MARK O'CONNELL

Writer, Author, Bond Fan

Page 32 of 34

From 1963… With Love

“He seems fit enough. Have him report to me in Istanbul in 24 hours…”

Rosa Klebb, From Russia With Love, 1963

10th October 2013 marks the fiftieth anniversary of Eon Productions From Russia With Love. A favourite of both CATCHING BULLETS and even John F Kennedy (who boosted sales by declaring it was his favourite book) this was the first Bond film with a pre-title sequence, the first overture of a title sequence within the film itself, the first Bond film to go to Europe, the first full score by John Barry and the first film to prove that James Bond can indeed return. It is a clear favourite with the Bond producers Eon Productions and always a film that those responsible came back to when discussing how they got it right.

“I’m not mad about his tailor, are you?”

Read more about From Russia With Love in CATCHING BULLETS.

From Russia With Love @ 50 / (c) Mark O'Connell / 2013

 

 

CATCHING BULLETS is shortlisted for the POLARI FIRST BOOK PRIZE 2013!

QUAD SHEET - POLARI SHORTLISTING (1)Splendid Books and I are more than proud to announce that CATCHING BULLETS – MEMOIRS OF A BOND FAN has been shortlisted for the POLARI FIRST BOOK PRIZE 2013.

Polari is a monthly literary salon held (more often than not) at London’s Southbank Centre. Masterminded by author/writer Paul Burston, it is a queer / LGBT showcase of a brilliant rainbow-hued spectrum of writing, poetry, fiction, non-fiction, performance, works-in-progress, theatre and song.

Previous readers have included Jonathan Harvey, Celia Imrie, Damian Barr, Jake Arnott, Neil Bartlett, Rikki Beadle-Blair, Andy Bell, Sophia Blackwell, DJ Connell, Maureen Duffy, Stella Duffy, Fenella Fielding, Christopher Fowler, Patrick Gale, David Hoyle, VG Lee, David McAlmont, John McCullough, Will Self and many more. Oh, and of course yours truly (January 2013).

The POLARI FIRST BOOK PRIZE is an annual award to honour the best in LGBT writing. CATCHING BULLETS and myself never once imagined we would be rubbing shoulders with a range of very skilled books so are doubly chuffed to find ourselves on the final shortlist. The winner is announced on November 13th 2013 at the Purcell Room, Southbank Centre.

POLARI First Book Prize

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One of “the World’s Best Gay & Lesbian Hotspots” for 2013! – ArtInfo.

“Lively, funny and inspiring – a gay-themed salon of interest to anyone remotely interested in literature, whatever their sexual bent. Paul Burston’s achievement in consistently bringing together writers and performers who will stimulate and inspire is remarkable” – Patrick Gale

“Always fun, always thought-provoking – a guaranteed good night out” – Sarah Waters, Tipping The Velvet.

“London’s most theatrical salon” – The New York Times

“London’s peerless gay literary salon” – The Independent on Sunday

 

For more details about past, present and future Polari nights then head over to the website. The evenings are a great and relaxed showcase of good writing, creativity, thought and ideas. A bar and book store is always at hand as are great views of London at night, whatever time of year. Though be warned – Polari often sells out quick so get in early.

 

@Mark0Connell

@PolariSalon

@PolariPrize

CATCHING BULLETS nominated for the 2013 POLARI First Book Prize!

CATCHING BULLETS catches a POLARI First Book Prize nomination!

Exciting news! CATCHING BULLETS – MEMOIRS OF A BOND FAN has been nominated for the illustrious POLARI First Book Prize 2013! This is a fine honour indeed and I am most flattered, shaken and stirred!

Splendid Books and myself would like to extend a big thanks to Paul Burston and the POLARI First Book Prize judging team. I am now going to paint myself in gold paint and have a lie down to celebrate….

POLARI First Book Prize

Goldfingers crossed for the prize announcement in September 2013.

www.polariliterarysalon.co.uk
www.splendidbooks.co.uk

 

 

PLAY IT AGAIN SAM – Mendes returning for ‘Bond 24’

Sam Mendes and Barbara BroccoliSam Mendes returning to the Bond fold is great news. Not because Skyfall was the most successful Bond movie, the most successful British movie ever, won two Oscars and a few high profile gongs. It is not even because it was the first Bond movie for a while to become a cultural event, a film whose momentum and qualities both shook and stirred the public’s consciousness and stoked the anticipation for what James does next in a way possibly not seen since the 1960s. No, Sam Mendes returning to direct Bond 24 is great news as the Bond series is in a new golden age of confidence and impetus. With 2012’s fiftieth anniversary bench-marker Skyfall pulling all sorts of clever doves out of Baron Samedi’s top hat, the pressure is naturally there for all involved to find a new hat to pull some tricks from.

