Like every other rational human being in the world (excepting Megan, who is a professional pop culture contrarian), I went to see Skyfall last weekend, and it was beautiful and awesome and I love it with all my heart and urge you to throw your money at it too. There was one, slight little thing though that irked me just the teensiest bit though…
(Spoilers ahead for dumdums who have never heard of James Bond movie tropes before.)
Oh Naughty Bond Girl. You are inarguably smokin’ hot and you have an accent. But I’m not jealous, no no, for in the world of Bond, the bad guys are always punished and the bad girls are always slutty collateral damage that drive our noble British hero toward kicking greater piles of ass for Queen and Country. Bang, betray, be killed – that’s the typical lifespan of a Bad Bond Girl. Hoo boy how many feminist film critics have had fun with that formula over the last fifty years? But come on. All this predictable misogyny? Trembling and victimized ladies at the mercy of violent men? Peace! Quell your ideological rage, Reader, for I have a solution.
The world needs a new kind of a Bond girl, and I am she. I will make that sacrifice.
Let me count the ways in which I am a superior Bond Girl than boring old Severine up there. Let’s invert some cliches –
Come on. I’m cute at best and blandly American. But what I lack in looks and ethnicity I make up for in enthusiasm and wit. If Bond himself can be kind of goofy looking, then so can I. Next.
SHADY, ABUSIVE PAST
Why does a Bond Girl need this you ask? Because she has to have a reason to BE bad. We can’t blame her for playing on the wrong side if she’s been smacked around or sold into prostitution in Macau when she was twelve. Wait, what? Listen, I’ve managed to make bad employment and boyfriend decisions without the help of violence and bad parenting. What about all the evil money floating around these crime syndicates? A $2/hour raise is seriously all it would take for me to crossover to the dark side. Briefcases full of money you say? It’s an easy choice; I don’t need your victim sympathy.
UNSTOPPABLE ATTRACTION TO JAMES BOND
I reiterate, my ironclad psyche hasn’t been bashed up enough that I’m drawn helplessly toward Bond’s warm masculine glow like a bug to a mosquito zapper. Protect me, I’m wearing a swimsuit, you great big man! Normally a Bond Girl’s damage would be reason enough for the audience to forgive her for jumping into bed with James so quickly, but hell I don’t need that. I’m a modern girl with a monster crush. This crush applies to many Bond villains as well. So don’t feel bad for me as leap from Bond to Bad Guy with alarming frequency- free love!
“Pleased to meet you Mr. Bond. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Ovaria von Humping, duchess of Boobington.”
Where do I even begin. No. Just no. If this horribly outdated name game stands, then I move James Bond’s name be changed to Cockswain Ball-Sachs. It’s only fair.
This British spy only wants one thing from you Bad Bond Girl – information regarding the whereabouts of your boss. DO NOT TRUST THE BRITISH SPY. Lie to him, you’re evil after all. Throw him off the trail! Goddamn ladies, up your game. Do NOT just invite him onto your yacht and take him to your volcano lair where your maniacal boss will get crazy jealous and feed you to his sharks to prove a point.
After making sweet spy love, I have never, ever just up and died. Not even once.
So who is more interesting and crazycakes: The plain Jane with no real motive to be evil except money and lust and who will repeatedly try to get into Daniel Craig’s tux because she JUST WON’T DIE, or the crushed butterfly woman that expires once she’s lost her uselessness (ie: gotten sexed up and spilled vital information)? Bitch please, this is an easy choice.
Hollywood, I await your call.