A good spy is the face you don't notice in a crowd. That is the surest sign that James Bond was not actually a spy at all. 'Spy film' just happened to be the trade category that the 007 series slotted into. It is actually doubtful whether Bond's job could carry any single label. It seemed to be a pick-and-mix of a dozen different functions performed by the security services - of which Ian Fleming would have had a close-up view during his wartime service in Naval Intelligence.
Inevitably we address the issue of how far Bond may have been based on Fleming himself. Although a fine school athlete, Fleming had not done himself any favours with his adult lifestyle (a film company tried to find a picture of him without a cigarette, and failed) and the fitness levels just wouldn't have been there. As for whether he himself had been given a 'license to kill', the question is naïve. In wartime, even the humblest private in the ranks had that license.
More intriguing is Bond's love-life, which appears to be somewhat reflected in Fleming's. Even the earliest novels attracted criticism for Bond's cruel treatment of women, and Fleming's (shotgun) marriage was driven largely by whips - a curious two-way sadism, it seems. The bizarre-looking Lynn Picknett, apparently on a break from the paranormal, contributes the startling revelation that he was well into his thirties before he spent a whole night with a woman. Wham-bam wasn't in it, apparently.
On the Bond-girl issue, Maryam D'Abo, co-star in The Living Daylights (1987), reckons she arrived just as Bond Girl was evolving into Bond Woman, something more than just a centrefold, actually helping to move the plot forward, but still claims that Bond brought humour to the relationship, as she herself brings humour to this interview.
Two sections are clearly too long - a live demonstration of the weapons, and a visit to the Prop Store, where Bond memorabilia regularly fetches into five figures at auction. At least half of that time should have been devoted to profiling the distinguished roll of actors who have played 007, which is shamefully thrown away in little over a minute.
Jamie Theakston is a little too like Piers Morgan with his hammy double-takes, but otherwise makes reasonable company, taking us on to the tee at the prestigious Stoke Park golf club, where Bond played against Goldfinger - attended by a caddy who really could have been Oddjob in old age, had not the Japanese actor Harold Sakata died in 1982. Fleming, of course, died after a morning on the links.
Security analyst Alan Judd provides excellent insights into MI6, and Tony McMahon (no, not the football coach) believes that vodka martini, ice-cold, shaken not stirred, was meant as a code for some aspects of Bond's character. Only a few unexplained black-&-white clips, interspersed at intervals through the story, let down the editing, below the normal standard of Forbidden History.
Inevitably we address the issue of how far Bond may have been based on Fleming himself. Although a fine school athlete, Fleming had not done himself any favours with his adult lifestyle (a film company tried to find a picture of him without a cigarette, and failed) and the fitness levels just wouldn't have been there. As for whether he himself had been given a 'license to kill', the question is naïve. In wartime, even the humblest private in the ranks had that license.
More intriguing is Bond's love-life, which appears to be somewhat reflected in Fleming's. Even the earliest novels attracted criticism for Bond's cruel treatment of women, and Fleming's (shotgun) marriage was driven largely by whips - a curious two-way sadism, it seems. The bizarre-looking Lynn Picknett, apparently on a break from the paranormal, contributes the startling revelation that he was well into his thirties before he spent a whole night with a woman. Wham-bam wasn't in it, apparently.
On the Bond-girl issue, Maryam D'Abo, co-star in The Living Daylights (1987), reckons she arrived just as Bond Girl was evolving into Bond Woman, something more than just a centrefold, actually helping to move the plot forward, but still claims that Bond brought humour to the relationship, as she herself brings humour to this interview.
Two sections are clearly too long - a live demonstration of the weapons, and a visit to the Prop Store, where Bond memorabilia regularly fetches into five figures at auction. At least half of that time should have been devoted to profiling the distinguished roll of actors who have played 007, which is shamefully thrown away in little over a minute.
Jamie Theakston is a little too like Piers Morgan with his hammy double-takes, but otherwise makes reasonable company, taking us on to the tee at the prestigious Stoke Park golf club, where Bond played against Goldfinger - attended by a caddy who really could have been Oddjob in old age, had not the Japanese actor Harold Sakata died in 1982. Fleming, of course, died after a morning on the links.
Security analyst Alan Judd provides excellent insights into MI6, and Tony McMahon (no, not the football coach) believes that vodka martini, ice-cold, shaken not stirred, was meant as a code for some aspects of Bond's character. Only a few unexplained black-&-white clips, interspersed at intervals through the story, let down the editing, below the normal standard of Forbidden History.