CHAPTER 1
Delightful Duties?
Sexual Violence in the Connery-Era
James Bond Films (1962â1971)
Lisa Funnell
As the longest film franchise in history, James Bond consists of twenty-five films released across a nearly six-decade period. With No Time to Die (Fukunaga 2021) marking the end of the Daniel Craig era, critics and fans continue to speculate about the direction of the series. While the orphan origin trilogy (Casino Royale [Campbell 2006], Quantum of Solace [Forster 2008], and Skyfall [Mendes 2012]) is revisionist and reworks key elements of the Bond brand, Spectre (Mendes 2015) is decidedly reversionist as the film is rooted in the gender politics and generic conventions of earlier works (Funnell and Dodds 2017; Funnell 2018). Although scholars have examined the importance of sex in the franchise in relation to Bondâs libidinal masculinity and mission success (Black 107â109), limited attention has been directed toward the sexual politics of the early Bond films and the messages conveyed through them about sex, gender, and power. Bond is framed as a lover, but his sexual encounters with women are often violent and devoid of consent. These problematic scenes are framed within narratives that justify and normalize sexual assault, coercion, and harassment.
While sex plays a central role in spy culture, so too does sexual violence. Affirmative consent is often strikingly absent especially in the early Bond films and novels, which have been influential in shaping subsequent/derivative spy narratives. Through words and actions, a personâreal or fictionalâmust be able to knowingly (i.e., not hindered by age, substances, or cognitive impairments) and voluntarily (i.e., without pressure, force, or coercion) agree to participate in sexual activity. When affirmative consent is missing and sexual violence prevails, it influences the way a character is perceived even if they are heroic by design. This chapter explores the spectrum of sexual violence depicted across the Connery-era films as well as their source novels. It considers how the sexual misconduct of Bond and his predatory practices diminish his heroic capacity, decrease his phallic masculinity, and mar his reputation as a hero. Moreover, it raises questions about the adoption of these foundational sexual politics in subsequent James Bond films as well as other spy narratives.
In recent years, the #MeToo Movement has raised social awareness of the insidious and pervasiveness nature of sexual violence within the workplace and especially the media industry. While focus has been placed on the working conditions for women (cis and trans) as well as trans-men, and nonbinary and queer individuals within the industry, limited attention has been directed toward the content of the films on which they are working. Sexual violence all too often plays a central role in defining the identity of women on screen as well as their heteronormative relationships with men. These texts frequently convey troublesome messages about gender, sex, race, identity, and power though the normalization and naturalization of sexual harassment, coercion, and assault, thereby influencing social consciousness. Utilizing a critical lens informed by the #MeToo movement, this chapter draws attention to the hegemonic invisibility of rape culture that has, for too long, defined the world of James Bond and spy culture at large.
Literary Roots
James Bond is an icon of popular culture. As a character, Bond is defined by his social locations and privilege. He is a white, cis-gender, able-bodied British man from the upper-middle class with an elite education and burgeoning professional career. He is also defined by his sexuality. As a heterosexual man, Bond is depicted as having an almost magnetic appeal and women seem to gravitate toward him. His heroic identity centers on a prominent stereotype of masculinityâthe lover. According to Julia Wood, âbeing sexual is a way to perform and prove [heterosexual] masculinityâ (176). Bond exudes a libido-based heroism that is rooted in the British lover literary tradition (Funnell, âI Knowâ 458), which brought forward glamorous gentlemen heroes who were willing to risk everything for both a higher cause and the women they love (Hawkins 29â30). By sleeping with women, Bond confirms his masculinity (as well as that of the British Secret Service) and convinces his lovers to support his missions (Black 107â109).
The inaugural Bond films starring Sean Connery were adaptations of a series of novels and short stories written by Ian Fleming. Published between 1953 and 1966, the texts convey some troubling messages about sex, gender, and power that have, in turn, influenced the representational politics in the Connery-era films. While an examination of each work is beyond the scope of this chapter, a consideration of how sexual violence factors into prominent characterizations and storylines is paramount. Although Fleming uses sexual violenceâbe it real, suggested, or threatenedâin his framing of various characters, he offers a somewhat ambivalent impression. While rape and sexual exploitation are frequently included in the backstories of various figures, their framing in the narrative seems to be more dependent on the gender of the character and their relationship to Bond rather than the egregious nature of the act.
