Like the United States itself, the opaque world of espionage is now badly polarized. While no official confirmation has been issued, there are various reports that British actor Aaron Taylor-Johnson, 33, will be the next James Bond, the successor in this magnificent franchise that started with Sean Connery in “Dr. No” in 1962 and concluded with Daniel Craig in “No Time to Die” in 2021. (READ MORE from Frank Schell: India’s Ontological Question: Regional or Global)
Taylor-Johnson seems certainly the right age. Some industry sources advise that Bond was born in 1920, which would make him 33 when Casino Royale, the first Bond novel, was published in 1953. The forces of modernity and tradition are mobilizing themselves for what may be a cosmic conflict about the nature, behavior, and kit of a superspy.
Supporters of the new Bond order may desire a clandestine agent as a habitué of Starbucks.
Film critics will debate the pros and cons of this selection. What is particularly alarming about Taylor-Johnson is that he reportedly grows his own kale, which a waggish chap might say tastes like a motel shower curtain. Kale is said to have been grown in the ancient world, although it is no secret that the Millennials, also known as Generation Y, think they discovered it. Media have characterized Taylor-Johnson as a “feminist,” and this label could generate further controversy regarding a newly anointed Bond of MI6, the British Secret Intelligence Service.
The PC and woke pundits will doubtless gush over the appropriateness of this selection — if it turns out to be true. They will argue that the world needs switched on, more sensitive secret agents who can operate in a free form, “open-source,” egalitarian manner — coolly matrixed to constituencies without the “sneer of cold command,” in the words of Shelley’s sonnet in iambic pentameter, “Ozymandias.” They may opine that the time has come to be more tolerant of Chinese, Russian, Iranian, and North Korean intentions, since the 21st century no longer belongs to the West. They may say that the next Bond must embody the aspirations and yearnings of the Global South, seeking not to suppress them by the robust Anglo-American alliance, but to enhance and nurture them.
Those pundits could also say that archfiends such as Ernst Stavro Blofeld, said to be of Polish and Greek antecedents and the boss of SPECTRE, need to be brought inside the tent, and accorded the respect that they deserve. They might say that besides Blofeld (“You Only Live Twice”), Dr. No and Auric Goldfinger (by movies of those names), Hugo Drax (“Moonraker”), and Rosa Klebb (“From Russia with Love”) are painfully misunderstood victims — persecuted by Great Britain and the United States, the heir and successor to the British Empire. They may suggest that instead of bashing Blofeld, the new Bond should invite him to the ominous looking MI6 headquarters at London’s Vauxhall Cross — not to break bread, but to break crunchy kale chips.
Supporters of the new Bond order may desire a clandestine agent as a habitué of Starbucks, queueing up gently for a latte with extra foam and nutmeg, briskly downloading special apps — and engaging a barista with charm. They will want a Bond who is casually kitted out, perhaps in torn jeans, Birkenstocks, a backward baseball cap, and a T-shirt with a slogan helping Bond to feel good about himself.
They may also be anti-foppery. There would be no place for the bespoke suits and designer silks of London’s Savile Row and Jermyn Street. The new Bond may tote a backpack, looking like he is about to assault the menacing Kangshung Face on a Tibetan side of Mount Everest. As for the weapons kit, the new Bond might not even carry. Festooned with moral authority and the desire to have meaningful dialogue, he could comport himself into the heart of darkness with goodwill as his backup weapon. (RELATED from Frank Schell: James Bond: Metamorphoses and The James Bond Franchise Needs Help)
Arrayed against this image of the new Bond are the supporters of tradition — those with a Manichean view of good versus evil; those who have read Joseph Conrad’s The Secret Agent; those clandestine veterans of the Cold War who knew the gray half-light of Eastern Europe; those who can discourse on the subtleties among sevruga, ossetra, and beluga caviar; those who can wash down foie gras with the finest Sauternes; those who sport trilbies, carry an English tan briefcase, and a Whangee crook; those who eschew moral relativism; and those who are dismayed by the perceived politicization of intelligence.
A successful British actor, Taylor-Johnson must be wished every opportunity for success. The Ian Fleming and Bond legacies should not be allowed to atrophy. It is highly doubtful that any actor can perform like Sean Connery, however Taylor-Johnson must be given the chance to make his mark — even though to some he might look more like an alienated poet of the counterculture than a grim, clandestine operative.
Frank Schell is a business strategy consultant and former senior vice president of the First National Bank of Chicago. He was a Lecturer at the Harris School of Public Policy, University of Chicago and is a contributor of opinion pieces to various journals.
