#Behind the scenes of nttd

[crewman-penelope]

Safin's Island - Set documentation

[safinsscars]

Source

[mandalhoerian]

some people have very sad lives...I personally also found you from moth to a flame, and while it's an incredible fic I'm so fucking invested in the no time to die story, it's incredibly thrilling and vera's personality leads to wonderful character dynamics with Leon that are so fun to read, like the moment i read the weed scene I knew I had found a real gem

this was sent on may 29th also responding to the hate anon (for context!)

i can swear that they were frustrated that i wasn't working on more reader content (aka mtaf sequel) and was focusing on nttd instead but i can't prove it ,,,, telling me that nobody cares (like. they kept using "we" as the pronoun constantly it's kinda pathetic to hide behind) is like an indirect way of saying "just write xreader already" -- which will horribly backfire. but AYAYA, onto the more positive things!

im like. RSSHDEHDKSDHSJDS i was like "REALLY??? 😩😩😩😩😩" reading all of that !!! AHHHHHHHHH so so so happy the dynamic's fun to read & engaging, their earlier interactions were so fun to write as well -- AND THE WEED SCENE AHAH

i'm not saying they're comedy gold or anything but i wanted to balance some sort of awkward cringy shit (😐) moving towards a more balanced humor as they get used to each other or something along the lines,,,, because some of the scenes are meant to be a bit painful LMAO they trigger my fight or flight. that conversation before the lion medallion would randomly come to mind at night in bed and i would kick myself if it was me to be honest. (social anxiety and cringe fear vera.) like they get it together as they're conversing over the radio but. it's vera starting to flirt a bit that starts adding chemistry i think? RAMBLING SORRY

thank you so much for sending this ask AAAAAAAAA i'm so sorry for answering so late im the worst. bbhh

[rentsturner]

On Set of No Time To Die

[marvelmusing]

Take a Bullet

Gareth Mallory x 00!Reader

A/N: I wrote this before I saw No Time To Die since I was watching Skyfall for the first time in awhile and I forgot how much I love this scene and Mallory’s character, so this happened. I might do some more writing for other Bond characters [No NTTD spoilers]

WARNINGS: canon level violence, mild reference to needle phobia, injection (no graphic description)

My Masterlist

°•. ✿ .•°

The door slams open and you stumble through, quickly surveying the chaos before you. The next thirty seconds seem to run in slow motion as your instincts take over. You see M stood in the centre of the room, directly in Silva’s firing line. Mallory rushes forward to pull M out of the way. Silva shoots. Before you’ve even realised it, you’re shoving Mallory out of the bullet’s path, taking the hit yourself. Pain sears through your right shoulder, the force of the shot throwing you to the ground with Mallory at your side. He turns to you, his eyes wide as the realisation of what you’ve just done dawns on him. You move a hand to your shoulder, fingers quickly becoming stained with blood. With a scowl, you sit up, raising your gun to shoot back at Silva and his men. You look down at Tanner, who’s currently shielding M to the best of his abilities.

“Get her out of here.” You order him. “I’ll cover you.” The sound of shots being fired to your side draws your attention. James stands at the door you came through, aiming directly for Silva. “Took your bloody time Seven.” You call out to him.

“I got caught on the tube.” You roll your eyes at him. He kicks a gun towards Eve, and she also joins the shooting. A policeman falls at the side of the room, dropping his gun. You watch as Mallory eyes it, you stand up, firing a considerable cover as he dives for the gun. One of Silva’s men aims at you, but Mallory’s quicker and the man goes down with two shots. You duck behind a desk, giving him a nod of appreciation as he crouches in the doorway. Bond’s voice is quiet in your ear, but you luckily hear him in time. “Four, duck.” You fold yourself under the desk, giving James a clear shot for the fire extinguisher. The room is filled with mist, providing enough cover for M to escape. You and James stand, firing shots randomly into the cloud. You hold the door open as Eve moves the council members to the exit. Once they’re all through you shut the door heavily, leaning against the dark wood in an attempt to catch your breath.

“Are you alright?” Mallory asks you. You nod distractedly at him, focusing on your earpiece as James and Q talk to one another.

“I’ve got M. We’re about to disappear.”

“What?” You hear the note of alarm in the Quartermaster’s voice. James ignores his question,

“I need you to leave a trail of breadcrumbs, impossible to follow for anyone but Silva. Think you can do it?” There’s slight pause before Q answers

“I’m guessing this isn’t strictly official.”

“Not even remotely.” James remarks.

“There goes my promising career in espionage.” Q quips back and you can’t help the small smile on your face.

“You alright Four? You took quite the hit.” James asks. Before you can answer Q chimes in worriedly.

“Hit? Four?”

“I’m fine Q, don’t mother hen.” You insist as you shrug off your jacket to reveal your rather bloodstained shirt. “Where are you Seven? I’ll come with you.”

“No, I need you to man the fort, stay low. And keep an eye on Mallory, won’t you?” Your eyes flicker to the man in front of you, who’s still watching you.

“Will do, be careful James.”

“I’ll try my best.” Is his only reply before his feed cuts off.

“I’m signing off Q.” After hearing his acknowledgement, you remove your earpiece, tossing it to the floor. You look back at Mallory to see he’s pulled off his jacket. He meets your eyes, noticing your confusion as he steps forward the press the folded jacket to your shoulder. You wince at the contact but nod in gratitude.

“We need to get you to the hospital.”

“No.” You protest, seizing his wrist. “No hospitals.” He frowns at you, causing you to elaborate. “It’s a rule for double 0s.” He sighs holding your gaze, but he eventually nods.

“Come with me.” He helps to steer you outside without attracting the attention of any of the recently arrived police or ambulance staff. The two of you get into his car and he sets off into the centre of London. At some point in the journey your eyes flutter closed as you lean your head against the headrest. Mallory notices instantly. “Ah, ah, ah. Stay with me Four.” You nod, fighting to keep your eyes open.

“I’m here, I’m here.” You mumble, but he doesn’t seem convinced.

“Tell me what happened.” You nod, your brow furrowing as you attempt to gather your thoughts.

“Silva hacked us and escaped. Bond went after him with me not far behind. When we figured out he was going after M, I headed your way. I bumped into a few of Silva’s men but I got there in time.” He nods, thinking over what you’ve just told him. He asks you another question,

“Why can’t double 0s receive hospital care?”

“In an absolute emergency I suppose we could. It’s because we usually surrender our identity when we become a double 0. Though that is optional as you can probably tell, since everybody seems to know Bond’s bloody name. The only medical records I have are at MI6, so that’s where I go. Or I just handle it myself.” He seems to give this new information much more thought than your account of Silva’s escape, but you don’t comment on it. He keeps your mind occupied with a few more questions and soon you’ve arrived at your destination. He helps you out of the car as the blood loss finally starts to take affect. You look around you, suddenly concerned about the unfamiliar surroundings.

“Where are we?” You ask him, suspicion creeping it’s way into your mind.

“My flat. We’ll be safe there.” You nod, slightly ashamed that you haven’t been paying attention to your location. His face is, as always, unreadable.

“I know what you’re thinking. You’re doubting the competency of your field agent.” His only response is a short hum of what seems to be agreement. You close your eyes, sighing quietly as the two of you enter his flat.

“However, that’s not my current priority.” He states, sitting you down at the kitchen table. He returns with a rather extensive first aid kit. Your jacket had been discarded at the scene, so all you have to do is unbutton your shirt to reveal the wound.

“For someone with a disdain for field work you have a decent amount of supplies.” You remark. The professional mask you’ve always shown in front of him slips dramatically as he begins to work on cleaning your shoulder.

