on the drunken conversation between Pierce Brosnan and Quentin Tarantino in 2004. And with apologies as I know it's not accurate and the film in question would have been Casino Royale, but I just couldn't resist using this scene below. -{
2004. M's office set, somewhere in Regent's Park.
MGW: Pierce, it's great to have you back.
Pierce: Thank you Michael, it's good to be here again. And I'm so excited to be working with Quentin. I was thrilled that you and Barbara agreed to let him write and direct a remake of 'Dr No'. When he first suggested it, I suspected that a Tarantino Bond film would never happen.
MGW: We're dying to see how it turns out, especially as he's adapted the script - not to mention seeing Samuel L. Jackson playing M and John Travolta as the Armourer...
Tarantino: And... action! (The camera rolls.)
SLJ: Say that's a nice suit Jim. You mind if I call you Jim? I know some guys just hate being called by the diminutive form of their name. You pick that suit up in Savile Row? Why don't you slide off the coat, Jim, in case it gets creased, and give us a good look at that shoulder holster. (Pierce complies). Aww, now look at that diddy little gun. You shoot some guy with that, he gonna be picking tiddy bits of lead outta his ass for weeks. Then he's gonna come back and make you sorry. That little gun's gonna land you in big trouble.
JT: A Beretta. Nice and light - in a lady's handbag. No stopping power.
SLJ: (turns his steely gaze on Major Boothroyd): Did I ask for your opinion, Armourer?
Pierce: I disagree, sir. I've used a Beretta for...
SLJ (turning his gaze on back to Bond): You disagree? You disagree? That lame-ass pea shooter jammed on your last job and you spent six months in hospital. You even so much as look at that gun again and I'm gonna put you back in there myself. From now on you carry a different gun. Show him, Armourer.
JT: Walther PPK. 7.65mm with a delivery like a brick through...
SLJ (angrily): Your opinion again, Armourer? I said show him! You give me your opinion one more time and you gonna find out what M stands for!
Pierce: Is that all sir?
SLJ (incandescent): Are you still here?
Tarantino: And... cut!
(A portly American in a Hawaiian shirt, cowboy hat and cargo shorts strolls through the door).
Tattooist: Morning sir, what a lovely day it is today, eh.
Wade: What are you, the weatherman? Is it always this damn hot in Virginia?
Tattooist: In Langley, May is a summer month.
Wade (groans): Is everyone in this town working for 'the company'?
Tattooist: Pretty much yes, sir. How can I help?
Wade (hitching down his shorts): I need some work done on this.
Tattooist: "Muffy"? Battlestar Galactica fan, eh? Perhaps you'd like a picture of a daggit next to it?
Wade: Third wife. My second wife's name is on the other cheek. As for my first wife, she was a real POS, so her name's tattooed around back, right above my...
Tattooist (quickly): And what would sir like below the name Muffy?
Wade: A rose.
Tattooist: How romantic.
Wade: Hell no, I just love gardening. Below my second wife's name I've got a Banyan tree. And below my first wife's name I've got a compost heap, because she really was full of...
Tattooist (quickly): Anything else, sir?
Wade: Perhaps you could tattoo some of these goddamned code phrases on the inside of my forearm - I can never remember them.
Tattooist: Afraid not, sir - company policy. (He starts to work). Any plans for the weekend?
Wade: Borrowing a plane from a friend in the DEA and heading down to Cuba to escape wife number three for a few days. But the CIA has no knowledge, no involvement.
Tattooist: Not the kind of insertion into Cuba we go in for too much these days, eh sir...
A big thank you to C&D for carrying on in my absence, and of course to SoD for his very funny Dalton/McCoy skit.
1953. (Goldeneye, Jamaica. Ian Fleming sits at his typewriter.)
Fleming: (Typing.) "The smell and scent and sound of a gaming house are sickening at four in the morning". (He puffs unhappily at his cigarette (specially made for him by Morlands of Grosvenor Street using a Balkan and Turkish mixture, with three gold bands on the filter.) in its holder, and shakes his head.)
Fleming: (Typing.) “The aroma and smog and perspiration of a gaming house are vomit-inducing at two forty-five in the morning.” (He shakes his head, crunches up the paper and inserts more into his typewriter. Anne opens the door.)
Anne: I’ve brought you a cup of coffee, Ian. (Hands him a cup.)
Fleming: Wonderful, darling, thank you. (She leaves. He begins typing again.)
Fleming: (Typing.) “The fragrance and fumes and sweat of a gambling club are revolting at three in the morning. “ Hmmm, getting there… (Anne opens the door again.)
Anne: Would you like another coffee, Ian?
Fleming: How about a drink this time?
Anne: I’ll bring you one. (Anne exits. Fleming puffs his cigarette, staring moodily at his typewriter, before she returns.)
Anne: Here, Ian, a double Scotch.
Fleming: That’s more like it! Thank you, darling. (Anne leaves again. He sips his drink then crunches up the paper and starts again.)
