Skip to main content

Moore, Roger Moore


The suave, debonair, tough-as-nails British spy James Bond has been gracing the silver screen for over half a century. In total, six actors have officially portrayed the character (EON productions hold the rights to character, so anything made outside of their realm isn't consider canon). Of those six incarnations, Roger Moore was by far my favorite Bond.

Everyone has their favorite actor who played the super spy. For many, it's Sean Connery. Some are perfunctory about acknowledging it. Many are smug and defensive. The folks who prefer Moore often do so effusively and with a spring in their step. Perhaps that's a difference between the two characterizations? Perhaps, ultimately, it doesn't matter.

I never saw a Bond movie in the theater until Timothy Dalton's first outing in the role in The Living Daylights. It was just alright, a far cry from the heyday of the Roger Moore years. Moore's Bond was a perfect blend of seriousness and tongue-in-cheek bravado. His Bond never took things too seriously. Unless he had to, of course. His adventures were iconic, from the villain-turned-good-guy Jaws, to underwater lairs and outer space bases, to the end of Blofeld, and the in-your-face titled Octopussy, Moore's era was bold and yet aware of its silliness.

How fitting that Moore's swan song from the series featured a great line-up of actors: The Avengers' Patrick Macnee, the supremely unique and mesmerizing singer Grace Jones, and, of course, the wacky Christopher Walken as the villain. Granted, the plot may have been been a bit thin, but it was still fun. And that was the most important part, the signature of Moore's years in the role.

It was always an exciting occasion when, as a kid, the ABC network would air a Bond movie. Sure, they'd show some Connery entries in the franchise, but my favorites were always Moore's outings. I fondly remember sitting in the wood-paneled living room of our small ranch house on Draper St. - mom, dad and I - watching The Spy Who Loved Me, Moonraker and For Your Eyes OnlyOctopussy and A View to a Kill. Octopussy used to give me the creeps, beginning with the clown chase scene and later Bond dressed-up in the gorilla suit. And who can forget the Parisian scenes in A View to a Kill?

Now, Roger Moore is, like those old days in the wood-paneled living room, a memory. It gave me pause that his death yesterday at the age of 89 should have come as such a surprise. Someone who's nearly 90 has had some good innings, and is well above the average life span. Why, then, the shock and sadness? Perhaps it's because Moore was, even into his later years, a very active, witty person. Or perhaps it is because his death marks the closure of a chapter of my childhood?

We'll not see his like again.



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

If You Could Read My Mind

Dance clubs are a funny thing. They contain within their walls a life force and vibrancy sometimes unmatched anywhere else. When dusk settles and the lights come on, people will flood the dance floors to gyrate to music with hypnotic beats and songs about love, lust and fun at the disco. At gay bars, this sort of scenario usually increases ten-fold. It isn't for everyone, but for many it is a respite from the harsh realities of the real word. It is a place that isn't just a structure, but a sanctuary where folks -- minorities in their own communities -- can take shelter and unwind with abandon, at least for a few nighttime hours.
As someone who benefited greatly from such an aforementioned gay dance club, you can imagine my dismay at news of the closing of Chester Street Bar. In business for over three decades, gay-owned and operated, there was a time when C-Street (as it was known by most) was the only haven for those in the LGBT community, near and far, to enjoy themselves …

Third Death

My father has had three funerals. The third (though perhaps not final) one, was last night.
In reality, Lewis died in 1997. Cancer. Aged 52. He had a real funeral. I was there. The next two funerals occurred only in my dreams, yet they seemed real at the time, and their impact during the waking hours was keenly felt.
You see, during the intervening nineteen years, Lewis has come back to life in my dreams, many times. It is more than simply having a dream about him. During these nighttime images, it is noted that Lewis shouldn't be there, that he died of cancer and is resting six feet under. How, then, could he be alive and, seemingly, healthy?

Thoughts on an Election

Before I get started on the ruminations of the 2016 U.S. Presidential Election, I'll begin by saying I really have no clue as to who our next president will be. I've always fretted over the outcome of elections, regardless of the polls, and this year is no different. Especially this year. A good case can be made as to why Hillary Clinton will become our 45th president. All one has to do is look at the polls. Clinton has a comfortable lead in many states, enough to make one think that she will win handily on November 8th.
Of course, polls can be wrong. 538 gives Clinton's changes of winning in the low-mid 80 percent range. Several polls would seem to agree. Many Republicans are jumping ship from Trump. The race looks over. But of course, humanity isn't as easily predictable as polling would have us believe. Things happen. People can surprise us. And, for better or worse, I think that Donald Trump may very well become our next president.