“A disdain for field work?” He repeats. “What gave you that impression?”

“You have a reputation in the office as a bit of a paper pusher.”

“Do I?” You think there’s a smirk on his face, but you’re not sure whether his amusement is from your words or the fact that it’s you. The you that always refers to him with a respectful ‘sir’ or ‘Mr Mallory’. You know that, as a double 0, you should be able to handle a shot to the shoulder without completely losing your filter like this. But it’s been an unbelievably long day, you’re battered and bruised, not to mention that being here with Mallory makes you feel safe somehow.

Once he’s cleaned and bandaged you he takes a moment to look you up and down.

“Is there anywhere else that hurts?”

“No.” You lie. He raises an eyebrow at you. With a sigh you add, “It’s all just aches and bruises, nothing to be concerned about.”

“Would you like something for the pain?” You shake your head, as he rummages through the kit, denying how much it all hurts.

“This isn’t the worst I’ve had.”

“Regardless, would you like something?” He notices how quickly your eyes flicker away from the needle in his hand. He sets it down carefully. “You’re afraid of needles.” You scoff,

“No I’m not.”

“Then why won’t you look at it.”

“Who watches themselves getting stabbed voluntarily?” You remark, but your voice wavers and he picks up on it. You look away from him. What kind of a double 0 are you? He must think you’re ridiculous. You hear the rustle of packaging as he prepares the injection.

“Do you want this?” He repeats. You nod with a quiet,

“Yes.”

“Look at me.” When your gaze meets his he asks you. “What colour are my eyes?” A smile flickers across your face, as you realise he’s trying to distract you, but you humour him.

“Blue. Though not really blue, a sort of hazel, with green in them.” You grit your teeth when you feel the ache of the needle, but your eyes remain fixed on his as you take in every detail of his face. “I’m sure there’d be some grey in them, in the right lighting.” His touch is gentle, helping you to forget for a moment, and a small smile tugs at his lips.

“Good.” He says softly, before pulling away. “All done.”

“Thank you.” You say quietly. He waves off your thanks.

“You need sleep. You can stay here for the night.” You shake your head.

“Mallory, you really don’t need to do all this.”

“You saved my life.” He reminds you. You smile softly but shake your head.

“I doubt it. I only saved you from the state I’m in now.”

“Please,” He insists. “You shouldn’t be alone like this.” You nod and he shows you to the guest room. He helps you into some more comfortable clothes before settling you down under the covers. You bury your face into the pillow, trying to find a comfortable position for your shoulder.

“Thank you Gareth.” You mumble softly as you slip into a deep sleep. He doesn’t miss the fact that that was the first time you’ve called him by his first name. But you do miss the tender smile he gives you as turns the light off.

“Goodnight, 004.”

[teamcivilian]

Insult to Injury: The Director's Cut — Ch01 [Revised]

Warnings: Intense scenes of violence including torture, sexual content, nudity and language, allusions to childhood trauma/abuse.

Rating: M

Genre: Crime/Drama with a side of romance.

Summary: A troubled psychiatrist desperate to escape past criminal ties is drawn into a far more insidious schism. [Post-Skyfall, Pre-NTtD]

07/15/2022 — This is going to be the final rewrite. Aside from some big fixes (Madeleine’s profession as a psychatrist rather than psychologist, aging her up by one year, switching "college" to "university", giving the PSD its own name, etc) I made an effort to tighten up the dialogue and characterization overall. At the time I was originally working on this (2020-2021) I pulled a lot of information from fan-wikis; as such, there were some conflicting details I overlooked for the sake of convenience. It still might not be perfect, but I’d rather move forward than stay trapped in development hell.

Whether you’ve been reading since early 2020, or are new to the story in time for 007 Fest 2022, I hope you enjoy what’s in store! —Dorminchu

— ACT I —

“Most rich people have a gangster in their ancestry somewhere.” ― Ken Follett, Winter of the World

I: FORGIVING WHO YOU ARE, FOR WHAT YOU STAND TO GAIN

2003; Madeleine was eighteen, fresh out of Ermitage International School. Just a week before, she’d talked things out with her academic counsellor. Mental health was a very important subject to her. She had always admired those who could help others who lacked the knowledge or courage to take the first step. She wanted to go into psychiatry. Looking back on it, she probably sounded like every other self-impressed trust-fund looking to cajole his or her way into advanced placements.

The counsellor simply sat behind his desk and listened, nodding every once in a while. He was getting paid either way. “Have you decided what university you will be attending?”

Madeleine explained that she had put in a few different applications already.

The counsellor said, “These positions go quickly. Put in a couple more. Oxford is a good choice.”

Madeleine paused. Money was not exactly a problem for someone attending Ermitage, but she didn’t want to go flaunting this around. She thanked him for his time and information, and left.

The very next morning Madeleine opened her laptop—a birthday gift from her father, kept for convenience’s sake—to a series of emails confirming her acceptance into Oxford. Tuition payments. High-priority placements. So on, so forth.

Her father never wrote. Never gave any indication that he had a daughter in his life, until she had gotten her baccalaureate.

With tears in her eyes, she read the messages over to make sure she was not mistaken. She composed herself, called her Aunt Droit and relayed the message. The tremble in her own voice mistaken for elation.

But the warmth in Droit’s voice stayed with Madeleine for years. “Congratulations, dear. You’ve worked very hard at this.”

Madeleine bit the inside of her cheek and hung up.

⁂

She spent the next four years at Oxford, plus one in the Sorbonne during her residency. Once she was a practicing psychiatrist, she could support herself without outside interference.

She embraced the temporary comfort of acquaintances who knew her as Madeleine Swann; disciplined in her studies, but always cordial to the part-time students. The type of person who was drawn into the orbit of socialisation. A tough nut to crack. Colleagues sought her advice on research projects. Some vying to get into her good graces. A couple guys might ask for her number and end up studying together for weeks. Most were appreciative, but eventually Madeleine earned an unshakeable reputation for being frigid.

Of course, not everyone was so disingenuous. Madeleine attended her fair share of lunches and off-campus events for the sake of networking opportunities, melding into a small-knit group of undergraduates with comparable grades. Arnaud, who was studying to be a clinical psychologist, only stuck out in her mind because he kept finding excuses to hang out between classes. He may as well have been making conversation to a brick wall, but his presence gave her an excuse to get out of parties and potential dates. She let him accompany her to and from the library without complaint. Even after he’d graduated, they still kept in touch.

After becoming a licensed psychiatrist in 2008, she immediately turned to non-profit work. That summer, there was a water crisis in Bolivia. Tuberculosis outbreak in Laos. 2009; aftermath of a military coup in Ethiopia.

In the spring of 2011, she moved back into Paris. Cycling between outpatient management at the hospital and private clinic; in the latter case, complete with her own office. The casual anecdotes she provided to her co-workers were about as as droll as her taste in décor—with the occasional concern about her walls being a little sterile, always passed along by the secretary. Not even a picture of yourself, Dr. Swann?

Out of the blue, Arnaud contacted her over email. He was a clinical psychologist now, working just a couple blocks away. How would she like to meet up again, just for old time’s sake?

Detached from the stress of a full-time enrolment, this gesture lost its annoyance. It was honestly flattering. She wasn’t that busy.

They caught up over in a local bar Madeleine forgot the name of. Arnaud was busy teaching, over in Hauts-de-Seine. He was a Senior Psychologist now. How was she doing, these days?

She mentioned the clinic, no problems there. The hospital as well. She had her own new circle of friends. He kept looking at her as she talked. On impulse, she offered to buy him shots. A belated celebration of their graduations.

