The evolution of the gunbarrel sequence in Bond films

The gunbarrel sequence that introduces each James Bond film is as much a part of the James Bond culture as the Aston Martin, the exotic titles sequence and the dinner suit. Like a hypnotist inducing a response from a subject with a word or click of the fingers, the sequence instantly transports us into Bond's world with the use of its (almost) fanfare-type music and mesmerising white dot that skates across the screen.

The gunbarrel has appeared in every one of the 22 Bond films, and hopes are high that it will feature prominently in the next film, Skyfall. The gunbarrel is not, however, an unchanging entity, and over the years it has subtly evolved to the extent that recent sequences are noticeably different from the earlier versions. Let's examine some of those changes.

The stance that Bond takes as he turns to face his opponent and squeezes the trigger is one of the variables. There are essentially four variants. In Sean Connery's films up to and including Goldfinger (1964), Bond (played by Bob Simmons in the early gunbarrel sequences) finishes his movement in a half-crouch, bending his knees a little to drop his height. In Connery's remaining films, the half-crouch has become a full-crouch; the knees are bent to the extent that Bond only just avoids kneeling. George Lazenby in On Her Majesty's Secret Service takes the full-crouch to its conclusion and adopts the kneeling position. Roger Moore returns to the half-crouch, but his body is more upright than that of Connery and Simmons and does not drop so much in height. Roger Moore also introduces a two-handed grip on his gun. Timothy Dalton continues the half-crouch position, but prefers the one-handed grip favoured by Connery and Lazenby. Pierce Brosnan stands upright, his body and legs are ramrod straight as he turns and shoots (also one-handed). Daniel Craig's two gunbarrel scenes are different in many ways from the others, but he nevertheless turns and shoots in a reasonably conventional manner, and to do it he stands as Brosnan does, but with his legs slightly apart.

Another aspect or meme that changes over time is the clothes. When we think of the gunbarrel sequence today, we probably think of Bond dressed in a dinner suit. And indeed, when the gunbarrel has formed the basis of branding or a trade mark, Bond is depicted in his dinner suit 'uniform'. But Bond in fact wears a lounge or business suit in all films from Dr No (1962) to The Man with the Golden Gun (1974). The three-year gap between Golden Gun and The Spy Who Loved Me (1977) permitted a change, though, and perhaps in celebration of the Bond brand (a celebration that resulted in the theme song title, 'Nobody does it better' and the Union Flag parachute), the gunbarrel sequence sees Bond in a dinner suit. Subsequent films have replicated this, and only in Casino Royale (2006) and Quantum of Solace (2008) does Bond return to the business suit. Remarkably, the hat which Bond wears in the Dr No gunbarrel sequence survives up to Diamonds Are Forever (1971), despite the fact that Bond wears a hat very infrequently in the films (although the hat would continue to appear as late as Octopussy (1983) in scenes in Moneypenny's office.)

Not all developments appear to have been the result of conscious decisions on the part of the producers, directors or actors. In terms of the duration of the sequence, the longest sequence, lasting 28 seconds, is Dr No's. The shortest is that for Quantum of Solace, which lasts just 10 seconds. Excluding both as outliers, the gunbarrel sequences of the earlier films remain longer than those of the later films. Sean Connery films average 21.2 seconds; Roger Moore's average 20.7 seconds, while Pierce Brosnan's average 17 seconds. The trend is for a gradual reduction of length over time. But the difference between the length of From Russia With Love (22 seconds) and Die Another Day (17 seconds) is just five seconds, which represents a very gradual, and probably unnoticeable and unplanned, average reduction of 0.25 seconds with each successive film.

In evolutionary terms, the length of the gunbarrel sequence is responding to a selection pressure for shorter sequences, perhaps in keeping with increasingly faster-paced films and an eagerness to move rapidly to the exciting pre-titles sequence. We can see from the level of continuity from one gunbarrel sequence to the next, evident in the survival of the stance and clothing, that the design of the gunbarrel sequence generally replicates the one that immediately preceded it, not those of older films (so a Roger Moore sequence expresses the elements or memes of the previous Roger Moore sequence, not those from Connery-era sequences). At the same time, every sequence has inherited traits shown in the first gunbarrel sequence, that of Dr No.

To return to the length of the sequence, the sequences are generally becoming shorter not only because of any selection pressure acting on them, but because the sequences that are replicated are themselves shorter than the ones that preceded them. The sequences are unlikely to return to a length around 22 seconds, because sequences this long have ceased to be imitated. And on this basis, Skyfall's gunbarrel sequence will be around 15 to 16 seconds long. Remember, you read it here first.

