The "I" Word

Several incidents which have occurred recently have made me ask myself what events, exactly, have transpired in the world—since my birth—that could alter values 180╝ from those considered acceptable as recently as, say, 40 years ago.

Seemingly, we are in an entirely different age; it’s the ME generation on steroids—it’s “sex, drugs, and rock and roll,” and the “I-Wanna-Maka-Million-Club” rolled into one.

Some words appear to have dropped out of the lexicon entirely. Words like, “conscientious,” “principles,” “integrity,” have all but disappeared and have been replaced by words like “bottom line,” “profit margin,” “resentment,” and “passive-aggressive.”

We live in an entire world of people—rich and poor alike—looking out for their own “bottom line.” It’s the Me-Myself-and-I culture of corporate bandits looking for every opportunity to stick it to consumers; consumers revenging themselves on corporations (sometimes passively) by “sticking it,” indiscriminately, to the next guy in the hope that “the next guy” is one of those corporate robber barons.

Thus, we have fast food hamburger flippers contaminating food stuffs, service people tampering with products they have been hired to repair, and on and on. They all resent the rich guy while, ironically, dreaming of becoming the rich guy. Yet nobody wants to do what the honest rich guy did to get there—work hard, educate themselves, etc. They want the material goods the rich guy has without the labor to acquire it and if they can’t have that, then they will settle for sabotaging “the rich guy” by whatever means are available to them.

In the olden days, say forty or so years ago, the average individual still had scruples (a dirty word, the “S” word) and even if they were screwed by corporate heads, they still had integrity, and would not tarnish that integrity by revenging themselves upon innocent victims. Further, this is no longer true only of the urban rat-race; television, films, and mass media have brought the “rat-race” to the tiniest, most remote villages on planet earth so that now, everyone wants they’re “share of the pie,” or, rather, what they BELIEVE to be their share.

The idea that life is not fair has become a foreign one, perhaps because socialist ideals have convinced humanity that, where one profits all should profit, and conversely, where one suffers all should suffer alike. It is not fashionable, even, to suggest that one make one’s own way in life. Whatever became of the “self-made man,” or the idea of pulling oneself up by one’s bootstraps—ideas that engendered pride in accomplishment.

Thus, low-paid employees revenge themselves on their corporate sponsors by theft of either material goods, or of time on the clock, or by directing their resentment against their employer’s clientele. The idea that if one is not happy at one’s place of employment, one quits and finds a new job, has been replaced with the idea that jobs are birthrights or entitlements which contain no strings, no clauses, and no responsibilities; an individual merely shows up every day and, at the end of the week, collects a pay check. Similarly, the word “earn” is slowly being dropped from our vocabularies from lack of usage.

What all of this boils down to is that somewhere along the line, we have lost our integrity, and worse, the very concept has become another dirty word, the “I” word. The connotation of integrity carries with it the notion of responsibility, the “R” word, another word which is slowly being removed from the language by its lack of usage.

Planet of Freaks

I want to comment on a condition which an ad by the WSPA brought to mind: It is the freakish idea of some human freaks that it is acceptable to torment other living creatures for their own amusement.

This particular ad was about bear-baiting in Pakistan, but this is only one of many forms of human-freak blood sport.

I don't think any civilized person would deny that only a freak would partake in any of these activities whether it is bear-baiting, cock-fighting, dog-fighting, bull-fighting or whatever.

The real show is about the FREAKS who attend these events as a form of entertainment. What kind of mindless idiot enjoys watching the torment of a helpless living creature. A pretty SICK FREAK, I would say.

It is too bad that the tables cannot be turned on freaks like these, so that they become the centerpiece of amusement, where, as in the case of bear-baiting, the trained dogs rip and tear at their face, ears and nose, while they are tethered to a stake by a ring in their snouts. Or, piccadors stab them repeatedly with spears until they are finally sabered in a death stroke.

I would even pay to watch that sport! Not to mention the fact that this planet benefits from every freak eliminated. We can only hope that karma will do for us what legal systems have failed to do.

On The Latest Bond Films and Eva Green

Some months back, I purchased the entire 007 Bond collection and began rewatching movies I had not seen, in some cases in many years, and in one or two cases had never seen. It has been an enjoyable trip down memory lane and, in fact, I found myself enjoying the films more than I had in the past.

To be sure, the Bond stories are total prurient adolescent male fantasy (which says much about Ian Fleming) but there is still much in the films to make them entertaining from a purely escapist standpoint. When I want to forget about real world stresses, there's nothing like escaping into the world of James Bond and absolute fantasy.

I've watched all of the films from first to last including the special edition extra materials on the second disks and it has been fun observing the stylistic and technical changes in trends.

However, beginning with Casino Royale, I have noted major deviations in how these films are produced and am curious to know the exact rationale for that. They deep-sixed Moneypenny and Q for instance. And, while it is still evident that a lot of money went into production, it appears to be on a cheesier budget.

I was also totally unimpressed with actress Eva Green in Casino Royale from her personal looks and lack of chemistry with Daniel Craig, to her hideous hair, makeup and clothing design.

The hairstyles look like something out of the forties on a BAD day and the makeup, as well (note in particular the almost pencil drawn forties look of the eyebrows—a straight line across the brow ridge). Note: not every woman is born with perfectly shaped, arched brows but tweezing them into shape is neither an art form nor rocket science.

As nothing else in this film shares the forties look or technical accomplishment, I don't understand this grotesque nod to forties-esque female attire. Some of the forties WAS actually attractive if one looks back to pinups of luminaries the likes of Grable, Monroe or Hayworth but what EON has chosen was all of the worst that it had to offer.

