Jottings - Slice of life - 428 ( Ian Fleming’s Bond, and a tribute to Sean Connery)

It is ironic that Ian Fleming, the creator of the James Bond series, never intended his protagonist to be the dashing, debonair looking spy he eventually became. It is just one of those quirks of literary history that the character eventually metamorphosed into one. Fleming’s intention was to create a dull, uninteresting spy to whom things always “happened” — a blunt instrument of fate — as Fleming told a reporter in 1953. In fact, he chose to name the British spy James Bond because Fleming felt the name had a boring, lackluster, and almost flat ring to it. As a boy, Fleming was an avid bird watcher, and one of his favorite books was “The birds of the West Indies” by an American ornithologist named James Bond - a lackadaisical academic name ( at least that’s how the name sounded to Ian Fleming) and christened his hero with it. Fleming was a member of the British Naval intelligence and a wartime journalist during the second world war, and therefore he knew firsthand the intrigues of war and the role of spying. When he switched to writing full time, he used his prodigious knowledge of intelligence services to create the fictional world of James Bond.

Fleming openly admitted that his books had no social significance whatsoever, apart from the racy style of the narrative, the sex and violence, and of course, the good read it allowed the reader to indulge in. The books themselves were bestsellers, and continue to be, even though the cinematic adaptations are far more popular. Ian Fleming wrote the Bond novels just at the right time. For a world that had just emerged from the second world war, Bond’s adventures and escapades provided the emotional release and physical kick it so desperately needed. Fleming would go on to write twelve full-length novels, all but two about Bond, and two short story collections. He was working on the thirteenth Bond novel when he met his untimely death on August 13th, 1964. The first Bond movie, an adaptation of Dr. No, his seventh Bond novel, would come out in 1962, and since then all the books have become movies, and many more new screenplays based on Fleming’s original idea adorned the screen. So far twenty-four bond movies have been made and still counting. One wonders what would have happened to Bond, if the Fleming’s British Spy had remained only a character on the pages of a book, and not transformed into a hero for the silver screen. Could the name James Bond have survived more than half a century without the mesmerizing productions for cinema? Are the Bond movies faithful reflections of Fleming’s imagination? And finally, which is better: the books or the movies? These are merely rhetorical questions. There cannot be definitive answers. Bu given a choice between reading a Bond novel and watching an adaptation, the modern generation is likely to choose to later. Rightly so, the success of the Bond movies are striking examples of how Cinema can lift, embellish, extend and transform a literary character into a larger than life figure, and in the process achieve an image of mythical proportions that has the capacity to consummate the desires and aspirations of people across the globe. The image of James Bond is, in short, a universal myth, perhaps one of the truly global ones in the modern world.

Ian Fleming was furious with his producers on their choice of actor for the first James Bond adaptation. He called Sean Connery “That fucking truck driver” indicating Connery’s low Scottish origin and upbringing, an anathema to Fleming’s own high-browed education at Eton and Sandhurst. To be honest, Sean Connery had no real credentials as an actor either, except a few roles in movies, that didn’t quite make a mark. Yet the producers Albert Broccoli and Harry Saltzman went ahead and cast him in Dr. No. The rest is history. The introduction scene of Sean Connery with a cigarette in his hand, playing bridge, with the camera focussing on his long fingers deftly dealing out cards, and then slowly inching towards his face for the famous introduction “ Bond, James Bond” — did it all. At that moment, Sean Connery incarnated himself as Fleming’s bond, and remained for one for six more Bond films — the last one was “Never say Never again” in 1983. Four more actors have played the role of James bond, but it is the unanimous opinion of viewers worldwide that none reached the level of sophistication and finesse Sean Connery brought to the role.

Sean Connery epitomized James Bond beyond the wildest imagination in Fleming’s books - A six-foot lean body, a straight back, prominent masculine jaws, a manly gait that was swift, easy, firm and purposeful; a pair of eyes that can at a moment’s notice reflect passion, suspicion, naughtiness and resolve, a voice that was deeply baritone and chiseled by the purest British diction, and a delectable kisser ( Roger Moore may have slightly better at it) on screen. Sean Connery as James bond was everything a male fantasized himself to be - the best of all the girls, gadgets, and unlimited power. By the fourth Bond film, “Thunderball" Sean was beginning to feel the monotony of the role. The usual flair was missing, and there was a look of tiredness in his eyes. After all, Playing Bond is essentially doing the same thing in different ways. The scope for improvisation and experimentation is non-existent. A good actor is bound to get tired. So did Sean. However, the Bond movies had given Sean the necessary pedestal, and in the eighties, he switched gears essaying some of the finest performances in movies such as “ the untouchables”, “The name of the rose”, “ Indiana Jones” and the “The Hunt for Red October”. By this time, Sean Connery had changed his persona completely, and the Bond phase of his life was behind him.

My two favorite movies from his later years are “Entrapment” with the beautiful and young Catherina Zeta jones, and “the Rock” with Nicolas Cage. In Entrapment, he played mentor to a young girl teaching her how to rob. Shot in the wind washed and misty embankments of Scotland, the movie brought out mature chemistry between an aging Sean and an attractive female protege struggling to keep their passions under control and focus on the job. Both Catherina and Sean spoke mostly through their eyes, and it was beautiful to behold. The Rock, on the other hand, was a homage, a tribute to an icon, and a vindication of his undying charisma and myth-making power even at the age of seventy.

Sean Connery is no more. Ninety years is a long life and in his case a very satisfying one. I deliberately refrained from writing about his personal life, his marriages, and accounts of alleged wife abuse. To me, he was a great charismatic actor who delivered some magnificent acting performance in a long career, and that is exactly what I will cherish, and nothing else. Everyone has skeletons in their closet, and I am sure Sean Connery had his too. His family has remained in his death, and so should we. I watched Dr. No again yesterday night, after listening to the Biden speech. At this distance, the movie seems a little immature and cliched; but that is always the case with art viewed in retrospect. Our perspective changes, and so does our appreciation of things around. When the movie ended, I switched off the television and sent a thought of gratitude to the man, the actor, who helped create a hero for the modern age. Ian Fleming may have written the plot, and conceived James Bond; it was Sean Connery, however, who breathed the first breath of life into the character. For that alone, if not anything else, we remain grateful and appreciative.

God bless…

yours in mortality,

Bala