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Home > Junk Male > March 2011 > Baron Samedi: A Junk Male Tribute (Part 1)

Baron Samedi: A Junk Male Tribute (Part 1)


Many of us were brought up to know Sean Connery as James Bond – A spy that was pretty close to Ian Flemings’ original vision of 007; a man with a cruel, thin mouth who wasn’t above slapping his women about, and even using them as human bullet-shields if the going got particularly hairy (remember, this was during the 1960’s, when such wanton acts of selfish masculinity were not only accepted, but mandatory and de rigeur).


Connerys’ Bond was a dashing character but a rough diamond; the thick comma of hair (falling foppishly over his right eyebrow), was admittedly absent – possibly on account of the fact that Connery donned a ‘syrup’ for most of the Bond Franchise. But in every other respect, Sean was the ‘real deal’. His delivery was understated, and more dramatic effect was achieved from the subtlety of his steely glare and tautening of the jaw, than mere dialogue could ever convey.


Though grimly patriotic, there was an undercurrent of anarchy to Connerys’ Bond; he was no obsequious servant of Her Majesty. In fact, he was at times even rebellious and disrespectful to his superiors. He would frequently clash with his boss – M – over subjects as trivial as his field equipment (irked at having his trusted Berretta replaced with a Walther PPK, Connery simply palmed his original pistol and tried to saunter casually out of his bosses’ office to secrete it in the glove compartment of his silver birch Aston Martin DB5).


But I wasn’t brought up in that era of swinging sixties sexual chic.


I was a little late for Connery and thus inherited Roger Moore… A man who acted using only one eyebrow, and who stepped lithely from the moulded fibreglass shell of his Lotus Esprit (prone to electrical fires behind the dashboard), and who would brush a stray ball of lint from the epaulettes of his beige bri-nylon Safari Suit, before ‘crackling’ his way across the static-laden shag-pile of M’s office, to deliver his uncanny Encyclopaedic knowledge of… well, everything.


At this juncture, M’s role had become somewhat diminished. No longer was he the dour, barking-boss, available to apply subtle psychological manipulation to coerce his trained killer. No, his job now was to ask Roger what he knew about an obscure tracking system or nuclear detterent, only for ‘Rog’ to raise that eyebrow and give a stilted dictionary-perfect-description of the subject in question. He was, it has to be said, more Stephen Fry than James Bond, and it was difficult to imagine he was capable of head butting a henchman into rapid submission.


But I’m not complaining, I was thoroughly delighted with Roger Moore. Yes, he was a little stiff, maybe a bit camp at times, and on reflection, most of his quips would have been rejected by most modern fathers as being too trite and insipid. But Roger was alright by me – he was my Bond – a spy for the 1970’s.


To be continued…


Typographic James Bond 007 Walther PPK T-Shirt (top right) no longer available/out of print.

by Junk Male on March 01, 2011