Roger Moore isn’t my favourite Bond. Hell, he isn’t even my third favourite Bond. To me, he will always The Saint: Simon Templar, and Lord Brett Sinclair: Tony Curtis’s buddy from The Persuaders. We have boxed sets of both those shows and when I read he was coming out to Australia to promote his autobiography, I scrambled to snaffle tickets to the Dymocks/Herald literary lunch, even though it meant joining their blasted program.
In Bond movies, casinos are glamorous places filled with bejeweled heiresses and shady gangsters in dark suits. Star City casino is full of pensioners. We followed a tide of them up the stairs and into a massive ballroom where seventy-five odd tables were laid out neatly for lunch. Drinks were being served in the lobby. I eyed off the rest of the crowd, thinking that not only was I the youngest person there, Rob was probably the second youngest! But I was wrong. There were twenty and thirty-somethings scattered throughout the space and even a baby up the farthest end of the dining room.
The few men evident were all in suits or dinner jackets, the women in their elegant Mosman best. A man about my own age gave me an embarrassed smile as he escorted his elderly mother across the threshold.
Our table was number 57, about as far away from Roger’s table as you could get, but that was OK. I used to do press photography. I was prepared to trample over the heads of a hundred old ladies to get myself close enough for a photo. An announcer apologised that Sir Roger and lady Moore were late so we started on our lunch without them. The other women at our table were friendly. One of them revealed herself to be an avid reader of science fiction and fantasy – and there was me thinking we’d have trouble finding any common ground in that room. What did surprise me was that the folks around us didn’t seem to be avid Moore fans. They were there because it was part of the program and next month they’d be listening just as keenly to Rolf Harris.
As I waited for my veal and polenta, I was reminded of Flemming’s short story ‘Quantum of Solace’. It’s the title of the new Bond movie but I’ll bet nothing past the title has made it into the script. The story is about Bond being bored at a dinner party and making shallow judgements about the people around him. I glanced at the other faces: the quiet young Asian woman beside me; the tired-looking blonde about my age seated diagonally across. Who were these people? What would bring someone here if they didn’t dig Moore as much as I do?
There was plenty of booze. I drank 3 glasses of champagne and all of a sudden there was Roger & Mrs making a beeline for the stage. I couldn’t help it. I whipped out my camera and scurried up closer, and then closer still and took a bunch of snaps before security muscled me and the other impertinent paparazzis back to our assigned seats. As I sat down I remembered that weird thing about celebrity photography. When you only have a few seconds to take your shots, you don’t end up looking at the subject at all. There isn’t time. You worry about the framing and the focus and the background but there isn’t time for looking. It’s not till after the event that you find out what you took.
So Roger says a few lines… ‘As you know, I was James Bond’ and everybody claps. ‘So how did I get to be Bond? I met Broccoli and Saltzman over champagne and the gambling table. I lost in the hope they’d offer me the job’ He made jokes about customs fingerprinting ‘You can’t be a terrorist when you’re 80’ and segued on to Audrey Hepburn and UNICEF as I ate Rob’s sticky date pudding and icecream. A deep hush fell across the room as he spoke about dying children and land mines designed to look like toys.
I got to ask a question when the mike was passed around the room — a dumb one about whether he’d ever like to play a Bond villain [yes if he had his way]. The best question came from an elderly woman who told him she’d loved him since 1947 when he appeared on the front of a knitting pattern book. It was a v neck with cable stitching, page 4.
He told some filming anecdotes ‘I had three holes where most people have one… and I was on fire’, and then it was a mad scramble out through the double doors and into the enormous signing queue which stretched around the corner to infinity. But we didn’t have to wait long. Moore signed like the wind and his minders kept the book stream flowing swiftly. Rob managed to snap a couple of photos as I got books autographed and then it was all over.
21 Comments
Sparks, you are such a legend (and would’ve made a ripper Bond girl). I am jealous!
wish you were there too
You’re the only person I know to have met a Bond, so you’re right up There in my books! (Even if it was ‘only’ Moore =D )
woohoo! Glad to have impressed somebody with my sad fanaticism…
Heh; as a tragic fangirl of many, the vast majority of whom I am never likely to see in the flesh, you are an inspiration!
=D
Cat, you look like fan. A really enthusiastic, devoted fan. I’m jealous. Not a Bond fan at all , but LOVED Moore as the Saint!
I can’t believe there’s a Mrs. Moore!
she’s the 5th!
He’s been a busy boy.
I was all ready to sign up as the 6th… but then Rob dragged me away
So cool!
The last photo you’ve put up here is just brilliant! Roger, looking befuddled, wonders why there isn’t a book for him to sign; ‘Helper Lady’ (who clearly *isn’t* a Roger Moore fan, judging from the “shove over, Cat” grimace on her face) breaks all rules about personal space by reaching across the table, nearly losing her glasses in the process; and Cat stands her ground, flashing a winning smile for the camera. Ha!
What you don’t see in the photo is all the minders. Fans weren’t allowed to hang — you just had to hand over your book and hurry the fuck up. Which was OK — there were 900 of us in that dining room. Roger isn’t looking at me cos the man in front of me is trying to tell him a story. The Harper rep is actually trying to move him along. I knew Rob wasn’t going to be able to get a good shot. Any shot at all was good enough for me.
Yeah, that’s how it was when I went to see Neil Gaiman in Melbourne last year. I got the crappiest pics (all of which involved me staring doe-eyed at Neil while he looked down at the books) but couldn’t care less.
What they should have done with Moore was had a line up photo session, byo cameras. That room was full of rich people. They could have charged $50 a shot with all funds going to UNICEF. Would have made thousands for the charity. I would have gladly paid up.
Bond and Beyond
BIG ENVY! How cool is this. Roger looks very well preserved. I love the piece you wrote too. Brilliant. Rob got a couple of excellent photos…copies of which I hope you distribute and sign for us mere mortals!
N.
Re: Bond and Beyond
Living as I do in a constant state of Nick’s robot collection envy, its nice to know I can impress you once in awhile.
“I was all ready to sign up as the 6th… but then Rob dragged me away”
Poor Roger! He’ll never know what he missed!
Hell yeah!
You little fan chicky you!
yep