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CASINO ROYALE
Greg Williams

You wouldn't need a team of Swiss psychoanalysts working round the clock to connect my fixation with Bond to the death of my father when I was 6. Latching onto such a fantastical male role model might have been my way of compensating for the sudden disappearance of a real one. After all, a boy who had just lost his father would naturally pick a surrogate who could never die, no matter how many times he got pushed out of an airplane or dangled over a tank of piranhas. My dad wasn't anything like 007 — he was a doctor in Westchester who died too young of a heart attack — but it's possible I somehow mixed up the two in my childhood imagination. Come to think of it, it may be no accident that the one article of clothing I still keep from my father's wardrobe is his now-outdated tuxedo.

But as reasonable as all that sounds, it doesn't explain why, of all make-believe role models, I'd pick the one with a British accent. What was it about Bond in particular — as opposed to the other action heroes of my youth — that clamped onto my preteen brain stem and never let go? And what about the millions of other Bond fans around the world who share my mania, or take it even further (like the ones who'd shell out $240 for that new UltimateDVD collection, even though it contains only two more discs, both for Casino Royale, than lastyear's Ultimate collection)? Are they looking for a father figure too? Or is there something else about the character that's turned us — especially guys of my generation — into swooning Moneypennys?

I suspect boys nowadays aren't quite so wowed by Bond. No matter how dazzling Daniel Craig is in the role — and as far as I'm concerned, he's the best thing to happen to the franchise since the vodka martini — too much has changed in the culture. My generation fell in love with the character in the middle of the Cold War, a simpler time when jet travel was still considered exotic, beautiful girls still needed rescuing, and espionage movies still operated in a milieu of moral clarity. Today, fictional supervillains aren't nearly as scary as the real ones, gender politics have made wacky names like ''Pussy Galore'' impossible, and spy gadgets are available to anyone who logs on to the Sharper Image website. The world has grown up — and perhaps that's the reason some of us still cling to Bond. We haven't.

Luckily, as an entertainment journalist, I get to frolic in Bond's world in ways most fans would never dream. For instance, I've actually met James Bond in the flesh, or at least some of the actors who've played him. Over the years, I've rendezvoused with 007 on movie sets in London, the Bahamas, and even once in Monte Carlo (stupidly, I forgot to pack my white dinner jacket). That scene in GoldenEye when Pierce Brosnan parks his DB5 in front of a Monaco casino? I was there, peering over the cameraman's shoulder. That Ice Palace in Die Another Day? A total fake. The whole thing was made of polymer. On the other hand, that really was Daniel Craig leaping on those sky-high girders in Casino Royale. I saw him do it with my own eyes. I saw the safety cables, too.

NEXT PAGE: ''I have been a miserable failure at being James Bond in every aspect of my life. Except one.''


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