January 5, 2024 - 10:00am

James Bond has been around for a very long time. When Ian Fleming’s first 007 yarn Casino Royale was published in April 1953, sugar, meat and coal were rationed in the United Kingdom. Lady Chatterley’s Lover would remain banned for the rest of the decade. There were people alive who could remember late-Victorian London, who had read newspaper headlines about the death of Gordon at Khartoum and Jack the Ripper. It would be another 10 years before the country had a prime minister born in the 20th century. 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, then, the early Bond films — 60 years old now — have acquired some problematic baggage for contemporary audiences. Yesterday it was reported that the British Film Institute’s new season, which includes some of the Sean Connery classics, will warn audiences that “these films contain language, images and other content that reflect views prevalent in their time, but will cause offence today (as they did then).”

The priggish tone is undoubtedly annoying, but — beyond the standard-issue harrumphing at the latest excesses of political correctness — it does raise an interesting question about the future of Bond on screen. The most recent 007 outing, No Time To Die, concluded — and readers wishing to avoid spoilers are advised to skip to the next paragraph — with our hero being incinerated by a missile barrage, and that film, though not released until 2021 due to Covid-19, was completed four years ago. With no firm plans for another instalment in the series, and no confirmed replacement for the retiring Daniel Craig, we are staring down the barrel of an extended series hiatus of the kind not seen since the early 1990s. 

Some critics and analysts have suggested that Bond has had his day and ought to stay buried under the rubble of Safin’s island lair. Is he really “a sexist, misogynist dinosaur” and “relic of the Cold War”, as suggested by Judi Dench’s M in GoldenEye? Well, up to a point. 

The producers have shown remarkable capacity for reinventing the character and his milieu, quietly realigning him with changing sensibilities. Craig’s Bond has never smoked, for example, and has only slept with six women in his five films, a clearly deliberate decision tied up with growing official ambivalence about the sexual revolution (of which classic-era Bond was both herald and product). Notoriously, his tenure has also seen the development of a more sensitive, vulnerable Bond, and the disappearance of the humour and campy excess that once characterised the franchise.

The question remains to what extent one can change the Bond formula before it stops being Bond in any meaningful sense. By this point, the cinematic character is only a very distant cousin of Fleming’s original — moody and troubled, he now closely resembles any number of modern male protagonists. The Bond of the books would appear by turns contemptible and laughable to much of the modern audience, given his attitudes to women, gay people and foreigners, and his incomprehensible snobberies. Fleming himself, who died in 1964, would doubtless find it rather odd that his hero is still an important cultural figure today.

But there is, plausibly, a central core which persists. Bond is the lonely British hero reliant on his wits and his gadgets; an irreverent man’s man, fond of travel and the good life, worn down by a fast-changing world and his country’s uncertain place in it. Through all this, he remains deeply committed to the preservation of a civilised, free world, with Britain and her institutions as its spiritual centre.


Niall Gooch is a public sector worker and occasional writer who lives in Kent.

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