Flickering Myth’s writing team count down to the release of Skyfall by discussing their favourite James Bond films; first up is Peter Gigg with 007’s first official screen adventure Dr. No…
At Le Cercle casino, a sickly fug of tobacco fills the air. The hall is cavernous, strewn with gilt furniture and crystal chandeliers. Attention is gathered around the blackjack table, where the participants play in a tense silence, the stakes rising into the thousands. Although the gamblers share nervous glances, one has his back to us, piquing the interest of the beautiful Sylvia Trench. With an eyebrow cocked, she finally addresses the mystery figure;
“I admire your luck, Mr…?”
And with the snap of a dunhill lighter and the stirring of a guitar riff comes the most iconic line in cinematic history;
“Bond … James Bond.”
Watching Dr. No again, it struck me how impossible it is to conceive of cinema without James Bond. For modern audiences, he is an inescapable cultural phenomenon – an emblem of patriotism equivalent to the Queen, if the Olympics opening ceremony is to be trusted. Bond dominates my earliest memories – films my dad clearly couldn’t wait to watch again with me, soundtrack albums on cassette, and die-cast toy cars with working ejector seats.
Yet for cinema goers in 1962, Bond was relatively unknown – a line of trashy spy novels, confiscated by schoolteachers and sneered at by critics. It’s therefore quite remarkable how audacious Terence Young’s adaption of Fleming’s sixth novel was and still is. Although lacking the gadgetry and glamour (and high budget) which came to define the franchise, the film still swaggers with a cocksure charm, buoyed by Sean Connery’s immortal cool.
The plot is essentially hokum, concerning the eponymous villain’s suitably dastardly plans to divert American missiles using his nuclear-powered transmitter. Quite what this will achieve remains unclear, but provides ample opportunity for Bond to swan around Jamaica, indulging in car chases, fistfights, and plenty of gratuitous sex. Although the novel marked Fleming’s descent into more ludicrous plottings, Dr. No is perhaps the most faithful evocation of the spy’s early spirit, only to be matched by the recent Casino Royale.
This Bond is not the unflappable super-spy of the latter films, just an arrogant killer with a touch of cold menace. Frequently he is out of his depth, surviving only through his quick wit and not inconsiderable luck. There is a terrific scene midway through where Bond awakes to find an assassin’s tarantula crawling through his bedsheets. Dripping with sweat, he can only lie helplessly and wait until it moves off him – before he hurls it to the floor and bludgeons it with his shoe. It’s a real moment of unprofessional humanism, and the only example I can recall of Bond being truly terrified.
Likewise, although the film is unashamedly misogynist, there is a rather charming naïveté to Bond’s relationship with Ursula Andress’ Honey Ryder. After emerging from the sea like a siren (and sending bikini shares sky-rocketing), she spots Bond and draws her diving knife;
“Are you looking for shells too?”
“I’m just looking,” Connery smiles in reply.
The film sparkles with moments such as these, alternating Connery’s affable charisma, with his propensity for leering violence. This is the Bond who has no problem bending a young woman’s arm to extract information, barking vaguely racist commands to his black companion or lying in wait for Anthony Dawson’s would-be killer after bedding his accomplice – only to shoot him twice in the back for good measure.
Dr. No has always been my favourite Bond film because it is the only one that can be read outside the monolithic clout of the later series. Terence Young and all involved could have had no idea of the film’s potential, sparking the most enduring cultural institution outside of the Beatles. The film’s slightly shambolic panache validates this; it’s simply a lean, tightly-crafted thriller based on a series of popular novels. But from humble beginnings come great things. And when all else fails, this humble beginning has a robot dragon that breathes fire, which helps.
Peter Gigg
