Who men choose for boyhood heroes is mostly a matter of what's culturally available. Boys are exemplary sponges and the advertising industry knows it. In 1964, there were mostly cowboys and soldiers, both hip as much for their firepower as for their steely-eyed strength. The spy, however – in a world overwrought with Cold War nuclear fear – had much more than ammo and tough, he had charm – and most important to me – tech. Undoubtedly he was sexist - some say misogynist - and ruthlessly cold-blooded when it came to indiscriminately taking life. Americans probably felt some relief that his teflon heart was British. Cowboys and soldiers under the Stars and Stripes would be unwavering in mowing down the enemy - cattle rustlers, Nazis, the Viet Cong - but throw a mother with a baby carriage in the way and they would most certainly swerve out of the way. Not so sure about James Bond.
1962's Dr. No wasn't much of a Bond flick (no cool theme, no cool gadgets, Bond singing, for god's sake), 1963's From Russia with Love was a decent although generic cold war flick, but 1964's Goldfinger set the bar for what will become decades of homage for other films to mine. In the now prerequisite pre-title scene, for instance, Bond surfaces from dark waters in a wetsuit, aiming to blow up a drug lab, eventually revealing the soon-much-used cliché of having his tux on underneath.
There's also the spectacle of seeing Bond strapped to a table with a laser beam crackling towards his privates. The censors of the day probably would've cut any decent kinky quips Bond could've come up with. What was allowed to pass, however, was the name of the Bond girl of the year: Pussy Galore. Were there howls in the audience when she introduced herself to James? Was America already that dirty-minded? Or did it go over most people's heads? Did moviegoers realize Ms. Galore in Ian Fleming's story was a lesbian?
The cultural touchstones in this film are numerous, merging with world consciousness as well as future parody: There is a somewhat megalomaniac villain, Auric Goldfinger, and he does have an evil (albeit brilliant) plan: explode a dirty bomb inside Fort Knox, contaminate the gold reserve for 58 years, economic chaos will reign. After defeat, the well-fed Auric is sucked out of a depressurized airplane's window. Bond dispatches his henchman, Oddjob – brandishing a decapitating bowler - with a big electric cable.
The future Bond template is quickly established within the first moments of Goldfinger. (Check out the opening seconds of the John Barry's theme during the gun barrel sequence to catch Bond sporting a Mad Men approved hat.) The amazing Binder titles are there, except they're not Binder this time around (He titled Dr. No, but sat the next two out). Instead of naked female silhouettes, Goldfinger's opening credits feature a gold-painted girl as a screen, projected scenes from the film on her body. Shirley Bassey gave us theme #1 of 3 (Diamonds are Forever and Moonraker will be her others).
Bond films are, at some level, thrilling travelogues for those of us stuck in smalltown movie theaters. His business cover, Universal Exports, allowed him staggering air miles. Goldfinger's great locale: Miami Beach in all of its ratpack-era grandeur – specifically, the Fontainebleau.
Death & the Maiden: Sex with Bond usually ends up fatal for the girl (unless she's able to make it to the closing credits). Appropriated as a cliché for teen slasher flicks, by the 1980s this equation became all too real. (1987's Bond became practically celibate.) In Goldfinger's day, the buxom body count was high:
Shirley Eaton's after room-service sex with Bond gets her gold plated, literally, instantly creating an icon out of a 5 minute film role. (Her avenging sister, refusing Bond's charms to focus on her assassin duties, gets mowed down in a gun fight regardless.) The jury's out on Bonita; she's the chick making out with Bond in her bathroom to distract him so he can be thwacked by a hitman. This is the scene where Bond sees the hitman's reflection in Bonita's eyes, swings her around so she gets thwacked instead (but perhaps not fatally).
It's hard to take Bond masculinity seriously in this film. Although he's ass-slapping and talking down to his latest eyeful, he's doing it while wearing a baby blue terry cloth mini jumper. He also proves himself a man of taste and breeding, knowing a '53 Dom Perignon needs to be chilled below 38°F and tags what's wrong with the brandy by smell alone. Is there anything he can't do? Golf is second nature, apparently, but bomb diffusing leaves him befuddled and clumsy.
Despite the age of the film, there are few wincingly dated aspects to Goldfinger. Bond is heard stating something is "as bad as listening to the Beatles without ear muffs", the square. In addition, setting women back 100 years: Pussy's co-pilot sits in the cockpit with her face glued in an issue of Vogue.
This was my first glimpse of the sleek steel grey Aston Martin DB5 replete with revolving int'l license plates; smoke screen/oil slick/machine guns/radar and the beloved ejector seat. However, the best gadget of the film wasn't Bond's, but Auric Goldfinger's - watch his Kentucky rec room reassemble like a Transformer into a war room and finally into a gas chamber. Push-button versatility at its best.
The third Bond adventure was a certified transcontinental phenomenon crowning one of the first franchise superstars with statistics that can only happen in Hollywood (or Pinewood Studios). Ian Fleming wrote Bond stories for only 14 years; the film series has survived for nearly 50. In 1964, Fleming was writing "You Only Live Twice" (and, oddly, "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" - a decidedly different high tech auto) and died two months before Goldfinger premiered. Fun fact: 007 was the bus line that passed Fleming's house.