Fleming: (Typing.) “The perfume and smoke and sweat of a casino are stomach-turning at three in the morning.” Still not right… (He stares moodily at the paper while sipping the whisky. Time passes, then Anne opens the door again.)
Anne: How is it coming along, darling?
Fleming: I’m almost there, but still can’t quite get it right.
Anne: (A woman who knows her man.) Perhaps one more drink?
Fleming: But of course.
Anne: I think I know the very thing. (She departs, then returns after a few moments.)
Anne: Here we are. Three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shaken very well until it's ice-cold, then a large thin slice of lemon peel.
Fleming: Perfect! (Anne leaves. Fleming sips his drink. He nods happily, drinks some more then returns to his typewriter.)
Fleming: (Typing.) “The scent and smoke and sweat of a casino are nauseating at three in the morning. Then the soul-erosion produced by high gambling -a compost of greed and fear and nervous tension- becomes unbearable and the senses awake and revolt from it.” (Inspired, he continues to type….)
1953. (Goldeneye, Jamaica. Some weeks later, Ian Fleming sits at his typewriter.)
Fleming: (Typing.) "The girl has passed away". (He puffs unhappily at his cigarette (specially made for him by Morlands of Grosvenor Street using a Balkan and Turkish mixture, with three gold bands on the filter.) in its holder, and shakes his head.)
Fleming: (Typing.) “The female has snuffed it.” (He shakes his head, crunches up the paper and inserts more into his typewriter. Anne opens the door.)
Anne: I’ve brought you a cup of coffee, Ian. (Hands him a cup.)
Fleming: Wonderful, darling, thank you.
Anne: I’m still trying to get our new dog to eat. She won’t touch a thing.
Fleming: Ah, ok. (She leaves. He begins typing again.)
Fleming: (Typing.) “Bereft of life, she rests in peace. “ Hmmm... (Anne opens the door again.)
Anne: Would you like another coffee, Ian?
Fleming: How about a drink this time?
Anne: I’ll bring you one. The dog still won’t eat, I’m hoping she’s ok.
Fleming: Yes, me too. (Anne exits. Fleming puffs his cigarette, staring moodily at his typewriter, before she returns.)
Anne: Here, Ian, a double Scotch.
Fleming: That’s more like it! Thank you, darling.
Anne: I’ll go back to the dog. She’s showing signs of getting hungry. (Anne leaves again. He sips his drink then crunches up the paper and starts again.)
Fleming: (Typing.) “She is no more. She has ceased to be. She has expired and gone to meet her maker.” Still not right… (He stares moodily at the paper while sipping the whisky. Time passes, then Anne opens the door again.)
Anne: How it it coming along, darling?
Fleming: I’m almost there, but still can’t quite get it right.
Anne: (A woman who knows her man.) Perhaps one more drink?
Fleming: But of course.
Anne: I think I know the very thing. (She departs, then returns after a few moments.)
Anne: Here we are. Three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shaken very well until it's ice-cold, then a large thin slice of lemon peel.
Fleming: Perfect!
Anne: By the way, I have succeeded with the dog. The bitch is fed now. (A lightbulb appears above Fleming’s head.)
Fleming: Thank you, darling! Thank you very much! (Happily he returns to his typing.)
These are great, Barbel. I love "The bitch is fed now". I thought it was going to die and he would get the line from that but you did it so much better.
Sean: Hi honey, I’m home.
Diane: Darling! (Kiss, kiss.) How did the audition go?
Sean: Well, it wash more of an interview, really. There were two of them- I thought they were both American, but it turnsh out the little one wash from Canada.
Diane: Canada, eh? And the other one?
Sean: Oh, he wash American. Called Cabbage or Cauliflower or shomething like that.
Diane: And did you get the part?
Sean: Oh yesh, I think sho. They were talking about a shix-film contract.
Diane: That’s wonderful! I can't see anything going wrong with that!
Sean: Well, asshuming the firsht film ish a shuccessh of courshe. We’ll be talking more in the morning. I did my “cat walk” thing as I wash walking away, knowing they’d be looking.
Diane: I’m so pleased for you, Sean. Now, how about dinner?
Sean: What were you thinking?
Diane: What would you say to slivers of smoked Scottish salmon, served simply with steamed spinach?
Sean: Hmmm…
Diane: Perhaps sliced seared sirloin steak and salad?
Sean: I don’t know…
Diane: Or a sausage sandwich?
Sean: Yesh, that shounds great.
Diane: I’ll get that ready- do you want to watch some television?
Sean: Shure, what’sh on?
Diane: Let me see… “The Untouchables” perhaps?
Sean: Not shure that’sh my thing.
Diane: Well, after that there’s “The Avengers”.
Sean: Ah, with John Shteed and Cathy Gale!
Diane: Oh, Cathy Gale- that’s Honor Blackman. You like her, don’t you?
Sean: She’sh a pershonal favourite of mine.
Diane: And just how personal is that?
Sean: She’sh a damn good actressh. Period.
Diane: Hmmm…
Sean: Don’t worry, darling- she’d never replace you.
