Would you date James Bond?

Is Bond really every heterosexual woman’s dream?

It’s been over a week now since Daniel Craig once again burst forth onto our screens, all bristling manliness and musclebound  testosterone.

Skyfall, the 23rd  installment of the Bond franchise, is coining in millions of pounds/dollars/euros/zlotys as movie go-ers worldwide watch agog at the latest gadgets, gismos… and of course, girls.

This year is also the 50th anniversary of the release of Dr No, the first film in the Bond bankathon (not including, of course, the whimsical, nay farcical, Casino Royale starring David Niven).

So after 50 years, has Bond changed with the times?  Has he abandoned misogyny for metrosexuality?

Let’s leave Skyfall to one side for the moment, as it provokes its own debate. It’s Bond, but perhaps not as we know it.

Let’s instead have a brief look back at one of the most enduring heroes of modern literature and moviedom.

Historically, Bond has been written as something of a Don Juan, to understate the case enormously.

From Connery through Moore to Brosnan, the movie incarnations of Bond tend to engage in pyrotechnic action sequences punctuated with glib one liners and, frankly, shagathons.

The women he beds adore him. They hang on his every word and obey his every command. They fight for him and, often, they die for him.

But would a real, modern, with-a-brain woman, be attracted to him?  Is he really every woman’s dream? (Can you guess what’s coming?)

Hmmmmm.  Let’s see.

Bond is known for his skill of talking women into bed. It’s the stuff of legend and, according to celluloid evidence, foolproof. But would it work in the real world?

If, in the unlikely event you found yourself asking a man whether he preferred blondes or brunettes and he answered “as long as the collars and cuffs match,” would you be likely to swoon and fall into bed with him (assuming of course that they did match; if not, you wouldn’t get a look in I’m afraid).

And what woman doesn’t want to hear: “That’s quite a nice little nothing you’re almost wearing. I approve.”

Be still our beating hearts.

Ah, Bond, what marvelous and creative writers you have.

Actually, is Bond a man who would even ask you on a date?

Well, you might have to change your name. He seems to prefer women with (ludicrous) names like Pussy Galore, Plenty O’Toole, Xenia Onatopp (oh dear God), Holly Goodhead, or, my favourite, Jenny Flex (on your knees girls!)

I don’t know about you, but so far, I’m not feeling the love.

Thinking about it, Mr Bond might also pose a bit of a risk on the old health front.

According to Dr Sarah Jarvis, a general practitioner and regular guest on the BBC’s The One Show: “The likelihood of James Bond having chlamydia is extremely high.  If he came to my clinic I would definitely advise him to have an STI test.”

Not top of my date tick list ladies.

So after 50 years, have things changed?  Can journalist Paul Johnson, author of ‘Sex, snobbery and sadism,’ a critique of the  literary Dr No, breathe a sigh of relief?

Well, maybe. Skyfall has many of the predicable Bond trademarks. It’s violent, it’s action packed, and Bond is unrelentingly unrepentant.

And there is, of course, sex. But as a whole, it is admittedly slightly different in tone, thanks in no small part to Dame Judi Dench as M.

It almost does a good job, but for two things (spoiler alert).

One, Bond jumps into a shower and has sex with a random character he has barely met. I can’t even remember her name (actually probably a good thing – Pussy Galore stuck instantly).

And secondly, Dame JD, who famously called Bond a sexist misogynist dinosaur, dies.

And is replaced by – naturally – a man.

The only other female character of substance started the film as a gun toting hard nosed pretty cool female agent. By the end she, bizarrely, takes a desk job and reveals herself to be Miss Moneypenny. (Slow motion noooooooooo…..)

Maybe Bond will never change. That is, unless, they get a female writer. It may be a very short film.

Female protagonist (FP): You must be Mr Bond.

Bond: Why yes… and you are?

FP: ….getting the hell out of here, you slut.

Well, one can dream.