Oh God it’s happening agaaaaain!
Note: Today is National Margarita Day. However, Bond never drank a Margarita, and the Bonding Command Centre is devoid of tequila. Which is why this Martini has lime and salt on the brim. Time will tell whether this was a brilliant innovative tribute, or…otherwise.
Further note: It was otherwise. O_o
Our scene opens on this nubile temptress who has foolishly chosen to sunbathe directly underneath Godzilla.
Oh good, a little person who is a butler. I’m sure this situation will be treated with the delicate sensitivity these films are known for.
A wild Christopher Lee emerges from the sea. Let’s pause and enjoy the lower back and elbow hair of one of our nation’s finest actors.
He also has three nipples, which I seem to remember is supposed to indicate powers of witchcraft? If you think this is slightly bizarre, bear in mind that in the book Scaramanga’s file at MI6 clearly states that he has been identified as a closet homosexual due to the fact that he can’t whistle…
Not going to lie, I kind of lust after Scaramanga’s beach house :/
When under attack, the beach house converts automatically into…a photo lab. For some reason.
…and then a terrible ghost train. Apparently when you’ve got three nipples and can kill anyone you like, you don’t actually need rational explanations.
We’re right there with you in bafflement, Mr Cartoonishly Stereotypical Mafioso.
Just to catch you up on the plot so far, Christopher Lee is a three-nippled assassin whose midget butler with the outrrrrageous accent has hidden his golden gun in the mouth of a stuffed crow in order to add an element of challenge to his battle with a ridiculous mafia stereotype in a funhouse maze in his beach house. Well, it’s been a good run here on Bonding but I think we’re done here. Goodnight everyone.
That “waxwork” of Bond seems a bit…wobbly
In an early crossover twist, Bertie Wooster joins MI6.
…and Sergeant Wilson and Rich Uncle Pennybags are not amused.
The effortlessly suave secret agent barely loses his composure for an instant as he accidentally swallows the bullet out of a belly dancer’s belly button THIS IS A THING THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED
“I’ll be honest, 007, I’d love to offer some insight but I can’t see a thing through these damn eyebrows.”
“What do you think, Pennybags?” “I think I just caught eye herpes from looking at this blood sample. Whose is it?”
You stay classy, Hong Kong.
The club’s next door neighbours seem to be subtly indicating their disapproval…
Scaramanga and his butler board his traditional Chinese trading vessel. You might wonder why there is no luggage for Nick Nack to carry, but in fact Scaramanga’s case has already been brought aboard. You might say… …wait for it… …he has a trunk in the junk. <ahem> <very quietly high fives self>
For Scaramanga, this is foreplay. When things get really hot and heavy he’ll bring out the Barrett M99, and once he fires the cannon he’ll probably fall asleep.
There’s no denying that budgetary restrictions have caused a decline in government building quality over the last few years.
Kids, don’t believe what you’re told – THIS is what happens when those cute little lizards at the pet shop grow up.
Chinese Bigfoot is not as good at hiding in plain sight as he thinks he is.
After Q took away their surveillance equipment for “misuse”, Bond and Lieutenant Hip had to became increasingly creative in monitoring the local naturist resort for global criminal conspiracies.
There’s a lesson here, folks…if you’re getting your third nipple pierced, make sure all equipment is sterilised O_o
Apparently an actual line in a script: Bond looks down at his artificial third nipple nonchalantly, as though inviting comment…
“He must have found me quite titillating”, Bond said, throwing his artificial third nipple away with a smirk. Sometimes there’s just…nothing to add.
A look that says either “I will destroy you, 007” or “Damnit, Cushing’s urinating in my rockery again”.
“Good evening. I’m terribly sorry, I appear to have thrown up in your birdbath.”
Hong Kong Disneyworld was hurriedly scrapped after the first visitors experienced its unique take on “It’s a Small World”.
“Grislyland” DAMNIT JAMES BOND STOP READING MY THOUGHTS
As Bond gasped for breath, he dug his fingers into the firm buttocks of the sumo wrestler… Well, this took a turn.
…and wedgied him to within an inch of his life! …and, apparently, another one.
The Thai Bee Gees were considerably scarier.
One of several reasons Health & Safety departments frown on windows made out of wicker.
“I was just trying to allow a cooling breeze into my stuffy office oh nooooooo!”
It’s not the size of the boat, it’s the thrust of the giant ridiculous engine you strap to the back of it. Which metaphorically speaking I think means there’s going to be some pretty severe bruising here. O_o
Ah, the beautiful Thai dance known as the “Post-Cabbage Waft”…
“Good evening Goodnight. Shouldn’t you be dancing in a cage somewhere?”
Among his other peculiarities, Scaramanga likes to unwind by pretending he is tiny and lives in a chocolate pudding.
Ever prepared, 007 stores a spare blonde with his linen jackets in case of emergencies.
Okay, Lieutenant Hip and his sassy hat say it’s time for bed. This one’s going to be a 3-parter it seems; goodnight folks xx Part 3
Like Roger Moore’s creepiness, there is apparently no end to this movie. BONDING RESUMED: Man With the Golden Gun, Part 3. God help us all.
Duly fortified, we resume. Christening the martini with every available garnish the “Q Division”.
Lieutenant Hip, would you like a “Q Division”? Awwww, he wants it so much…
Bond is beginning to suspect this is not the secret back entrance to Lord’s Cricket Ground as his guide had led him to expect.
“I wouldn’t do that Mr Bond. My smugface is already at potentially lethal intensity.”
“…also that’s not my hand in your jacket pocket.”
A moment of respect for Clifton James, sadly departed a week ago last Saturday at the grand old age of 97, here in his greatest role of JW Pepper, aka Cut Price Slightly More Racist Buford T. Justice.
A subtle and mannered performance the like of which we will not see again.
Actually it turns out JW Pepper Faces are consistently amazing. The rest of this post may consist entirely of them. JW Pepper Faces are the Ronfaces of mid-Roger-Moore-era Bond cinema.
Ronfaces, for reference)
To be honest, Pepperfaces are pretty much the extent of the entertainment right now. Somebody is chasing somebody and everyone is shouting but nothing insane has happened for at least the last 10 minutes which mostly just leaves Roger Moore’s acting ability and indefinable charisma. Time for more cocktails.
An impressive corkscrew jump, famously the first stunt ever modelled on a computer before it was performed, and undermined only slightly by whatever pillock in the editing room decided to back it with a FUCKING SLIDE WHISTLE SOUND EFFECT.
PEPPERFACE. It’s all I’ve got at this point folks. Losing the will to live.
The long wait for something mental to happen is rewarded when Scaramanga’s car turns into a plane. Because this is a much more efficient escape mechanism than simply HAVING A PLANE.
Apparently he’s just a big fan of the AMC Matador’s classy bronze finish and elegant lines.
“Sir, by an intricate process of triangulation…”
“…we believe we’ve been able to locate China.”
007’s sexual health screening results come back from HR, causing M some mild concern.
Bond has apparently arrived at Scaramanga’s island disguised as a standup comedian from the 1950s.
“Please feel free to make use of our giant novelty microphone during your visit, Mr Bond. Karaoke nights are quite the lark.”
Scaramanga shares a moment of concern with his giant gold replica head of President Taft.
The world’s greatest secret agent, doomed by Britt Ekland’s butt. Please feel free to write your own joke.
Ceiling Nik Nak is watching you fornicate.
A wacky fight scene with a little person. There really couldn’t be any less dignified way for a Bond film to end, could there?
Welp. That was a thing. G’night folks. Bonding Complete