Bond, that was not time to die

Billi Ellish may croon in her deep-set voice that this is no time to die but could you have imagined any of the Bonds dying, let alone being killed by some faceless inanimate identity-less lab-made villain?

Aw, come on!! Sean Connery would die a thousand deaths if he were to be made to fall to technology on screen, even off it.

Roger Moore would have killed any loony bot with a mere stare of his laser-sharp electric blue eyes. Pierce Brosnan would take on an inanimate enemy in his uniquely quizzical style. Even Timothy Dalton would have the ability to kick up some kind of storm against such a subdued outage.

But Daniel Craig? The Brit who had owned the 007 venture for so many years? How could he just stand and stare before being wiped off? Bond? Wiped off? That’s harakiri in the name of giving Bond a human, family man, victimised lonely operator who had enough kind of mould.

Come on!! It’s a legacy wasted away to a so-called grand finale as Craig bids adieu to his screen nomenclature. But did he have to kill the legend himself in order to make his final goodbye to this syrupy franchise straddling several decades?

Bond was someone who would never make it so personal. Bond would be a dead man dying if he is emotional if he is palpitating in love if he is a father for God’s sake!

The real Bond is that quizzical, laconic eternal singleton who swish-talks into pools and parties with a shapely blond
in Pussy Galore or Plenty O Toole or even Jinx or some such outrageously named candy decorating his arm as he orders for a martini shaken not stirred before casually killing the threat sent in for him.

Or someone who would kill the villain by church bells and walk away muttering “that’s called being saved by the bell”.
Bond was born to be that complete man who no one can own but everyone is possessed by.

He was born to be fun. He was born to be flippant with his women, his situations and his enemies. He is born to be that ultimate one-liner man who ignites missiles and mannerisms with the insane energy of a black hole in space!

That’s my Bond, driving away and firing away in his Ashton; lighting a cigarette to light up your heart, one who kills like Bill and loves like, well like Bond.

Craig does none of this in his latest and last outing No Time To Die.

I mean if Craig does not want to be Bond anymore, that’s more than fine, especially him not being my kind of Bond.

But, should Bond fans be made to go to an unexpected funeral? Do they need to sit through a family drama in the name of a Bond film? Or worst still content with Mrs Bond and daughter Bond?

Ya ya ya, celebs too have private moments. But Ian Fleming did not give that liberty to the character he created and owns till date, even posthumously!

So why tinker with a perfectly crafted Bond mould?

Characters like 007 can’t be recast! They are what they are and that’s why we love them. Can’t imagine a Bond even in his dying moments taking his child to school and sharing some daddy moments!

My Bond is made for living and introducing people to a good life, thrilling life, a moment in every minute kind of life.

Then , a Bond without humour and wit? No way! Bond without the Q-line gadgets? No way. Bond without a flesh and blood villain? No no no way!

No Time To Die commits all these blunders and then dies on you without premise!

And if that does not assault enough on committed Bond fans, a female Bond? OMG, she is black and she is beautiful. But she is not Bond! The name is Bond, James Bond. It’s not and can never be Josephina Bond or some such.

Imagine someone saying: ‘The name is Bond, Josephina Bond! I mean, I am speechless! I already hate her though she was quite elegant and quick as the 007 successors. She may be the new 007 but she still needs to offer her defence.

Whatever it is, Bond is my man! I can’t imagine him metamorphosing into being my woman!! Feminists and others, this is Bond territory, kindly let it be that last man domain. Just one breach that’s not well taken!

Yes Bond, it’s no time to die, let alone die such an unsung death. Kindly return the next Good Friday!

Til then James, they don’t make men like you anymore, an irreverent, irrepressible demigod with a sense of style and a sense of humour, dry like his martini but wet like his girls😀.