Can lightning be trapped in an empty Bollinger bottle twice? Of course it can. 007 producers Eon Productions have a whole cellar full of lightning bottles. But I doubt Bond 24 will be Skyfall Too – Back to the Chapel. It will no doubt take its predecessor’s baton and sprint with it like a gym-fit Daniel Craig. Yet it will be a totally different kettle of SPECTRE piranhas. Heck, there may even be some SPECTRE piranhas in there. And a submersible Prius. With Union Jack airbags. Maybe not.

Yet it won’t retread. We are in era of Bond directors with firm creative signatures of their own. Mendes’ tends towards films exploring what circumstances and the wider facets of society does to people. Respectively American Beauty, Road To Perdition, Revolutionary Road and Skyfall are a turn of the century classic, an ode to gangsterdom, a bitter stab at suburban nirvana and a home-soil vendetta. They are Sam Mendes looking at what wider circumstances, societal structures and defence mechanisms do to the common man. Javier Bardem’s Raoul Silva (Skyfall) is no different to Kevin Spacey’s Lester Burnham (American Beauty). Both have been chewed up and spat out by life. And both allow Mendes to have fun with how they stick up two fingers to the world. Likewise Jake Gyllenhaal in Jarhead and Away We Go’s Maya Rudolph and John Krasinski are striving to not let the same happen to them. There are lot of roads to perdition in Sam Mendes work. There is no reason to question why a new facet of Bond will not be explored, another internal scar creating external damage laid bare. That is the world of Fleming. And that is the DNA of Bond onscreen.

But along Mendes’ story paths there is a playfulness and wit. Lester Burnham’s breakdown is a lush descent into suburban anarchy and Away We Go is a fun road movie peppered with non-centric eccentrics. Mendes is currently executive producing Penny Dreadful under the auspices of his own creative company Neal Street Productions (Call The Midwife and The Hollow Crown – which of course saw Skyfall’s Ben Wishaw recently scoop the Best Actor BAFTA). Written by Skyfall and Bond 24’s John Logan, Penny Dreadful is a London Victorian re-imagining of the origins of classic horror creations such as Dracula and Frankenstein. A co-production with Showtime, the series is due to bite TV screens in 2014. This sort of baroque villainy has already shown its own teeth (literally) in Skyfall and could well flick a different villainous cape in Bond 24. With John Logan in the writing seat alongside Mendes, the end result of their 2012 ‘act one’ was a carefully arched Bond film marked by rich exchanges pushing the story forward through dialogue, character wit and drives (Bond and Severine, Bond and Silva, Bond and M, Bond and Q, Bond and Kincade, Bond and Moneypenny). The creative impulse to let the characters steer the story was a welcome one and wholly succeeded. Expect more of the same come the Fall of 2015. Skyfall ended with the orphan James Bond presented with a new family. Ben Wishaw’s Q is suggesting he will be back, as might Naomie Harris as Moneypenny and Ralph Fiennes as the new M. But what about the bureaucratic Clair Dowar MP (Helen McCrory – whose real life husband and possible ‘next Bond’ candidate Damian Lewis is currently shooting Eon’s new co-production, The Silent Storm) and Rory Kinnear’s much-liked ally Tanner? And of course we may well see more familiar keynotes of Bond re-dressed for 2015.

Mendes clearly relished his time working with Eon Productions, Barbara Broccoli and Michael G Wilson. It is a team-led ‘family’ operation with working relationships and continuity much valued linchpins. Throughout the 1980s, director John Glen helmed all five successive Bond movies with great results, creating new fans in new generations and blasting the lazy detractors of that era’s output with aplomb (see this writer’s Catching Bullets – Memoirs of a Bond Fan). Sam Mendes will have already done the same. As part of a maybe three-act regeneration of Bond, Skyfall certainly has re-pointed the character for its guardians and its audiences new and old. The twenty-second Bond film relished the heritage of 007. My hunch is that Bond 24 will move forward from that. Or aside. The history of the films will not be sidelined. The much touted ‘formula’ of Bond is entwined with the heritage of the character, the films and those that produce them. Yet, Mendes will want to produce a brand new movie, a brand new take and a brand new project. He has never directed a sequel to any of his cinematic work (whose narratives admittedly do not leave much room for ‘what happened next?’). We all have our wish lists and suggestions (mine would be Barcelona, Washington, a bit of skiing and a Daft Punk theme tune). However, it is worth noting the curious skill of Skyfall was how it packed in wholly familiar turf for the Bond series – London, the Far East and Istanbul – yet dressed it most wisely. Mendes is not about reinventing the wheel, but how the spokes work. We are still in a time of relative studio poverty (Skyfall had to allegedly hem in its budget and the results worked). Bond 24 will no doubt have to rein itself in too – as best as a multi million pound movie can. But having financial and physical restrictions often aides creativity. The Bond series’ production history has always proved that.

