I was, in any case, hooked, for a long time secretly thinking Roger Moore was the best Bond, a fact which would have dismayed my Dad who properly held out for the more spartan virtues of Sean Connery, and my Mum, who would sometimes make an impassioned, slightly flushed argument for the missed opportunity that was George Lazenby.Īnyhow, with some of this in mind, I went along to the Odeon Leicester Square on Friday night for the first screening of the new Bond, the Daniel Craig Bond. I had nightmares for a while about Christopher Lee's Scaramanga, and recall trying to join in with playground discussions about the voluptuous merits of Britt Eklund's Mary Goodnight in relation to Pussy Galore, a name whose reference was possibly still beyond me. My first on its proper release, not long after, was The Man with The Golden Gun, complete with Lulu's soundtrack. I'd have been eight, and the most dramatic big screen extravanganza I'd seen previously was Swiss Family Robinson, so Bond came with something of the force of revelation I went home to re-enact Sean Connery's underwater fight with Largo's men with a single rubber-suited Action Man in the bath. My first, memorably - you never forget your first - was a rerun of Thunderball at a Gaumont in Birmingham, which in my memory was in the process of being demolished. Give or take the odd Octopussy, I suppose, like all of us, I've pretty much seen them all.
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