He was young, handsome, popular with the ladies, and knew how to dress. And just like that, he vanished. It was such an abrupt and, at least to those who did not know Adam Diment, unexpected departure from the public eye that many assumed he had been murdered, or committed suicide, or perhaps been spirited away in the night to a quirky village full of people who knew too much and needed to spend time wearing cardigan sweaters and running down the beach away from giant balloons. The reality, as it so often is, of Diment’s jarring disappearance was rather more mundane that some of the wild conspiracy theories that popped up in the wake of his stepping away from the limelight. He left behind a literary legacy of only four relatively short novels, almost entirely forgotten today but, in their time — the time of London during the Swingin’ Sixties — much beloved, as was their author. Adam Diment, a shaggy-haired, dope-smoking, free-love cat who decided one day to set about writing the counter-culture equivalent of James Bond.
This is part two of a two-part post about Ian Fleming, Lucky Luciano, and the unbelievable role both men played in the Allied invasion of Sicily during World War II. Follow this link to read part one.
On September 29, 1939, Admiral John Godfrey, Britain’s director of naval intelligence, issued a document comparing wartime deception of an enemy with fishing. “The Trout Fisher casts patiently all day. He frequently changes his venue and his lures. If he has frightened a fish he may ‘give the water a rest for half-an-hour,’ but his main endeavour, viz. to attract fish by something he sends out from his boat, is incessant.” According to historian and author Ben McIntyre, and now accepted largely as fact by most everyone, the memo was signed off on by Admiral Godfrey but was written by Godfrey’s assistant, Ian Fleming. Fleming hadn’t been working for Naval Intelligence very long at the time the memo was issued, having only come on as a full-time employee in August of 1939, at which time he was given the codename 17F.
This is part one of a two-part post about Ian Fleming, Lucky Luciano, and the unbelievable role both men played in the Allied invasion of Sicily during World War II. Follow this link to read part two.
Beyond Risico, James Bond’s forays into Italy are often little more than passthroughs. Bond spends more time in Italy in the movies — most notably Moonraker, with the motorized amphibious gondola and the infamous pigeon double take, and the last big scene in 2006’s Casino Royale. But Roger Moore usually stuck to champagne, and Daniel Craig was too busy punching people and chasing after Vesper Lynd to take very much time out for drinking. Back in the novels, John Gardner takes Bond on an Italian road trip in 1986’s Nobody Lives Forever. It’s a fun adventure that sees a price put on the head of James Bond by a resurgent SPECTRE, which had been revived in Gardner’s earlier book, For Special Services, in 1982 under the leadership of Blofeld’s daughter (and which involves a fantasy village straight out of Diamonds are Forever and a plot to take over NORAD using ice cream that is straight out of, well, a much wackier series than James Bond is usually thought to be). As Bond spends most of the time in cars and on the run from a rogue’s gallery of hitmen and mercenaries, there’s precious little Italian flavor to the book.
When journalist and former British Naval Intelligence commander Ian Fleming retired to his modest villa, Goldeneye (“Goldeneye, nose and throat” quipped his neighbor, the entertainer Noel Coward, who was as unimpressed with Fleming’s abode as he was with the fare served to him when he visited) in Jamaica to write his first novel, he didn’t expect it to be much more to society at large than a passing trifle. It was an attempt to make good on a desire that boiled up in him during his wartime service, perhaps as a way to try and one-up his popular brother, Peter, who was a well-known much beloved adventurer, war hero, and writer. It was also an attempt to keep himself occupied, his mind off his own anxiety regarding the one-time swinging bachelor’s impending marriage to his on-again, off-again girlfriend of many years, Ann Charteris.
When last we saw James Bond, in 1984’s Role of Honour, we did not part on good terms. It was an awful book in my opinion, with clumsy romance and a tremendously dull plot full of James Bond flipping through manuals about the COBOL programming language before finally ending in an idiotic blimp finale, the culmination of a plot that could have easily been foiled a dozen times before it ever got off the ground. That aspect of the storytelling — a central plot that could easily been defeated with minimal risk in the early chapters of the book but is allowed to continue because “foiling it now is exactly what they’d expect us to do!” — will typify the next couple 007 adventures, although for the most part, they are more enjoyably dumb than tediously dumb.
Over on the Gentlemen’s Blog to Midnite Cinema, I’m bringing the Jess Franco and Soledad Miranda. The Devil Came from Akasava, Jess Franco delivers a dreamy Eurospy by way of Edgar Wallace krimi film full of Soledad Miranda in pop art fashion. All else is, of course, of secondary consideration.
I am back over on the Gentlemen’s Blog to Midnite Cinema, the companion blot for my favorite film podcast, writing about Incredible Paris Incident aka Fantastic Argoman aka half a dozen other titles, as is the way for these kinds of movies. Hovercrafts, psychic powers, robots, and men in banana yellow bodystockings will abound.
Aleksey Nikolayevich Tolstoy was Russia’s less internationally known Tolstoy. While the one was writing thousand-page tomes about sad people losing things (pretty sure that’s the plot of most Leo Tolstoy books) that would be forced upon generation after generation, the other Tolstoy was writing slick science fiction adventures like Aelita (1923, adapted into a movie a year later), Engineer Garin (1924), and Count Cagliostro, which American high school students did not get to read, since there was no time left after plodding through Anna Karenina — in which absolutely no one travels to Mars, builds a death ray, or practices alchemy. To be fair to Leo Tolstoy though, it’s been twenty-six years since I read Anna Karenina, and all I really remember is a chapter where two rivals for the love of the title character retire to a nearby barn to try and outdo one another in feats of gymnastic prowess, and I may even be getting that wrong. In fact, I think much of what I remember of Anna Karenina is actually Great Expectations. I am, however, quite certain there was no death ray.
It’s been said that in an effort to appeal to as massive a population as possible, the average Hindi film tries to cram every film genre into a single movie. Asambhav is the rare entry that maintains a relatively narrow thematic focus — this is an action film, stripped of the romantic comedy and estranged mother that appear in almost every other film, be they action or horror or whatever — but it makes up for its lack of schizophrenic genre-hopping by trying to cram every single editing and camera trick from the last fifteen years into one film, and often into one scene, and occasionally into a single shot. The result is a dizzying nightmare of over-direction that turns an otherwise average action film into a complete wreck that could almost amuse you if it wasn’t so busy inducing seizures.
The phrase “in the wake of James Bond’s success” is probably the single most over-used phrase in any examination of the flood of spy films that flowed freely onto screens worldwide in the wake of James Bond’s success. Unfortunately, facts are facts and while the Bond films certainly were not the first espionage thrillers to grace the silver screen, they remain to this day the most popular and influential. While many of the films that followed Dr. No and From Russia with Love were very different from those two seminal Bond movies, there’s little doubt that Bond opened the doors, paved the way, and made producers a lot more interested in green-lighting spy movies. Nowhere was this truer than in Europe, where spy mania swept the continent and resulted in hundreds of espionage and caper films taking full advantage of the wealth of gorgeous European locations and equally gorgeous European screen sirens.