#sylvia trench

[balu8]

Sylvia Trench (James Bond; From Russia with Love)

by Justin Norman and Moritat

Source: legacyofchaos (comicartfans)

Sylvia Trench of 007 From Russia with Love by Justin Norman Moritat, in legacy of chaos's legacyofchaos art gallery! Comic Art Gallery Room (comicartfans.com)

[o-link]

James Bond: I admire your courage, Miss…? Sylvia Trench: Trench. Sylvia Trench. I admire your luck, Mr…? James Bond: Bond. James Bond.

- Dr. No (1962)

[esthete-god]

[cressida-jayoungr]

One Dress a Day Challenge

September: Bond Films

Dr. No / Eunice Gayson as Sylvia Trench

I'm not planning to go through all the movies in order or confine myself to finishing one movie before moving on to the next. But let's linger on Dr. No just a little longer, as it sets the standard for all the rest in many ways.

Arguably the first Bond Girl although she doesn't get much screentime in Dr. No, Sylvia Trench is introduced playing against James Bond at banco in an elegant club setting. Her costume establishes her as wealthy and sophisticated, and the vivid red color stands out against the black, white, and brown of the background palette. The off-the-shoulder dress is knee-length and made of chiffon. She wears silver-and-black jewelry with it (earrings, bracelet, brooch, and hair ornament), while her pumps and clutch purse are metallic gold and the fur wrap also has a golden tone.

[minisinmedia]

Eunice Gayson as Sylvia Trench wearing only a baggy beige button-up shirt in James Bond's Dr. No (1962)

[creative-soul-22]

Update:

I've been gone for a while because I was busy changing my room. Although my hobbies were on hold during that time, I still did a few things so there's some news.

- I started a a list of plotpoints for my Wendy Leach story and holy crab that thing gets longer and longer (still unfinished)

- I've been to the Bond fandom and watched the Bond movies (almost all of them)

- Dr. No is my babygirl now (backstory queued)

- Dr. Holly Goodhead is my favourite Bondgirl (backstory queued)

- Moonraker is favourite Bondmovie

- The "Corinne put down" score from Moonraker is my favourite score (One of the best Bond movie soundtracks!)

- Sylvia Trench is a casino queen (I'm growing to like her as one of my favourite characters from Dr. No)

- Dua Lipa's "Training Season" plays on repeat

Don't worry, Wendy's not forgotten!

[rptv-jamesbond]

Sylvia Trench and James Bond, From Russia with Love

(played by Eunice Gayson and Sean Connery, respectively)

Apparently the producers were going to work in a gag in the James Bond series where Sylvia Trench would make an appearance in every movie (after first coming out in Dr. No), but they decided to abandon that idea.

[incompleteguide]

issue 2 of the incomplete guide

so, no feedback yet, but that also means no criticism. let’s plow right ahead with our next substack issue:

- could dr no happen today? probably not all of it, but why? - what do the bbc’s vigil and ace attorney have in common? - which k-drama would you recommend to a new watcher?

as ever, we’d actually like for people to engage with this, so feel free to reshare, or let us know in comments what you liked/disliked about this

[burr-ell]

What I love about Spy x Family's recent chapters concerning Martha and Henry—two secondary characters with little direct connection to the plot as we've known it—is that Endo's taking the opportunity to once again hammer home what the story's actual stakes are. The idea of potential conflict between Ostania and Westalis isn't just window dressing for a wacky wholesome badass family gimmick—the previous wars are real events that various characters lived through, and all of them are in some way affected by it and have good reasons to want to avoid another one. This is primarily an action-adventure/slice-of-life manga with a lot of sendups to spy movies and pop culture of the 60s, but I think those things hold much more weight with the thematic underpinning of the horrors of war and the ruin it leaves behind.