For any director or writer to come into that Bond world is no doubt a daunting task. Next time round Mendes is no longer the new boy at school. He is head boy – a proven newcomer with a few trophies (if that matters alongside such global box office stamina) gleaming in the Eon cabinet. But the team at Bond HQ are not wholly looking to emulate Skyfall. They are looking to emulate the decisions, the discussions, the aptitude and perceptions Mendes brought to the table. Of course the dollars and the studios that gave and then counted them are wanting more of the same. That is simple business sense. But film-making – even on the scale of a Bond – thrives on creative relationships and continuity. It is about both project and product for Eon.

The Sony PR elves were forever telling us how Mendes noted his own Bond fandom launched when he saw 1973’s Live and Let Die. There are echoes of that film in Skyfall (the arched villainy, the deathly opening titles, the throwaway dead girls, the drama often playing out on familiar streets and pavements and even the shared double-decker London buses…maybe). The question now is – what Bond film did Sam like next? My money’s on a direct sequel to Octopussy. That barge had to pull in somewhere?!*

(*joking)

Mark O’Connell is the author of Catching Bullets – Memoirs of a Bond Fan (Prelude by Barbara Broccoli). www.splendidbooks.co.uk

FLEMING – a first look at Sky Atlantic’s new drama series

PLAYBOY.
GAMBLER.
SPY.

FLEMING (c) Sky Atlantic / Ecosse Films / BBC America

Sky Atlantic and Ecosse Films / BBC America have revealed an early look at their new 2014 series, Fleming.

Filmed in the UK and Budapest, the mini-series is set during the Second World War when Ian Lancaster Fleming (Dominic Copper) was heavily involved in mounting special operations against the Nazis and others.

Mat Whitecross (The Road to Guantanamo) is directing from a script by John Brownlow and Don Macpherson (based on John Pearson’s work on the life of Fleming). Laura Pulvey (Fleming’s wife Ann), Annabelle Wallis (Muriel Wright), Rupert Evans (Fleming’s brother Peter) Samuel West (Admiral John Godfrey), Anna Chancellor (Lieutenant Monday) and Lesley Manville (Fleming’s mother Evelyn) co-star.

The four part mini-series will air on Sky Atlantic later in early 2014.

Check out the new teaser trailer, Fleming.

 

fleming-gallery-001

fleming-gallery-002

fleming-gallery-003

“When you were young and your heart was an open book…”

LIVE AND LET DIE @40 (c) Mark O'Connell

Eon Productions Live and Let Die celebrates its fortieth anniversary this week (it opened in the States on June 27th 1973, and a week or so later in the UK). It has been a linchpin of the series and the man on the street’s affection for James Bond ever since. It is also director Sam Mendes stated favourite 007 entry, whose influence is very evident in 2012’s Skyfall.

For more thoughts on Live and Let Die and all the Bond movies, check out Catching Bullets – Memoirs of a Bond Fan.

I’M SO EXCITED! (LOS AMANTES PASAJEROS)

ISE! Portrait PosterFasten your seatbelts, it’s going be a bumpy night

(All About Eve, 1950)

 

 

 

 

 

 

With King of the Tangent himself Pedro Almodóvar on duty as chief flight recorder, pilot, trolley dolly and navigator, I’m So Excited! is a boisterous stopover of a film. Less long-haul than the melodramatic Volver, clever Live Flesh or the masterly All About My Mother, Almodóvar’s nineteenth feature is a short-haul hen-night of a movie, as quick to get into as it takes to blow up one of those canary yellow safety vests.

Welcome to Peninsula Airlines Flight 2549. You will be cruising at an altitude of 32,000 feet. Literally. And if nothing excites you on the duty-free cart, there will be enough in-flight entertainment and emergency grandstanding to keep children of all ages (and predilections) entertained.

This plane is like a sunlit backroom – floating on clouds of mescaline, passion and resignation. Neither bitter or moral, this is Almodóvar as chief pilot of a Mile [very] High Club. Never mind the fuel the plane suddenly has to burn off before an emergency landing. Almodóvar’s own script is more concerned in his motley passengers jettisoning absurd amounts of tequila, vodka and Valencia cocktails. Pilots, co-pilots, stewards, ground staff – everyone’s necking a quick shot to take the edge off. Before having another. An Easy Jet flight to Sitges packs less booze than this. Yet, as such happy-hour excesses soon replace characters inhibitions with much needed action (Lola Dueñas’s virginity status is quite cheekily – and anonymously – downsized at 30,000 feet), the weight of everyone’s emotional ballast nearly drags the flight into the sea. A mostly empty business class section and a disgraced banker speaks volumes about Spain and Europe’s economy – with the stricken Peninsula 2549 flight struggling to find an airport that is manned, let alone not cash strapped. But that is as political as Pedro gets. His world is one where men are already in marriages to each other (be it sexual, spiritual or actual), mistresses are afforded perceptive back stories and empty control towers are manned by a husband and wife and their packed lunch.