Diane: Never?
Sean: Not for all the gold in Fort Knox.
Diane: Or we could watch “The Saint”, starring Roger Moore?
Sean: Roger Moore? You like him, don’t you?
Diane: Don’t worry, darling- he’d never replace you!
2008. (Royal Premiere of “Quantum Of Solace”. The Queen and the Duke are being walked down the line of cast and crew.)
MGW: Next, ma’am, is Mr Rory Kinnear.
The Queen: How nice. And which part do you play, Mr Kinnear?
Rory: (Proudly.) Bill Tanner, Your Majesty.
The Queen: Bill Tanner?
The Duke: Rory Kinnear? (The Queen and the Duke look at each other, shake their heads, shrug, and move on.)
BB: Next, ma’am, is…
2012. (Royal Premiere of “Skyfall”. The Queen and the Duke are being walked down the line of cast and crew.)
BB: Next, ma’am, is Mr Rory Kinnear.
The Queen: How nice. And which part do you play, Mr Kinnear?
Rory: (A bit less proudly.) Bill Tanner, Your Majesty.
The Queen: Bill Tanner?
The Duke: Rory Kinnear? (The Queen and the Duke look at each other, shake their heads, shrug, and move on. Rory sighs.)
MGW: Next, ma’am, is…
2015. (Royal Premiere of “Spectre”. The Queen and the Duke are being walked down the line of cast and crew.)
MGW: Next, ma’am, is Mr Rory Kinnear.
The Queen: How nice. And which part do you play, Mr Kinnear?
Rory: (Cagily.) Bill Tanner, Your Majesty. Just like in the last two movies.
The Queen: Bill Tanner?
The Duke: Rory Kinnear? (The Queen and the Duke look at each other, shake their heads, shrug, and move on. Rory sighs deeply.)
BB: Next, ma’am, is…
2020....ish. (Royal Premiere of “No Time To Die”. The Queen and the Duke are being walked down the line of cast and crew.)
BB: Next, ma’am, is Mr Rory Kinnear.
The Queen: How nice. And which part do you play, Mr Kinnear?
Rory: (Fed up.) Bill Tanner, Your Majesty. Just like in the last three fuc-
BB: Rory!
The Queen: Bill Tanner?
The Duke: Rory Kinnear? (The Queen and the Duke look at each other, shake their heads, shrug, and move on. Rory looks upwards.)
MGW: Next, ma’am, is…
Director: Ok, cut. Take five, everyone. (An assistant runs up to Pierce.)
Assistant: Phone call for you, Mr Brosnan. (Hands Pierce a phone.)
Pierce: Thank you. Hello…. Yes, it’s me… Ah hello Barbara and Michael, how are you?… Yes, I’m fine thanks… Oh? What do you want to tell me?…. What?…. But you… Hang on, this isn’t April 1st is it? You’re just up to some sort of… I see, you’re not joking… You really, really don’t want me to… Really, truly… It’s not me, it’s you… You’re just trying to find yourselves… You’re going through a lot right now… You need space… You want more excitement… Best thing for both of us... What? You’ve found someone else… It’s not that Hugh Jackman, is it? Because you said… Not him… I know, it’s Clive Owen isn’t it? I bet it’s… Well, who is it then? I’ll find out anyway so you may as well tell me now… WHO??? HIM??? You have got to be f***ng kidding me!!!… Right… Yes, I’m sure we will see each other around… Yes, of course, we can still be friends. (Throws phone into the nearest bin.)
Assistant: Is everything all right, Mr Brosnan?
Pierce: No, everything is sodding well not all right!
Assistant: ...er..
Director: Back on set, everyone, please… Ok, action! (Pierce stands frozen.)
Director: Pierce?
Pierce: ….bastards…
Director: No, that’s not the line. Right, Take 2 and...action!
Pierce: ….”times have changed”… “find a younger man”…
Director: Er, Pierce?
Pierce: ...f***ing James f***ing Bond…
Director: Pierce?
Pierce: I’ll give them shaken not bloody stirred…
Director: Ok, cut. I think we’ll just have to start again tomorrow.
Pierce: What did you say?
Director: Try another day.
Pierce: Argh!
Comments
The telephone rings.
Headmaster: Hello?
Mrs Boothroyd: Ah good morning, Headmaster.
Headmaster: Mrs Boothroyd? How can I help you?
Mrs Boothroyd: It's - ah - Johnny and his sister. I mean, it's about little Johnny and his sister. They can't come to school today.
Headmaster: Really? Why ever not, Mrs Boothroyd?
Mrs Boothroyd: It's stinky! - ah they have, they both have, ah, stinky colds, is what I meant, sir. Ah, Headmaster.
Headmaster: What's the matter with your voice, Mrs Boothroyd? Have you got a cold too?
Mrs Boothroyd: Never mind about that. We - I mean I - stop it! No you stop it! - ah sorry sir, I mean Headmaster, I - ah - can't let them leave the house today. But if you could arrange for some sweets to be sent round, that'd be boss!
