Five women who should be Bond girls
Sexy, stylish, sophisticated and brimming with brio Belucci has long been in the running as a future Bond girl yet still the studio chooses inferior fare. I suspect it’s because they know the sad truth – that Monica would not only act Daniel Craig off the screen but diminish his perceived machismo to that of a wet spaniel puppy. Her devastating combination of old-fashioned screen siren looks and cool, burning attitude is just too big for what is, in affect, still a silly spy franchise.
Having already sizzled in Layer Cake – a very decent Bond flick in all but name – alongside Craig logic suggests that Miller would be an ideal choice. Although beauty is entirely subjective I strenuously proclaim that nobody – and I repeat nobody – has ever looked sexier in nowt but black lingerie and a moody pout.
Miller also now brings the added bonus of ensuring that no leaked pap shots appear in the press before the film’s release what with her recent court injunction.
She is the product of God showing off one day and pouring pure undiluted sex into a skimpy sequinned dress.
According to the tabloids Daniel Craig requested a double bed in his trailer whilst shooting Skyfall so his gorgeous wife could stay over. Why not fully utilise her presence on set and employ Weisz as the next Bond girl? Aside from being a talented actress in her own right – with more than enough acting chops to match Craig – their real-life dynamic potentially played out on screen would draw the curious into theatres en masse. Sadly Rachel is currently filming The Bourne Legacy – generally seen as MGM’s big spy rival – so there is little chance of this happening. Being a former c**k-pocket for Neil Morrissey counted against her anyway.
Would undoubtedly require acting lessons but that hasn’t stopped them before from taking a punt on an untrained thesp. Ola is the reason why a million men only mildly protest when their other halves click over to Strictly on a Saturday evening. She is the product of God showing off one day and pouring pure undiluted sex into a skimpy sequinned dress.
Best known for playing feisty Gloria in the sublime Modern Family this Columbian bombshell is voluptuous, bold and sexy-as-hell. With an accent so dripping in suggestive allure its enough to make an average man rip off their testicles and place them in her handbag Sofia was made to be a Bond girl.
Five more who should be but won’t
After claiming to be the girlfriend of a Belarusian diamond trader called Yuri Miranda is whisked around the world by Bond in search of him. It later transpires she made this information up so the devilishly handsome Daniel Craig-lookalike in her joke shop didn’t think she was a sad loner. Alas Yuri actually exists and worse yet he is an unhinged megalomaniac intent on destroying western capitalism.
Later, in Yuri’s volcano lair Bond is indulging in yet another fist-fight with a henchman who has a scar on his forehead in the shape of a hammer and sickle.
Meanwhile a nuclear devise is set to go off designed to blow up the entire east coast of America. With just seconds remaining – and after much flapping about – Miranda performs a perfect comedy pratfall after tripping on a loose wire and dislodges the devise in the process.
007 is too busy drunkenly regaling all who will listen on how much the Hammers’ midfield are missing Scotty Parker this term.
The location is an opulent casino in Monte Carlo. Bond and Gaga have retired to their adjoining rooms to dress for supper and a little blackjack with a one-eyed lunatic. Bond saunters to the hotel bar and orders his usual. He turns to see his glamorous date for the evening struggling down the extravagant staircase dressed in an over-sized tin of mackerel, mesh from a chicken coop and yesterday’s Daily Star fashioned as a hat.
Bond gets slaughtered on Stella in an East-end boozer with his new bessie mate. Whilst M frantically tries to contact him to alert Bond to an imminent submarine explosion designed to trigger a tidal wave that will engulf the Houses of Parliament 007 is too busy drunkenly regaling all who will listen on how much the Hammers’ midfield are missing Scotty Parker this term.
The gritty, violent sex scene that ensues in a Nag’s Head cubicle gets the Bond franchise its first ever 18 certificate.
Kate Middleton – the Duchess of Cambridge
A fiendish plot has resulted in Wills being kidnapped and replaced by an imposter. With the monarchy and the entire British constitution at stake Bond is secreted into Buckingham Palace in the guise of a butler (there is a cheeky little cameo from Paul Burrell as his boss) and is soon seducing the future Queen of England. Beneath discreetly placed sheets she breathlessly whispers ‘Arise Sir James’.
Every time I turn on the television at the moment this likable comic appears squeeking out her self-deprecating patter so why not the cinema too?
The key scene is set in a cake shop where Bond is under heavy barrage from a villain wielding a sub-machine gun - think the convenience store carve-up in Grosse Point Black – until Millican spots a cream horn exploding in the carnage. Thereupon Bond’s Geordie sidekick goes ape-shit and floors the baddie with one Miss Piggy-style karate chop thus saving the day. Alas the cream horn is beyond salvation.
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