(Not) Passing It On

Recently, Laura and the kids decided we needed a(n until then unannounced) “movie night,” but no one had any idea what to watch.  I suggested a Bond film, which normally isn’t a suggestion that gains any traction, but Grace answered with “Which one?” so I picked an old favorite, The Spy Who Loved Me.  To my surprise, they all agreed and we sat down for a viewing.

Now, first of all, the film is admittedly 44 years old (!) so right away there’s the danger of it feeling “dated” in the eyes of modern audiences, and in the case of “Spy,” even more so thanks to its decidedly 70’s sensibilities: flared trousers, blow-dried hairdos, high heels and disco-influenced score.  But I guess I wasn’t prepared for just how NOT “into it” the kids would be, especially given what a hold it had on me as a youth.

The “right” things got laughs, like Bond answering a paramour’s plaintive, “James, I need you” with an earnest, “So does England.”  But there was also laughter in places where none was intended, like Bond’s fight with the beefy Sandor on an Egyptian rooftop (“Is that supposed to be some kind of dance routine?”) and, in retrospect not surprisingly, in the action scenes featuring dodgy rear-screen projections.  And where there should have been laughs, there was just puzzlement: “What, so nothing can kill Jaws?”

Obviously Bond is a hard sell in the post-“Me Too” world, with “seduction” scenes that basically amount to, “Hi, I’m James Bond, let’s make out.”  “Sure.”  But I was surprised at how little worked for the kids.  Even in the dramatic moment where Bond reprograms the nuclear subs to launch their missiles at each other, Scott asks why the globe display shows the missiles going “up” — indicating Northward travel on a globe — instead of horizontally (East and West).  In all my years watching that film, it never even occured to me, but now I can’t NOT think of it.

But at least there was general admiration for the amazing sets by Ken Adam, and the cinematography.

This wasn’t either kid’s first exposure to Bond, and I am trying to keep distance between them in hopes they won’t balk at the mere suggestion of watching one.  Maybe the secret will prove to be moving to more contemporary entries like the Brosnan or Craig ones and then work my way backwards?

Afterwards, Grace asked me what it was that *I* so liked about James Bond, in either an endearing effort to find middle ground with her old man or maybe just to reassure herself that he’s not some kind of pervy creep at heart.  The best I could offer was that in those pre-Marvel movie days, when high-octane action flicks were not a dime a dozen and fantastical adventures were in short supply, there was tremendous appeal in a film that would double-down on wild and wacky concepts, sparing no expense to travel to exotic locations, stage amazing stunts and present us with cavernous hideouts inside hollowed-out volcanoes or underwater cities or orbiting space stations not by faking them with computer effects but by building them out of lumber and plaster and steel. And then of course, blowing them all to kingdom come.

But in the end, what does it matter?  How do explain why something appeals to you?  What makes a particular color please you, or a favorite food?  Why do you like rock music but not country?  It’s all a matter of taste, and the takeaway, I guess, is that taste is one thing that’s not passed down genetically. Indeed, I am now 0 for 3 as far as passing on my interests to the younger generation.  When they were younger, I bought them comics, but except for Jason’s brief fascination with The Flash, none of them were hooked.  Star Trek proved a total non-starter: none of them went for that at all.  And now Bond.

But I guess that’s the way of things; my Dad was into Westerns, but I was indifferent.  I guess what goes around comes around.  Still, now I’ve gotta figure out who to bequeath all my collections to…