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Bond v Jinx; Is 007 a sexist dinosaur facing extinction?(News)

Sunday Mail (Glasgow, Scotland) November 24, 2002 After 40 years Bond still rules as the ultimate action man. But is the witty, sexist and murderous 007 still relevant in 2002. Or should he hang up his Walther PPK and make way for a new hero in the shape of Die Another Day’s Jinx, played by beautiful Halle Berry. NICK MILLER, who has scripted Bond for radio, and leading Scots writer JEAN RAFFERTY argue whether our favourite secret agent should be allowed to Live Another Day NICK’S VERDICT MARLOWE, Morse, Maigret and Mouse (Danger) have all been consigned to the park bench of fading memories.

All that remains of Scott from Thunderbirds is a set of decorative balus-trades in creator Sylvia Anderson’s holiday home.

Only one fictional screen icon can claim to have stood the test of passing decades.

As role models go, James Bond is peerless. go to site blocked games at school

Unlike Superman, Bond never saw the need to disguise himself beyond recognition by wearing spectacles.

Unlike Vin Diesel, that monosyllabic numbskull from xXx, Bond will still be with us long after Robbie Williams has spent his advance.

The likes of Brad Pitt, Ben Affleck and Keanu Reeves are not fit to lace his drinks. 007 can still mix it with the best of them.

Such athleticism on the ski slopes. Such prowess, abseiling down the Eiffel Tower.

Such style, swathed in rubber diving gear (probably smoking a cigar) while attempting to find the hide-out of his one-eyed, pussy-stroking nemesis.

The man consistently puts most mollycoddled, overpaid sports stars to shame.

Beckham may be able to bend it but Bond could probably fold it in half and still put a smile on Miss Moneypenny’s face.

Film interpretations such as Die Another Day owe little to the dark, sadistic puritan of Ian Fleming’s original literary creation.

Despite the sinister efforts of Blofeld, Jaws and Timothy Dalton’s hairpiece to put paid to the franchise, credit Bond for remaining at the cutting edge, controversial and hugely successful, 40 years on.

Bond is as every young man ought to want to be. He selects his cars for speed and sex appeal rather than fuel consumption and air bags.

He prefers women who make a lunge for his PPK even before the closing credits of a movie (preferably in the back of a lunar landing pod).

He dispatches tyrannical despots with a ruthless exploitation of his licence to kill without bothering to run it up Kofi Annan’s flagpole.

And he can raise a single eyebrow without the aid of cantilevered engineering.

Bond is still taking over the world when all around him are losing their nerve centres.

A role model? The fictional Bond will still be rolling models when Mick Hucknall is Simply Dead and Vin Diesel reverts to the contaminated wine list.

He’s still the only Moss Bros customer who doesn’t look a complete prat in a cummerbund.

Only he remains true to a chain-smoking, crap-shooting, halcyon era for womanising – the memory of which should cause us men to puff our chests with pride – when STD was merely an innovation in telephone dialling.

I rest my case.

JEAN’S VERDICT THEY say men reach their sexual peak at 18 and it’s all downhill after that.

James Bond reached his peak nearly 40 years ago. And he isn’t improving with age.

From the moment Judi Dench, as the first female M, told him: “You’re a sexist, misogynist dinosaur,” Bond was doomed to extinction.

His cavalier attitude to women looks so out of place in our politically- correct times that the film-makers have to surround him with ever more gadgets to distract us.

In 1999, there were 150 special effects scenes in The World Is Not Enough. In Die Another Day it was 600.

No wonder Pierce Brosnan looks so worried all the time. Next thing they will be replacing him with a woman.

Halle Berry has been so successful as CIA agent Jinx that she may be given her own series as a female James Bond.

Bond’s real heyday was the mid-1960s, that fantasy time for men when women were always girls. They wore mini- skirts but hadn’t got round to burning their bras. see here blocked games at school

Thunderball, made in 1965, attracted the most cinemagoers for any Bond film. It did have Sean Connery, of course.

Sean was built the way all men would be if God was a woman.

Unlike Brosnan, who moves with the physical elan of someone who ducked games at school, Connery had the arrogant grace of one of those predators you see on BBC wildlife programmes.

Women loved him and men wanted to be him. Connery’s Bond was part Teflon but mostly testosterone.

Women were always his “fatal weakness” – though the fatal bit usually happened to them. Bond was the macho figure who prevented a Third World War in every picture but he couldn’t manage to keep the women around him alive.

His girlfriends often died trying to protect him. Not that he cared … he just moved smoothly on to the next one.

Connery never questioned his irresistibility to women, which was probably why it didn’t seem odd that they always succumbed to him.

But later Bonds lacked both his sexual conviction and charisma.

Our idea of a pin-up today is that daft lad Robbie Williams who can’t get over the fact everyone loves him.

Now that we’re in a new century, Bond looks increasingly like an ageing reader of Loaded magazine, always chasing women, often being slapped down by them, whether bosses, enemies or lovers.

Natalya, his lust interest in Goldeneye, asks how he can be so cold. “It’s what keeps me alive,” he says. “No,” she replies, “It’s what keeps you alone.” It won’t do, will it? Take away the cars and weapons and what are you left with?

Thank goodness we rarely see where Bond lives – he’s probably got all his CDs filed in alphabetical order.

A hero for the new millennium? 007 has had his day. Bring on Jinx.