[meownzter]

01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100110 01101100 01101111 01101111 01110010 00100000 01110011 01100101 01100101 01101101 01100101 01100100 00100000 01110111 01101111 01101110 01100100 01100101 01110010 01100110 01110101 01101100 01101100 01111001 00100000

01010011 01101111 01101100 01101001 01100100 00101110 00100000 01001001 01110100 00100000 01110111 01100001 01110011 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101101 01100110 01101111 01110010 01110100 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01110100 01101111

01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101000 01100001 01100100 00100000 01100110 01100001 01101100 01101100 01100101 01101110

01100001 01101110 01100100

01000011 01101111 01110101 01101100 01100100

01100110 01100001 01101100 01101100

01001110 01101111

01000110 01110101 01110010 01110100 01101000 01100101 01110010.

[summerclementine27]

Meet Me in The Hallway🌷pt. 1

summary: Mr. Styles has possibly interested Y/N more than his literature classes and she finds herself pining for him over the months.

pairings: professor!harry, student!reader

warnings: small age difference, mentions of smut

word count: 4.7k

note: i wanted to make this one part but it will be too long so there will have to be a part 2

part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/summerclementine27/757559698881986560/meet-me-in-the-hallway-pt2

Tender days of mid-October

As I took my seat in the large lecture hall, a sense of anticipation loomed over me. Today, Mr. Styles was giving us the results of the last literature and theory criticism coursework I had handed in the previous week. This was my third class with him, one of two this school year, the other being Contemporary Literature. Last year, he taught me Introduction to Literature, a mandatory class for my degree. Though I dreaded it at first due to his choice of reading list, I ended up falling in love with the course because of the way he taught it. Some works I initially criticized him for choosing, he ended up using as examples and critiqued them himself, like "The Awakening" by Kate Chopin. Plus, it helped that he was impossibly handsome with his tall frame, tousled brown hair, and piercing green eyes.

When my friends noticed how much I liked his class, they were unfazed. However, as I became somewhat of a teacher’s pet in a class rudimentary compared to the others I took this year—such as Feminism and Literature, Historical Narratives in Fiction, and Postcolonial Literary Criticism—they realized that maybe the tall, green-eyed man was what had really piqued my interest, not discussing "Middlemarch" for four classes.

On days when I had his class, I dressed extra nicely, sometimes even daring to pair a clean collared shirt with a shorter-than-usual skirt. One time, I even left my wool trench coat on during the first period and stood up from my auditorium seat to take it off. Sitting in the back, the rows of chairs likely covered the lower part of my body, but I was sure the space between my long boots and short skirt was visible from his vantage point. Surely, my abrupt standing would grab his attention. What I didn’t anticipate was him pausing in the middle of a long train of thought to stare, then quickly catching himself and stuttering before continuing seamlessly as I knew he would. My friend Anika, seated in one of the front rows, noticed and turned to see what had caught his attention. To her dismay, I was playing games with someone totally unattainable again. But she knew I thrived on academic validation, and this little crush of mine would only drive me to excel in more classes.

"Are you serious, Y/N? He's our professor." she exclaimed once.

"I know, but he's just... different."

"Different? Or is it the way he looks at you when you answer a question?"

"Maybe both. Besides, this crush is making me work harder. You can't argue with the results."

"Just be careful. I don't want you getting hurt."

In fact, it drove me to do more than that. One time, Mr. Styles noticed my passion for poetry after I shamelessly defended the works of Sylvia Plath with a controversial view that modern poetry should not shy away from the stark realities of mental health. He gave me a few poetry anthologies and compilations, including his annotated copies. I fawned over reading his notes and even emailed him once, pretending that I had "accidentally" annotated something, forgetting it wasn’t my own copy after losing myself in the literature. He replied kindly:

Mr. Styles: "Please, feel free to annotate as much as you like. I would be honored to have your opinions inked on my favorite copies."

By the next semester, after encouraging me to join the poetry society, Mr. Styles nominated me for president, and I was thrilled to win. He insisted on celebrating, gently grasping my upper arm and smiling warmly as he said he expected nothing less. I brought a bottle of wine to his office, where he had asked me to meet him, only to find the entire poetry society there, ready to congratulate me. The gathering lingered for a few delightful hours before everyone left, leaving just the two of us to clean up.

"You really impressed everyone tonight, Y/N. Not that I'm surprised." He began once we were truly all alone.

"Thank you, Mr. Styles. I couldn't have done it without your support."

