How to Lay a Bond Girl

In For Your Eyes Only, Bibi Dahl (Lynn-Holly Johnson) shoots down Julian Glover's character, Aris Kristatos, "I know what you want. But you're too old for me. I'm splitting."

Glover was 46. (But graying and balding, in case you don't remember the movie.)

A few scenes before, she had nearly raped James Bond. Roger Moore was 54.

The moral: Youthful looks conquer all.

Carey Lowell Is Too Beautiful

"Was this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium?" — Christopher Marlowe

Too beautiful to dock a ship, that is. To put into perspective my statement to the effect that only blondes are beautiful, consider Carey Lowell.

There's scientific evidence that though brunette, she is beautiful. As Pam Bouvier, the main Bond girl from the last real Bond movie, License to Kill, she crashes the WaveKrest into a dock. That proves that she lacks the ugliness of one millinegahelen required to dock a ship.

And the M Stands for…

Bond: "I thought M was a randomly assigned letter. I had no idea it stood for…"

M: "Utter one more syllable, and I'll have you killed!"

— Casino Royale

In case you were wondering, M stands for moron.

An M Is an M Is an M

Bond fans used to wonder whether M is a position or a man, that is, whether Bernard Lee and Robert Brown were playing the same character, or one man and his successor. Now, since the appointment of Judi Dench to the role of M, those suckers believe that question is settled.

Little do they know. What most people don't know is that Miles Messervy underwent a sex change operation. You know, he was sick and tired of being an old man.

Nor Any Drop to Drink

Alex answers his mail, re: "They Don't Know Who Their Friends Are."

Oleg writes:

[Y]ou don't know a thing about Bolivian water story, which took place in a small town Cachabamba. "Bad guys" (Aquas Del Tunari, controlled by International Water Limited, controlled by Bechtel) through corruption (the price of the contract was laughable - 20'000 USD) took control over the town water system, then doubled retail prices for water, then used imported weapons (courtesy of the U.S. embassy) to stifle a "paro civico", then government was forced to rescind the contract with Aquas Del Tunari, then contractor sued Bolivia for the loss of earnings, which was 25'000'000 USD. The loan for the operation came from World Bank. So, you know, those "capitalists" are true parasites, who are not simply "ask another men to live for them", but force them to.

Ted writes:

The foundational principle being ignored on all sides, is that individual liberty, being natural, has also natural limits. When anyone deliberately decides to use their liberty to manipulate and control others, whether the vehicle of that control is religion, politics, philosophy or even "capitalism", the natural boundary has been overstepped.

Steven writes:

Since when is overthrowing governments, doing business with killers or establishing a water monopoly behavior we admire? This sounds like a thoroughly neo-conservative reading of the film not a libertarian one. If you really want to associate Capitalism with Gangsterism, then by all means continue these misdirected, knee-jerk tirades.

Obviously, they still don't know who their friends are.

First off, Steven's remarks are so wrong on so many levels that they merit a blow by blow dissection.

"Since when is overthrowing governments, doing business with killers or establishing a water monopoly behavior we admire?"

We, Steven? Dou you presume to tell me what I admire?

Or is we you and Ayn Rand? Looking at "Egalitarianism and Inflation" (The Ayn Rand Letter, Vol. III, No. 18, June 3, 1974) you'll see that Rand didn't believe Allende was better than Pinochet.

Or is it you and some unspecified libertarians? Why would I care what some anonymous libertarians admire?

"Only kings, presidents, editors, and people with tapeworms have the right to use the editorial 'we.' " — Mark Twain

"Three groups are permitted that usage: pregnant women, royalty, and schizophrenics. Which one are you?" — Hyman G. Rickover

I'm afraid, Steven, you just outed yourself as a closet collectivist.

By the way, does that mean you don't admire the American Revolution?

"If you really want to associate Capitalism with Gangsterism, then by all means continue these misdirected, knee-jerk tirades."

Of course, capitalism, voluntary cooperation to mutual advantage, is preferable over either gangsterism or socialism. Yet if you can't have capitalism, gangsterism sure is better than socialism. Where were people better off in 1926, in Chicago or in Moscow?

Why did Ayn Rand flee from St. Petersburg to Chicago? And why didn't she flee back to the Soviet Union in horror when she saw the Chicago gangsterism?

If you can't have "voluntary cooperation to mutual advantage," "everybody fights for himself" sure is better than "the individual gets enslaved and sacrificed for the common good of the majority."

