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James Bond is better than everything


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Everyone's too sensitive these days.

A love for the Bond movies was passed down from my late father, and that led to my reading all the Fleming novels and short stories and quite a few of the continuation ones, too. Love the character ..

Living Daylights has one of the best openings of anything I've ever seen. The car chase with the guy going off a cliff while Bond escapes in a parachute and lands on that babe's yacht as she immediate

'I'll feed you what you don't seem to value' ... the villain is literally about to cut off Bond's twig 'n' berries and stuff them in his mouth when Mr White comes bursting in.

 

Nastiest moment in the franchise ever? Or does that honour sit with Krest's splattery death-by-decompression-chamber?     

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I don't like that part in Casino.  Any part of that sequence actually.

 

1 hour ago, Sweeping Strings said:

Or does that honour sit with Krest's splattery death-by-decompression-chamber? 

 

Don't forget Kananga!  Both are outrageous and fun baddie deaths.

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11 minutes ago, Jay said:

Jonathan Pryce made an awesome villain!

 

He came on screen last night and my wife said "Hey it's the High Sparrow" :lol:

 

I bet he gets recognized for so many different things.  "Hey you're the guy from Pirates of the Caribbean" etc.  I'd be the snob who tells him how much I love Brazil.

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2 hours ago, Disco Stu said:

I don't like that part in Casino.  Any part of that sequence actually.

 

 

Don't forget Kananga!  Both are outrageous and fun baddie deaths.


The torture scene from the CR novel, by way of comparison. 

It was a large bare room, sparsely furnished in 
cheap French 'art nouveau' style. It was difficult to say 
whether it was intended as a living- or dining-room, for 
a flimsy-looking mirrored sideboard, sporting an 
orange crackle-ware fruit dish and two painted wooden 
candlesticks, took up most of the wall opposite the door 
and contradicted the faded pink sofa ranged against the 
other side of the room. 

There was no table in the centre under the 
alabasterine ceiling light, only a small square of stained 
carpet with a futurist design in contrasting browns. 

Over by the window was an incongruous-looking 
throne-like chair in carved oak with a red velvet seat, a 
low table on which stood an empty water carafe and two 
glasses, and a light armchair with a round cane seat and 
no cushion. 

Half-closed Venetian blinds obscured the view from 
the window, but cast bars of early sunlight over the few 
pieces of furniture and over part of the brightly papered 
wall and the brown-stained floorboards. 

Le Chiffre pointed at the cane chair. 

'That will do excellently,' he said to the thin man. 
'Prepare him quickly. If he resists, damage him only a 
little.' 

He turned to Bond. There was no expression on his 
large face, and his round eyes were uninterested. 'Take 
off your clothes. For every effort to resist, Basil will 
break one of your fingers. We are serious people, and 
your good health is of no interest to us. Whether you 
live or die depends on the outcome of the talk we are 
about to have.' 

He made a gesture toward the thin man and left the 
room. 

The thiri man's first action was a curious one. He 
opened the clasp-knife he had used on the hood of 
Bond's car, took the small armchair, and with a swift 
motion cut out its cane seat. 

Then he came back to Bond, sticking the still open 
knife, like a fountain pen, in the vest pocket of his coat. 
He turned Bond round to the light and unwound the 
flex from his wrists. Then he stood quickly aside, and 
the knife was back in his right hand. 

'Vite.' 

Bond stood chafing his swollen wrists and debating 
with himself how much time he could waste by resisting. 
He only delayed an instant. With a swift step and a 
downward sweep of his free hand, the thin man seized 
the collar of his dinner jacket and dragged it down, 
pinning Bond's arms back. Bond made the traditional 
counter to this old policeman's hold by dropping down 
on one knee; but as he dropped the thin man dropped 
with him and at the same time brought his knife round 
and down behind Bond's back. Bond felt the back of 
the blade pass down his spine. There was the hiss of a 
sharp knife through cloth and his arms were suddenly 
free as the two halves of his coat fell forward. 