Headmaster: Mrs Boothroyd? Has your husband been making gadgets for the children's Christmas again?
(In a home not far away, two children laugh uproariously as they put the phone down.)
I bet they were aching to give it a try.
A door opens and a tall, glamorous lady enters.
Agent: Ms Janssen, come in! Please, sit down. May I call you Famke?
Famke: Of course, please do.
Agent: We're thrilled to have an actor of your calibre agreeing to join the Bond fraternity. Your appearances in Star Trek, The Untouchables, Melrose Place and, of course, Lord of Illusions speak for themselves.
Famke: Thank you. So tell me more about the role - I can't wait to play the leading lady to the handsome Pierce Brosnan.
Agent: Ah, one small thing, you're not going to be the leading lady.
Famke (slightly crestfallen): No? But I understood...
Agent: You're going to be the villainess!
Famke (brightening): Ok, that's more like it! It's about time that Bond's chief adversary is a woman.
Agent: Ah, chief? Well that's Sean Bean. But you're close behind, well close behind Gottfried John, who's kinda theoretically next major villain. But it's a great part and I know you'll make it your own!
Famke (slightly crestfallen again): Oh. (She brightens again) Well, it's about time we had a female Dutch villain too, so that's positive.
Agent: Ah, well you're playing a Russian.
Famke: Russian?!
Agent: Famke, with your talent, you'll nail it. Think what a great achievement it will be!
Famke: Ok... as long as the script is respectful and there are no ridiculous double-entendres. The dialogue needs to be straight up, without a twist.
Agent: Umm..
Famke: And another thing - just ensure I don't have one of those ridiculous names, like Pussy Galore.
Agent: Let me just go get MGW to have a chat with you... I think I need to quit while I'm ahead...
M: Take off your jacket. Give me your gun. Yes, I thought so. This damn Beretta again. I've told you about this before. You tell him - for the last time.
Easy Andy [code name A; freelance weapons consultant from 'Taxi Driver', 1976, with dubious security clearance]: Nice and light - in a lady's handbag. No stopping power.
M: Any comments, 007?
Bond: I disagree, sir. I've used a Beretta for ten years. I've never missed with it yet.
M: Maybe not, but it jammed on your last job and you spent six months in hospital. A double-O number means you're licensed to kill, not get killed. And another thing. Since I've been head of Ml6, there's been a 40% drop in double-O casualties. From now on you carry a different gun. It's just a question of what. A?
Easy Andy: .44 Magnum. There you go - a supreme high re-sale weapon. Look at that. Look at that. That's a beauty. I could sell those guns to some SMERSH lunatic in Moscow for 40 000 roubles. But I just deal high-quality goods to the right people. How about that? This might be a little too big for practical purposes in which case for you, as someone who favours a light weapon, I'd recommend a .38 snub nose. Look at this. Look at it. That's a beautiful little gun. It's nickel-plated, snub nose, otherwise the same as the service revolver. That'll stop anything that moves. The Magnum - they use that in Africa for killin' elephants. That .38 - it's a fine gun. Some of these guns are like toys. Like your Beretta. That .38 - you go out and hammer nails with it all day, come back and it will cut dead centre on target every time. It's got a really nice action to it and a heck of a wallop. You interested in an automatic? It's a Colt .25 Automatic. It's a nice little gun. It's a beautiful little gun. It holds six shots in the clip, one shot in the chamber - if you're dumb enough to put a round in the chamber. Here, look at this. 380 Walther, holds eight shots in the clip. That's a nice gun. Now that's a beautiful little gun. Look at that. During World War II, they used this gun to replace the P38. Just given out to officers. Ain't that a little honey, Commander?
Bond: Hmmmmmmm. Yeaaaasssh. How about if I just take everything?
Easy Andy: Only a jack-ass would carry that cannon on assignment like that. Here. Here's a beautiful hand-made holster I had made in Mexico. $400 dollars... How about some Uppers? Coffee, lots of it, very black? Amphetamines? Benzedrine?
Bond: Hmmmmmmm. Could be useful at a table of bridge... wouldn't you shay sho, shir?
[M's eyes widen in horrified disbelief.]
Easy Andy: Crystal meth. I can get ya crystal meth. Nitrous oxide. How about that? How about a DB4? I get ya a brand new Series 5 Vantage Convertible. With the pink slip for two grand.
M [snaps]: Oh, shut up, A! That will be all, that will be all!
Great stuff! C&D, I wish I'd written that Famke scene myself.
1987. Royal Premiere of "The Living Daylights”.
Cubby: Your Royal Highnesses, welcome to our Royal Premiere. Princess Diana, I haven’t seen you since you visited our set in December, and broke that sugar-glass prop over His Royal Highness’s head.
Princess Diana: Yes, my favourite day out last year – I had a smashing time.
Prince Charles (Moving down the line.): Roger! You look younger every time I see you.
