We had a little bit of a discussion this week, about Penelope Cruz being introduced as the latest Bond girl in the upcoming untitled Bond 24 flick. Some of you like her, some of you think she looks like a swamp hag without make-up and I’m of the opinion that she is sexy enough to make dressing up as a Super Mario brother a guilty fetish of mine.
Which is where Kervyn came in, when he suggested that we take a look at the top ten worst Bond girls that had appeared in the franchise to date. And boy oh boy, did Bond scrape barrel bottoms in his day. Hiyoooo!
James Bond is pure man. He just has to walk into a crowd and he’ll emerge from the other side covered in panties, phone numbers and subpoenas to pay child support. The thing is though, despite being randier than the bastard child of JFK and Hugh Hefner, Bond at least has standards.
And despite the fact that he was old enough to be the father (and possibly was) of world class gymnast Bibhi Dahl, at least he knew when to holster his pistol, lest we get treated to a rather awkward sex scene.
Christmas Jones, a nuclear physcicist who dresses like Tomb Raider and most likely paid for her doctorate. Also, her name is Christmas. And Christmas only comesh twische a year. HA! BESHT JOKE EVER, EY Q? SHO I SSHAID THAT CHRISHTMASH ONLY COMESH TWISCHE A YEAR! HA HA HA!
You know, I really didn’t mid the fact that Teri Hatcher was a soulless piece of meat in a dress who was more wooden than my uncle in the furniture business…nah, I got nothing for this no-hit wonder.
On second thought, I don’t have a problem with Grace Jones, her awful acting, demon eyes, table mountain hairstyle or sheer lack of any interesting personality quirks whatsoever. Nope, this has nothing to do with the fact that she might be standing behind me right now and can still easily put me in a full Nelson aka the long walk to free back support.
Look, I’ll be the first guy to admit that Bond girls serve an eye-candy purpose, but hell, at least recent films have tried to give them an extra dimension without the need for 3D glasses. And then you get Bernice Marlohe in Skyfall, a piece of celluloid whose sole life purpose in that film was to bone Bond. Well, be careful what you wish for in those films…
Man, I loved Live and let die. Roger Moore will always be one of my favourite Bonds, and his first film was a blockbuster for the franchise. Of course, while Jane Seymour flexed some psychic muscle as the mysterious Soitaire, the force needed some balance, which led to the introduction of Rosie Carver, one of the most useless CIA agents to ever awkwardly hold a pistol.
Gloria Hendry wasn’t just a bumbling character in the film, she was a terrible actress as well, with several scenes featuring her clearly looking directly into the camera. She was only on screen for 20 minutes, but for us, that was a lifetime of bad wigs and shrill screams that stained the otherwise fantastic film.
Bond girls tread a fine line. Most times, they’re either bland eye-candy, or sexy additions to the franchise that really move the story forward. And then you get a character such as Tiffany Case, who has the vocal range of a weaponised Fran Drescher and the sheer ditzyness of coming of age comedy film. Combine that with what should be a great Bond adventure, and you get a performance which doesn’t only water down the whole movie, it turns a villain such as Blofeld from a Bond-wife-killing machine into a bad businessman with terrible dating habits.
I’m still of the opinion that the two Timothy Dalton films in the Bond franchise are vastly underrated. They’re gritty, intense and well directed. But it didn’t help when Bond had to spend a film shepherding Kara Milovi around, who had the preservation skills of a drunk lemming on roofie pills. Honestly, Bond would have had an easier time if he’d have just dumped her and given up right then and there.
At least he would saved that beautiful Aston Martin Volante from the scrap heap if he had done so.
There’s something special that happens when you find yourself watching a Bond film and hoping, nay praying that the latest Bond girl gets hitchcocked by the death trap that she has fallen into. An American counterpart to Bond, it was easy to forgive Halle Berry for having the fashion sense of a blind koala or the secret agent skills of a paperclip, provided that she could have just kept quiet for two seconds.
Instead, we were treated to a character who had some kind of neurological order that kept her mouth babbling, kicking into maximum overdrive like a one-liner hydra that had to spout two catchphrases to a ratio of one James Bond quip every five minutes.
Technically, if you possess a X chromosome or at least resemble the gender and find yourself in a Bond film, then you’re a Bond girl. Which is why a James Bond movie will never ever be filmed in Thailand. Never!
Last Updated: June 6, 2013