One out of every two outfits looks like something off of a K-Mart rack. Were they actually trying to make her look cheesy? In fact, the only scene in which she looks remotely attractive is in the scene in which Craig and Green are sailing in Venice, her hair swept back in a contemporary slapdash ponytail and wearing big sunglasses. She looks fresh and natural, and the sunglasses conceal those funky eyebrows. My personal "worst" was that hideous purple halter-neck thing that was supposed to make her look "fabulous" but which, in the end, looks like a Sears and Roebuck ready-made.

Not even makeup or hair could conceal those flapping Dumbo ears (c'mon Eva, ear-pinning is a routine procedure); her facial features actually look weird to me, like she had some sort of congenital head abnormality. Definitely like none of the other stunningly beautiful Bond women—natural beauties—who had preceded her or, even, the exceptional beauty of another actress in this film, Caterina Murino who plays the sensuous wife of one of the villains (one must ask why she was not cast for the Bond love interest). A good choice in casting was made with villainess Ivana Milicevic, however, a Croat-Serbian actress who looks the part of an "avenue streetwalker"—the kind of pig who would hook up with an underworld slime-ball like Le Chiffre.

Bond is about fantasy after all—I can see "ugly" around me any day of the year; I go to a Bond flick to see gorgeous, not ugly. Just how ugly is she? The opening credits animation has cross-hairs moving across the Queen of Hearts and as it does, reveals an image of Eva Green; frankly, the Queen of Hearts card is more attractive: the card, at least, has shaped eyebrows.

Eva Green is about as sexy as a table lamp and her sex scenes were wooden and unconvincing. I don't fault the producers for wanting a table-lamp-accountant-type from MI6 who handles the money, but do they really expect us to believe Bond would fall for something like this?

After reviewing the list of credits for Casino Royale where I saw listed there, a puppeteer, I found myself wondering in which scenes the puppeteer practised his craft; I finally decided it must have been in Eva Green's sex scenes with Daniel Craig.

One thing I did not miss in Casino Royale were the opening credit nudies which are intriguing at first, but after the fifth time you watch one of these films becomes extremely boring. The opening credits in Casino Royale are animated and fresh, and seemed much more to the point of the Bond stories; I am absolutely fascinated by them. Other Bond films have included adaptations to the original which were also intriguing, such as Pierce Brosnan's Die Another Day which incorporated torture scenes into the title credits. I would infinitely prefer either of these two styles to the lascivious gratuities of former openings which harken back, once again, to Ian Fleming's adolescent proclivities.

While we're at it, let's discuss original music. David Arnold, in several of these movies, has ripped off—whole cloth—pieces from John Barry and Hans Zimmer. What's the issue here? I'm sure David Arnold must be capable of producing fine pieces of his own, yet he appears to be more comfortable commandeering themes from other competent composers and claiming them as his own. Shame on you David!

And, what happened to soundtracks with commentary by producer/actor/technical people? I often find these portions more entertaining than the movie, itself, and it is those extra tracks which always affect my purchasing decisions.

So, Mr. Wilson, and Ms. Broccoli, what's this all about? Money? Getting tired of producing Bond films? If so, leave well enough alone and walk away with the legacy of good pictures which have been produced already; you know, "Quit while they still want more?"

So long as I'm on the topic, I'd also like to congratulate the Broccolis on the family whitewash of what is one of the more entertaining fantasy segments included in the extra materials on the Diamonds are Forever disk: a biopic of Cubby Broccoli's beginnings. If, however, you're more interested in truth than fiction behind the Broccoli success story, you might want to pick up a copy of The Fixers: Eddie Mannix, Howard Strickling and the MGM Publicity Machine—it's a real eye opener written, coincidentally, by E. J. Fleming (no relation to Ian, I suppose).

The yarn which the Broccolis spin about Albert Broccoli's poor Italian immigrant beginnings is a real tear-jerker but quite the yuck when juxtaposed against records that link both Albert and his cousin Pasquale (Pat DiCicco) to Lucky Luciano and other mob notables, and even includes a couple of unsolved murders.

Pat DiCicco, lauded in the film as a handsome "agent," was little more than a small time New York hoodlum who relocated to Hollywood like many of his gangster cronies, to muscle in on the action of what had become a very lucrative film industry; often referred to in some public records as a "procurer," he was, basically, a pimp for such personages as Howard Hughes and had a history of domestic violence that included virtually all of his marriages and relationships. A charming man.

In point of fact, Pat DiCicco was a bootlegger, pimp, and "arranger" for the New York mob. He was an agent of sorts, if you consider a street walking Ho to be the "model" or "actress," that she claims to be, and was implicated in various scandals, including the aforementioned unsolved murders of famous film stars.

Hollywood, itself, has done an admirable job of whitewashing its own image which was—and probably still is—a very dirty little business behind the scenes involving prostitution, drugs, and extortion. But, then, why should we be critical of only one segment of the population when other, equally culpable individuals—most notably the Joseph P. Kennedy clan—have managed to distance themselves from their own unsavory beginnings. Basically, it's the old shyster lawyer mantra of never admitting guilt even when caught on tape; if one lies often and long enough, a certain segment of the population will eventually accept the falsehood.

I would also like to comment here about statements made on numerous disks about producers' concerns that the Bond series should be made acceptable for younger audiences because, we are told, families take their children to view these flicks. What families might these be? Mob Families? I never saw a Bond film until I was an adult; my parents would have as soon taken us to a brothel as a film that was, basically, a thinly disguised excuse for gratuitous sex and violence.

If nothing else, we've got to credit the Broccolis with a talent for weaving an entertaining—if fictionalized—account of themselves; I also think they should be congratulated for their ability not to laugh out loud as they relate this fable.