Cubby: Ahem. I’m afraid not, your Royal Highness. Let me introduce you to the star of our movie, the new James Bond, the one and only..... Mr Pierce Bro-
MGW: (Quickly.) Cubby!
Cubby: Er, Mr Timothy Dalton.
Timothy Dalton (Welling up.): ‘Tis an honour, your Royal Highness.
Princess Diana: Mr Dalton, I enjoyed your performance as Prince Barin – you certainly know how to treat a Princess.
Prince Charles: Hmmph, a bit Flash for my liking.
Cubby: And this is our leading lady, Miss Maryam d'Abo.
Princess Diana: What part do you play, Miss d'Abo?
Maryam: I play a lovely blonde lady who has been terribly deceived and betrayed by the man she thought loved her.
Princess Diana: What a terrible situation!
Maryam: Yes, he was only using her but eventually she manages to get free from him.
Princess Diana: I just cannot imagine what that would be like for someone.
Cubby: Next in line your Royal Highnesses, and I’m sure no introduction is needed, is our composer, Mr John Barry.
JB: Pleasure to meet you again. I suppose you (He sniffs.) may have heard of the band murdering – ah, playing, our film’s theme song?
Princess Diana: Oh yes, big fan!
JB: Hmmph. Here is the lead singer of that band, Mr Mortal Combat. Sorry, Mr Mini Market. Sorry!
Prince Charles: Oh yes! Hungry Like The Wolf is my favourite, y’know.
Princess Diana: Charles! (She nudges him in the ribs again. In the background, Morten Harket snaps JB’s baton, while JB snaps Morten’s guitar strings).
Cubby: (Moving them swiftly on until he reaches Caroline Bliss.) And here is Miss Moneypenny.
Prince Charles: Lois? By Jove, you look younger than ever too!
Princess Diana: Charles! (She nudges him in the ribs a third time) This is Caroline Bliss. She plays MoneyPenny now.
Bliss: Yes, I replaced the previous lady.
Princess Diana: What a terrible situation!
Bliss: Yes, sadly her face no longer fitted the bill, so she was quietly replaced.
Princess Diana: I just cannot imagine what that would be like for someone.
(In the background, Morten takes a swing at John Barry with his guitar, while John swipes at the Aha singer with his trumpet. Dalton begins to weep again.)
Cubby: Shall we go in now, Your Royal Highnesses?
Diana: Yes, I think that might be best.
Morten with an A?
"It's Liza with 'Z' not Lisa with an 'S', 'Cause Lisa with an 'S' goes….... "
I messed it up ...again. Morten with an E is the correct spelling
Backstage, a London theatre. 1986.
TIMOTHY DALTON: *sigh* It’s so difficult to find acting work these days, you know.
SYLVESTER MCCOY: Cheer up, pal. Something will come along eventually, you wait and see.
TIMOTHY DALTON: Well, guess what? I’ve just been cast in a really long-running British franchise!
SYLVESTER MCCOY: Guess what? So have I!
TIMOTHY DALTON: Really? What an astonishing coincidence…
SYLVESTER MCCOY: I’ve been cast as the new Doctor Who, starting next year.
TIMOTHY DALTON: I can top that. From next summer, I’ll be starring as the new James Bond!
SYLVESTER MCCOY: Well done, old chap.
TIMOTHY DALTON: This is our big break, kid. The endless months of avant-garde plays and reciting thick tomes of tongue-twisting Shakespeare are over. We’re famous…
SYLVESTER MCCOY: You got that right!
TIMOTHY DALTON: Break out the champagne, then.
SYLVESTER MCCOY: Here’s to the next ten years, eh?
TIMOTHY DALTON: Let’s hope so…
A park bench. 1989.
SYLVESTER MCCOY: So how’s the whole international stardom gig coming along?
TIMOTHY DALTON: I'm afraid it’s not working out too well…
SYLVESTER MCCOY: (sympathetically) Tell me about it.
TIMOTHY DALTON: Erm...you go first…
SYLVESTER MCCOY: No, you can start...
TIMOTHY DALTON: Ah...um...
"The spectre of defeat..."
(An interviewer sits behind a vast wooden desk. There's a tentative knock at a large, imposing-looking door set into one wall.)
Interviewer: Come in!
(A man enters - strong, physically fit looking - and strides across the expansive carpet).
Interviewer: Sit down. You must be, ah (he looks up from a clipboard) - Craig Mitchell.
Mitchell: How do you do. I must say, I love what you've done with this place, sir.
Interviewer: Thank you. You don't think it's a bit overdone though? The sign above the shopfront door?
Mitchell: "We have people everywhere"? No - I think it's a lovely touch! Though I'm not a big fan of the background music.
Interviewer: Well Tosca isn't for everybody. Now why don't we get down to business. I've been reviewing your application to join our organisation. You have a pretty impressive CV. What exactly do you feel you can bring to, umm, Quantum?
Mitchell: Well there's my running skills. Across rooftops and through underground tunnels are my speciality. I'm very fleet-footed. And I'm pretty adept at checking perimeters too.
Interviewer: We could do with some of those skills. Any languages?
