I’m dusting the keyboard back off in order to rant. Pull up your soapboxes and join me, if you will?
Bond does not drink beer.
I haven’t been this incensed since Snookie announced her pregnancy, or Facebook stuck us with Timeline. Really though, this is a much more dire matter than that.
Bond writers, you recognized the error of your ways when you stuffed Pierce Brosnan in a BMW, and promptly corrected the action in the following series. And I’m still not entirely sure what you were doing when you made Daniel Craig all morose and vengeful. But for the love of all that is heaven and holy! Bond does not drink beer!
Under the careful tutelage of a dear friend, I, myself, am becoming a beer snob (Saison Dupont, anyone?). So this really has nothing to do with beer. It has everything to do the classic tradition of the character! So not only will he be ordering a Heineken (frosted, not warm?) this next time around, but so help me Zeus if he rolls up in a Mini Cooper. Well… at least it’s British, right? (sort of)
It’s kind of like taking the pinstripes off Yankees’ uniforms. Or adding names to the Penn State jerseys. Or even Ryan Seacrest counting down the new year. Breaking the tradition just isn’t right.
But if you are trying to make the argument that you are bringing Bond into the next century, not unlike Quaker Oats’ Larry, don’t even go there. Sure, we all remember the Mojito on the beach with Halle Berry. And perhaps that was an acceptable, albeit situational, sidestep. But beer just isn’t going to cut it.
So, my Bond writers … I hope you are getting a big kickback from the people at Heine right now … because you have otherwise failed epically this time around in my book. That is all.
Retro re-post of the day: Standing on a Corner (or, Paying Your Own Way)