Moneypenny, the Actress and the Archetype
OCTOBER 9, 2007 TAGS:
By Michael Currie Schaffer
James Bond: Moneypenny! What gives?
Miss Moneypenny: Me, given an ounce of encouragement.
Dr. No (1962).
The September 29 death of Lois Maxwell, Miss Moneypenny in 14 James Bond movies, prompted wistful obituaries from London to Hollywood. The 80-year-old Canadian actress survived more of the franchise’s movies than any of the sexpot “Bond girls,” not to mention the leading men who served as the objects of her character’s not-so-secret admiration. In the process, Maxwell became a franchise herself, trading double entendres with Roger Moore until the pair were finally traded in for younger models.
But if Maxwell got the send-off she deserved, the same can’t necessarily be said for the character she played. When a largely reinvented Bond franchise returned with last year’s Casino Royale, the love-struck spinster secretary to the chief of British intelligence had been quietly dropped from the action.
A cynic might say the change was about four decades too late. Ever since Sean Connery first brought Bond to the big screen, the Moneypenny character stuck out as an anachronism -- a remarkable feat in a series that often seemed to inhabit a parallel universe where neither the sexual revolution nor the end of the British Empire had ever taken place. Confined to M’s outer office, the secretary dreamt of an unattainable Bond, who would pop in for some sexual banter as she fetched him airline tickets to a new exotic destination. The gentleman spy would jet off for Istanbul and the arms of yet another scantily clad femme fatale; the virtuous Moneypenny would stay behind with just her wit to keep her company.
If the snappy exchanges between spy and secretary evoked Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell, they also contained a certain sadness: Unlike the brash women of romantic comedy, Moneypenny would never be getting what she wanted. In one exchange from 1964’s Goldfinger, for instance, Bond asks the secretary what she knows about Gold. “The only gold I know about is the kind you wear,” she retorts. “You know, on the third finger of your left hand.” When she offers to make him dinner, Bond cites a pressing engagement. A few years later, in 1971’s Diamonds Are Forever, she’s no luckier. As Bond heads off to Holland on assignment, he asks what he can bring her. “A diamond?,” Moneypenny suggests. “In a ring?” Bond will have none of it. “Would you settle for a tulip?,” he responds.
It was probably only the cringe-worthy spectacle of a 58-year old Maxwell batting her eyes at fellow 58-year-old Roger Moore than led producers to replace her after A View to a Kill. But it was the character, not the actress, that didn’t quite work. Subsequent Moneypenny actresses, with updated bodies and cultural badinage, changed just as frequently as Bond actors. Likewise, the repartee between the characters slid steadily southward -- anatomically and metaphorically. It reached its nadir as the pair discussed Bond’s Scandinavian language tutor in 1997’s Tomorrow Never Dies: “You always were a cunning linguist, James,” Moneypenny declares.
Still, the Moneypenny character added one thing to the movies that had nothing to do with ham-fisted amorous banter: bureaucracy. The idea of Bond depends on a vision of him as the adventurer, dodging bullets abroad while his prissy bosses ride desks back home. Nothing underlines the distinction so much as the fact that M has a secretary to fetch tea or screen calls -- and, naturally, to dream of a real man like the one the hidebound spy chief is busy hectoring over some minor infraction. Though the new-style Bond of Casino Royale required far less suspension of disbelief than did some of his predecessors, one thing about the film that rang false was the way M, now played by Judi Dench, seemed to be making her own telephone calls. Any self-respecting political heavyweight has someone to do that sort of work for her.
It’s just that this person no longer looks like Moneypenny. A more up-to-date version of the character would be reinvented as a “personal assistant” to the spymaster, rather than a mere secretary. She’d be young, educated, and hungry, and would likely think of her menial work as just a stepping stone to the bigger and better things that could be achieved via a nice word from M. Think The Devil Wears Prada, with spy satellites.
This character might even plausibly flirt with Bond; he wouldn’t so much be out of her league as a few steps ahead of her. As such, the banter between the two would be a lot more loaded because the possibility of an actual coupling -- the real kind, with emotions -- might seem a lot more authentic. It’s a pity, though, that sharp-tongued Lois Maxwell never got to play that role.