Arnaud said, “You, drink? I’ve never seen you touch a glass.”

“That’s because I don’t, usually.” She took half a sip. Cringed. “Sorry, it’s been a while.”

“You don’t have to finish that.”

“Neither do you.”

Arnaud chuckled.

She said, “My mother used to drink a lot. I guess I thought I would always turn out like her one day, but that’s silly isn’t it.” She finished her drink. “You haven’t even touched yours. I bet I could drink your ass under this table.” She took his glass before he could so much as speak, downed it. She grinned. “See?”

Cut to half-an-hour later; Madeleine, vomiting her sandwich from six hours ago into the toilet while Arnaud kept her head up. 

She didn’t remember much besides waking up on the couch in her apartment, still in her clothes from the night before.

“How are you feeling?” said Arnaud. 

Madeleine groaned. She grabbed throw-pillow and mashed her face into it. “What time is it?”

“It’s just past two.”

Madeleine lay there until the faint odour of stale vomit was no longer tolerable. Cursing, she swatted it aside. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“It was no trouble,” he said. “You never told me you had family.”

“What?”

“That’s the first time you’ve mentioned any relatives.”

“I was drunk,” said Madeleine. “Don’t worry about it.” Madeleine lowered her hands, squinting at the light. She could make out his face. He looked like he hadn’t slept very well. “Well—what did I say?”

“Something about an aunt, and your mother. I didn’t catch all of it.”

A pit in her stomach that had nothing to do with her recent choices. Madeleine looked Arnaud in-between the eyes. “I’d rather forget about this, if it’s all the same to you.”

Arnaud frowned. “You’re not troubling me at all.”

From then on, she’d accompany him for walks in the Parc Georges-Brassens if the weather permitted. See him for lunch, or dinner. From every other weekend to every weekend.

As the months progressed it was difficult to find excuses to remain platonic. Not because she felt any particular, immediate attraction. She just couldn’t bring herself to relinquish her grip on someone so easily accessible. A heartless woman would string him along with false hope and drop him at the first sign of commitment; Madeleine accepted his offer to cohabit his apartment in Vaugirard. Separate bedrooms. Plenty of space to keep to themselves.

In lieu of a car, they’d share public transit. He’d tease her for checking the corners of the bus each time, but he would also wait up for her on long shifts. Whomever came home first fixed dinner, so on, so forth.

Two years later, they were still together. Her co-workers wondered how she and Arnaud could balance their careers and relationship when she made three times as much as he did in a year.

⁂

In the winter of 2013 Madeleine applied for a position as psychiatrist with the Médecins Sans Frontières. A week into March, she got an email confirming her placement. A three-month mission in Conakry, Guinea, May through July, with the possibility of an extension. Madeleine had relayed this information to both the clinic and the hospital, so there was no worry.

Now it was April. Sitting in the comfort of her office, reading over electronic pamphlets and advisories. In a couple weeks she would be working in far less hospitable conditions. Non-profit work always looked good on a résumé.

Checking her laptop, tabbed over to a different page: Guinean Visa and Passport Requirements: All non-ECOWAS foreigners are required to have a valid Guinean visa and a vaccination card in order to be granted entry. Yellow fever vaccination cards are verified upon entry into the country at Gbessia. Approval for the visa necessitated a seventy-two-hour window of clearance.

She sat back with a headache settling just around the base of her skull. Alone with four polished wooden walls and the analog clock, the fluorescent lighting fixed her to a single moment in time.

A knock at her door snapped her out of contemplation. It was the senior consultant. Madeleine motioned him in, closing the laptop.

“I’m surprised you don’t sleep in that office,” he said.

“That would save some money on bus fare.” She opened the cabinet of folders under her desk, filing away documents from that day’s session.

“How’s Arnaud?”

“He’s doing well.”

The consultant nodded. As she packed up, walked towards her door he was looking at her with something close to sympathy. “You are serious about this mission in Conakry?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

His face darkened. “Have you seen the news lately?”

“Oh, I doubt they would be looking for applicants if the situation were that severe.” Madeleine smiled dryly. “But, there is always a chance I’ll die doing what I love. I can’t think of a better way to go.”

The consultant’s uneasy laugh caused the secretary to glance at them through the doorframe. Madeleine hit the light on the way out.

⁂

Late at night, the weather was on that precipice between winter and spring. An overcast sky, grey and still. By the time Madeleine was opening the door to the apartment, she was grateful to get away from the chill seeping into her skin.

Arnaud, still dressed for work, was sitting on the sofa with last month’s issue of The International Journal Of Psychoanalysis. Without her pitching in, he’d be working part-time shifts at the clinic and teaching night classes just to make end’s meet. He looked up and said, “You’re back late. I took care of dinner.”

Madeleine shrugged out of her coat. “Thanks. I got held up at the clinic.”

“What for?”

She went over to the closet and hung her coat up. “Just lost track of time. I had a pretty busy shift. I’ve been weighing my options lately. This year, I’ll probably be moving to a different clinic. I’ll have to relocate to Spain, or Switzerland. Drag you along.” She looked at him because he hadn’t said anything. “You have enough to worry about.”

Arnaud readjusted his glasses. “I’ve got my degree. I can get a job just about anywhere you go.”

For the most part, Arnaud was easy to live with. Their schedules did not always leave time to get acquainted with each other’s inner thoughts.

Madeleine said, “Can I get your coat?”

He looked up at her, sitting up and shrugging out of it. “Yes, thank you.”

She took his coat, walked back over to the closet, paused. “I put in a position with MSF a few weeks ago. It’s possible I won’t be back until August.” The silence protracted. Madeleine came back into the living room. “I meant to tell you earlier.”

“No, no. I’m grateful you decided it would be convenient for you to tell me at all.”

Madeleine stiffened. “Don’t start this now.”

“Last year,” said Arnaud flatly, “you were gone for six months on some psychiatry tour, you wouldn’t tell me where. This year I had to ask around your office. Conakry? You know what’s happening over there?”

“That’s exactly why I need to go. They’re in need someone with my skillset.”

“You ever take a moment to consider what would happen if you don’t come back?”

“It’s a risk I am willing to take.”

He scoffed. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Because you’ve never volunteered outside of a mental health ward, let alone this country.”

“Not everyone has the luxury of working eight-hour shifts or leaving the country for months at a time.”

Madeleine stiffened. He had no right to use this against her. Everyone made mistakes, it had just slipped her mind, and now he wanted to turn it into a bigger issue. “I don’t need to be paid to make a difference in someone’s life. Why is that so difficult to understand?”

“Jesus, listen to yourself. This isn’t a competition.”

“If you’re so worried about it, maybe you should come along. Make sure I’m not in any real danger. Why not take some pictures while you are at it? You can put those on your wall at work.”

Each time they went out to dinners with old colleagues, now, they would say—oh, you’re still doing volunteer work abroad? That’s so admirable, Madeleine—and Arnaud nodded along with a tight smile. Each of them had found success in their respective fields. Arnaud and his colleagues spoke about their personal lives with an ease, an intimacy which Madeleine could never quite reciprocate.

Arnaud took his glasses off. “Right. I’m no different that that furniture set. Something you buy to make your life a little more complete.”

Madeleine’s eyes hardened. “That’s a ridiculous thing to say.”

Arnaud shut the magazine. “Aren’t you going to have some dinner?”

“What about you?”

“I was out with some friends. I’ve already eaten. You can have some if you like.”

Madeleine frowned. She went into the kitchen. Leftovers from the night before. A quiet dinner for one.

“I should have told you,” she said again, while Arnaud came back, prepped the dishwasher to run. “I’m sorry.”