Click here to read a post-Skyfall update.

I've been expecting you, Mr Bond

The February 2nd edition of Metro, London's free newspaper, published an officially-released image from Skyfall under the heading, 'We've been waiting for you, Mr Bond...'. This is obviously a variant of the phrase, 'I've been expecting you, Mr Bond', which has been used in one form or another in James Bond films, but has been taken up more widely in popular culture. Typically, the phrase is used to conjure up an image of a Blofeld-style villain, or more generally allude to a villainous character who is aware of, or even controlling, counter actions, and views his criminal activities as part of a game.

The phrase is itself a variant, and joins 'Play it again, Sam' as a phrase attributed to a film or series, but not actually used in that exact form. In Diamonds Are Forever (1971), Bond drops into Willard Whyte's penthouse suite and, having been observed by Blofeld, is greeted by Willard Whyte (actually Blofeld with a disguised voice) with the words, 'Howdy. Welcome, son. We've been expecting you'. Then, in The Spy Who Loved Me (1977), Bond arrives at Atlantis, villain Stromberg's sea-based lair, in order to rescue Anya Amasova before Atlantis is blown up. Again, Bond's entrance is noticed. 'Good evening, Mr Bond', says Stromberg, 'I've been expecting you.'

Phrase variants appear in two other Bond films, though are not used by the villains. In Octopussy (1983), Bond introduces himself at the reception of an Indian hotel and is told, 'We've been expecting you'. While the phrase has no sinister overtones – indeed it is a perfectly reasonable phrase at the hotel, since Bond made a reservation – it is possible that it serves as a knowing wink to the audience in reference to its general association with Bond films.

This cannot be said of the use of the phrase in Dr No (1962), since the film is the first in the series and so establishes Bond convention and structure, rather than replicates it. Bond, Quarrel and Honey Ryder dive behind a dune on the beach of Crab Key as a boat crewed by Dr No's henchmen motors round the bay. One of the men shouts out, 'Come on out. We know you're there. We've been expecting you'. In this case the phrase is unlikely to carry the connotation that it does in later films, as it is an adaptation of Fleming's writing. In the book, the henchman says, 'Come on out and you won't get hurt... We've seen where you came ashore. We've spotted the boat under the driftwood' (Chapter 9). The 'we've been expecting you' phrase is simply a more economical way of conveying what Fleming wrote.

The phrase does appear in the Bond novels, but not in the sense meant by its use in, say, The Spy Who Loved Me. In Chapter 7 of On Her Majesty's Secret Service (1963), Sable Basilisk of the College of Arms greets Bond with, 'Commander Bond... I'd been expecting you'. In Moonraker, Drax's 'Ah, my dear fellow... So we meet again' (Chapter 11) is certainly of the same tradition as the filmic 'I've been expecting you', but is a separate meme and has a currency of its own.

The phrase or its variants have spread into wider popular culture, and appear from time to time in newspapers and films, especially in connection with reviews of new Bond novels or films. For instance, a review for Raymond Benson's novels by the Independent on Sunday included the words, 'Welcome back, Mr Bond. We've been waiting for you'.

Atticus: Ian Fleming's nursery of ideas

Sometimes an idea takes a while to develop before finding expression in a book. Ian Fleming's regular Sunday Times column is a case in point. Under the pseudonym Atticus, Fleming wrote the 'People and things' column for the London paper between November 1953 and August 1955. Reading his articles now, one is struck by the number of stories and ideas that would later be adapted for use in his James Bond novels.

For instance, Fleming's interest in squids and octopuses, as shown by Bond's battle with a squid in Dr No (1957) and the short story 'Octopussy' (1966), was piqued earlier. Atticus of 4th April 1954 included a piece about octopuses and squids, noting among other facts the squid's use of jet-propulsion and the largeness of some octopuses' eyes.

Then, on 18th April, Atticus wrote a piece on Japanese cormorant fishing. Atticus explained to readers how the little port of Gifu, 120 miles south of Tokyo, was the centre of this type of fishing, which was carried out at night using a lantern attached to a pole on the boat to attract the fish, and several cormorants tied snugly by rings at their necks to lines to plunge into the water and collect the fish. The idea of cormorant fishing would resurface ten years later in You Only Live Twice (1964), when Bond accompanies Kissy Suzuki on a fishing expedition.