Just as the theatrical Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown (1988) pitches itself in a farce-like apartment, its nearest sibling I’m So Excited! relishes the proscenium confines of this Peninsula flight – affording Pedro his trademark backstage wranglings, curtain twitching, character hierarchies and story-centric phone-calls. It is certainly Almodóvar’s simplest effort for a while, jettisoning the masterful twists of Live Flesh and The Flowers of My Secret for an unabashed pantomime of an in-flight movie that unfurls as if Airplane had a quick knee-trembler in the disabled toilets with Carry on Emmanuelle and Shortbus was the result.

Gone for now are the masculine pulses and of The Skin I Live In and Broken Embraces. Here they are replaced for the mescaline ones of a cabin-fevered cabin-crew led by self-destructive, yet puppy-eyed steward Javier Cámara (Talk To Her, Bad Education) and Pedro newcomers Raúl Arévalo (granted a Pedro tache on his first outing) and portly Carlos Areces. If this work-weary triumvirate steal the movie, then it is the scene-chomping Areces who gets the ‘Peninsula Employee of the Month’ award with his dour queen Fajardo forever hand-fanning his magnificent cow-lick fringe amidst his random urges to pray into a brassy pop-up altar.

As Almodóvar’s gayest film for quite a while, there is very little room in the aisle for any straight manoeuvring. Like most of Almodóvar’s efforts, even the straight women behave like gay men. And possibly vice versa. Not that every persuasion doesn’t get a chance to “check in” on this voyage. Everyone is at it. From the hot straight couple fresh off a three day wedding bender (and a curious affliction the sexy groom is milking to the hilt) to a bi-curious co-pilot, a horny security officer and a veteran soap actor juggling a suicidal ex and a shrewd new squeeze via misplaced cell phones. So far, so very Almodóvar.

With crew and passengers pitched as types culled straight from 1970’s Airport, Almodóvar has early fun churning out the disaster movie character tropes (the disillusioned suit, the veteran fun-time girl, the cabin crews in mid-affair, the family man pilot’s bit on the side, a concerned psychic and a potential killer). Yet, as much as Almodóvar lets the film party with this entertaining bunch, he still takes the time to surprise, to charm and regret. Just as Airport 1975 had the real Norma Desmond in the guest-starring likes of Gloria Swanson, I’m So Excited! gets its own Norma in the guise of the fabulous Cecilia Roth (All About My Mother) as society dominatrix and potential government-toppler Norma Boss. This Anna Wintour fringed ice-maiden is the most familiar from Pedro’s oeuvre. We are told this is a character that – like the director himself – emerged onto the scene in the late 1980s, ruffled the establishment’s feathers and subsequently hit her stride in her 50s.

One of the utter joys of an Almodóvar film is how he lets you go ahead of his story and characters, allowing the audience to curve off with their absurd notions and plot predictions. You kick yourself for thinking that wildly or crudely. But then suddenly Pedro takes you by the hand and ‘goes there’ for you with a day-glo aplomb that is forever liberating and – most vitally – honest. The director’s CV is on show throughout. From key Pedro icons Penelope Cruz (Volver, Broken Embraces, Live Flesh) and Antonio Banderas (Matador, Laws of Desire, The Skin I Live In) playing consequential ground crew to the point of almost giggling on-screen at the fun of it all to the lies men tell of Laws of Desire, the drug dependencies of What Have I Done To Deserve This and Norma Boss’s sado-masochistic day job echoing Tie Me Up Tie Me Down.

Like a trashy airport novel, I’m So Excited! is a wondrous, crazy holiday distraction. Never meant to outstay its welcome, it is a rude jaunt farcing about its tight running time. Pedro purists might want this frothy baggage reclaimed immediately, but he still carefully peels back the motifs of character like the cling-wrap on a Stansted Airport beef casserole. This is a deliberate inflight meal of a movie – easy to get into, tastes better than it looks and will perfectly suffice until you touch down. As a comedy it is possibly more successful than Women On The Verge of a Nervous Breakdown – which now pales when compared to what Almodóvar did next. He is now a genre all of his own, one that has re-pointed people’s opinions and views on Spanish cinema and culture. As fun goes and the summer blockbusters start circling the skies, I’m So Excited! deftly proves Pedro Almodóvar can still drop a big block of blue toilet ice onto his rivals. Just when does this “seatbelt” sign disappear?

 

 

With thanks to Pathe UK for the screening.

 

I’m So Excited! lands at UK cinemas from May 3rd 2013.