He paused with his thumb on the extra rinse button. “You should have your own life and interests, outside of mine. I’ve never volunteered abroad. I’m sure it’s very rewarding.”

He walked out. Madeleine could not argue to an empty room.

⁂

By the end of April, she was getting ready to depart. Arnaud was still asleep when she left for her 06:30 flight.

The situation in Guinea had not improved so much as stabilised. Madeleine was assured that the MSF members on-site had already taken precautions, and she’d be instructed further on what to do upon her arrival. She was advised to vaccinate, just to be on the safe side―according to her medical records, she would not need another round of shots until 2015.

Sometime around February, a group of diamond miners in South Africa had been exposed to an unidentified gas while working in the lowest depths. There were multiple deaths, and far more instances of atrioventricular block and cardiac arrest, ataxia, blindness, nausea and vomiting; all symptoms related to blister agent poisoning.

The official statement put forth claimed the gas came from a hidden stash of chemical weapons by terrorists. It had been struck mistakenly and exposed the workers to its effects. The pictures of the victims plastered all over news sites were reminiscent of chemical burns. So the mine had to be shut down for an indefinite period.

In the lobby of the Grand Hotel de L’independence Madeleine was introduced to the Project Coordinator; a shorter man in his mid-forties with a photogenic smile and toupee. He clasped her hand in both of his clammy ones and said: “Very glad you’ve made it, Doctor. We need you on-site as soon as possible.”

By the time she got to her room on the second floor, a fine sheen of sweat had built on her skin. Her luggage was waiting for her on the bench. Off-white walls and bedsheets, a couple wooden chairs. One lamp on the wall beside the desk, two flanking the headboard. The sofa beside the bed looked older than the rest of the furniture. The red and blue pillows as a thoughtful accent were probably new. Everything was clean, though the flatscreen television looked out-of-place. The air quality inside the room was stuffy. No point in lingering here.

On-site at Donka Hospital she met up with the Medical Coordinator and Psychosocial Unit. An isolation ward had been established before the MSF’s involvement, but they were at full capacity; the workers coming and going from there were all clad in full-body personal protective equipment. Another section of the grounds had been set aside and fenced off; rows of tents all lined up. No matter where you went the stench of rot always seemed to hang pervasively in the air.

The other members on the Psychosocial Unit were as amicable as the situation permitted. There wasn’t time to get to know each other outside of their professions and the given assignment.

All of them were good on paper but betrayed their inexperience through a shared level of idealism. Fresh into their respective fields, they were coming here not simply to lend their aid to those in need, but to make a difference. They were all observing the crises of the rest of the world through the same lens of journalism and commercialized empathy. It could not prepare them for the experience of actually sitting down and listening to what their patients talked about with prosaic sincerity.

Conversations were conducted in French, or else by way of an interpreter, though the sentiment in the voices of these patients was palpable. Death was an expected outcome. Implications of negligence or corruption in the government were a common topic of discussion among patients and hospital staff alike.

There was a growing disparity between the narrative put into circulation by the news and what was happening in the field. According to several members of the MSF and the staff at Donka, the media had grossly exaggerated the problem. The workers whose condition had kicked off the initial “chemicals in the mine” story had been subjected to long-term exposure. Most of the patients that came through after that were not as grievously injured, but showed traces of the same poisoning. The photos created a narrative that incited concern in the public eye and incentivized the need for donations. Now the government wanted to cover up the severity of the situation as not to detract from any potential business opportunities; until the MSF got involved, they were only employing the most rudimentary of safety procedures.

The rest of June crawled by without any major incidents. By July the MSF were in the process of dealing with an influx of internally displaced persons (IDPs). There had been a flurry of similar incidents in surrounding prefectures. Thanks to the cooperation with the local civilians and tireless efforts on part of the medical staff and MSF Medical Unit, there had been a forty-five-percent decrease in fatalities compared to the initial wave back in February.

But the hospital was overwhelmed. The topic of insurgence was the new favourite with patients; a consequence of the lack of tangible progress coupled with deep-seated mistrust of government officials. Now the Force Sécurité/Protection, or FSP, had been brought on in collaboration with an additional Protective Services Detail (PSD) by the name of SFT, to ensure the hospital and surrounding property remained untouched.

The latter was a point of contention. Accepting outside assistance from the government directly, rather than working out a compromise, allowed the possibility for interference. But the Project Coordinator was in full support of additional protection around the hospital, as well as the hotel.

Each morning, before work, Madeleine and the rest of the Psychosocial Unit were reviewing protocol in the event of an attack. Outright criticism of methods in handling the situation was discouraged. Madeleine was savvy enough to keep herself abreast of any controversy. For the rest of the Psychosocial Unit, they were either too naïve or willing to look the other way.

The one exception to this was the Vaccines Medical Advisor, Dr. Kessler. He worked on the Medical Unit. Madeleine had cooperated with him a handful of times at the behest of the Medical Coordinator and gathered that Dr. Kessler had gotten into a dispute with the Medical Team a couple days ago. Madeleine wasn’t around to hear the details, but some of the younger MSF members talked about him less discreetly. Kessler was just out-of-touch. He lacked consideration for the emotional states of those affected severely by these recent attacks. He was jumping to conclusions with faulty information passed on by hearsay.

As the situation in the hospital became more desperate he would stay behind on-site, late into the evening. Whenever they had a break, he would disappear on calls. He acknowledged her judgements but remained standoffish whenever he was not working. She found nothing wrong with his conduct.

Over one break, he said, “I was supposed to be home last month, but with the situation being what it is, I decided to stay on until things are resolved.” He did not sit down, his attention turned towards the path back to the infected ward. “Bringing in a proper security detail at this stage—we’re sitting ducks. Who the hell does the Project Coordinator think we’re fooling?” Madeleine ignored him. “Dr. Swann. The Medical Coordinator tells me you’ve been involved in volunteer work for a while. Perhaps they would be more willing to listen to someone with your expertise.”

“I was not selected for my personal opinions.”

Dr. Kessler chuckled. “Well, may I run something by you? In confidence.” Madeleine glanced over at him. “I think, what we are dealing with here is something more dangerous than a few terrorists. When these IDPs come in, with all of the cases I've seen, there is no evidence of the chemical agent on their clothing. The mines should have been shut down months ago, but they have not ceased operation.” He looked at her meaningfully. “Tell me, how does this make sense?”

A moment of recognition passed between them. She could not acknowledge him outright. Her father had many enemies and it was foolhardy to assume they would not follow her to the ends of the earth. She looked at Dr. Kessler and saw an honest man. She said,

“With all due respect, I wouldn’t know about the greater picture. I don’t want to say anything if I cannot back it up. It seems strange because we don't have all the information to explain it, but there must be a logical reason.”

Dr. Kessler nodded. Probably marking her down as another of those young idealists, just here to get her stamp.

So Madeleine changed the topic to something more palatable: “You have been late the last several times we worked together. May I ask why?” His expression faltered into a temporary window of vulnerability. “I shouldn’t have been so blunt. But you leave often enough on calls, and it appears to be taking a toll on you. The medical staff are not in a reasonable state of mind.”

“That’s all right. It’s just my wife and son. This past month has been no easier on them.” Then he looked at her. “A lot of these people we care for don’t have the luxury of a plane ticket home. Sometimes, I think it would be easier to do this work alone.”

Madeleine did not anticipate the conversation to take such a turn, nor did she plan to divulge much about herself. But she could not deflect from answers as she could in the clinic, and Kessler seemed forthright enough to warrant a harmless response. “I know what you mean. Right now, I’m living with a friend. We graduated from university together. He tends to lead his own life while I am away, but he is very understanding of what I do.”