As John Griswold suggested in his Annotations and Chronologies for Ian Fleming's Bond stories, Magic 44, the code-breaking/intelligence gathering system used by the Japanese Secret Service in You Only Live Twice, was named after 'Magic', the cover name given to the deciphering of Second World War Japanese diplomatic signals by the United States. Fleming had been interested in this before he wrote the novel; he referred to 'Magic' in his Atticus column of 20th June 1954.

The same article also included the first of two pieces on diamonds that Fleming wrote as Atticus two years before the publication of Diamonds Are Forever (1956), and three years before The Diamond Smugglers (1957). In the first, Fleming informed readers about the properties of a 'good blue-white', which, among other insights, has a mass of 426.5 carats. In the second piece, published on 26th September 1954, Fleming refers to the increased security required at the Diamond Corporation, off Hatton Garden in London.

Heraldry was another topic that featured in Atticus. Fleming wrote two pieces on it – the first, in Atticus of 25th May 1954, on the misuse of grants of arms, and the second, published on January 9th 1955, on the coat of arms of Horatio Nelson – eight years before he wrote the Bond novel, On Her Majesty's Secret Service (1963), in which heraldry was an integral part. The stories on diamonds and heraldry that Fleming reported are minor, but potentially important too, as they may have been responsible for drawing his interest in the subjects, which culminated in his writing the two Bond novels.

Ian Fleming was fascinated by facts. Some of the facts he learned while writing his Atticus column were too evidently good to waste in a disposable newspaper. Some of them he remembered and adapted for use in his Bond novels. Other facts may have led him down particular avenues of research, leading to entire novels in which the subject played a key role.

Ian Fleming's commandos and James Bond

The story of Ian Fleming's 30 Commando/Assault Unit has been a long time in the telling. There have been books from members of the elite force, such as From Arctic Snow to Dust of Normandy, by Patrick Dalzel-Job, and The Hazard Mesh, by J A C 'Tony' Hugill, but these have been personal narratives, rather than broader dispassionate histories. Recently, we have had Craig Cabell's History of the 30 Assault Unit, which, though a welcome attempt to tell the story of the unit, incorporating interviews with survivors and information from documents that had remained secret, lacked depth and was marred by excessive typographic errors. Then there was the film, Age of Heroes, starring Sean Bean. The film had its moments, but contained too many plot holes or rather great chunks of script torn from the pages of the screenplay to accommodate the shoestring budget.

So with the publication of Nicholas Rankin's, Ian Fleming's Commandos: the story of the 30 Assault Unit in WWII, the 30AU and Ian Fleming's role in it finally has a definitive account. What separates this book from those before it is the author's complete self-assurance at placing the inception and function of the unit in context. The book spends pages and pages away from the unit to explain the work of the Bletchley Park code-breakers, or German rocket technology or the events leading up and during the war in the Mediterranean and D-Day. Consequently, the importance and success of the work of 30AU – particularly with regard to Enigma and German naval intelligence – is made more significant.

The book also details aspects of the war that normally fall between the cracks of official histories. Rankin describes the petty jealousies among officers and leaders, devastating friendly-fire incidences caused by poor communication and human error, and the mental anguish and physical horrors suffered by soldiers in the face of the carnage of Dieppe and D-Day. But above all, there is the bravery, comradeship, humour and incredible heroism among the men who served in 30AU.

Ian Fleming's achievements were as an organiser, fixer, and administrator. Very early in the war, he recognised the valuable contribution that elite units could make to intelligence gathering. This was irregular warfare of which not everyone approved. But Fleming was adept at persuading people to his way of thinking, and before long his commandos were up and running. Then on, he made sure that his men had everything they needed to carry out their work, even if that meant ruffling the feathers of the top brass.

But although Fleming was respected by his men, but he was not universally liked. Tony Hugill thought him 'one of those superior professorial type RNVRs', although he modified his opinion after being name-checked in The Man With The Golden Gun.