Mitchell: Italian?
Interviewer: Perfect. And why exactly do you want this role? Not too happy at MI6?
Mitchell (exploding in anger): That's an understatement! Civil service wages are terrible! You know how much I have in my account? Less than a hundred pounds, and about the same in euros and dollars. And don't get me started on what my boss gave me for Christmas. A bloody ashtray!
Interviewer: Umm, I should mention, we're a no smoking organisation, Mr Mitchell...
Mitchell (Fuming now): I don't bloody smoke!
Interviewer: Well I think I've heard enough - you've got the job. Please come in for your induction on Monday, reporting to a Mr White. Though the lads in accounts call him 'The Pale King' - behind his back of course, haha.
Mitchell: Good one, sir! And thank you. Say - that's a beautiful cat. Do you get many white hairs on your tunic?
2004. M's office set, somewhere in Regent's Park.
MGW: Pierce, it's great to have you back.
Pierce: Thank you Michael, it's good to be here again. And I'm so excited to be working with Quentin. I was thrilled that you and Barbara agreed to let him write and direct a remake of 'Dr No'. When he first suggested it, I suspected that a Tarantino Bond film would never happen.
MGW: We're dying to see how it turns out, especially as he's adapted the script - not to mention seeing Samuel L. Jackson playing M and John Travolta as the Armourer...
Tarantino: And... action! (The camera rolls.)
SLJ: Say that's a nice suit Jim. You mind if I call you Jim? I know some guys just hate being called by the diminutive form of their name. You pick that suit up in Savile Row? Why don't you slide off the coat, Jim, in case it gets creased, and give us a good look at that shoulder holster. (Pierce complies). Aww, now look at that diddy little gun. You shoot some guy with that, he gonna be picking tiddy bits of lead outta his ass for weeks. Then he's gonna come back and make you sorry. That little gun's gonna land you in big trouble.
JT: A Beretta. Nice and light - in a lady's handbag. No stopping power.
SLJ: (turns his steely gaze on Major Boothroyd): Did I ask for your opinion, Armourer?
Pierce: I disagree, sir. I've used a Beretta for...
SLJ (turning his gaze on back to Bond): You disagree? You disagree? That lame-ass pea shooter jammed on your last job and you spent six months in hospital. You even so much as look at that gun again and I'm gonna put you back in there myself. From now on you carry a different gun. Show him, Armourer.
JT: Walther PPK. 7.65mm with a delivery like a brick through...
SLJ (angrily): Your opinion again, Armourer? I said show him! You give me your opinion one more time and you gonna find out what M stands for!
Pierce: Is that all sir?
SLJ (incandescent): Are you still here?
Tarantino: And... cut!
C&D- Beautiful, esp the Mitchell one. Nice touches which I hope people are noticing.
I now have 4 in mind for when I get back!
(A portly American in a Hawaiian shirt, cowboy hat and cargo shorts strolls through the door).
Tattooist: Morning sir, what a lovely day it is today, eh.
Wade: What are you, the weatherman? Is it always this damn hot in Virginia?
Tattooist: In Langley, May is a summer month.
Wade (groans): Is everyone in this town working for 'the company'?
Tattooist: Pretty much yes, sir. How can I help?
Wade (hitching down his shorts): I need some work done on this.
Tattooist: "Muffy"? Battlestar Galactica fan, eh? Perhaps you'd like a picture of a daggit next to it?
Wade: Third wife. My second wife's name is on the other cheek. As for my first wife, she was a real POS, so her name's tattooed around back, right above my...
Tattooist (quickly): And what would sir like below the name Muffy?
Wade: A rose.
Tattooist: How romantic.
Wade: Hell no, I just love gardening. Below my second wife's name I've got a Banyan tree. And below my first wife's name I've got a compost heap, because she really was full of...
Tattooist (quickly): Anything else, sir?
Wade: Perhaps you could tattoo some of these goddamned code phrases on the inside of my forearm - I can never remember them.
Tattooist: Afraid not, sir - company policy. (He starts to work). Any plans for the weekend?
Wade: Borrowing a plane from a friend in the DEA and heading down to Cuba to escape wife number three for a few days. But the CIA has no knowledge, no involvement.
Tattooist: Not the kind of insertion into Cuba we go in for too much these days, eh sir...
1953. (Goldeneye, Jamaica. Ian Fleming sits at his typewriter.)
Fleming: (Typing.) "The smell and scent and sound of a gaming house are sickening at four in the morning".
(He puffs unhappily at his cigarette (specially made for him by Morlands of Grosvenor Street using a Balkan and Turkish mixture, with three gold bands on the filter.) in its holder, and shakes his head.)
Fleming: (Typing.) “The aroma and smog and perspiration of a gaming house are vomit-inducing at two forty-five in the morning.”
(He shakes his head, crunches up the paper and inserts more into his typewriter. Anne opens the door.)
Anne: I’ve brought you a cup of coffee, Ian. (Hands him a cup.)
Fleming: Wonderful, darling, thank you.