“It’s a great deal to ask of someone.” Madeleine inclined her head in his direction. Kessler’s mouth was set, and his eyes behind the glasses disillusioned. “Few people would devote themselves to a thankless vocation as this out of the goodness of their hearts. Just remember that not everyone is going to want to stick around until you decide you’re ready to settle down.”

Madeleine’s smile did not touch her eyes. “He’s a psychologist. We have an understanding, that’s all. I don’t bother him about his social life.”

Kessler shook his head. In a few minutes they were back to work, as if their conversation had never happened. 

As July carried on, she found her mind snagging easily on technicalities. She became less tolerant of the Psychological Unit’s personal hang-ups with the lack of resources and lack of any obvious moral closure. Smell of rot and disinfectant permeated into her clothing and hair until she had begun to associate the smell itself with a lack of progress.

She kept the window in her hotel room cracked, just to let some fresher air in. The room smelled like gasoline and sweat, but it was better than the alternatives. A little noise pollution kept her aware of her surroundings, alone with her own mind and the recorder. Conversations with the IDPs and their families circled back to death and terrorism. An overwhelming fear of retaliation from some formless, looming insurrection.

Madeleine paused the recording. She checked the time and cursed under her breath. Just past one in the morning. In six hours she would return to Donka Hospital and repeat the process. In a week she would be on a flight back to Paris.

Outside her window she heard the distant voice of Dr. Kessler. He was conversing in German, from a few storeys down, right by the outdoor pool. As Madeleine came over to the window she understood him clearly:

“…we’ve seen evidence of PMCs coming through, exhibiting the same symptoms as the IDPs we treated back in February. How we can expect to make any progress if the Project Coordinator refuses to bring this up? We’re putting God-knows how many lives at risk waiting for a vaccine that we don’t know if we need—and even so, it won’t be ready for another month. There’s not enough time to justify keeping silent about….”

Madeleine closed the window carefully. She’d never been one to intrude on personal matters.

⁂

That night Madeleine’s dreams were interspersed with the sounds of sirens and heavy traffic. She woke up the next morning, unrested and sore, an hour early. Watching the shadows on the ceiling cross over peeling paint. At 07:00 she got ready for the day. Exiting her room, she found the Project Coordinator by the elevators, talking with the head of security from SFT and a couple Donka Hospital staff Madeleine knew by sight but not intimately.

Apparently a surplus of medical supplies had arrived by truck, around three or four in the morning. Several members of the Medical Unit had stayed on-site in order to determine if everything had been accounted for only to find out it was rigged. Thanks to the intervention of the PSD, losses were minimal. Several doctors had suffered chemical exposure and were currently isolated from the rest of the IDPs to receive immediate medical attention. Others, such as Dr. Kessler and the psychologist consultant from the Psychosocial Team, had been less fortunate.

Now there was additional pressure from the hospital doctors and Logistics Team to begin moving the high-risk patients to a safer area. The fear that this story would circulate and any chance of obtaining additional supplies would be discouraged could not be ruled out. So they would not be reporting this as a chemical attack, but as an interception of a failed attack by local terrorists.

The head of security, Lucifer Safin, noticed her first. Black suit, a leather gun holster on his left side. Distinctly scarred from his right temple to the base of his left jaw. Too intricate to be leprosy or a typical burn wound, yet the structure of his eyes and nose remained intact. Possibly chloracne? “Dr. Swann. I understand that you were one of the last to speak with Dr. Kessler?”

Up until this point, they'd not talked. She might just catch a glimpse of him walking with a couple soldiers in the morning heat; in spite of the weather she had never seen Safin without leather gloves.

There was a hushed quality to his voice which might indicate internal damage, but he was able to project without difficulty. Accent would suggest a Czech or Russian ethnicity, but his complexion and eye colour invited room for speculation. His manner wasn’t explicitly taciturn, more akin to the disconcerting silence one might experience while looking into a body of still-water—met only with your reflection.

“Yes,” said Madeleine, “but that was nearly five days ago.”

Safin glanced at the Project Coordinator. “I’ll speak with her alone.”

“Of course.”

They walked down the length of the hall back to her room. His gait was purposeful and direct.

Of all the useless things to be thinking about, his name was what stuck out to her. After growing up in a family with fake passports and birth certificates it was possible Lucifer was simply an alias.

Her attention went to the window. She’d forgotten to lock it.

He said, “I have just a few questions. What was the extent of your relationship to Dr. Kessler?”

“We talked once or twice. I didn’t know him that well. He told me he had stayed behind, in order to assist the medical unit. And he has―had a family, back home. He seemed close to them.”

“You have worked with him before?”

“Never directly. I have my own responsibilities with the Psychosocial Unit.” Safin said nothing. He was looking around carefully at the room, the furniture. His eyes came to rest on the window. He walked over to it. “From what I have gathered, Dr. Kessler and the Project Coordinator had opposing views on protocol.”

“Did he speak to you about these views?” 

Madeleine thought about their last conversation. The desperate look in Kessler's eyes. That moment of connection, tacit and fragile.

“He expressed, in confidence, that he did not understand the Project Coordinator’s hesitance to bring in a security detail. He considered the possibility of an attack by outside forces to be imminent.”

“You are aware,” Safin said, “that once humanitarian action is subsumed into broader military and political intervention, it may be perceived as interference.”

He was looking at her closely. The early morning light put his disfigurement into a new, unsettling clarity. Madeleine said, “I think you would be better off asking the other doctors about this.”

“We have video surveillance in place on the Grand Hotel de L’independence. At around one in the morning, Dr. Kessler exited the building and contacted an unknown party by mobile phone. A minute later, you were at the window.”

“Yes, I had forgotten to close it.”

“Your room was the only one to show signs of activity at that hour.”

“I was reviewing my notes from that day’s session. I heard a voice from outside, though not clearly. It was distracting me, so I got up and closed the window. I don’t know what the conversation was about.”

“This is common for you?”

“I left the window open because otherwise I seem to find myself trapped with the smell of rotting flesh.”

Safin’s expression became easier to read, but not in a positive sense. Madeleine kept any apprehension away from her face and her voice tightly controlled.

“Without information about Dr. Kessler’s lifestyle outside the MSF, I cannot give you an answer in good faith. His work was sound. Whatever he said to me was assumed to be in confidence. Many people say things to one another in what they believe to be confidence that they would not admit to otherwise. If I had reason to suspect he was unfit to work, I would have contacted the Medical Advisor immediately.”

Safin held her gaze for much longer than was necessary. She did not dare avert her face. He said,

“The Project Coordinator is waiting for you downstairs. We appreciate your cooperation.”

The rest of the day she spent in a different wing of the hospital. The Psychosocial Unit was cut down from four members to two. Another day of thankless work that never seemed quite good enough. That evening, Madeleine was informed she would have to stay on to make up for lost ground, at least until August. The MSF offered a lot of flowery, empty apologies which she accepted because there was nothing else to do.

When she’d arrived at the airport she could stave off her doubts with shallow, private reassurances. Right now, you are just Dr. Swann the psychiatrist. Your father is many miles away and he won’t contact you again unless you call him to grovel. No one else will come looking for you in a place like this. Undoubtedly this hospital was safer under the watch of the Security Manager from SFT than it would have been with the FSPs alone. Why was she still tense?

