LUV & HAT

LUV - There are many reasons to love Daniel Craig’s James Bond. The fact that he’s not Timothy Dalton. That he looks like he might actually kill you, is half-Golem or will grow up to be an evil John Thaw.

But these are just so many words. What use are words when a picture like this will suffice?

Daniel Craig. James Bond. Speedos. Et voila.
- Robyn Wilder

HAT - I watched Die Another Day last week. You remember Die Another Day. It’s the one with Halle Berry. And the invisible car. And the giant space laser. And the bit where James Bond windsurfs his way out a tidal wave on a car bonnet. And the Korean man with diamonds in his face who lives inside a special dream machine. And fucking Madonna. It’s ridiculous. It’s an embarrassment. But the sad truth is I’d still rather watch that than either of Daniel Craig’s James Bond films.

This is because they’re not actually James Bond films. This, right, is a James Bond film: James Bond, dressed in a tuxedo, has sex with a woman. Then he realises that the woman is actually an enemy spy, so he shoots her in the face, says something witty, chuckles to himself and then drinks a nice cocktail. Then he goes to a hollowed-out mountain (because that’s where all the baddies live) in a sports car or a jetpack or a speedboat or a pen that’s actually a flying broomstick or something, then shoots everyone in the face, then blows everything up, then says something hilarious about all the corpses and then has sex with a woman who isn’t an enemy spy even though his superiors are still watching him on a satellite link-up and watching him have sex has made all their glasses steam up. THE END.   

But that’s not what you get with Daniel Craig. No, with Daniel Craig, James Bond has to have feelings, the massive twat. After he kills someone, he has to go and cry in the shower with all his clothes still on, the girly old bellend. Instead of shagging women, he lets them stroke his face and monologue about how he’ll always be trapped inside the prison of his own mind, the effete tit. Sometimes he even wears cardigans. Cardigans. What a fucking berk. That’s not James Bond. That’s one of your aunties.

Worse still, it’s been confirmed that the next Daniel Craig James Bond film will be directed by Sam Mendes from American Beauty. Which is just fucking great, really. Maybe instead of a car chase we’ll have a scene where Daniel Craig writes a series of soul-searching letters to his old Albanian penpal from school. Maybe instead of a gunfight we’ll have a scene where Daniel Craig looks at photographs of his first girlfriend and strokes her face and cries. Maybe instead of anything that’s even vaguely related to James Bond we’ll have a massive pile of self-important shit that’ll only make me want to punch myself in the face.

I’ll probably still go and watch it, mind.
- Stuart Heritage