"Well, you deserve it. By the way, outside of class and school hours, you can call me Harry." He said in his thick Manchester accent.

"Only if you stop calling me Ms. Y/L/N." I joked.

"Hey! I only do that sometimes. Plus, I can't call out to you in class like, 'Y/N, will you read the next slide?' People will think..."

"...think I’m the teacher’s favorite?" I finished his sentence with a teasing smile.

I couldn’t take the lingering stares and supposedly accidental touches we were both guilty of. But I knew that if I really wanted this, if I wanted to be more than just a student he regretted being tempted by when I graduated, then I had to play the long game.

And indeed I did. I kept up my habit of always showing up well-dressed in elegant coats and well-fitting clothing. I accentuated my features with a light coat of makeup, even if I had to apply it on a bumpy bus ride to campus. I even signed up for his office hours, despite really not needing them, just to exchange thoughts and opinions under the guise of “wanting to make sure I'm on the right track.” I wanted him to get to know me more, to realize that despite my youth, I was mature and thoughtful.

At the start of the second year, he emailed me to come to campus a few times in August, a month before the start of term, to discuss my responsibilities as the founder of the debate team. The idea sparked in his mind after I excelled in the heated debate he chose to hold as our first-year final assessment. He was so in awe that he went as far as saying I could compete at a national level on the English debate team, which neither of us was certain of, but I accepted the compliment.

Our earlier meetings were spent cooped up in his office, reviewing why the last debate team failed almost a decade ago and planning the structure for the new team. We discussed everything from team dynamics to potential debate topics, ensuring we were prepared for any challenge.

On one of the hotter days in August, we took our meeting to the university courtyard, having grown tired of experiencing the last bursts of England’s so-called summer from his office window. It was a beautiful window, and a big one at that, but it didn’t compare to actually being outside. That day, I realized the majority of planning for the next few months had already been accomplished in our first few meetings, and I got the hint that he didn’t actually need my help now that I had settled everything I could that wasn’t on an administrative level. So naturally, I decided to have a little fun.

I was wearing penny loafers with black tailored pants that I got fitted for when I visited my mum in London in July. I had paired them with a light knit sweater that fit slightly loosely over my shoulders, often falling down to reveal a collarbone. When I saw him take off his blazer and loosen his tie, I took that as my green light to take off something of my own, knowing I was wearing a neat white tank top underneath. As I slipped the sweater off, covering my face with the fabric, I could see his face through the thin material, making out his features and briefly noticing his eyes on my body. Sitting up straight, I managed to remove the sweater from over my head neatly. Once he saw my face, a soft blush made it to his own.

"Did I mess up my hair?" I asked, as if I hadn’t planned on brushing down the strands that had likely gone astray or as if I was oblivious to the fact that I had just taken off my sweater in front of him.

"Um, yeah, a bit at the top," he said, chuckling as if he wasn’t just clearing his throat in a flustered manner before my face was revealed from under the sweater.

To my surprise, he reached out, inching himself closer to where I was sitting on the bench we shared. With two fingers, his index and middle, he gently brushed down the messy hair on either side of the top of my head.

"Thank you, Harry," I said softly.

However, nothing could have prepared me for what would happen later this year.

As the class settled down to receive their marks on the literature and theory criticism coursework, Mr. Styles walked in, dressed in a well-fitted navy suit with a crisp white shirt. He took off his coat and placed it on the edge of his desk, a departure from his usual habit of draping it over the back of his chair. He wasted no time before pulling out the papers from his leather satchel and making his way down the aisles of the lecture hall, passing out the papers to everyone. When he read out my name, I watched as his eyes searched for me across the hall, darting from one side of the room to the other. It was unlike me to skip his class, so he knew all he had to do was find me. I hadn’t planned this specific event, but I enjoyed it, nonetheless. Once he found me, he smiled sheepishly, yet much more subtly than he did when we were alone and made his way to me.

"Excellent work, Y/L/N," he said as he gently placed the papers on my desk. "I especially appreciate the effort of handwriting this," he remarked, although everyone knew he didn’t care if papers were written by hand or typed on a computer.