He cursed and stood up. The thin man was back in his 
previous position, his knife again at the ready in his 
relaxed hand. Bond let the two halves of his dinner 
jacket fall off his arms on to the floor. 

'Allez,' said the thin man with a faint trace of im- 
patience. 

Bond looked him in the eye and then slowly started to 
take off his shirt. 

Le Chiffre came quietly back into the room. He 
carried a pot of what smelt like coffee. He put it on the 
small table near the window. He also placed beside it on 
the table two other homely objects, a three-foot-long 
carpet-beater in twisted cane and a carving-knife. 

He settled himself comfortably on the thronelike 
chair and poured some of the coffee into one of the 
glasses. With one foot he hooked forward the small 
armchair, whose seat was now an empty circular frame 
of wood, until it was directly opposite him. 

Bond stood stark naked in the middle , of the room, 
bruises showing livid on his white body, his face a grey 
mask of exhaustion and knowledge of what was to 
come. 

'Sit down there.' Le Chiffre nodded at the chair in 
front of him. 

Bond walked over and sat down. 

The thin man produced some flex. With this he bound 
Bond's wrists to the arms of the chair and his ankles to 
the front legs. He passed a double strand across his 
chest, under the arrnpits and through the chair-back. He 
made no mistakes with the knots and left no play in any 
of the bindings. All of them bit sharply into Bond's 
flesh. The legs of the chair were broadly spaced and 
Bond could not even rock it. 

He was utterly a prisoner, naked and defenceless. 

His buttocks and the underpart of his body protruded 
through the seat of the chair towards the floor. 

Le Chiffre nodded to the thin man, who quietly left 
the room and closed the door. 

There was a packet of Gauloises on the table and a 
lighter. Le Chiffre lit a cigarette and\ 
mouthful of coffee from the glass. Then \ 
the cahe carpet-beater and, resting the h 
fortably on his knee, allowed the flat trefoilX ^ ne 
on the floor directly under Bond's chair. \ ^ 

He looked Bond carefully, almost caressingly in the 
eyes. Then his wrist sprang suddenly upwards on his 
knee. 

The result was startling. 

Bond's whole body arched in an involuntary spasm. 
His face contracted in a soundless scream, and his lips 
drew right away from his teeth. At the same time his 
head flew back with a jerk showing the taut sinews of 
his neck. For an instant, muscles stood out in knots all 
over his body, and his toes and fingers clenched until 
they were quite white. Then his body sagged, and per- 
spiration started to bead all over his skin. He uttered a 
deep groan. — 

Le Chiffre Waited for his eyes to open. 

'You see, dear boy?' He smiled a soft, fat smile. 'Is 
the position quite clear now? ' 

A drop of sweat fell off Bond's chin on to his naked 
chest. 

'Now let us get down to business and see how soon we 
can be finished with this unfortunate mess you have got 
yourself into.' He puffed cheerfully at his cigarette and 
gave an admonitory tap on the floor beneath Bond's 
chair with his horrible and incongruous instrument. 

'My dear boy' — Le Chiffre spoke like a father — 'the 
game of Red Indians is over, quite over. You have 
stumbled by mischance into a game for grown-ups, and 
you have already found it a painful experience. You are 
not equipped, my dear boy, to play games with adults; 
and it was very foolish of your nanny in London to have 
sent you out here with your spade and bucket. Very 
foolish indeed, and most unfortunate for you. 

'But we must stop joking, my dear fellow, although I 
am sure you would like to follow me in developing this 
cautionary tale'. 
He dropped his bantering tone and looked 
at Bond sharply and venomously. 
'Where is the money? ' 

Bond's bloodshot eyes looked emptily back at him. 

Again the upward jerk of the wrist, and again Bond's 
whole body writhed and contorted. 

Le Chiffre waited until the tortured heart eased down 
its laboured pumping and until Bond's eyes dully 
opened again. 

