The Bay Area Brit

In both Britain and the U.S. James Bond has been a household name for nearly 50 years; ever since his first run in with “Dr. No.”
A new James Bond film is released every other year or two, and for those 50 years, he has been falling OUT of airplanes and landing IN beds with an alarming regularity.

Bond has slept with many, many women, some with names that are either high on the stereotype factor, sexist, or just flatout racist. Names like: Plenty O’Toole, Fatima Bush, and of course Goldfinger’s notoriously infamous personal pilot: Pussy Galore.
His conquests’ names often cause uncomfortable shifting in cinema seats when revealed: Holly Goodhead, Xenia Onatop, Honey Ryder, and of course who could forget the inquisitively named “Dr. Christmas Jones.”
That’s weird. That name’s not sexist at all.
Until all was revealed in the final scene of the film: “The World Is Not Enough.” After assisting her in achieving multiple orgasms, Bond quips, “And I thought Christmas only came once a year.”
Oh what!?! No, no, no, no, no, Mr. Bond James Bond, you didn’t go there.

But you did.

The Bond writers named the character “Christmas” for that one joke at the end of the movie. Are you kidding?
Well, okay, that’s not Bond’s fault. He didn’t name her; he’s just there to nail her.

As he tests airspace and mattress springs in hotel suites across the continents, Bond seems to neglect the use of condoms and parachutes alike as he besmirches the honor and reputations of women from Angola to Zambia. (Although geographically the two countries are neighbors and therefore mere inches apart…but alphabetically? Phew, don’t get me started.)

Bond pulls down dress zippers and asks questions later.
He seduces his latest conquest: the petite Asian masseuse who has just betrayed her evil boss, and she whispers into Bond’s ear asking if he’s been with “many other women?”
If this were real-life, Bond would cough up a furball the size of a pot sticker to give himself more time to diplomatically answer her question so that “Ho,” “Dr. Tightlips,” or “Miss Luvulongtime” (or whatever the writers named the poor character ) doesn’t launch herself from between the bed sheets towards the kitchen sink to furiously scrub the inside of her vagina with a Brillo pad.

He’s a cad, a bounder, and a scallywag, and women fall all over him. For all his flaws, James Bond is the ultimate British alpha-male. He’s a man that other men wish they could be more like, and apparently a man that women would risk being with. And why not, he’s sexy, handsome, charming, virile. (With the exception of the last Roger Moore incarnation. Watching 58 year-old Moore’s orange, silly putty-like jowls squished against the eerily adrogynous Grace Jones in “A View To A Kill” was one of the most uncomfortably mis-matched love scenes filmed in mainstream cinema.)

Bond is now portrayed by Daniel Craig; he’s the best dressed (and un-dressed Bond) ever. He is pickier about his mating choices, brutish yet sensitive, and with the addition of these traits in his arsenal, he has become the complete male British package. Even his teeth are good.

And so, James Bond: savior of the British Empire, crusher of evil supervillains, defiler of international women, we sarcastically salute you as a Great British hero.

© Copyright Matty Stone 2010

Bond: Before and After

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