"Has any act of selfishness ever equaled the carnage perpetrated by disciples of altruism?" — Howard Roark

Who was the worse violator of human rights, Al Capone or Adolf Hitler? I'm not so sure what Steven and his tapeworm may choose, but I'd take Al over Adolf any day.

"This sounds like a thoroughly neo-conservative reading of the film not a libertarian one."

Who told you I'm a libertarian? "Libertarian" is a broad catchall term that includes about everybody who claims to be in favor of liberty, from anarcho-capitalists to objectivists, and then some. Why would I care if a specific viewpoint of mine is neo-conservative or libertarian?

As for the Bolivian water story, it's Oleg who doesn't have his facts straight.

In the Aguas del Tunari case, the corporation raised rates not out of greed, but to be able to invest in the water network. True, poorer Bolivians claimed they could not afford this, and to cut a long story short, an angry socialist mob with torches and pitchforks kicked out the capitalist company.

The upshot: Without the capitalists' capital to fix up and expand the water system, most folks there still have no connection to the water main. And unless that socialist mob finds some idiot who builds water mains for them without getting his money back through higher rates, they won't get any faucet water, ever.

Don't take my word for it. Read the relevant entry at everybody's favorite joke of an encyclopedia.

Then again, while this particular company can be blamed for nothing except maybe for misjudging Bolivians' ability to pay, there are no doubt some shady capitalists just as there are corrupt government officials. However, Hollywood will make you believe that all capitalists are corrupt, while government agents are only corrupted by the need to fight fire with fire.

But neither is my principal point. That point — and I probably did not make that clear enough in my review — is: If someone takes control of a resource and doubles the price on consumers out of pure spite or greed — it's OK. Sure, it's not nice, and cause for censure, but it is not cause enough to resort to the use of force.

It's mind-boggling how ready people are to resort to force at the slightest provocation. People cry, "We cannot live in anarchy. Everybody would go after his neighbor with a shotgun for the slightest perceived offense." Yet that is what people are doing under and through government.

The mere fact that you get a judge or a jury to agree with your peeve, or even a legislature elected by a majority (of those who care to vote) to agree with you that "there ought to be a law," does not give you any "objective" right to have the government use force against others over trifles. The shotgun of anarchy is the litigiousness of archy.

It's the road to Obamastan. Seven billion people believe there ought to be a law against their pet peeve, like their high water bill, or their high gas bill, or whatever.

The result, quite predictably, is world socialism. If the pet peeves of seven billion people are grounds for government regulation by force, what else can the result be but a totalitarian state?

In the water rights case, there are no grounds to use force against the "industrialists," unless you're the victim of outright, overt force or fraud, or dying of thirst. In the latter case, of course the ethics of emergencies kicks in: "[M]any Objectivists say that, if they fell off a building and hung onto somebody's balcony, they ought to die rather than trespass."

But if the matter is of no vital importance to you —

"Yield larger things to which you can show no more than equal right; and yield lesser ones, though clearly your own. Better give your path to a dog, than be bitten by him in contesting for the right. Even killing the dog would not cure the bite." — Abraham Lincoln

Bench That Dench

Uh, I mean, ditch that bitch. I guess it's no secret that I'm no fan of Judi Dench.

I don't care that our British friends believe she's one of their finest actresses. I mean, Brits believe Roger Moore can't act.

(Shouldn't become a closet collectivist here, though. It should be: "most Brits," not "all Brits.")

Anyway, let's cut to the chase. Dench's #1 problem is that basically she's nothing but a punk: She's rebelling against beauty itself.

Until a cure for aging is found, one can at least try to age gracefully. Letting one's face implode into a crater with wrinkles around and then smearing eyeliner and lipstick on the remains like whitewash on the ruins of the WTC is only adding insult to injury.

Like so many things, it's either or. Either go for a facelift or forgo the makeup.

And if she doesn't want to dye her white hair, fine. But that doesn't mean she has to opt for a do that looks like it's been nibbled by boogle of weasels. The Donald's do has more dignity.

As for her "acting," I've seen her only in Shakespeare in Love and in those disastrous howlers that pass for Bond movies these days. Nevertheless, in both roles she played a mean old bat, and from her performance as M it's obvious that she can't act, can't even tell acting from frenzied histrionics.

So I can't help but wonder, is she being typecast or isn't she acting at all — is she just playing herself? If an actor's playing the same type again and again, that's basically the only two possibilities.