'Perhaps I should explain,' said Le Chiffre. 'I intend 
to continue attacking the sensitive parts of your body 
until you answer my question. I am without mercy, and 
there will be no relenting. There is no one to stage a last- 
minute rescue, and there is no possibility of escape for 
you. This is not a romantic adventure story in which the 
villain is finally routed and the hero is given a medal and 
marries the girl. Unfortunately these things don't 
happen in real life. If you continue to be obstinate, you 
will be tortured to the edge of madness, and then the girl 
will be brought in and we will set about her in front of 
you. If that is still not enough, you will both be pain- 
fully killed, and I shall reluctantly leave your bodies and 
make my way abroad to a comfortable house which is 
waiting for me. There I shall take up a useful and 
profitable career and live to a' ripe and peaceful old age 
in the bosom of the family I shall doubtless create. So 
you see, my dear boy, that I stand to lose nothing. If 
you hand the money over, so much the better. If not, I 
shall shrug my shoulders and be on my way. ' 

He paused, and his wrist lifted slightly on his knee. 
Bond's flesh cringed as the cane surface just touched 
him. 

'But you, my dear fellow, can only hope that I shall 
spare you further pain and spare your life. There is no 
other hope for you but that. Absolutely none. 

'Well?' 

Bond closed his eyes and waited for the pain. He 
knew that the beginning of torture is the worst. There is 
a parabola of agony. A crescendo leading up to a peak, 
and then the nerves are blunted and react progressively 
less until unconsciousness and death. All he could do 
was to pray for the peak, pray that his spirit would hold 
out so long and then accept the long free-wheel down to 
the final blackout. 

He had been told by colleagues who had survived tor- 
ture by the Germans and the Japanese that towards the 
end there came a wonderful period of warmth and 
languor leading into a sort of sexual twilight where pain 
turned to pleasure and where hatred and fear of the tor- 
tures turned to a masochistic infatuation. It was the 
. supreme test of will, he had learnt, to avoid showing this 
form of punch-drunkenness. Directly it was suspected 
they would either kill you at once and save themselves 
N further useless effort, or let you recover sufficiently for 
your nerves to creep back to the other side of the 
parabola. Then they would start again. 

He opened his eyes a fraction. 

Le Chiffre had been waiting for this, and like a rattle- 
snake the cane instrument leapt up from the floor. It 
struck again and again so that Bond screamed and his 
body jangled in the chair like a marionette. 

Le Chiffre desisted only when Bond's tortured 
spasms showed a trace of sluggishness. He sat for a 
while sipping his coffee and frowning slightly like a 
surgeon watching a cardiograph during a difficult 
operation. 

When Bond's eyes flickered and opened he addressed 
him again, but now with a trace of impatience. 

'We know that the money is somewhere in your 
room,' he said. 'You drew a cheque to cash for forty 
million francs, and I know that you went back to the 
hotel to hide it.' 

For a moment Bond wondered how he had been so 
certain. 

'Directly you left for the night club,' continued Le 
Chiffre, 'your room was searched by four of my 
people.' 

The Muntzes must have helped, reflected Bond. 

'We found a good deal in childish hiding-places. The 
ball-cock in the lavatory yielded an interesting little 
code-book, -and we found some more of your papers 
taped to the back of a drawer. All the furniture has been 
taken to pieces, and your clothes and the curtains and 
bedclothes have been cut up. Every inch of the room has 
been searched, and all the fittings removed. It is most 
unfortunate for you that we didn't find the cheque. If 
we had, you would now be comfortably in bed, perhaps 
with the beautiful Miss Lynd, instead of this.' He lashed 
upwards. 

Through the red mist of pain, Bond thought of 
Vesper. He could imagine how she was being used by 
the two gunmen. They would be making the most of her 
before she was sent for by Le Chiffre. He thought of the 
fat wet lips of the Corsican and the slow cruelty of the 
thin man. Poor wretch to have been dragged into this. 
Poor little beast. 

Le Chiffre was talking again. 

