CourierPress.com
By Mark Coomer
Daniel Craig is Bond, but not the real Bond
The prefilm flap over Daniel Craig's portrayal of a blond James Bond in "Casino Royale" has dissolved into critical hurrahs. He is the best Bond since Sean Connery, many claim.
Although I'm in favor of giving Craig his shot at the iconic character, the actor's looks would probably have concerned not only novelist Ian Fleming, but his fictional British spy as well.
That's because Fleming's Bond had a "habit of," in Bond's own words, "taking a lot of trouble over details," describing his own penchant for this as "very persnickety and old-maidish, really." He was referring to his taste in food and drink, but he may as well have enlarged the observation to include his fictional life.
That being the case, then, Ian Fleming was James Bond. His people, even secondary ones, are defined with painstaking care - their appearances, their quirks, their characters and their clothes.
In "Casino Royale," femme fatale Vesper Lynd observes of Bond: "He is very good-looking. He reminds me rather of Hoagy Carmichael, but there is something cold and ruthless ..." When Bond examines himself in a mirror, "His grey-blue eyes looked calmly back with a hint of ironical inquiry and the short lock of black hair which would never stay in place slowly subsided to form a thick comma above his right eyebrow. With the thin vertical scar down his right cheek the general effect was faintly piratical. Not much of Hoagy Carmichael there, thought Bond ..."
Therefore, Bond does not look like Carmichael, yet he and Carmichael represent a type of male appearance. To hone that category further, Fleming hoped actor David Niven (presumably sans mustache) would play Bond in the first Bond movie, a 1962 adaptation of his sixth book, "Dr. No."
I have read in reviews of "Casino Royale" that Daniel Craig, when asked by a bartender if he wants his martini shaken or stirred, replies, "Do I look like I care?" or words to that effect. The movie takes Bond back to the beginning of his career, to a time when the man is still "discovering himself" as one reviewer remarked with enthusiasm.
That is a mistake. The character patterns of people like Bond are ingrained at a much earlier stage in life. In "Casino Royale," Fleming's first novel, a fledgling Bond with only two kills to recommend his Double 0 status, is already as "old-maidish" in terms of his personal tastes, if not in his affectations, as any bachelor since Felix Unger.
"A dry martini," orders Bond, "One. In a deep champagne goblet." Then, "Just a moment. Three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shake it very well until it's ice-cold, then add a large thin slice of lemon-peel. Got it?" He sips the product, then says to the barman, "Excellent. But if you can get a vodka made with grain instead of potatoes, you will find it still better."
Persnickety.
Bond smokes too much, 3½ packs a day. But even here he demands customized cigarettes, a "Balkan and Turkish mixture made for him by Morlands of Grosvenor Street," with "a triple gold band," that he carries fifty at a time in a "flat, light gun-metal box." These he lights with a "black oxidized Ronson."
Old-maidish.
When you enter the pages of Fleming's novels, you enter a world layered with detail.
To Craig I say: Good luck, Mr. Bond. You will need as much of it as your predecessors. Capturing England's legendary secret agent is a tough assignment.
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