There are some moments that you will always remember.
The
First Kiss.
The First First Love.
The First of your Childhood Heroes to
get castrated.
I remember it like it was yesterday -- mainly because it was. I was tooling down Greenville Avenue, going to meet friends after a hard work week. I was listening to a radio ad for new movies. There was Sleepy Hollow (rated R) and the James Bond movie (rated PG-13).
James Bond? PG-13? What is wrong with the world? Well, Aside from the fact that kids today are wearing pants large enough to qualify them for the HOV lane while driving. Bond has never been anything less than R-rated. Bond always seemed like taboo when I was younger. I remember many a late Sunday night staying up to lust after Jane Seymour, who did more for my body as Solitaire in Live and Let Die than she ever will as Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman.
Bond's relationships with women have always been R-rated, regardless of the world around him. Besides, when the women you meet have names like Plenty O'Toole and Holly Goodhead, what kind of relationships are you gonna have with them. Take one
of those girls home to mom: "Mom, this is my date, Pussy Galore. Pussy, this is my mom." Madcap mayhem ensues.
What made Bond so great back in the day was that he had the perfect job (pretending to be a jet-setting playboy), he could get laid at the drop of a hat (and almost any hat would do), and could always kill who he didn't like (because he had a license to do so). Let's face it, none of those activities can be undertaken in PG fashion.
At least not done right. At least in my opinion.
Give me real style and danger and sex any day over any watered-down version of it. I think I'd be embarrassed to admit my life was anything other than R-rated.
And always in letterbox format.
©1999 shut up & dance.com