'Torture is a terrible thing,' he was saying as he 
puffed at a fresh cigarette, 'but it is a simple matter for 
the torturer, particularly when the patient' — he smiled 
at the word — 'is a man. You see, my dear Bond, with a 
man it is quite unnecessary to indulge in refinements. 
With this simple instrument, or with almost any other 
object, one can cause a man as much pain as is possible 
or necessary. Do not believe what you read in novels or 
books about the war. There is nothing worse. It is not 
only the immediate agony, but also the thought that 
your manhood is being gradually destroyed and that at 
the end, if you will not yield, you will no longer be a 
man. 

'That, my dear Bond, is a sad and terrible thought — a 
long chain of agony for the body and also for the mind, 
and then the final screaming moment when you will beg 
me to kill you. All that is inevitable unless you tell me 
where you hid the money. ' 

He poured some more coffee into the glass and drank 
it down, leaving brown corners to his mouth. 

Bond's lips were writhing. He was trying to say 
something. At last he got the word out in a harsh croak: 
'Drink,' he said and his tongue came out and swilled 
across his dry lips. . 

'Of course, my dear boy, how thoughtless of me!' Le 
Chiffre poured some coffee into the other glass. There 
was a ring of sweat drops on the floor all around Bond's 
chair. v 

'We must certainly keep your tongue lubricated.' 

He laid the handle of the carpet-beater down on the 
floor between his thick legs and rose from his chair. He 
went behind Bond and taking a handful of his soaking 
hair in one hand, he wrenched Bond's, head sharply 
back. He poured the coffee down Bond's throat in small 
mouthfuls so that he would not choke. Then he released 
his head so that it fell forward again on his chest. He 
went back to his chair and picked up the carpet-beater. 

Bond raised his head and spoke thickly. 

'Money no good to you.' His voice was a laborious 
croak. 'Police trace it to you.' 

Exhausted by the effort, his head sank forward again. 
He was a little, but only a little, exaggerating the extent 
of his physical collapse. Anything to gain time, aind 
anything to defer the next searing pain. 

'Ah, my dear fellow, I had forgotten to tell you.' Le 
Chiffre smiled wolfishly. 'We met after our little game 
at the Casino, and you were such a sportsman that you 
agreed we would have one more run through the pack 
between the two of us. It was a gallant gesture. Typical 
of an English gentleman. 

'Unfortunately you lost, and this upset you so much 
that you decided to leave Royale immediately for an 
unknown destination. Like the gentleman you are, you 
very kindly gave me a note explaining the circumstances 
so that I would have no difficulty in cashing your 
cheque. You see, dear boy, everything has been thought 
of, and you need have no fears on my account.' He 
chuckled fatly. 

'Now shall we continue? I have all the time in the 
world, and truth to tell I am rather interested to see how 
long a man can stand this particular form of — er — en- 
couragement.' He rattled the harsh cane on the floor. 

So that was the score, thought Bond, with a final 
sinking of the heart. The 'unknown destination' would 
be under the ground or under the sea, or perhaps, more 
simple, under the crashed Bentley. Well, if he had to die 
anyway, he might as well try it the hard way. He had no 
hope that Mathis or Leiter would get to him in time, but 
at least there was a chance that they would catch up with 
Le Chiffre before he could get away. It must be getting 
on for seven. The car might have been found by now. It 
was a choice of evils; but the longer Le Chiffre con- 
tinued the torture the more likely he would be revenged. 

Bond lifted his head and looked Le Chiffre in the 
eyes. 

The china of the whites was now veined with red. It 
was like looking at two black currants poached in 
blood. The rest of the wide face was yellowish except 
where a thick black stubble covered the moist skin. The 
upward edges of black coffee at the corners of the 
mouth gave his expression a false smile and the whole 
face was faintly striped by the light through the Venetian 
blinds. ', 

'No,' he said flatly, '. . . you.' 

Le Chiffre grunted and set to work again with savage 
fury. Occasionally he snarled like a wild beast. 
After ten minutes Bond had fainted, blessedly, 
Le Chiffre at once stopped. He wiped some sweat 
from his face with a circular motion of his disengaged 
hand. Then he looked at his watch and seemed to make 
up his mind. • 

He got up and stood behind the inert, dripping body. 
There was no colour in Bond's face or anywhere on his 
body above the waist. There was a faint flutter of his 
skin above the heart. Otherwise he might have been 
dead. 