Either she's had some real bad luck being cast, or she enjoys being a mean old bat because she is a mean old bat in real life. Given her open rebellion against beauty, I tend to think the latter.

Bond Barbie Keeps the Streak Alive

From the day Barbara Broccoli was promoted to producer, there's never been a blond Bond girl. No true blond "main Bond girl" (what other franchises would call a "leading lady") since Maryam d'Abo as Kara Milovy in The Living Daylights, to be precise. And two movies later, Brunette Barbie assumed producer duties.

Well, as long as Brunette Barbie stays in charge, I trust she won't tolerate any Bond girl more beautiful, uh, blond than her. The fact that Barb lost her boy toy to a blonde won't help matters much, I'm afraid.

But then, given the esthetic nosedive the Bond franchise has taken with the reboot, with virtually all the fun elements — from humor to gadgets — gone, either Bond is headed for a slow slide into oblivion, or the production team will have to be rebooted.

Be it Brunette Barbie or the end of the Cold War — since License to Kill, Bond has never been the same. And no, it's not that I've grown up. I still like to watch the classic Bond movies.

And it's not only my subjective dissatisfaction at not getting the quantum of blond I paid for with the ticket. (No, Daniel Craig doesn't count. I'm not gay. And even if I were, I'd prefer tall dark strangers. Call me old-fashioned, but chicks are supposed to be blond; guys, dark. 'Nough said.)

No, even in the nineties, Bond was running out of steam, out of credible opponents. I've watched every one of those movies, and the plot of every one of them was forgettable, straight-to-DVD material.

If North Koreans and Chinese can be made to stand in for soviets, the writers sure didn't manage to pull it off. (With the possible exception of Die Another Day, which was quite tolerable, or would have been, had Brosnan's presence not reminded me of his three preceding bombs.)

The fullest expression of that degradation can be observed in the rebooted Casino Royale: the movie trying to become relevant by latching onto the destruction of the WTC. Of course, Bond movies always tried to be topical. Think The Man with the Golden Gun and the seventies energy crisis.

However, before the nineties, Bond was larger than life. He did not play second fiddle to a real-life terrorist attack.

Nowadays, Bond is no longer larger than life (fighting villains scheming for world domination or the annihilation of mankind) or even as large as life (fictionalizing the Cold War or the war on drugs) but just your garden variety hero, no, protagonist, struggling to impersonate a secret agent, badly, and losing even that fight. A sad shadow of his former self.

As a former Bond fan, here my ultimatum:

(1) I want Blond girls, uh, blond Bond girls, and not James Blond.

(2) Craig shall never again be permitted to act in a movie, except maybe as Frankenstein's monster. A yellow dog could act better than he.

(3) I want Timothy Dalton back. Or even George Lazenby. Too bad Sean Connery and Roger Moore are probably too old by now. Anyway, Dalton should have made more Bond movies. Pierce Brosnan sure looked the part, but now he's associated with those stupid nineties Bond movies. I guess I could settle for Gerard Butler.

(4) There shall be writing that manages to create some credible villains, and without catering to the very worst populist clichés.

(5) I want that sense of humor and those gadgets back.

(6) All Bond movies after License to Kill shall be booted from the canon, particularly that sick joke of a reboot.

Until these conditions are met, don't expect me to buy any merchandise, any DVDs, or any tickets (unless I have to write a review).

They Don't Know Who Their Friends Are

My review of the new Bond movie Quantum of Solace at The Atlasphere:

"They Don't Know Who Their Friends Are‏"

You may also be interested in this review over at Unspoken Words:

"Quantum of Solace — Where's Mine?"

Why We Don't Get Along

As advocates of laissez-faire capitalism, avowedly committed to the supremacy of reason, it seemed as if the Randians would be valuable allies.

But the Randians did not understand the concept of "allies": in their universe, you either agreed with all of their positions, or else you were consigned to the Outer Darkness. (Curiously, on the level of macro-politics, the Randians were grossly opportunistic.)

— Justin Raimondo, Introduction to Mozart Was a Red.

Of course, given the mutual animosity between the Rand and Rothbard camps, Raimondo's words must be taken with a mine of salt. Yet it's not only an Objectivist problem: It's not only Peikoff vs. Kelley and Rand vs. Rothbard, but also Stalin vs. Trotsky and Republicans vs. Giuliani and McCain. The more you agree with somebody, the harder you fight over whatever disagreements remain between you.

If we know that we'll never agree on everything, why don't we accept that and get on with life?

