I’m writing this at a café on my way to Rochester to see a movie tonight. I normally don’t go out for such things throughout the week but this theater plays old movies all the time. Tonight they’re showing Goldfinger. As it came out over a decade before I was born, I didn’t get a chance to see this one in the theater. I like this idea—I hope I like the theater. I only been there once, years ago, and under different management. I have no idea what place is like now. But if they keep playing old movies that I never had the chance to see on the big screen it might not matter.
I think of all of the James Bond movies I’ve seen Goldfinger the least. I know it’s regarded as one of the best, or at least the one that the formula was finally settled upon. I would regard it as the best of the Sean Connery Bond films. But I only sat through it two or three times. On top of that, I can only remember bits and pieces of it. I’m sure it will come back to me. I don’t have any reason not to watch this film, either. I like it enough. I just never get around to it.
Unfortunately, I’m on my way their straight from work. Normally that isn’t a problem but because of some scheduling mix-ups I had to do my old job in the back room today. So, I’m wearing a Misfits t-shirt and jeans with a rip in one leg, both of which are now dirty and a little sweaty. I just hope that I’m not stinky. I don’t want to bother the people next to me. That wouldn’t keep me from going, but I want to be considerate. Otherwise, if I’m going to see an old Bond film on the big screen I want to shower and perhaps wear a suit. There’s nothing wrong with dressing for the occasion. Then again, when the lights go down I doubt anybody would notice.
I’m not going to bother thinking anymore about how sexist and violent the movie is and how that conflicts with my feminist and pacifist stance on things in real life. Fun escapism is fun escapism. Besides, you’d want the guy who does the work that he does in those films to be kind of an asshole anyway, wouldn’t you?
The only thing I’m dreading is people shouting out lines during the movie. I can just imagine that during the laser scene there will be plenty of people in the theater shouting “Do you expect me to talk?” and then “No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!” Of course, if somebody wants to shout out Gert Fröbe’s original line as he delivered it in German (as he did throughout the film; the English lines were overdubbed by a different actor), then I would be all in favor of it.
One more side note—if it could be considered such, given the meandering nature of this blog post already—at one point in high school I had to give a book report in front of the class on the book that this movie was taken from. I had to tell it from the point of view of the main character. I didn’t bother putting on a voice as I had a cold, but people in class seemed entertained. They especially liked the part when I introduced Pussy Galore and her gang of lesbians from New York.