 

SAW MISGIVINGS

SAW MISGIVINGS
Written by Mark O’Connell
Directed by David Lilley
Starring Vicky Album & Steve McNeil

Being the perfect housewife can kill…

“A bizarre, yet funny as hell mix of twisted humor….Seriously, this thing’s full of funny (the beer opening gag = genius) and not a one note joke…Damn fine acting, damn fine filmmaking, damn fun time.” – AIN’T IT COOL NEWS

SAW MISGIVINGS has featured very successfully at the LUND INTERNATIONAL FANTASTIC FILM FESTIVAL 2012 (Nominated – Méliès d’argent), the Three Corpse Circus Film Festival 2012 (USA), SAN SEBASTIAN HORROR & FANTASY FILM FESTIVAL 2012, COFILMIC 2012 (Nominated : Best Comedy Short), LEEDS INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL (Nominated – Méliès d’argent), SCREEN STOCKPORT FESTIVAL 2012 (Special Mention), THREE CORPSE CIRCUS FILM FESTIVAL, LONDON SHORT FILM FESTIVAL 2013, the LONDON COMEDY FILM FESTIVAL 2013, the SKEPTO INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL, the DETMOLD INTERNATIONAL SHORT FILM FESTIVAL 2013 and more.

“A ‘cute’ piece (if cute even sounds appropriate) … the perfect spoof short film for horror audiences. You’ll want to seek this out and take 6 minutes out of your day to enjoy the fun!” – HORRORNEWS.NET

“…a rock solid and humorous tribute to the Saw franchise, successfully lampooning the iconic traps as well as the kinetic style found in the series. All of the jokes perfectly hit their mark” – HORRORMOVIES.CA

SAW MISGIVINGS Poster

SAW MISGIVINGS Poster # 2

Do not adjust your nostalgia. RIP TVC

DO NOT ADJUST YOUR NOSTALGIA - photo - 18-03-13Little and Large. Autumn 1988. Studio One. That was the first time I set foot in the hallowed halls of the BBC’s Television Centre. My dad had got tickets to a Little and Large recording. It was a Sunday night and I was 13. The night’s recording was okay at best. Sid Little fluffed some lines and I was mesmerised by how shiny the set was. Actually, it was only the off-screen machinations that I can only remember now – those Dalek sized cameras all emblazoned with a faded italicised “BBC” and the unseen faces from the gallery controlling every moment like Greek Gods whose chess pieces resemble now two comics from the tail end of the Northern club scene’s heyday.

Of course I had sort of been in TVC for years before that. Mentally I had been imagining myself making a chocolate sponge with Janet Ellis in the Blue Peter studio, playing with Goldie’s puppies on the Blue Peter lawn (in a pre-euphemism age that was something ten year olds could actually do), dancing with Nik Kershaw in the Top of the Pops studio, being one of those million tapdancers Roy Castle Bonnie Langforded with on Record Breakers or at least being on the phone to Sarah Greene shouting “left, left, splat” as Saturday Superstore foresaw the XBox generation with some then nifty graphical interactivity with Five Star’s latest album as a prize incentive. I may have even have penned a letter to Jimmy Saville so that some classmates and I could visit a haunted house. On that less salubrious note it turns out that possibly TVC itself was indeed the house of horrors (for some at least). But for the rest of us who can now say with relief that Jim did not fix it for us, the nearest we got to White City’s gleaming beacon of broadcasting was getting the engaged tone when trying to phone a question into The Boswell’s from Bread on Saturday Superstore. Actually, my eleven year old self did get on the BBC’s daily TV magazine show Open Air. I asked Julia Smith (EastEnders creator) whether it had been her favourite show to produce. She was as clearly disappointed in my soul searching mode of enquiry as I was that Open Air was not actually broadcast from Television Centre, but – heaven forbid – Birmingham.

Television Centre always felt like a second home, a sort of televisual embassy bound by political neutrality and a creative haven for all lost souls and fans of Points of View. If something horrible should happen to my home or family, I imagined I could at least get on a train to London, find my way to Wood Lane and TVC would shelter me amidst Sue Cook’s blazers, Selina Scott’s knitwear and Simon Groom’s sheep. And if that didn’t work, I could at least phone up. I knew the number. 01 811 8055 was not just Going Live’s phone-in number and the Children In Need pledge line. It was the only phone number every kid in Britain knew – before of course it was cruelly re-cast as 0181 811 8181, 0207 811 8181 or heaven forbid 0845 Give Us Your Views Now.com.

TVC was as much a character in the BBC’s ouevre as Basil Fawlty, Del Boy, Gordon the Gopher, Claudius, Russell Harty, The Two Ronnies, the Doctor and that odd couple with the matching anoraks from No Place Like Home (look it up). TVC denoted home from school and weekends. It was a babysitter you didn’t mind being stuck with. Saturday mornings were Sarah Greene and Mike Read frollicking about the forecourt of TVC all in the name of kids television. The Two Ronnies would dim the lights on a Sunday as Barbara Dickson would lean against a Studio One lampost to sing Another Suitcase in Another Hall. And on slow news days The Six O’Clock News would let some militant lesbians in so that Nicholas Witchell could sit on them and make the world just that bit safer for us impressionable kids as Blue Peter‘s Mark Curry traversed TVC’s corridors on an errant quadbike or penny farthing as crew members raced for cover.

