| The Outside World |

February, 2007

License to Mysogynize: The Emotional and Cultural Evolution of James Bond
CULTURE by Kate Grace

The look of shock and personal offense on the Welshman's face quickly turned to determination. In his opinion, my total lack of interest in Casino Royale or the James Bond cinematic empire was completely unacceptable. My apathy could only be cured by experiencing Bond, and since the Welshman was confident what I had needed to be cured, he was propelled to the local video store.

I listened to his intellectual dissection of James Bond's cultural relevance and unquestionable influence over the male gender as he fingered through the shelf of DVDs. After much consideration, he settled on Goldfinger, one of Sean Connery's best films as Bond, in the Welshman's humble opinion.

My look of bored trepidation went unnoticed. "I promise," he said. "By the end of it your seat will be wet."
"Yeah," I said, unconvinced. "I'm going to need liquor."

Shortly after, we each sat down with Vesper martinis (Bond's drink of choice in Casino Royale) ready to watch the movie. Through the beginning sequence of explosions, drinks and women, the Welshman occasionally laughed, clapped or spouted out phrases such as "That is SO Bond!"

In a scene early in the film, poolside Bond (Connery) slaps a woman on the ass instead of asking her to leave. She giggled, bounced and exited stage left.

The Welshman clapped as I took a sip of my drink and rolled my eyes. "You probably would have slapped him," said the Welshman, sitting next to me on the couch. Unsure of whether he meant that as an insult or compliment, I took another swig. "Well," I said. "My reputation precedes me."

By the end of the flick, the Welshman had confessed he learned everything he knows about women from watching Bond movies-the way he interacts with every female has been, in some way, inspired by Bond.

The misogynistic hero who fears neither death nor danger was the creative result of author Ian Fleming's midlife crisis in 1953 after knocking up his mistress, Lady Anne Rothermore, and being forced out of his life as a British bachelor and into matrimonial "bliss" at age 43. According to the international man of mystery's creator, "Men want a woman whom they can turn on and off like a light switch." (Wow, Mrs. Fleming was a lucky lady!)

His first novel "Casino Royale," the basis for the latest cinematic installment, introduces Bond as he achieves OO7 status. There's sharp wit, there's explosions, but mostly there's Vesper Lynd, the original Bond Girl.

They fall in love-a far cry from the Bond Girls or one night stands movie viewers have come to know. She breaks his heart and betrays his trust and Bond vows to never do either again, thus being justified in his treatment of women.

As the first of 12 novels featuring James Bond, this heartbreak chronologically makes sense, but the film version of Casino Royale and its explanation of our hero's treatment of women is over 40 years past due. Dr. No (1962), the first Bond film, featured Sean Connery kicking/slapping ass and taking names, sans heartbreak.

Why then, in 2006, do movie producers feel the need to open old wounds and technically go back to the beginning (although Casino Royale is set in present day) to debunk Bond's reputation as a killing and love-making machine? Because women buy movie tickets too, and in this post women's lib world, that shit don't fly. Slap an ass now and you run the risk of either getting slapped, or slapped with a sexual harassment suit.

According to the Welshman, Hollywood tried to modernize the Bond Girl with Halle Berry in Die Another Day, but "the entire format died." There couldn't be a strong, independent woman behind Bond, or else what would young men have to aspire to or fantasize about? Apparently Bond needs to be a misogynist in order to garner respect from the male demographic.

"He's the ultimate alpha-male," explained the Welshman over drinks one evening. I was probing him about his (and many others') obsession with Bond. "He's every guy's fantasy. He travels to exotic places, he serves queen and country-the fact that he can do all of that and still get laid is great!" Bond exudes confidence and total control-control over death, danger and women-and according to the Welshman, that's what every man fantasizes for himself. "Bond epitomizes man's primal instinct to fuck and kill."

I asked him about the development of Bond's broken heart in an effort to contradict his belief that Bond was above love. "People needed the explanation," he explained, shrugging off the argument. "Men didn't need it, but women did. Now Bond has a license to mysogynize."

I fought the urge to burn my bra and took a sip of my drink instead. This is a guy who holds doors open for me and I'm pretty sure would be the first to challenge another man to a dual to protect a woman's honor. (They still dual in Britain, right? Even if they don't, I'm sure Wales hasn't gotten that memo yet.) I couldn't decipher where the Bond-like act started and stopped in the Welshman. I've only ever seen him treat women with respect, yet here he was telling how he once got a girl to go home with him by using a modified line from Thunderball (1965).

"Although women purport to want to be independent, at the end of the day they just want to be railed," he said. "They want to lose control, and it's our duty [as men] to give them what they want. It's his [Bond's] selfless duty."

Had any other guy said those very words to me, I may have reached over the table and slapped him. But there was just something about that British accent of his that made me want to giggle, bounce and exit stage left. There's just something about that accent, but the trance I had fallen under was broken shortly after.

Walking out of the bar, I joked about how many illegitimate children Bond would have in real life, but he didn't laugh. "No, he always uses protection," he said. "Or he just comes on their face." I stopped. Gave a forced chuckle communicating my disapproval, and continued forward with my usual hipful swagger lacking bounce.

Besides, Fleming's mistress eventually got the wedding she wanted and, when Fleming died on August 12, 1964 (just 11 years after their wedding), inherited his and his deceased mother's fortunes.

In my humble opinion, THAT is SO Bond.