Le Chiffre seized Bond's ears and harshly twisted 
them. Then he leant forward and slapped his cheeks 
hard several times. Bond's head rolled from side to side 
with each blow. Slowly his breathing became deeper. An 
animal groan came from his lolling mouth. , 

Le Chiffre took a glass of coffee and poured some 
into Bond's mouth and threw the rest in his face. Bond's 
eyes slowly opened. 

Le Chiffre returned to his chair and waited. He lit a 
cigarette and contemplated the spattered pool of blood 
on the floor beneath the inert body opposite. 

Bond groaned again pitifully. It was an inhuman 
sound. His eyes opened wide, and he gazed dully at his 
torturer. . .„ 

Le Chiffre spoke. 

'That is all, Bond. We will now finish with you. You 
understand? Not kill you, but finish with you. And then 
we will have in the girl and see if something can be got 
out of the remains of the two of you.' . 

He reached towards the table. 

'Say goodbye to it, Bond.' 

It was extraordinary to hear the third voice. The 
hour's ritual had only demanded a duologue against the 
horrible noise of the torture. Bond's dimmed senses 
hardly took it in. Then suddenly he was halfway back to 
consciousness. He found he could see and hear again. 
He could hear the dead silence after the one quiet word 
from the doorway. He could see Le Chiffre's head 
slowly come up and the expression of blank astonish- 
ment, of innocent amazement, slowly give way to fear. 

'Shtop,' had said the voice, quietly. 

Bond heard slow steps approaching behind his chair. 

'Dhrop it,' said the voice. 

Bond saw Le Chiffre's hand open obediently and the 
knife fall with a clatter to the floor. 

He tried desperately to read into Le Chiffre's face 
what was happening behind him, but all he saw was 
blind incomprehension and terror. Le Chiffre's mouth 
worked, but only a high-pitched 'eek' came from it. His 
heavy cheeks trembled as he tried to collect enough 
saliva in his mouth to say something, ask something. 
His hands fluttered vaguely in his lap. One of them 
made a slight movement towards his pocket, but in- 
stantly fell back. His round staring eyes had lowered for 
a split second, and Bond guessed there was a gun trained 
on him. 

There was a moment's silence. 

'Smersh.' 

The word came almost with a sigh. It came with a 
downward cadence as if nothing else had to be said. It 
was the final explanation. The last word of all. 

'No,' said Le Chiffre. 'No. I . . .' His voice trailed 
off. 

Perhaps he was going to explain, to apologize, but 
what he must have seen in the other's face made it all 
useless. 

'Your two men. Both dead. You are a fool and a thief 
and a traitor. I have been sent from the Soviet Union to 
eliminate you. You are fortunate that I have only time 
to shoot you. If it was possible, I was instructed that 
you should die most painfully. We cannot see the end of 
the trouble you have caused.' 

The thick voice stopped. There was silence in the 
room save for the rasping breath of Le Chiffre. 

Somewhere outside, a bird began to sing and there 
were other small noises from the awakening coun- 
tryside. The sweat on Le Chiffre's face glistened 
brightly. 

'Do you plead guilty? ' 

Bond wrestled with his consciousness. He screwed up 
his eyes and tried to shake his head to clear it; but his 
whole nervous system was numbed, and no message 
was transmitted to his muscles. He could just keep his 
focus on the great pale face in front of him and on its 
bulging eyes. 

A thin string of saliva crept from the open mouth and 
hung down from the chin. 

'Yes,' said the mouth. . . . 

There was a sharp phut, no louder than a bubble of 
air escaping from a tube of toothpaste. No other noise 
at all, and suddenly Le Chiffre had grown another eye, 
a third eye on a level with the other two, right where the 
thick nose started to jut out below the forehead. It was a 
small black eye, without eyelashes or eyebrows. 