Flash-forward a few years and I return to TVC as “staff” with a BBC pass and everything. Working for BBC Comedy, I was able to experience all those BBC jokes and cliches, all those BBC canteen jibes and over-judicious concierges giving Basil Brush so much grief (though it was a recent thrill to drive through those hallowed gates, let alone be let through them). However, what I encountered was still a thriving hub of production, a busy and industrious environment knuckling down and getting on with it – despite an evident “media course” mentality and vile sense of “accountability” kicking at the heels of content and production. But why does everyone of a certain generation want to work in “media”? Because Television Centre made us. It beckoned us in every day. It forever told us where it lived (“Wood Lane, W12 7RJ”). It took great pride to showcase its studios, dressing rooms, switchboards and broom cupboards. It was both Oz and White City – with roads paved not with yellow bricks, but Blue Peter badges, Food and Drink recipe sheets, Points of View correspondence and Russell Grant’s knitwear patterns. But the TVC I experienced was also creaking round the edges. Parts of what Terry Wogan affectionately christened “The Concrete Doughnut” were falling apart. It was cheaper and easier for shows to rent out Pinewood Studios rather than nip downstairs. And just like the alleged Golden Age of British television of the 1960s and 1970s, perhaps TVC too was not meant to last. Cliché aside, it was impossible not to get lost. Or it was impossible for me to not get lost when trying to find BBC Comedy Room 3167 a (South Wing). And the Blue Peter garden was not actually that big nor possibly even a garden.

But you would also nip in a lift and help a newsreader balancing her toddler and scripts. You would see the enthusiastic queues of “the public” waiting in the rain to get into a recording of Never Mind The Buzzcocks or Last of the Summer Wine. You would see actors and presenters necking a latte with their make-up protectors still in place. You would clearly see the retro-cool 1970s fonted signage and BBC livery.You would hear news academics discussing the future of the Middle East in the gents. You would see panel show presenters perched on the stairs apologising to the guests they were about to annihilate. It was what all of us imagined a television centre to be.

TVC was about coming home from school and knowing you were watching the same kids TV show from Studio Two that your mates were watching, rather than some syndicated 28-part cartoon on CBBC you can choose when you catch it. TVC was the epitome of broadcasting to the nation – with the nation watching as an engaged mass. For good or bad, shows like The X Factor get such solid ratings as they operate on the same notions of mass engagement – of knowing everyone is watching at exactly the same moment as you. As much TVC forever showcased its corridors and studios, its output was not yet reduced to forever demanding we all text in with our views, our opinions, our reactions. The “public” were not yet a tiresome co-star and cost-cutting alternative. Yes, we had Nationwide and That’s Life carefully balancing decent content and human inanity. But now the dinner wallpaper that is The One Show will have Tony Curtis or Michael Caine on the sofa and have no qualms in interrupting tales of Marilyn Monroe in order to “roll some VT” on what The One Show thinks is the nation’s favourite litter tray. And if we are not being forever asked to Watch Again, the only corridors we now see are not in TVC but corporate and laminated ones full of wannabee gastro pub owners nervously awaiting Masterchef’s verdict on a duck breast their dying nan advised them to make. The streets of West London are no longer the haunts of The Good Life or Dennis Potter dramas, but Rogue Traders Caught On Camera Driving on a Duel Carriage-way Without an MOT. As a viewer, it now sometimes feels like prime-time slots which once dripped with sitcoms and fierce dramas now resemble the back-pages of Loot with an exhausting obsession with family trees, antiques and getting your plumbing done properly. TVC used to make dramas about the Borgias, not transform tower block spare rooms into vestiges of Renaissance Italy for a fiver. Yet sometimes folk who are looking for another heyday are overlooking exactly what is going right now. Would anyone even suggest the likes of White Heat, Getting On, Call The Midwife, Wallander, Last Tango In Halifax, Sherlock, Dead Boss, Doctor Who, Horrible Histories, Dancing On The Edge, Merlin, The Girl, Restless, Africa, and the superlative Olympic coverage are examples of a TV behemoth losing its touch?