Sexual exploitation is often referenced in the backstories of men who are antagonists. In the first two novels, Casino Royale (1953) and Live and Let Die (1954), villains Le Chiffre and Mr. Big respectively run prostitution rings. This is included in their dossiers as a way to quickly establish their immorality via the sexual exploitation of women. In addition, villains frequently strip women of their clothing when holding them captive. Clothing is not only a powerful signifier of identity but also serves as a layer of protection concealing vulnerable areas including sex characteristics. As such, its forceful removal can be framed as a (sexual) violation. In Live and Let Die, Solitaire is stripped in front of Bond on the order of Mr. Big: âShe stood pale and naked. She hung her head and the heavy black hair fell forward over her face ⌠âYou bastard,â said Bond through his teethâ (218â219). In Moonraker (1955), the henchperson Kreb begins to undress Gala Brand, who is feigning unconsciousness while bound to a chair. The book conveys the impression that Brand faces not only physical danger (as Krebs specializes in torture) but also sexual danger through the threat of rape. In both cases, the forceful removal of clothing is framed not only as an act of sexual violence against the woman but also as an act of aggression toward Bond; the violation appears to be more abhorrent because it is happening to âBondâs girlâ (i.e., the Bond Girl) and challenges the phallocentric claim of the white male hero (to the white woman).
Sexual assault plays a more formative role in shaping the backstories of women to explain their âcolderâ dispositions and distrust of men, positioning them as greater sexual challenges/conquests for Bond. In Diamonds Are Forever (1956), Felix Leiter reveals that Tiffany Case was gang-raped as a teenager and âwonât have anything to do with men since thenâ (69). The impact of this trauma is evident when Bond kisses Case, who âsuddenly stiffened and fought her way freeâ from his embrace (78). Bond is set up in the narrative as a good man who eventually wins her trust and is contrasted with the violent men who violated her years before. Goldfinger (1959) takes this approach one step further and offers a deeply troubling explanation for why Pussy Galore is not sexually interested in Bond. She is characterized as a lesbian and her sexuality is framed as a by-product of the trauma she experienced as a child. Galore tells Bond, âI come from the South. You know the definition of a virgin down here? Well, itâs a girl who can run faster than her brother. In my case I couldnât run as fast as my uncle. I was twelveâ (279). This conversation is followed up by the pair engaging in some âTLCâ as they recover from a plane crash. Thus, Bond is depicted as âthe only manâ who could ârescueâ Galore from sexual and social âdeviance,â especially since homosexuality was a criminal offense in the United Kingdom at the time (Black 107). Moreover, the novel relays the problematic message that lesbianism is not a true identity but rather a temporary phase that can/must be âresolvedâ through a âproperâ heterosexual encounter. It ends with the restoration of phallocentric order through the validation and successful performance of Bondâs heteronormative masculinity.
Sexual assaultâbe it actual, suggested, or threatenedâis frequently used in fiction to convey physical vulnerability in even the strongest of women characters. They are presented with a âvisible fragilityâ that renders them more conventionally feminine and thus appealing to men in the audience (McRobbie 79). At times, these women are given the opportunity to avenge their attack (e.g., rape revenge films of the 1970s) and sexual assault is (problematically) used as a justification for women to (temporarily) enact violence on men. This approach is taken in Dr. No (1958) to emphasize the vulnerability of Honeychile Rider, described by Fleming as headstrong, independent, and self-taught. Midway through the novel, Rider relays to Bond that she was raped as a teenager and sought revenge by placing a black widow spider in her attackerâs bed (122â123). Bond is sympathetic and accepts her reasoning for enacting violence while instructing her not to make a habit of killing men. Importantly, when Rider is sexually threatened later on by local men (of color), Bond steps in and protects her. Thus, the backstory of Rider not only provides a âcrackâ in the veneer of one of the strongest women in the novel series but also opens up space for Bond to save the vulnerable white woman from hostile men of color, subsequently reaffirming one of the oldest themes in white culture: resistance to miscegenation.
In the novels, Bond also develops close friendships with white men who engage in intimate partner violence by inflicting physical, emotional, and/or physiological abuse on their partner/spouse. In From Russia with Love (1957), Kerim Bey claims that âall women ⌠long to be slung over a manâs shoulder and taken into a cave and rapedâ (140) before describing the âlittle Bessarabian hell-catâ he âwonâ in Istanbul: âSo I got her to my place and took away all her clothes and kept her chained naked under the table. When I ate, I used to throw scraps to her under the table, like a dog. She had to learn who was masterâ (141). When his mother tried to return the woman to her home, she refused to leave Beyâs side, and he describes their âencounterâ as âan interesting lesson in female psychologyâ (141â142). A similar backstory is conveyed by Bondâs (future) father-in-law, Marc-Ange Draco, in On Her Majestyâs Secret Service (1963). He describes his ârelationsâ with an English governess who had âa subconscious desire to be raped ⌠she found me in the mountains and she was rapedâby me. The police were after me for a time. ⌠But for some reason she refused to leave meâ (43). This âencounterâ resulted in the birth of his daughter, Tracy, whom Bond later marries. In both instances these acts are justified by presenting the victimsâwhose names and personal experiences are not relayedâremaining with their attackers as to suggest that the violence was ultimately acceptable. Rather than condemning these actions, Bond relays his growing affection for both white men, drawing attention to their increasing kinship that extends to Bondâs treatment of women.