(She leaves. He begins typing again.)
Fleming: (Typing.) “The fragrance and fumes and sweat of a gambling club are revolting at three in the morning. “ Hmmm, getting there…
(Anne opens the door again.)
Anne: Would you like another coffee, Ian?
Fleming: How about a drink this time?
Anne: I’ll bring you one.
(Anne exits. Fleming puffs his cigarette, staring moodily at his typewriter, before she returns.)
Anne: Here, Ian, a double Scotch.
Fleming: That’s more like it! Thank you, darling.
(Anne leaves again. He sips his drink then crunches up the paper and starts again.)
Fleming: (Typing.) “The perfume and smoke and sweat of a casino are stomach-turning at three in the morning.” Still not right…
(He stares moodily at the paper while sipping the whisky. Time passes, then Anne opens the door again.)
Anne: How is it coming along, darling?
Fleming: I’m almost there, but still can’t quite get it right.
Anne: (A woman who knows her man.) Perhaps one more drink?
Fleming: But of course.
Anne: I think I know the very thing.
(She departs, then returns after a few moments.)
Anne: Here we are. Three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shaken very well until it's ice-cold, then a large thin slice of lemon peel.
Fleming: Perfect!
(Anne leaves. Fleming sips his drink. He nods happily, drinks some more then returns to his typewriter.)
Fleming: (Typing.) “The scent and smoke and sweat of a casino are nauseating at three in the morning. Then the soul-erosion produced by high gambling -a compost of greed and fear and nervous tension- becomes unbearable and the senses awake and revolt from it.”
(Inspired, he continues to type….)
Fleming: (Typing.) "The girl has passed away".
(He puffs unhappily at his cigarette (specially made for him by Morlands of Grosvenor Street using a Balkan and Turkish mixture, with three gold bands on the filter.) in its holder, and shakes his head.)
Fleming: (Typing.) “The female has snuffed it.”
(He shakes his head, crunches up the paper and inserts more into his typewriter. Anne opens the door.)
Anne: I’ve brought you a cup of coffee, Ian. (Hands him a cup.)
Fleming: Wonderful, darling, thank you.
Anne: I’m still trying to get our new dog to eat. She won’t touch a thing.
Fleming: Ah, ok.
(She leaves. He begins typing again.)
Fleming: (Typing.) “Bereft of life, she rests in peace. “ Hmmm...
(Anne opens the door again.)
Anne: Would you like another coffee, Ian?
Fleming: How about a drink this time?
Anne: I’ll bring you one. The dog still won’t eat, I’m hoping she’s ok.
Fleming: Yes, me too.
(Anne exits. Fleming puffs his cigarette, staring moodily at his typewriter, before she returns.)
Anne: Here, Ian, a double Scotch.
Fleming: That’s more like it! Thank you, darling.
Anne: I’ll go back to the dog. She’s showing signs of getting hungry.
(Anne leaves again. He sips his drink then crunches up the paper and starts again.)
Fleming: (Typing.) “She is no more. She has ceased to be. She has expired and gone to meet her maker.” Still not right…
(He stares moodily at the paper while sipping the whisky. Time passes, then Anne opens the door again.)
Anne: How it it coming along, darling?
Fleming: I’m almost there, but still can’t quite get it right.
Anne: (A woman who knows her man.) Perhaps one more drink?
Fleming: But of course.
Anne: I think I know the very thing.
(She departs, then returns after a few moments.)
Anne: Here we are. Three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shaken very well until it's ice-cold, then a large thin slice of lemon peel.
Fleming: Perfect!
Anne: By the way, I have succeeded with the dog. The bitch is fed now.
(A lightbulb appears above Fleming’s head.)
Fleming: Thank you, darling! Thank you very much!
(Happily he returns to his typing.)
I now know why I'm not an author ....
Sean: Hi honey, I’m home.
Diane: Darling! (Kiss, kiss.) How did the audition go?
Sean: Well, it wash more of an interview, really. There were two of them- I thought they were both American, but it turnsh out the little one wash from Canada.
Diane: Canada, eh? And the other one?
Sean: Oh, he wash American. Called Cabbage or Cauliflower or shomething like that.
Diane: And did you get the part?
Sean: Oh yesh, I think sho. They were talking about a shix-film contract.
Diane: That’s wonderful! I can't see anything going wrong with that!
Sean: Well, asshuming the firsht film ish a shuccessh of courshe. We’ll be talking more in the morning. I did my “cat walk” thing as I wash walking away, knowing they’d be looking.
Diane: I’m so pleased for you, Sean. Now, how about dinner?
Sean: What were you thinking?
Diane: What would you say to slivers of smoked Scottish salmon, served simply with steamed spinach?
Sean: Hmmm…
Diane: Perhaps sliced seared sirloin steak and salad?
Sean: I don’t know…
Diane: Or a sausage sandwich?
Sean: Yesh, that shounds great.
Diane: I’ll get that ready- do you want to watch some television?
Sean: Shure, what’sh on?