In an age before branding became more important than content, Television Centre was the only media monolith we knew. Yet that icon is now about to be a gravestone, a relic of progression and a victim of the public purse that once paid for it having to tighten its strings. In the television of the future, TVC will only ever be seen when BBC Four mocks up a matte CGI shot of an actor playing Jonathan Ross entering the Stage Door for a drama about Sachsgate. But are these are gripes about output and nostalgia overlooking how the BBC is and always has been made up of many iconic homes. Its’ new London face is even its old London face. The 1930s era Broadcasting House is once again spearheading the BBC in the capital, with a new home for its News service already in place and quite a 21st century sight it is to behold. The BBC approaching its centenary with a pride and confidence is surely more pressing than the closing of one building built over fifty years ago. And whilst moving the Blue Peter garden to a Salford rooftop holds less cache than the garden ever did and every drama and comedy seems to be over-keen on Manchester or Cardiff, time and television must move on. Whereas British telly may have once forgotten anyone north of Watford, great pockets of comedy, drama and factual television are now dotted throughout the land. The BBC Comedy of the 1970s may well have been called BBC Surbiton. But now we have BBC North and BBC Scotland producing great funny fare. The BBC is about its programmes, not its buildings. The BBC has always been made up of a rich cast list of broadcasting edifices. Alexandra Palace, Lime Grove, Pebble Mill, Bush House, Maida Vale and Elstree Studios have all housed the corporation and new hubs will emerge and old ones will get switched off. But it is the shows that came from these media stables that is why the BBC is the world’s most recognised television corporation. So why the outpouring of sentiment over TVC? Maybe TVC just represented a different era of audience engagement with television. It was more parochial, granted. But then so was the BBC. And so was Britain. However, it did have the production of content as its core DNA. And if content is to be at all part of the BBC’s survival, then any building that is not wholly necessary maybe does need an end credit “you have been watching” bugle call.

JAMES BOND Will Return

“Choose your next witticism carefully Mr Bond, it could be your last” (Goldfinger, 1964)

All the Daniel Craig Bond movies have ended with a beginning. But none more so than the closing motifs, nostalgias and characterisation of Skyfall. The regeneration of Bond is apparently complete. Yet, with every next film, Eon and 007 are faced with starting again, of re-election or a second album Groundhog Day with less Sonny and Cher and more Shirley Bassey. Or Adele.

Skyfall is Bond’s heritage – the Aston Martin DB5, the now justified return of Moneypenny and Q and that double-tufted leather door of M’s which got fans more giddy than being reincarnated as a Berenice Marlohe shower curtain. It is also a curious hint at his future. Bond’s world is no longer a governmental granite behemoth of old, but a prescient post “2012” cyber-spy playground of Met Police officers in stab-vests and social-media distracted commuters, media-savvy Whitehall bureaucrats whose only defence agenda is media presentation, Bond women with histories of child sex trafficking, Bond villains with workplace revenge over ones of mass genocide, Bond not afraid to joke/hint he is has an alias on Grindr (maybe), his boss has an army history in Northern Ireland (a series no-go for years), Q is a sexy geek possibly “on the spectrum” and we have now seen Moneypenny’s legs.

We are now in an era where juggling the old and the new, the exploding lairs of Roger Moore’s reign and the internal devastations of Craig’s, require handling by contemporary film makers unafraid to make mainstream fare with a scholarly eye, and vice-versa. It is no easy task to forever move forward with a central character the audience must not take too seriously – but he and his storyworld always has. Eon know why Bond works. More crucially they know how it doesn’t.

Like Skyfall, Goldfinger and The Spy Who Loved Me were also their respective 007’s third entry. Everything Or Nothing (director Stevan Riley’s rich and recent documentary looking at the evolution of 007) suggests that it is the third film for a Bond actor where he really makes his franchise stamp. If so, is there a pattern for the fourth film too? Thunderball (1965), Moonraker (1977) and Die Another Day (2002) are arguably examples of the Bond brand and their leading men in an effective, but over-comfortable groove. James Bond’s biggest cinematic enemy has always been himself. How do you follow up those Bond movies that really chime with cinemagoers (where old ladies on the bus had seen it and builders were whistling Adele in their lunch break)? How do you create an event planned or otherwise that equals the peaks of 007’s 2012, 1977 and 1964? Put simply, you bite the bullet and start again.

It is now assured we will get a fourth Daniel Craig outing – or B24 / Bond 24. MGM and Sony Picture’s bean-counters have seen to that, and more crucially so will the team at Eon. Screenwriter John Logan (Peter and Alice, Noah) who lent such eloquent fizz to Skyfall’s dialogue and particularly the scenes with villain Raoul Silva (Javier Bardem) is staying on board. Director Sam Mendes who clearly enjoyed the process has now confirmed he is unable to commit – due in part to long-standing theatre projects Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and King Lear.

Yet Mendes can and might return. He has yet to helm a sequel to his own work and has evidently forged great working relationships with the Bond team. So who else?