For a second the three eyes looked out across the 
room, and then the whole face seemed to slip and go 
down on one knee. The two outer eyes turned trembling 
up towards the ceiling. Then the heavy head fell 
sideways and the right shoulder and finally the whole 
upper part of the body lurched over the arm of the chair 
as if Le Chiffre were going to be sick. But there was only 
a short rattle of his heels on the ground, and then no 
other movement. 

The tall back of the chair looked impassively out 
across the dead body in its arms. 

There was a faint movement behind Bond. A hand 
came from behind and grasped his chin and pulled it 
back. 

For a moment Bond looked up into two glittering eyes 
behind a narrow black mask. There was the impression 
of a craglike face under a hatbrim, the collar of a fawn 
mackintosh. He could take in nothing more before his 
head was pushed down again. 

'You are fortunate,' said the voice. 'I have no orders 
to kill you. Your life has been saved twice in one day. 
But you can tell your organization that SMERSH is only 
merciful by chance or by mistake. In your case you were 
saved first by chance and now by mistake, for I should 
have had orders to kill any foreign spies who were 
hanging around this traitor like flies round a dog's- 
mess. 

'But I shall leave you my visiting card. You are a gam- 
bler. You play at cards. One day perhaps you will play 
against one of us. It would be well that you should be 
known as a spy.' 

Steps moved round to behind Bond's right shoulder. 

There was the click of a knife opening. An arm in some 
grey material came into Bond's line of vision. A broad 
hairy hand emerging from a dirty white shirt-cuff was 
holding a thin stiletto like a fountain-pen. It poised for a 
moment above the back of Bond's right hand, im- 
movably bound with flex to the arm of the chair. The 
point of the stiletto executed three quick straight 
slashes. A fourth slash crossed them where they ended, 
just short of the knuckles. Blood in the shape of an in- 
verted 'M' welled out and slowly started to drip on to 
the floor. 

The pain was nothing to what Bond was already suf- 
fering, but it was enough to plunge him again into un- 
consciousness. 

The steps moved quietly away across the room. The 
door was softly closed. 

In the silence, the cheerful small sounds of the sum- 
mer's day crept through the closed window. High on the 
left-hand wall hung two small patches of pink light. They 
were reflections cast upwards from the floor by the 
zebra stripes of June sunshine, cast upwards from two 
separate pools of blood a few feet apart. 

As the day progressed the pink patches marched 
slowly along the wall. And slowly they grew larger. 

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  • 5 months later...

OK.  I don't understand the criteria for how those 9 got picked, and I haven't seen them all nor heard all those scores, but out of the ones I have

 

Film - Dr No, Goldeneye, Casino Royale
Score - Casino Royale, The Living Daylights, OHMSS
 

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If I could chose from all 24 films

 

Film - Goldeneye, Tomorrow Never Dies, Casino Royale, 

 

Scores - Tomorrow Never Dies, The World Is Not Enough, Casino Royale

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18 hours ago, TheUlyssesian said:

Lol this was just a random twitter meme trending that I picked up.

 

There have been all sorts of these were people were given 9 things and asked to save 3 to essentially take with them into quarantine or something.

 

Films- On Her Majesty's Secret Service, The Living Daylights and for fun, A View to A Kill

 

Score- OHMSS, Goldfinger and You Only Live Twice

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On 4/16/2020 at 4:27 PM, Naïve Old Fart said:

YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE has, probably, the greatest shot ever, in a Bond film: the astonishing aerial shot of the rooftop fight, at Kobe docks.

 

Its an incredible tracking shot that any modern filmmaker would be jealous of for sure.

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On 4/16/2020 at 7:53 PM, Jay said:

I was flipping around on Pluto the other night and You Only LIve Twice was on and um... some of that Japanese stuff was kinda.... not what they would do now

 

That's because people back then weren't trained yet to display preemptive submission out of fear of being shunned by the public thought police. 

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On 4/18/2020 at 4:33 PM, gkgyver said:

That's because people back then weren't trained yet to display preemptive submission out of fear of being shunned by the public thought police. 

 

Yeah! Whatever happened to good old fashioned racism, am I right?

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  • 8 months later...
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