Michael Currie Schaffer is writing a book about the pet industry and American culture. His last piece for Obit was about King Zahir Shah.
James Bond: Moneypenny! What gives?
Miss Moneypenny: Me, given an ounce of encouragement.
Dr. No (1962).
The September 29 death of Lois Maxwell, Miss Moneypenny in 14 James Bond movies, prompted wistful obituaries from London to Hollywood. The 80-year-old Canadian actress survived more of the franchise’s movies than any of the sexpot “Bond girls,” not to mention the leading men who served as the objects of her character’s not-so-secret admiration. In the process, Maxwell became a franchise herself, trading double entendres with Roger Moore until the pair were finally traded in for younger models.
But if Maxwell got the send-off she deserved, the same can’t necessarily be said for the character she played. When a largely reinvented Bond franchise returned with last year’s Casino Royale, the love-struck spinster secretary to the chief of British intelligence had been quietly dropped from the action.
A cynic might say the change was about four decades too late. Ever since Sean Connery first brought Bond to the big screen, the Moneypenny character stuck out as an anachronism -- a remarkable feat in a series that often seemed to inhabit a parallel universe where neither the sexual revolution nor the end of the British Empire had ever taken place. Confined to M’s outer office, the secretary dreamt of an unattainable Bond, who would pop in for some sexual banter as she fetched him airline tickets to a new exotic destination. The gentleman spy would jet off for Istanbul and the arms of yet another scantily clad femme fatale; the virtuous Moneypenny would stay behind with just her wit to keep her company.
If the snappy exchanges between spy and secretary evoked Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell, they also contained a certain sadness: Unlike the brash women of romantic comedy, Moneypenny would never be getting what she wanted. In one exchange from 1964’s Goldfinger, for instance, Bond asks the secretary what she knows about Gold. “The only gold I know about is the kind you wear,” she retorts. “You know, on the third finger of your left hand.” When she offers to make him dinner, Bond cites a pressing engagement. A few years later, in 1971’s Diamonds Are Forever, she’s no luckier. As Bond heads off to Holland on assignment, he asks what he can bring her. “A diamond?,” Moneypenny suggests. “In a ring?” Bond will have none of it. “Would you settle for a tulip?,” he responds.It was probably only the cringe-worthy spectacle of a 58-year old Maxwell batting her eyes at fellow 58-year-old Roger Moore than led producers to replace her after A View to a Kill. But it was the character, not the actress, that didn’t quite work. Subsequent Moneypenny actresses, with updated bodies and cultural badinage, changed just as frequently as Bond actors. Likewise, the repartee between the characters slid steadily southward -- anatomically and metaphorically. It reached its nadir as the pair discussed Bond’s Scandinavian language tutor in 1997’s Tomorrow Never Dies: “You always were a cunning linguist, James,” Moneypenny declares.
Still, the Moneypenny character added one thing to the movies that had nothing to do with ham-fisted amorous banter: bureaucracy. The idea of Bond depends on a vision of him as the adventurer, dodging bullets abroad while his prissy bosses ride desks back home. Nothing underlines the distinction so much as the fact that M has a secretary to fetch tea or screen calls -- and, naturally, to dream of a real man like the one the hidebound spy chief is busy hectoring over some minor infraction. Though the new-style Bond of Casino Royale required far less suspension of disbelief than did some of his predecessors, one thing about the film that rang false was the way M, now played by Judi Dench, seemed to be making her own telephone calls. Any self-respecting political heavyweight has someone to do that sort of work for her.
It’s just that this person no longer looks like Moneypenny. A more up-to-date version of the character would be reinvented as a “personal assistant” to the spymaster, rather than a mere secretary. She’d be young, educated, and hungry, and would likely think of her menial work as just a stepping stone to the bigger and better things that could be achieved via a nice word from M. Think The Devil Wears Prada, with spy satellites.
This character might even plausibly flirt with Bond; he wouldn’t so much be out of her league as a few steps ahead of her. As such, the banter between the two would be a lot more loaded because the possibility of an actual coupling -- the real kind, with emotions -- might seem a lot more authentic. It’s a pity, though, that sharp-tongued Lois Maxwell never got to play that role.Michael Currie Schaffer is writing a book about the pet industry and American culture. His last piece for Obit was about King Zahir Shah.
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