⁂

By August, the sunnier days gave way almost completely to rainfall. The wing of the hospital that had suffered the chemical attack was still closed and they had lost several more staff members. Madeleine and the remaining MSF were encouraged by the Project Coordinator to take earlier shifts. Progress remained steady, neither faltering nor immediate, but there was no clear resolution in sight. The stench of rot imprinted into Madeleine’s senses to the point where she no longer consciously registered her own nausea. Discontent among the staff continued to bubble under the surface on account of the closed wing and bad press.

At night, Madeleine would pore over her notes, listening to the passing automobiles and indistinct conversation. She drew the curtains in her hotel room and tied her hair back. Even indoors it was impossible to avoid the cloying embrace of humidity. 

The day started as just another humid morning at six AM. Madeleine rose and prepared herself mentally for the day ahead. There was an inordinate of activity on the road outside her window as she got dressed and left. Madeleine was thinking about how stress kept her mind working late into the night, but her position with the Psychosocial Unit barred her from working too many hours in the hospital. She was keeping up the pace, not yet to the point of exhaustion, but if they were seriously going to ask her to carry on into September she would have to find an alternative.

Outside the hotel she met up with the Medical Coordinator and a few members of the Logistics Unit. They spent about ten minutes standing idle in the humid air, too weary to speak. The usual FSP were on-guard by the hotel. Ever since the attack on Donka Hospital there were more of them standing around.

An unmarked black Jeep pulled up. The Medical Coordinator went up to it first. One of the FSP shouted in French. The Medical Coordinator’s head burst over the exterior of the vehicle, and Madeleine. The body slumped like a doll to the dirt. Madeleine wanted to scream but could not. She turned and saw Peter Miller, head of Logistics, facing down the barrel of a rifle. “Where are the rest of the MSF? Why are they not at the hospital?” Half a dozen more men stood behind him, all armed. 

Miller opened his hands in supplication. “I don't understand what you're—”

Two shots. Miller joined the Medical Coordinator. The insurgent was looking at Madeleine.

“You are from the hospital?” The rifle jutted into her sternum. Warm blood spattered across her skin and clothes, pooling at her feet. The sight of dry earth briefly mixed up with wooden floorboards. “You allowed them to experiment on us and our families like dogs! Who gave you the orders?”

She tried to say, I'm sorry, I don’t understand, but all that came out of her was a weak little gasp. One PSD broke from the group and came directly toward her.

She caught his black eyes, under the balaclava. The scarification impossible to mistake. He turned and shot the insurgent twice in the the head. He grabbed Madeleine by the waist, the way you might handle an animal, and opened the backdoor of the Jeep. Shoved her into the backseat. Checked the seatbelt. Shut the door. The front doors reopened. Two men entered the car. The hands on the steering wheel were mottled.

Additional round of gunfire set her into a fit of trembling. She ducked with her hands over her nape. The distinctive voice in the front seat overtaken by the roaring in her ears. She heard a voice whispering, “Ne me tuez pas. Je n’ai rien fait. Je ne sais rien.” 

[averybritishblog]

Thoughts on M in No Time To Die - Spoilers beneath the cut.

I love No Time To Die, but after the last time I watched it something's been nagging me about one of the major plot points revolving around M. Have put some thoughts below. Warning: the below contains spoilers.

1. Before we start, just to say I love the Heracles idea.

It's such a good classic Bond plot. Heracles is a super secret weapon of mass destruction that plays on our contemporary fears. Goldeneye did something similar with the Goldeneye device and electro-magnetic pulses. The fact that it's a bioweapon gives it that added, darker dimension which fits the Craig!Bond era.

2. And again, another disclaimer: I like the idea of M being morally fallible.

This isn't a case of me not liking the plot because my favourite character done fucked up. In fact I love the added depth it gives him. Given what we know about him - that he's a decorated soldier, that he's honourable, that he puts his country above all else - I really like the fact that his fuck up puts innocent lives in danger and it shows hints of him coming to terms with that moral reckoning.

(Ralph Fiennes - Making moral reckoning look good since 1995 or whenever he started acting)

3. But my problem is, it just doesn't make any sense with his previous characterisation.

In the scene with C in Spectre, we get an entire almost monologue from M on the importance of the 00 section. Part of that importance is the need for human judgement. To use his quote: "To pull that trigger, you have to be sure. Yes, you investigate, analyse, assess, target, and then you have to look him in the eye, and you make the call. And all the drones, bugs, cameras, transcripts, all the surveillance in the world, can't tell you what to do next."

So if I recall correctly, the Heracles project began about 10 years before the events of NTTD. That means it was being developed during when Spectre was set. So that means M would have been giving his spiel about the importance of having someone behind the trigger whilst at the same time knowing about Heracles which would take the agent entirely out of the equation. It doesn't seem to be consistent.

4. My pet theory is that the project isn't actually his idea, but he just never shuts it down.

So if the timeline puts the beginning of Heracles about a decade or so before NTTD, that means the project started around the same time as Skyfall is set, where Mallory isn't yet M. (Side note, NTTD was meant to come out in 2020, so 10 years before that would be 2010 which is a full year before the events of Skyfall meaning Mallory would definitely not have been responsible for Heracles being set up.) There's also maybe a hint of it in the language Bond chooses to use. When Moneypenny asks him what the project is, Bond says something like: "Something M should have shut down years ago." Notice how Bond says Mallory should have shut it down, not never start it, not why the ever living fuck did he think this is a good idea. It also suggests that Bond knew about it as well but assumed it had never progressed. I think it actually started under his predecessor, and Mallory carried it on.

5. Mallory has to try real hard to convince himself it's a good idea.

Nothing in what we know about Mallory suggests that he would be down for this sort of clownery. I'm not going to trust mass surveillance but sure bio warfare sounds swell! - No.

Deep down, I think he always had intense moral difficulty with the project. He gets real defensive real quick in the office scene with Bond and we can see that he sure drinks a lot when the topic comes up. ("God you're thirsty." - Whoever dreamt up this line, thank u.) He also keeps repeating the line that it was never meant to be used for anything else but a targeted weapon, but he doesn't sound convinced of it at all. Then there's the scene where he's sat and looking at the painting of M(ansfield). Now, in my view (and it is purely subjective) he looks pissed as hell, like why the fuck have you got me into this mess. To me this suggests that he's always thought it was a horrible idea, but kept it going despite his better judgement. This is possibly because of pressure higher up or intelligence that suggests that drastic measures were needed. Either way, he hates the project but keeps it going and then has to suffer the consequences.

Again, just my take on it! This is not a dig at the writers at all. Like I say, I love Heracles as a plot device and I really love the idea that the give one of the 'good guys' a real moral quandary. I'm just trying to make sense of how it all goes together.

(Please feel free to say I am reaching here.)

Post-script:

6. He goes through the entire bloody movie without wearing braces.

Nearly three hours of film and we get none of this:

Frankly, that's just rude if you ask me.

[hypnoticcastiel]

James Bond “No Time to Die” (2021) movie review. Some SPOILERS, please continue under the read-more line. The poster above is by Kalid Hosni.

It’s a bit difficult to review THIS Bond movie. I guess one would have to be a decades long ultra devoted fan to fully appreciate every last detail that was probably put into this. My review as casual Bond fan is based on a couple of memories that i have after years of Craig as Bond and i just want to enjoy spy movies without having to know 50+ years of franchise inside jokes or references. Let’s jump right into the good & bad/less stellar elements.