The 30AU and the world of wartime intelligence had a lasting impact on Fleming, and their legacy is apparent in the James Bond books he wrote 10-20 years after the end of the Second World War. Of James Bond, Fleming said that he was a 'compound of secret agent and commando types'. Rankin highlights other connections. For example, M is popularly thought to have been based on Fleming's chief in the Naval Intelligence Division, Admiral John Godfrey, but he also writes in a green ink like Colonel Claude Dansey, a top SIS officer (a Major Dansey is also mentioned as Kerim Bey's predecessor in From Russia, with Love). Rankin wonders whether the name Dr No was influenced by a certain Dr Noton, who had complained about 30AU. And in Thunderball, Largo's men steal the two nuclear weapons from the RAF bomber using a two-man midget submarine employed in the war by the Italian navy (also a 30AU target) usually to plant limpet mines.

The stories that rely most heavily on the work and the targets of the 30AU are, of course, Moonraker and 'Octopussy'. The former is steeped in the events of the end of the Second World War and the start of the Cold War. For instance, and most obviously, it has as its backdrop Britain's attempt to develop an independent nuclear capability and keep up with the Americans and Soviets. Fleming refers to the race in the months before and after the war ended to capture German missile experts and technology. Drax's missile system is fuelled by hydrogen peroxide, a fuel developed by the Germans for submarines (and whose secrets were pinched by 30AU) but superseded soon after the war by nuclear power. Krebs, Drax's main henchman, served in the war as a 'Werewolf'', a member of a Nazi youth guerrilla organisation.

The short story 'Octopussy' concerns the actions of Major Dexter Smythe, an officer in the Miscellaneous Objectives Bureau, whose mission is to clear out German hide-outs. Clearly 30AU provides a model for the fictional MOB force. The gold that Smythe kills for (and the reason why Bond tracks him down) is taken from the massive hoards of gold stolen and melted down on an industrial scale by the Nazis throughout the war.

Nicholas Rankin's book contains many other links between Fleming's war and James Bond, and is an essential read for anyone interested in the origins of Bond and his adventures.

More on James Bond's Golden K

A day after posting my thoughts on the origins of James Bond's 'golden K', which he won as a teenager at the Hannes Schneider ski school (OHMSS, Chapter 12), I came across Arnold Lunn's book, The Story of Ski-ing (Eyre and Spottiswood, 1952). In it, I found this:

'Miss B E M Carroll was a consistently successful performer and, though she never won the A-K [Arlberg-Kandahar Challenge Cup], she is one of the three British racers who hold the Gold A-K badge, awarded to those who have won the silver A-K three times.' (p. 97)

So that confirms it. James Bond was a good enough skier to come second in the Arlberg-Kandahar Challenge Cup three times, and as a reward, gained his gold K badge, or rather his A-K badge.

How to ski like James Bond

In an earlier post, I speculated on the link between Ian Fleming (and in particularly From Russia, With Love) and Peter Lunn, the late Old Etonian, war-hero and cold-war spy chief. We can connect Fleming, Bond and Lunn in another way – through their shared interest in skiing.

Snowy settings have become an essential Bondian landscape (a Bondscape, if you like), thanks to Fleming's Swiss-set On Her Majesty's Secret Service (1963) and its film adaptation (1969). The book sees Bond put on a pair of skis for the first time since the war as he escapes Blofeld's henchmen in pursuit. Fleming's descriptions of Bond's skiing accord well with the techniques being taught in the 1930s when Bond learned to ski, as a read-through of Peter Lunn's skiing manual, A Ski-ing Primer (published by Methuen in 1948), reveals.

In Chapter 12 of OHMSS, we find out that Bond learnt to ski before the war as a teenager at the Hannes Schneider School at St Anton in the Arlberg, Austria. There Bond used steel-edged hickory skis, which by the time of his mission in the Swiss alps, were out of date, having been replaced by metal skis. Interestingly, Peter Lunn states that there had been earlier experiments with metal skis, but none had been successful, and when his book was published there was still no substitute for hickory, ash or birch.

Seeing the skiers on the Gloria run, Bond admires the art of Wedeln, with its use of the hips to effect turns. In his youth, there was much more shoulder work. Bond is referring to the style of turn called the downhill Christiana, which allows the skier to turn while keeping the skis parallel. Lunn explains exactly how to do it. As you face downslope in the travserse position, straighten up and start to rotate your intended inside shoulder. At the moment you feel like you are about to topple over, rotate both shoulders forcibly into the slope, while at the same time bending the knees. Bring your outside hand round with the knees and bring the inside ski forwards slightly. Press your knees into the slope, and resume the traverse position as you come out of the turn.

In terms of equipment, Lunn recommends the skis with the Marius Ericksen steel edges. In Blofeld's ski room, Bond chooses Master's with the Attenhofer Flex forward release. But then again, skis had moved on since 1948.