Diane: Let me see… “The Untouchables” perhaps?
Sean: Not shure that’sh my thing.
Diane: Well, after that there’s “The Avengers”.
Sean: Ah, with John Shteed and Cathy Gale!
Diane: Oh, Cathy Gale- that’s Honor Blackman. You like her, don’t you?
Sean: She’sh a pershonal favourite of mine.
Diane: And just how personal is that?
Sean: She’sh a damn good actressh. Period.
Diane: Hmmm…
Sean: Don’t worry, darling- she’d never replace you.
Diane: Never?
Sean: Not for all the gold in Fort Knox.
Diane: Or we could watch “The Saint”, starring Roger Moore?
Sean: Roger Moore? You like him, don’t you?
Diane: Don’t worry, darling- he’d never replace you!
(Yesh, I know the timelinesh don't quite match)
Barbel, we missed your golden touch on these imaginary conversations- welcome back! {[]
I especially loved: "... She is no more. She has ceased to be. She has expired and gone to meet her maker.” Still not right…
More later today....
Dalton - the weak and weepy Bond!
2008. (Royal Premiere of “Quantum Of Solace”. The Queen and the Duke are being walked down the line of cast and crew.)
MGW: Next, ma’am, is Mr Rory Kinnear.
The Queen: How nice. And which part do you play, Mr Kinnear?
Rory: (Proudly.) Bill Tanner, Your Majesty.
The Queen: Bill Tanner?
The Duke: Rory Kinnear?
(The Queen and the Duke look at each other, shake their heads, shrug, and move on.)
BB: Next, ma’am, is…
2012. (Royal Premiere of “Skyfall”. The Queen and the Duke are being walked down the line of cast and crew.)
BB: Next, ma’am, is Mr Rory Kinnear.
The Queen: How nice. And which part do you play, Mr Kinnear?
Rory: (A bit less proudly.) Bill Tanner, Your Majesty.
The Queen: Bill Tanner?
The Duke: Rory Kinnear?
(The Queen and the Duke look at each other, shake their heads, shrug, and move on. Rory sighs.)
MGW: Next, ma’am, is…
2015. (Royal Premiere of “Spectre”. The Queen and the Duke are being walked down the line of cast and crew.)
MGW: Next, ma’am, is Mr Rory Kinnear.
The Queen: How nice. And which part do you play, Mr Kinnear?
Rory: (Cagily.) Bill Tanner, Your Majesty. Just like in the last two movies.
The Queen: Bill Tanner?
The Duke: Rory Kinnear?
(The Queen and the Duke look at each other, shake their heads, shrug, and move on. Rory sighs deeply.)
BB: Next, ma’am, is…
2020....ish. (Royal Premiere of “No Time To Die”. The Queen and the Duke are being walked down the line of cast and crew.)
BB: Next, ma’am, is Mr Rory Kinnear.
The Queen: How nice. And which part do you play, Mr Kinnear?
Rory: (Fed up.) Bill Tanner, Your Majesty. Just like in the last three fuc-
BB: Rory!
The Queen: Bill Tanner?
The Duke: Rory Kinnear?
(The Queen and the Duke look at each other, shake their heads, shrug, and move on. Rory looks upwards.)
MGW: Next, ma’am, is…
Director: Ok, cut. Take five, everyone.
(An assistant runs up to Pierce.)
Assistant: Phone call for you, Mr Brosnan.
(Hands Pierce a phone.)
Pierce: Thank you. Hello…. Yes, it’s me… Ah hello Barbara and Michael, how are you?… Yes, I’m fine thanks… Oh? What do you want to tell me?…. What?…. But you… Hang on, this isn’t April 1st is it? You’re just up to some sort of… I see, you’re not joking… You really, really don’t want me to… Really, truly… It’s not me, it’s you… You’re just trying to find yourselves… You’re going through a lot right now… You need space… You want more excitement… Best thing for both of us... What? You’ve found someone else… It’s not that Hugh Jackman, is it? Because you said… Not him… I know, it’s Clive Owen isn’t it? I bet it’s… Well, who is it then? I’ll find out anyway so you may as well tell me now… WHO??? HIM??? You have got to be f***ng kidding me!!!… Right… Yes, I’m sure we will see each other around… Yes, of course, we can still be friends.
(Throws phone into the nearest bin.)
Assistant: Is everything all right, Mr Brosnan?
Pierce: No, everything is sodding well not all right!
Assistant: ...er..
Director: Back on set, everyone, please… Ok, action!
(Pierce stands frozen.)
Director: Pierce?
Pierce: ….bastards…
Director: No, that’s not the line. Right, Take 2 and...action!
Pierce: ….”times have changed”… “find a younger man”…
Director: Er, Pierce?
Pierce: ...f***ing James f***ing Bond…
Director: Pierce?
Pierce: I’ll give them shaken not bloody stirred…
Director: Ok, cut. I think we’ll just have to start again tomorrow.
Pierce: What did you say?
Director: Try another day.
Pierce: Argh!