S U C K

"a fish, a barrel, and a smoking gun"
for 9 January 1998. Updated every WEEKDAY.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

Lulu, Britt Ekland, Hervé Villechaize, and Roger Moore. A-ha, Maryam d'Abo, Joe Don Baker, and Timothy Dalton. Sheryl Crow, Teri Hatcher, Jonathan Pryce, and Pierce Brosnan. A new song, a new babe, a new creep, and a new Bond. If it's a good year, a new (and increasingly lucrative) product tie-in. Such are the Lincoln Logs that, stacked one upon the other, define the full novelty gamut among the Bond films that have sidled onto screens every few years for the past 30 years. Nowhere, you will note, do screenwriters and directors appear on this list, for in the world of 007 these men are never visionaries or originals - they tend to be yeoman entertainment hacks. Consider director Lewis Gilbert, who directed his first film in 1950, and was directing Bond movies as recently as Moonraker. Or screenwriter Terence Young, whose first screenplay was produced in 1936 (!), and who wrote recent forgettable Bond epics A View to a Kill and The Living Daylights. With these constraints - as tight as Roger Moore's girdle - it's no wonder the franchise hasn't been exciting since Sean Connery had hair.

The skinny from Tinseltown, however, is that all this might soon change. Moguls are now discussing the possibility of Bond taking a page out of the heralded Alien series - as the Scream 2 film students discuss, possibly the best film series ever - and treating each film as an opportunity for an auteur to make his mark. Hence, Brosnan reportedly approached Good Fella Martin Scorsese for a possible future Bond overt-op. And in a recent Charlie Rose gab-fest, the lantern-jawed self- (and sometime film-) promoter Quentin Tarantino mused on a future Q. T. 007.

Like Bond, we at Suck have long had a license to kill (if only time, brain cells, and already-beaten horses). As resourceful and desperate as Bond with a laser beam slowly approaching his naughty bits, we here, then, present the Scorsese and Tarantino Bond attempts, long before the paisans themselves have put palm to PowerBook, coke to septum, or cast to couch:

 
 

Raging Bond

[Next Page]