If you want to ski like James Bond, then, Peter Lunn's primer is an excellent place to start. And if you ever wondered what Bond's mysterious 'golden K' refers to (Bond won it while at the Schneider school), the primer may have the answer.

Arnold Lunn, Peter's father, founded the Kandahar Ski Club in 1924. In 1928, Arnold Lunn visited Hannes Schneider and the two of them set up the Arlberg-Kandahar Challenge Cup, which was awarded to the best skier in a combined slalom and downhill contest. The cup was held alternately at St Anton and Mürren (where the Kandahar club was based). Did Bond win the cup one year during the 1930s? And was he admitted to the Kandahar Ski Club? After all, the club's badge is a simple golden K.

Click here for more on Bond's golden K.

How to write a James Bond film

If you're lucky enough to be asked to write a James Bond film, where would you start? Typically the scripting process is collaborative, with ideas emerging through discussions between the writers, producers and the director. Even so, the writers to a large extent are still able to stamp their own personality and style onto the script. But what inspires them?

In an interview with Movieline, John Logan, screenwriter for Skyfall, admitted being a big fan of the film series in general, but thought Goldfinger (1964) the best and From Russia With Love (1963) 'top-notch espionage'. This suggests that Logan has drawn his inspiration from the earlier films, and this seems to have been confirmed by producer Michael G Wilson, who told People magazine that the film will have a '60s, 'magical Goldfinger feel'.

This sounds all very promising, but it's not the first time that writers have sought inspiration from Connery-era films. Jeffrey Caine, who co-scripted GoldenEye (1995), said that the aim of that film 'was to bring back the...essence of the Bond movies that many people regard as the best – Goldfinger and From Russia With Love'. As much as I like GoldenEye, it is arguable whether this was achieved, but in any case, it is clear that Goldfinger and From Russia With Love have become well-established as the prototype Bond films.

There is a third inspirational film. Neal Purvis and Robert Wade, when considering ideas for The World is not Enough (1999), the first of their five Bond screenplays, looked to another well-regarded film, On Her Majesty's Secret Service (1969). Purvis said, 'it's a very faithful adaptation and a very good film'. Purvis was also quoted as saying that he wanted to 'Flemingise' the film, and both writers returned to Ian Fleming's novels to draw inspiration and mine them of unused episodes.

Writers usually express a desire to go back to the books and bring the essence of writing to the screen when the film series is in a period of renewal, as was the case with For Your Eyes Only (1981) following the excesses of Moonraker (1979), and of course Casino Royale (2006). There was also a 'back to basics' approach for Timothy Dalton's second Bond film, Licence to Kill (1989). Dalton had studied Fleming's writing for his portrayal of Bond, but was also impressed with Sean Connery's portrayal in (yes, you've guessed it) From Russia With Love and Goldfinger. Veteran Bond writer Richard Maibaum rewarded Dalton with a script that, as Cubby Broccoli intended, captured the spirit of those early films.

Another way of preparing a Bond script is to largely ignore Fleming and focus on the spectacular, so that the film is a succession of set-pieces, thrills and spills, connected by the thread of a plot. This was Roald Dahl's approach when he wrote You Only Live Twice (1967). The book was regarded as unfilmable (a very poor decision in my view and a waste of a great novel), and Dahl's script reflected the huge budget and Broccoli's aim to make the film big, especially in the face of fierce cinematic competition.

Fleming was also (largely) ignored for Octopussy (1983). (I have a soft spot for the film, but I can't help wishing that more of the original story had made it to the screen.) Co-scriptwriter George MacDonald Fraser introduced ideas, notably taking Bond to India and swashbuckling action, that reflected his interests; Fraser had soldiered in India during the Second World War, and his Flashman series of novels were crammed with exciting, exotic, action.

For a successful film, then, the screenwriter must read Fleming, take the spirit of the films From Russia With Love and Goldfinger, and include lots of action and spectacle. From the little that we know of the film, Skyfall appears to have these essential ingredients. The film could be the best Bond film yet.

References

Fraser, G M, 2002 The light's on at Signpost, Harper Collins
Hibben, S, 1989 The making of Licence to Kill, Hamlyn
Owen, A (ed.), 2004 Story and character: interviews with British screenwriters, Bloomsbury
The official GoldenEye movie souvenir magazine, 1995, Titan
Treglown, J, 1994 Roald Dahl, a biography, Faber and Faber