In the novels, many of Bondâs sexual encounters are similarly coded with the language of sexual violence. In Casino Royale (1953), Fleming writes that Bondâs âconquestâ of Vesper Lyndâs body âwould each time have the sweet tang of rapeâ (156). In Thunderball (1961), Bond âcould almost see the proud, sensual mouth bare away from the even white teeth in a snarl of desire and then, afterwards, soften into a half-pout of loving slaveryâ (117). In The Spy Who Loved Me (1962), Fleming writes, through the third-person perspective of Vivienne Michel, his narrator, that âAll women love semi-rape. They love to be taken. It was his sweet brutality against my bruised body that made his act of love so piercingly wonderfulâ (139). In On Her Majestyâs Secret Service (1963), Bondâs future wife Tracy tells Bond, âMake love to me ⌠Do anything you like. And tell me what you like and what you would like from me. Be rough with me. Treat me like the lowest whore in creationâ (31â32). The regular use of violent imagery, often requested by women (and thus âjustifiedâ), to describe the sexual encounters of Bond relays problematic messages about gender and power in the novels. As such, it contributes to the sexism and misogyny that define the literary world of Bond.
In his analysis of female characterization in the Bond novels, James Chapman argues that Fleming forwards a troublesome fantasy of men about the sexuality of women that would âleave some readers apoplectic with rageâ (14). The Bond novels not only convey the Playboy ethos in their depiction of guilt-free sexual relationships and positioning of women of erotic objects of desire (13) but also trivialize sexual consent by almost negating its existence. By forwarding the idea that all women want to be raped and/or sexually dominated, the novels remove personal agency by claiming that women do not need to consent to sex. Throughout his novels, Fleming projects a fantasy of menâs desire and relays a patriarchal worldview in which the sexual needs of certain (white British) men (through the figure of Bond) take precedence over the objections of women. And it is these novels, with their problematic sexual and gender politics, that serve as the source texts for the James Bond films.
Rape as Backstory and Trope
The Connery-era Bond films (1962â1971) are adaptations of Flemingâs literary series. The novels have not been adapted in order and they range in terms of their fidelity to their literary sources. The inaugural Dr. No (Young 1962) is an adaptation of the sixth novel and introduces the character of Bond as well as other elements that have come to define the cinematic brand, such as the Bond theme composed by Monty Norman. While the film remains faithful to its literary source, a few key elements have been added, effectively shaping the character of Honey Ryder who is considered by many to be the quintessential Bond Girl.
Ryder is best known for her iconic introduction into the film, which emphasizes her beauty and attractiveness; she is framed as an object of desire via the âmale gazeâ (see Mulvey). Midway through the film, Bond awakens on the beach to the sound of a woman singing âUnderneath the Mango Tree.â As noted by Anna Piotrowska, the lyrics confirm the sexual availability of the woman âby positioning her as a prospective bride dreaming of getting married, making âboolooloopâ and having childrenâ (175). As I have argued elsewhere, âthe arresting image of [a bikini-clad] Ryder not only attracts and holds the attention of Bond but also distracts him from his colonizing mission on the island. When Honey Ryder asks Bond if he is looking for shells on the beach, Bond replies that he is simply interested in âjust lookingâ at her body (âI Knowâ 467). The film cuts to his point of view, and the audience is encouraged to share his gaze. This moment of scopophilia is replicated when Bondâs helper, Quarrel, runs down the beach to inform him of an incoming ship. He stops and stares at Ryder. Once again, the camera shares a manâs point of view, but Bond interrupts his line of sight by running toward Quarrel/the camera asking, âWhatâs the matter?,â effectively claiming/controlling the gaze and returning attention to the mission at hand while stopping any potential for miscegenation. From the outset of the film/series, the white Bond Girl is explicitly set up as an object of desire for (the white man) Bond and her body is arguably framed as being âfor his eyes only.â
Much like her novel counterpart, Ryder relays her backstory, which provides an explanation as to why she mistrusts all men, including Bond. As she recounts the details of her rape and how she killed her attacker, Ryder is wearing a (dry) white shirt over her bikini, completely covering her body. This helps to focus the attention of Bond (and the audience) on the details of her account rather than on her body. In this scene, which works in opposition to the âmale gazeâ (or at the very least deflects it), rape is presented as an unacceptable form of sexual violence perpetrated by evil men. Bond appears sympathetic and understanding, and the film positions him as the man who will safeguard Ryder from evil forces; armed with a âlicense to kil...