Good: While it’s the fifth *impossible*mission for Craig, the film never shows sign of fatigue, neither within the plot nor on the side of the cast. A lucky team delivers not just a contract work and yeah Daniel wanted more money, but the oldschool vibes still mix with the sensation of a new chapter. Having the combination of a melancholic touch with new and fresh elements (at least i can’t remember any female 007 agent before in any of these movies) sets the final product aside from the rest. Mission Impossible and Bourne are solid franchises but they can never surpass the legacy or gravitas of Bond. The film has a very nice structure, i sometimes dislike overcomplicated narration or chapters within these movies that are too long or melodramatic. NTTD runs smoothly, even the finale is almost perfectly balanced with action and emotions on steroids. You must in fact gather MORE focus and attention for the final 10-20 minutes bc it’s so well done and closing a book that reshaped Bond in 2006′s Casino Royale.

Cast: Almost nothing to complain, and wow do the spy ladies deliver a face to face performance no single bullet or witty line of dialogue behind that of Bond. I knew too little about “Spectre” from 2015 and even watching a Bond-movies recap video didn’t prepare me for the female 007 magically portrayed by Lashana Lynch. Her character could have destroyed James at one point and i was just blown away. Of course it doesn’t end in real oposition and so the new team gets to work with the help of Felix from the american spy stuff and on Cuba we meet funny but super efficient spy lady Paloma. While some might question her fashion choices when entering a building full of villains, i personally think that her limitless confidence and lighthearted personality resulted in THAT dress. I don’t say that there was no male gaze when giving her that dress, but it felt much less sexist than with Bond “girls” in the older movies. So James is put into a sandwich of modern and super efficient spy ladies, he doesn’t have to “romance” them and hey, gadget master Q played by Ben Whishaw is allowed to mention a male date when team good invades his home. So much progress in tiny details?! What’s next? A non-white, non-straight James B? Team evil is less present or let’s say less progressive. There is a bit of Blofeld, James and Felix have to deal with a Ken doll type of killer, and Rami Malek’s “Safin” shines more by using annoying villain voice than by having an interesting backstory. It’s all ok, just don’t expect too much from team evil in the script.

Bad/less stellar: Some of the action feels repetitive or silly. Yes, i say this about a Bond movie... but let me mention 2 examples. Villains get Bond cornered in his car, they put tons of bullets into it, of course it’s bulletproof. Any villain tasked with killing Bond would assume this and also bring grenades and flamethrowers and titanium nails for the tires and so on, to destroy that damn Bond car. The scene was a missed opportunity to show that villains have basic understanding of the Bond gadgets. The other annoying scene happens late in the movie when team good can infiltrate the typical evil lair. Why the idiotic villains only guard special parts of the military base but don’t even think about a security titanium net OR (more) cameras to monitor the entrances on and under the water is beyond dumb. Randomly parts of the evil base are easy or difficult to access by our team, just as the script demands. All the decades of villain work and “Safin” seems to be a clever asshole, and BAM!, one control room is taken over, another is totally differently guarded, nobody thinks about automatic weapon systems or sleep gas. I mean these villains make their money with poison materials, yet none of that is used as a security mechanism. Bond would have died long before talking to “Safin” when exposed to countless unnamed poisons or gas or micro-biological shit. Another strange aspect was the overall lack of international cooperation. Felix was involved but the script wants us to believe that a country like Russia sits around doing nothing while the Brits are telling them about a global threat in front of their coast?! Even if it’s said to be a place between Japan and Russia, i disliked that they showed only the brit/american activities and no russian or japanese reactions. 

Rating: The flaws are in the details and the gap between “Spectre” and this film was too long. Main villain underdeveloped. The Craig-Bond saga was strongest in Casino Royale and ends with a teary atmosphere that shows how a character introduced decades ago can leave the stage with some dignity. Expect emotions, not Sherlock puzzles. Bond will hopefully return as a truly modernized spy, regardless of age, gender or orientation in a complete reboot. Til that moment we can rewatch the best Bond era and the best James. 4 of 5 stars!

[tentacletenshi]

B-roll behind the scenes footage from NTTD.

Nice clear quality for gif makers!!

Lots of action shots. Little clip of Q in his apron!

Nothing I consider major plot spoilers. But it is 8 minutes of clips, so if you're wary you might want to steer clear.

[anotheruserwithnoname]

Thoughts on No Time to Die

Finally got around to seeing the final Daniel Craig Bond film last night and for the most part I was impressed. I’m going to have to have a few spoilers in my thoughts (specifically ending spoilers), so here’s a break. One thing I will say in the clear: I agree this is a Bond film like no other.

The Craig era is going to stand alone from all the others as the first attempt at telling a single story arc. True, the Connery era (with the Lazenby film included) formed a loose arc involving SPECTRE (though Goldfinger was an outlier in this). But the 5 Daniel Craig films are the first to have a generally tight story arc. Which is all the more impressive when it becomes clear it wasn’t planned as such and for it working so well. One almost wishes the people behind the recent Bonds were in charge of the Disney Star Wars trilogy.

No Time to Die continues the Craig era’s tendency to invoke plot and story elements from the Fleming novels, something the Brosnan era tended to avoid except for a few small things, mostly in Die Another Day. (Spectre, the previous Craig film, even borrowed elements from the Kingsley Amis/Robert Markham continuation novel, Colonel Sun, something DAD coincidentally also did). In this case, NTTD is a stealth adaptation of the original You Only Live Twice novel (something that was expected ever since the working title, Shatterhand, was reported in early 2019 - that’s the name used by the villain of the book). One of the final scenes of the film even quotes directly from the novel.

A bigger surprise are the elements taken from the novel and film of On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, including the use of the phrase “We have all the time in the world,” which becomes an “arc phrase” in this film. But more than that, although Hans Zimmer is credited as the film’s composer in the opening credits, so much is used from the late John Barry’s score from OHMSS, from its opening theme being referenced to the actual “We Have All the Time in the World” song, I’m surprised he wasn’t given an opening-credits acknowledgement. Sadly, I was less impressed with Billie Eilish’s theme song, which I literally had forgotten within minutes of it ending (something I can’t say for Sam Smith’s Writing’s on the Wall from Spectre and Adele’s modern-classic Skyfall theme). One good thing I will say is it’s a better song than the misfire that opened Quantum of Solace.

NTTD has pissed a few people off for giving the 007 number to a female agent. (That’s not a spoiler as even the trailers mention this). In the film, it’s explained logically, and it’s another throwback to the novels that long ago established the 00 numbers as being passed on when someone dies or retires. And Lashana Lynch has the charisma and - important here - chemistry with Daniel Craig for it to work. Her character also respects Bond immensely - something that doesn’t come across in the trailer - and (spoiler here) even voluntarily asks for Bond to be redesignated as 007 at one point. Female 00 agents have been hinted at for decades, with ones appearing briefly during briefing sequences in Thunderball and The World is Not Enough, they have been featured in novels and comic strips since the early 1970s, and the movies have featured 00-equivalent agents numerous times (Anya Amasova, Holly Goodhead, Jinx). If I had one complaint about Nomi is that they allow her to be overshadowed by Ana de Armas’ CIA agent character, who appears in only one major setpiece (apparently she was added to the film at the last minute to cash in on de Armas and Craig working well together in Knives Out). The best action sequence in the film involves both de Armas and Lynch, but it’s Ana who outshines everyone. In any other film she’d have joined the ranks of Anya Amasova as a classic partner (never mind “Bond girl”) to Bond.

I’ve heard people criticize Bond’s characterization in the film. Actually, I think he was very close to the way the increasingly world-weary Bond was depicted by Fleming in the later Bond novels, and to a degree John Gardner in his continuation works in the 1980s as well as Amis’ Colonel Sun. Plus it has been 14-15 years (in movie time) since Bond was first referred to as “a blunt instrument” by M. The nature of his character has naturally changed.

I also liked seeing the return of the “save the world” plot line, one that admittedly might have been used a few times too often in the older films, but it still gave a nice callback to great films like The Spy Who Loved Me.

