On Her Majestys Secret Service
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Broccoli and Hunt eventually chose Lazenby after seeing him in a Fry's Chocolate Cream advertisement.[17] Lazenby dressed the part by sporting several sartorial Bond elements such as a Rolex Submariner wristwatch and a Savile Row suit (ordered for, but uncollected by, Connery), and going to Connery's barber at the Dorchester Hotel.[18] Broccoli noticed Lazenby as a Bond-type man based on his physique and character elements, and offered him an audition. The position was consolidated when Lazenby accidentally punched a professional wrestler, who was acting as stunt coordinator, in the face, impressing Broccoli with his ability to display aggression.[13] Lazenby was offered a contract for seven films; however, he was convinced by his agent Ronan O'Rahilly that the secret agent would be archaic in the liberated 1970s, and as a result he left the series after the release of On Her Majesty's Secret Service in 1969.[17]
There's also the odd fact that the one movie where Bond ends up getting married happens to be the same where he acts the most promiscuous. Perhaps the filmmakers should have avoided showing him blatantly admiring (and even stealing) a Playboy centerfold from the very man whose office he's secretly broken into (if there's an object whose absence could make the guy suspicious, that would probably be it). I also don't think it was the best idea to have him sleeping with as many of the clinic's beauties as he humanly can during his courtship of Tracy. This makes him look like a creep and hints at the fact that he wouldn't have made a very good husband.
Finally in the 1980s the tide turns and MI6 land their most important KGB double-agent of the Cold War. Oleg Gordievsky is working at the Soviet Embassy in London, but is secretly meeting MI6 officer John Scarlett to divulge Russian intelligence. Gordievsky recalls how close the world came to nuclear war in 1983 when the Soviets mistook a NATO exercise for a real attack.
Despite Lazenby's efforts to portray James Bond, he would not reprise the role in Diamonds Are Forever. His agent convinced him that the tuxedo-clad secret agent would be archaic in the sexually liberated 1970s. He was offered a seven-film contract, he had signed a letter of intent to star in Diamonds Are Forever, and was even paid an initial installment of his fee (which he refunded).
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On Her Majesty's Secret Service has the predictable sexist and even racist jokes. Having black model Sylvana Henriques eat a banana scores on both counts. But it backs off on the series' Cold War BS that pretended that England is the sane mediator between Russia and the U.S., and that its secret service still maintains a long-lost Empire. "M" and Draco exchange small talk about past 'adventures', which makes us wonder where Bond's boss draws the line. If he'll associate with a pesky gangster despot, what about the inexhaustible supply of mad genius terrorists threatening the world with stolen atom bombs? OHMSS manages to make Bond's struggle personal again -- we even accept Blofeld and Bundt bouncing back for vengeance, like Bonnie & Clyde. Although few 1969 viewers felt that the film's final downbeat scene was particularly deep or resonant, it was different. I'm sure that if George Lazenby hadn't gotten completely out of hand, he'd have made a very good Bond for another picture or two, at least. Instead we got Connery holding on to his toupee for a fast payday, followed by fifteen years of Roger Moore's Mack Sennett 007. Moore's lukewarm David Niven imitation probably made the most money for Danjaq, slogging along in a set pattern. Then the general run of action movies -- in particular, Die Hard -- started beating 007 at his own game.
'Position your hands behind your neck.' The silky, patient voice wasfrom the south, from the Mediterranean. It fitted with the men'sfaces--tough-skinned, widely pored, yellow-brown. Marseillais perhaps,or Italian. The Mafia? The faces belonged to good secret police or toughcrooks. Bond's mind ticked and whirred, selecting cards like an IBMmachine. What enemies had he got in those areas? Might it be Blofeld?Had the hare turned upon the hound?
(2) I accepted the assignment with, if you will recall, reluctance. It seemed to me, and I so expressed myself at the time, that this was purely an investigatory matter which could well have been handled, using straightforward police methods, by other sections of the Service--local Stations, allied foreign secret services and Interpol. My objections were overruled, and for close on twelve months I have been engaged all over the world in routine detective work which, in the case of every scrap of rumour, every lead, has proved abortive. I have found no trace of this man nor of a revived SPECTRE, if such exists.
Of course, reflected Bond, as he nursed the long bonnet of his carthrough a built-up S-bend, he would have to rewrite a lot of it. Some ofit was a bit pompous and there were one or two cracks that would have tobe ironed out or toned down. But that was the gist of what he woulddictate to his secretary when he got back to the office the day aftertomorrow. And if she burst into tears, to hell with her! He meant it. ByGod he did. He was fed to the teeth with chasing the ghost of Blofeld.And the same went for SPECTRE. The thing had been smashed. Even a manof Blofeld's genius, in the impossible event that he still existed,could never get a machine of that calibre running again.