As Bond fans and film websites the world over begin the speculation game all over again, Eon’s decision to bring in auteur-minded directors like Mendes and Marc Forster (Quantum of Solace) with a storytelling confidence and instinct clearly works. The biggest hurdle an incoming director has now is not the eyebrow-raising stigma of doing a Bond, but simply not being Mendes. So what about Joe Wright (Atonement, Anna Karenina), Gareth Evans (The Raid), Kenneth Branagh (Thor, Jack Ryan), Ben Affleck (Argo, The Town), Kevin MacDonald (Senna, The Last King of Scotland) or Nicolas Winding Refn (Bronson, Drive)? Danny Boyle (127 Hours, Trance) has of course already filmed his pre-title sequence last year involving Craig and Elizabeth Windsor parachuting onto London’s East End and ticks a lot of British and competent storyteller boxes (and he would possibly be the first Bond director the wider British public have even heard of).

But the casting of Bond 24’s director is ultimately down to the producers and who they want to work with. And the course and eventual thrust of Bond 24‘s grand plan dictates everything. Mendes is a force of both film and theatre who the likes of Eon and Barbara Broccoli wanted to work with for a while. Broccoli – whose multi Tony winning production Once opens this month at London’s Phoenix Theatre – is a keen but quiet force of theatre herself, with Chariots of Fire, A Steady Rain, Catwalk Confidential and of course Chitty Chitty Bang Bang as recent projects. Might a director emerge from the same dual camps as Mendes?

And lest not forget Matthew Vaughn (Layer Cake, X Men First Class) who sadly – like Bond himself – has commitment issues. Christopher Nolan is another golden boy rich for easy speculation pickings, but we will see. One thing is certainly influential. Bond 24 is semi-locked in. Availability is key. And whilst a Bond director will possibly always be homegrown, British minded or plucked from what the 1950s used to call “the Commonwealth” , I was not joking about Ben Affleck. Likewise, Kathryn Bigelow.

Unlike any Bond actor before him Daniel Craig emerges as less a movie star fulfilling a tempting contract and more of a movie actor with a creative ownership and pride over the character and the direction of the franchise like never before. It was Craig who approached Sam Mendes. It was Craig who championed Adele and was grinning beside her like a schoolboy when she bagged the Golden Globe. And it will be Craig who no doubt has a necessary say on what happens with Bond 24.

Despite its vintage DB5 and ancestral pads, there is a modernity to Skyfall. There is no reason to believe that will not evolve into and through Bond 24. Who knows – out gay screenwriter John Logan may give the new Q a boyfriend or see Bond toying with a male concierge for vital information. Bond is as straight as they come. But even if his Skyfall dialogue bomb (“why do you think it is my first time?”) says otherwise that doesn’t imply his tactics are. With Craig’s 007 passport already pretty full of Europe and Asian destinations, maybe some North American city or alpine fun could be in order – with a bit of Washington-based senate villainy thrown in for Watergate effect. Or Africa? And is the Craig era assured enough to go big – big global jeopardy, big sets, big explosions? Or conversely, how small can a successful 007 movie go? Skyfall was a particularly small Bond movie. As Mendes’ stint proved, a solid script, story-led pyrotechnics, utter conviction in the project, simple but effective character strokes and the proven skills of the Bond crews can easily steer Skyfall II (or Dr. No XXIV) back to repeat business, even less critical resistance and something Bond has more of right now than any other franchise’s history – the audience’s goodwill.

And whilst we are at it, let’s now throw a title-tune bone at Muse, Depeche Mode or Kylie Minogue. Better still, bring back Adele. She doesn’t have second album problems. (I wasn’t joking about Kylie either).

Just as the notion of Sam Mendes or even Forster helming a Bond movie would have been at best a curious prediction ten years ago, am I doing what every Bond fan does – assuming Bond’s past, his on-screen triumphs and not-done-that yets, will inform What James Did Next? Skyfall’s whole package was a curve-ball entry masquerading as formula. Aside from the natural fervour to see Daniel Craig again in what might well be his penultimate outing, Bond is now in a very interesting place. Those directing, writing and starring in the movies predominantly grew up with these films. Just look at the standing 00-Vation at this year’s Academy Awards where Shirley Bassey’s soaring rendition of Goldfinger had the likes of Tarantino, Witherspoon and Affleck on their feet beaming with guilty pleasure.

As Skyfall’s deliciously effective villain Silva proved, it is not what a Bond film can now do to make its mark, but how. The entire cat and mouse motif of Bond and Silva was predicated on a writer’s notion – a piece of deliciously rendered dialogue about who will be the “last rat standing”. That is potentially more about the Bond character and brand’s immediate future than scores of stuntmen in paragliding hovercrafts. Bond 24’s greatest ruse could be to take Bond even further out of his Goldfinger and The Spy Who Loved Me comfort zones. Of course the expected beats will be in place. Yet like one of those Tom Ford designed suits of Daniel Craig’s, Bond 24 could well follow the new Bond formula as blueprinted in Skyfall, the new comfort zone – sharper stitching and less embellishment, traditionally cut but using new material, just enough room for surprises and tight in all the right places.

« Older posts Newer posts »

© 2025 MARK O'CONNELL

Theme by Anders NorénUp ↑