I waste no thought on my neighbor's birth
Or the way he makes his prayer.
I grant him a white man's room on earth
If his game is only square.
While he plays it straight I'll call him mate;
If he cheats I drop him flat.

— Badger Clark, "The Westerner"

"But I love you!"

The problem is that we hold friends to higher standards. A friend is a person who shares our values. Quite naturally, we aim for the greatest possible harmony of values; ideally, we would wish for our friends to agree with us on everything.

A person who shares fifty percent of your values you can call mate, as long as he doesn't attack you, and ignore him otherwise.

A person who shares ninety percent of your values is an eternal temptation to doctor with, to make him or her "perfect" in your eyes. While he or she no doubt is doing the same thing with you.

But nobody likes having his or her values being doctored with, his or her epistemology second-guessed. Now demand that people act in accord with an integrated moral/philosophical system, and add that inconsistencies and errors are moral failures, and you've doomed yourself to solitude (or to lickspittle company).

Of course man needs an integrated philosophical system to describe reality, as all facts in the universe are interconnected. Yet, the problem is not so much somebody's integrated philosophical system, but his inability to tell an integrated philosophical system from epistemological perfection.

"Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe." — Albert Einstein

Man isn't perfect, neither in his epistemological capacity, nor in any other. Of course, man is able to recognize reality (otherwise mankind would have died out long ago). But even the best of us goof a few times out of a hundred.

So having an integrated philosophical system that represents reality fairly accurately does not mean being necessarily perfect. Even the steel frame of the best skyscraper may hold some flawed plate glass windows. Sometimes such a window will fail catastrophically, but still the quality of the windows does not necessarily reflect back on the system holding them up.

If you want real friends and not robots who ape your or your guru's every word, you have to accept the fact that different people will come to different conclusions, even applying the same philosophy. The best you can hope for is those nine times out of ten. In fact, you can be glad to have them.

Identify what would be a deal breaker and consign only those to the Outer Darkness that hold positions you consider immoral enough to be deal breakers. For the non deal breakers, keep discussions friendly and non-confrontational and be prepared to agree to disagree.

But it's not only disagreements over the proper way to crack an egg that get in the way of human understanding. Sometimes it's the unequal distribution of power that calls for a lightning rod.

"At least I shall have the pleasure to rid myself of your presence, Mr. Bond."

You know the final showdown is nigh if the designated villain speaks thus to the designated hero. Surrounded by jackbooted government thugs, the designated villain knows he's gonna lose — but at least he'll serve his revenge to the one person within range.

This movie cliché is very true — most of us tend to take our anger out on those who are close to us if we can't get at those who really deserve to get zapped. So maybe Leonard Peikoff cannot administer a good (tongue) lashing to George the Unready because a couple thousand jackbooted Secret Service thugs would have a problem with that. However, what he can do instead is repudiate the fall guy of the week who had the temerity to hint at the fallibility of St. Ayn.

That's the secret behind how you can be grossly opportunistic on the level of macro-politics (endorsing John the Ketchup) while repudiating anybody who so much as looks askance at you. It's the good old pointy-haired Prussian-Nietzschean realpolitik: toady to those who have power over you; get even by tormenting your underlings.

Casino After All

Ayn Rand loved James Bond the hero, but hated the self-mocking tone of some Bond movies. So, what's the deal with Casino Royale, the first ever Bond novel, and at long last an official Bond movie? Let the cards speak for themselves.

First off, it's true that Daniel Craig is a counterintuitive choice as Bond. His rugged looks would better fit Clive Cussler's Dirk Pitt than suave Mr. Eton James Bond. Above all, for Ian's sake, it's not James Blond. OK, so both Bond girls in Casino Royale are brunette (where are the cool blondes?), but why the toupee is Bond suddenly blond? Technicolor advisor!

Yet the biggest problem with Casino Royale may be that it's a reboot of the Bond franchise. Esthetically, reboots are inherently questionable. By wiping the canvas clean, the viewer is brutally reminded that it is, well, a canvas. After all, reality cannot be wiped clean. Fans are tacitly expected to sweep under the rug of oblivion all of Bond's earlier adventures. That may to some degree backfire on producers when the most devoted Connery and Moore fans decide to watch the old Bond continuum on DVD and boycott his newspeak incarnation.

Unfortunately, the only holdover from the Brosnan days is what was Brosnan's worst liability: Judi Dench. Having Bond encounter a feminist, macho-hating boss once would have been a fine joke. Having her stick around emasculates the whole series.