'Yes, indeed, Mon Commandant.' Bond received an extra two teeth in theenthusiastic smile. 'The lady is a good friend of the house. The fatheris a very big industrial from the South. She is La Comtesse Teresa diVicenzo. Monsieur must surely have read of her in the papers. Madame laComtesse is a lady--how shall I put it?'--the smile became secret,between men--'a lady, shall we say, who lives life to the full.'
It was a mere formality to turn over and reveal Bond's miserable five.But there was a groan round the table. 'Il fallait tirer,' said someone.But if he had, Bond would have drawn the nine and disimproved down to afour. It all depended on what the next card, its pink tongue now hidingits secret in the mouth of the shoe, might have been. Bond didn't waitto see. He smiled a thin, rueful smile round the table to apologize tohis fellow losers, shovelled the rest of his chips into his coat pocket,tipped the huissier who had been so busy emptying his ash-tray over thehours of play, and slipped away from the table towards the bar, whilethe croupier triumphantly announced, 'Un banco de quatre-vingt millefrancs! Faites vos jeux, messieurs! Un banco de quatre-vingt milleNouveaux Francs.' To hell with it! thought Bond. Half an hour before hehad had a small fortune in his pocket. Now, through a mixture ofromantic quixotry and sheer folly he had lost it all. Well, he shrugged,he had asked for a night to remember. That was the first half of it.What would be the second?
(How typical of Corsica, Bond thought, that their top bandit should bearthe name of an angel! He remembered that two other famous Corsicangangsters had been called 'Gracieux' and 'Toussaint'--'All-Saints'.)Marc-Ange spoke. He spoke excellent but occasionally rather clumsyEnglish, as if he had been well taught but had little occasion to usethe language. He said, 'My dear Commander, everything I am going todiscuss with you will please remain behind your Herkos Odonton. You knowthe expression? No?' The wide smile lit up his face. 'Then, if I may sayso, your education was incomplete. It is from the classical Greek. Itmeans literally "the hedge of the teeth". It was the Greek equivalent ofyour "top secret". Is that agreed?'
Bond rang his exchange on the only outside number he was allowed to use,said '007 reporting,' and was at once put through, to his secretary. Shewas a new one. Loelia Ponsonby had at last left to marry a dull, butworthy and rich member of the Baltic Exchange, and confined her contactswith her old job to rather yearning Christmas and birthday cards to themembers of the Double-O Section. But the new one, Mary Goodnight, anex-Wren with blue-black hair, blue eyes, and 37-22-35, was a honey andthere was a private five-pound sweep in the Section as to who would gether first. Bond had been lying equal favourite with the ex-Royal MarineCommando who was 006 but, since Tracy, had dropped out of the field andnow regarded himself as a rank outsider, though he still, ratherbitchily, flirted with her. Now he said to her, 'Good morning,Goodnight. What can I do for you? Is it war or peace?'
Griffon Or Pursuivant looked genuinely affronted. 'And here is a namegoing back at least to Norman le Bond in 1180! A fine old English name,though one perhaps originally of lowly origin. The Dictionary ofBritish Surnames suggests that the meaning is clearly "husbandman,peasant, churl".' Was there an edge of malice in the Griffon's wateryeye? He added with resignation, 'But, if you are not interested in yourancestry, in the womb of your family, then, my dear sir, in what can Ibe of service?'
Sable Basilisk laughed. He sat down behind his desk, pulled a filetowards him, and gestured Bond to a chair beside him. 'Well, then. Let'sget down to business. First of all'--he looked Bond very straight in theeye--'I gather, I guess that is, that this is an Intelligence matter ofsome kind. I did my national service with Intelligence in BAOR' soplease don't worry about security. Secondly, we have in this buildingprobably as many secrets as a government department--and nastier ones atthat. One of our jobs is to suggest titles to people who've beenennobled in the Honours Lists. Sometimes we're asked to establishownership to a title that has become lost or defunct. Snobbery andvanity positively sprawl through our files. Before my time, a certaingentleman who had come up from nowhere, made millions in some lightindustry or another, and had been given a peerage "for political andpublic services"--i.e., charities and the party funds--suggested that heshould take the title of Lord Bentley Royal, after the village in Essex.We explained that the word Royal could not be used except by thereigning family, but, rather naughtily I fear, we said that "LordBentley Common" was vacant.' He smiled. 'See what I mean? If that gotabout, this man would become the laughing-stock of the country. Thensometimes we have to chase up lost fortunes. So-and-so thinks he's therightful Duke of Blank and ought to have his money. His name happens tobe Blank and his ancestors migrated to America or Australia orsomewhere. So avarice and greed come to join snobbery and vanity inthese rooms. Of course,' he added, putting the record straight, 'that'sonly the submerged tenth of our job. The rest is mostly official stufffor governments and embassies--problems of precedence and protocol, theGarter ceremonies, and others. We've been doing it for around fivehundred years so I suppose it's got its place in the scheme of things.' 59ce067264
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