Goldfinger by Ian Fleming
My Rating: 2/5 Stars
The movie has got to be better than this shit. Yes, I shall procure a copy for myself, and watch it all the way through. I must confess I have only seen parts of this cinematic Sean Connery classic, and the parts I have seen did offer up a slight sense of endearment for yours truly. But my attention span waned, and my movie prowess faltered, and I must confess I sometimes have the attention span of a fruit fly. But I shall push through, much as I did with this piece of male chauvinistic trash.
The golf scene proved longwinded and a bit of a bore. And I happen to really like golf. After the scene, though, I wanted to chuck my clubs through an open window and burn my golf shirts in a bonfire. So…I’ve got that going for me.
Pussy Galore is one of the best names of all time, right? Yes, you are absolutely correct. But the way she falls for James Bond made me want to hurl up a Happy Meal. She may have been a lesbian, but she’d never met a man like James Bond. I haven’t either, but that doesn’t mean I want to marry the bastard.
Even Auric Goldfinger felt limp-dicked compared to his grand cinematic self. And I’m sorry but I just didn’t buy Bond and GOLDFINGER working together. More than anything, though, I wanted to hear one of the most famous exchanges of all time, and I ended up with zip. Zilch. Nada. What exchange? You might ask. Why, it’s this one:
James Bond: Do you expect me to talk?
Auric Goldfinger: No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!
I think it’s safe to say I was screwed.