Part of Bond's appeal is that he's larger than life. Posh hotels with all expenses paid, exotic locales, fast cars to wreck at the taxpayer's expense, private jets, a license to kill — and any woman he wants, he'll get. True, Connery and Moore too had to get along with an authoritarian M, and a Q furious due to the wreckage Bond wrought. Yet, back then Bond used to get his own back by dumbfounding M on the spot with his superior knowledge, and in the end by having saved the world.

However, Ms. M heaping politically correct abuse on a morally defenseless Bond for his larger than life style is something that could drive the calmest soul from a view to a kill.

As Bond co-producer Michael G. Wilson once observed, "We always start out trying to make another From Russia with Love and end up with another Thunderball." Accordingly, gadgets and visual effects were out this time and character and plot were supposed to be in.

Well, I sorely missed the funny gadgets. It doesn't help matters that the gadgets have been replaced by pointless stunts. That they were done by real stuntmen instead of computer graphics doesn't make much of a difference. The best I can say about the long stunt sequence at a construction site is that some of the stunts at least succeed at one-upping those they imitate.

The nadir of the movie comes when Bond chases a terrorist trying to bomb the world's largest jetliner at rollout. First the hijacked tanker drives through a train of baggage carts — then through an articulated bus. Yes, I said an articulated bus. Right, that's more like The Naked Gun than like James Bond. We've gone through a train of baggage carts and a bus. Hey, what's next? The Great Wall?

In a movie already known for its goofs, an empty pistol going click with the slide not locked open is probably par for the course. A source of involuntary humor, however, comes courtesy of veteran Bond production designer Peter Lamont, who really should know better.

"The plane had no engines, but it was in fairly good condition, and we could use the body of the 747 to save us the huge expense of building something of that bulk. I looked at many references of airplane construction and decided our Skyfleet should look like the B-52s, with pairs of tandem engines, and an altered cockpit profile. I don't know if my design would fly, but the B-52s managed!"

Sure she might fly in the sky — but she would never fly with the FAA. More importantly, frequent flyers wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole, as such a tandem engine arrangement obviously means a shockwave, fire, or explosion from one failing engine will take its neighbor along. The B-52 can afford that — she's got twice as many engines and isn't a passenger jet.

There's a cautionary tale "for make benefit" artists here: Details can destroy the whole picture. One look at those engines makes that would-be super jumbo look smallish and antiquated, upper deck or no upper deck. On the bright side, Lamont manages to redeem himself with an impressive scene of a slowly collapsing Venetian palace late in the movie.

The action-heavy terrorist plot (excuse the pun) grafted onto the original story of Casino Royale is like Die Another Day and other Brosnan Bonds. Brosnan, an actor perfect for the role, got buried under tons of golden eye candy forgotten once outside the multiplex, never to be watched another day.

Only when Bond arrives in Montenegro does Casino Royale come into its own. First a Bond ally teaches Bond and the audience a witty way to get rid of a corrupt police chief with Photoshop. But then, is that ally really an ally? Or is he as much of a phony as his photos? As the movie moves on, the newly-minted 00 Agent may have to learn the hard way that in his line of business he often can neither trust partners nor lovers.

It looks like reusing locales out of From Russia with Love, the Balkans and Venice, proved a charm. In the casino sequence, the classic Connery and Lazenby atmosphere finally comes to life: Continental casino charm (does it exist in casinos outside the Bond universe?) laced with intrigue and lurking assassins. Get up from the card table, get poisoned, get involved in a deadly brawl, wash off the blood, change your shirt, and be back before the cards are cold.

Of course, in the novel Casino Royale baccarat was Bond's game of choice, like in so many Bond novels and movies. That it has been replaced by high-stakes poker detracts surprisingly little from the Connery atmosphere. The substitution is probably a wise one, as most viewers will be more familiar with poker than with baccarat rules. Anyway, from Maverick with love works as a movie.

In 1954, The New York Times recommended regarding the novel, "You should certainly begin this book; but you might as well stop when the baccarat game is over." I'd recommend the same, only in the opposite order: Unless you're a die-hard action fan, you might as well spend the first half-hour necking — but the casino in Casino Royale will turn your movie ticket into a winning ticket.

And what about Mr. Craig? He manages to become a credible, if bleached, Bond over the course of the casino sequence. May he live to play Bond another day.

Originally published on December 22, 2006, on The Atlasphere.