And then there’s the ending, which turns OHMSS’ finale on its head. There is clearly no way Bond 26 won’t be a reboot. Which may become an issue for those hoping to see more of Lashana Lynch’s 00 agent, the current versions of M, Moneypenny and Q, and even Ana de Arma’s character. Of course, there is precedent for legacy actors to cross over - Desmond Llewellyn returned as Q for the Brosnan films, and Judi Dench’s M was herself rebooted continuity-wise between the Brosnan and Craig films. The Connery to Dalton era was hardly air-tight in its canon either, given the wildly different interpretations of Blofeld and Felix Leiter from one film to the next (never mind the Bonds themselves who went from Scottish to Australian to English to Welsh to Irish to back to English again). So who knows? Some have suggested this might be the time to retire James Bond completely and either yield the floor to Lynch’s 00 agent (who may or may not be 007 again - the film does not indicate this and there’s a reference to retiring the number) or create someone new.

Fortunately - and I sat through the credits to confirm this - the very last thing shown on screen is “James Bond will Return”. He’ll be back. And I look forward to seeing who takes on the role from Daniel Craig, whose 5 films have been rocky at times and not always the best of the best, but deserve credit for trying new ideas. And I certainly found more good than bad in them, and I consider Casino Royale to be in the all-time Top 5.

If anyone cares, here is how I rank the Bond films under Daniel Craig:

1. Casino Royale

2. Spectre

3. Skyfall

4. No Time to Die

5. Quantum of Solace

Problem with such a list is it gives the impression I think NTTD is a poor film, especially when you consider I feel Quantum to be one of the lower 5 Bond films of all time. Hardly - it’s just that 1, 2 and 3 were such amazing films (and yes I did like Spectre, despite that being an unpopular opinion) that they managed to overshadow NTTD. But it’s still an excellent film, I think.

[dontcxckitup]

// Rewatching NTTD (in English) and M...

his smile! the actual, genuine smile on his face even for only a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment when he’s talking to Bond!

he’s cursing omfg I love it when Ralph is playing those stiff-arsed bastards you don’t expect it from but he’s still cursing

his emotions gfdi

there’s scenes when he just seems like he’s carrying the weight of the entire world on his shoulders it’s killing me asldfkjasf

when he’s reading Jack London - his voice is just doing things to me, okay?? don’t get me wrong, I love his German dubbing but HOTDAMN RALPH

rolled up sleeves and no tie, I repeat, ROLLED UP SLEEVES AND NO TIE THIS IS NOT A DRILL *faints*

did he...did he hear everything Bond said to Madeleine?? he did, didn’t he aaaaaaaaahhhhhh

close ups. so many close ups of his beautiful face

and duuuuude when he’s behind his desk and gets loud and angry but still his voice is so...calm and smooth? I actually flinched back

his. last. words. in. the. movie. *sobs*

[crewman-penelope]

[speedgeek]

Lost 3 days to election/destial madness unfortunately. (I’ve never even watched Supernatural, why did I get wrapped up in that nonsense?!) Got a whole scene out today though. :) It’s after this scene I posted in January for WIP Wednsday. More time travel fun (I told you guys, they’re my jam), but James Bond this time, from during NTTD back to CR.

Bond watched the initial interrogation with a heavy heart. He’d had to piece things together after she died last time, every revelation colored by anger and grief, and never a complete picture. Now he had the full truth- he had no doubt she had told the truth; she knew there was no way out- all the ways she had already betrayed him.

He wanted to hate her all over again, but all he could see was her desperate, remorseful face as she drowned in Venice.

A bottle of Macallan 12 sat open on his desk, an empty glass next to it. He’d already drained one measure; he wanted nothing more than to drink the entire bottle. His report was up on his computer screen- he thought they’d done away with the ancient CRT monitors by this time, he was wrong- and written, all he had to do was submit it. It was half lies; the truth would’ve gotten him a date with the bitch in Psych and not in the good way.

Instead, he was staring at an empty glass.

The shrill ringing of the desk phone lanced through the fog in his mind. The screen identified the caller as Villers, rather than a number. Did he set that? He honestly had forgotten about the phone; he’d used it so rarely in his time as a Double O.

He hit the speakerphone. “Yes?”

“Vesper Lynd has asked to see you.”

His heart was in his throat. “I’ll be right down.”

It took everything in him not to run down the stairs. He submitted his report. He calmly walked to the secured elevators and took one down to the detention level in a subbasement. He passed through the security checkpoints to the interrogation room was Vesper was being held.

M was quietly speaking on the phone in the outer room, ignoring him entirely. Byron, the Chief of Staff, was taking notes. Bond nodded to Tanner and Villers. Villers, M’s much maligned assistant, had died in Silva’s bombing. If he remembered correctly, Tanner had just been appointed Deputy Chief of Staff this month, and wouldn’t be Chief of Staff for another 18 months after Byron had a massive heart attack and retired.

Villers opened the door for him. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. That was as much privacy as they’d get, between the surveillance and the one-way glass.

She was out of the black dress and was in blue sweats. Her eye makeup was no longer running down her face, someone had allowed her to at least clean up a little bit, but her face was a bit red and puffy, clearly having been crying.

He wanted to hate her, to be angry. Those emotions just weren’t there.

She looked up. “James.”

“Vesper.”

She stood up and stepped in front of him, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. “I wanted to thank you.”

He’d expected anger or regrets, not this. He was taken aback. “Thank me?”

Her eyes teared up. “They tell me Yusef doesn’t exist, at least not as the man I loved. I believed him. I believed he was going to die. It was all lies. I feel like such a fool. I never wanted to betray my country.”

Tears silently fell down her cheeks. She sniffed, wiped away the tears and pulled herself together. “Yes, I want to thank you for stopping me doing something I truly regret.”

He nodded, unable to respond.  

“I’m on the black list now, of course. No security clearances of any kind. Probation. I've agreed to give evidence if he’s ever brought to trial, so it’s witness protection for me. It’s a far better outcome than I deserve.”

“I’ve got a place in the Highlands you could hide,” he said, feeling like he wasn’t in control of his mouth. “You could learn to speak Gaelic.”

She chuckled. “I’m thinking Wales. I already speak Welsh, thanks a boyfriend at University. He wasn’t worth the effort learning the language in the end, but being able to actually say Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch has won me a lot of drinks at the pub.”

“I’m sure any hitmen will take one look at that village name and say hell no.”

A genuine smile spread across her still teary face. “Sounds good to me.”

He reached out and cupped her cheek. She leaned into the touch. “I’m so sorry for hurting you, James."

“I forgive you.”

He meant it. He’d nursed that hurt for years, even after he’d moved on. But he’d let it go long ago.

“Take care of yourself, Vesper.”

She hugged him. “You too. Don’t get killed. You deserve more than this life.”

He pulled away and stepped back towards the door. “We’ll see.”

“Goodbye, James.”

“Goodbye, Vesper.”

In the outer room, Tanner and Villers were very much trying to act like they hadn’t been paying attention. M and Byron had switched places on the phone and she was staring him down with a raised eyebrow. He’d gotten worse from her before; he simply held her stare until she was satisfied.  

“You can go as soon as your report is done,” M told him. “I’ll debrief you first thing in the morning. We have a great deal to discuss.”

“I’ll bring breakfast.”

“You will not.”

Bond smirked as he left. He’d missed getting under her skin.

I imagine after this, Vesper finds some nice Welsh woman to settle down with and is very happy.

[crewman-penelope]

[crewman-penelope]

[crewman-penelope]