I had deliberately written my paper by hand after he replied to an email of mine. I had thanked him for letting me borrow his books, and his response was a charming note saying he’d enjoyed reading my annotations and adored my handwriting. For once, I was glad that my all-girls school had emphasized cursive writing, as I used it to add a romantic touch to my work.

When I finally read his comments and feedback, I was met with admiration and praise. In one of the margins, he had written, “Your insights are so compelling, it’s impossible not to fall in love with your analysis.” On the final page, at the bottom, he had added, “It’s a privilege to be your professor. Your brilliance shines so brightly that it’s clear this paper is a testament to your exceptional talent.”

Often times I worried that there actually was something going on between us, and that his praise and charming were remarks were not that of a proud professor, but of an infatuated man instead. So that day, I decided to address it.

As the lecture drew to a close, I lingered in my seat, carefully packing up my belongings with deliberate slowness. The classroom slowly emptied, the murmur of students’ conversations fading into the background as they made their way out. I wanted to be alone with Mr. Styles, to discuss something that had been weighing on my mind. By the time I made my way down the row of seats to his desk, the room was empty except for the two of us.

“Mr. Styles,” I began hesitantly, catching his eye as he gathered his papers. “I was hoping to ask you something.”

He looked up, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Of course, go ahead. I’m actually glad you stayed behind. There’s something I’d like to ask you as well.”

A sudden rush of anxiety gripped me. The possibility of crossing a line—whether I had done so with my subtle flirtations or if he were about to make a move that could alter our dynamic—was almost too much to bear.

My fantasies of him flashed through my mind. I had dreamt of intimate moments with him like kissing him, waking up in his bed, or better yet, on the couch in his office after a late romantic night together. I had once pictured us sitting on the floor around his small coffee table as we did one time when they ordered takeout during one of our August meetings except this time I would slip my shoes off casually and find a way to stroke my foot, clothed thin leggings, against his leg, looking at him with doe eyes as I dare to not so innocently asks if he ever thought about me sexually.

Hell, I even pictured him going down on me after laying me on his desk and even touched myself to the idea of riding him while he sat on his office chair. I would sneak into the small space between him and his desk and shut off his laptop while he graded my papers, cockily saying “We already know I got an A” – despite my crippling self-doubt without tangible affirmation – as I sit on his lap. In this fantasy he would laugh at my remark and gladly embrace me with a hand on my ass, the other intertwined among thick locks of my long hair, messing it up as I teasingly kiss him, ever so aware of the friction I’m creating between our crotches.

But still, to think that he would propose something to me in that moment, sexual or romantic, casually after class as if I haven’t been pining for two Octobers made me incredibly nervous.

I cleared my throat, trying to steady my voice as I met his gaze. “Mr. Styles, well, first of all this has nothing to do with the actual course itself, maybe a bit but...” I trailed off “It’s... it’s been on my mind for a while.”

He raised an eyebrow, curiosity evident in his expression. “Sure, go ahead. I’m happy to answer anything.” He smiled shyly to comfort me.

I took a deep breath, my heart pounding as I prepared to voice my concerns. “Do you think that maybe my behavior in class, my enthusiasm, or even my approach to your feedback has influenced you to… um… maybe to favor me? Over other students I mean.” I began nervously, desperately searching for an expression on his blank face.

“Maybe sometimes I get a little excited and forget that you are my professor and not my friend or something, I think I may have overstepped my boundaries but… but you treat me as an equal which, by the way, I have always greatly appreciated. I mean, it has offered me an opportunity to grow as a student like no other, but I still worry…”I trailed off, now a stern look evident on his face and possibly even hurt.

He paused for a moment, his gaze thoughtful as he considered my words. “I appreciate your honesty and self-awareness,” he said finally, his voice steady but soft. “It’s clear that you’re passionate and dedicated, and I value that. But it’s important to remember that I strive to maintain fairness in all my interactions with students.”

I bit my lip, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension. “I understand, Mr. Styles. I just want to make sure that if I take pride in these academic accomplishments… if I want to revel in the fact that I always receive praise from you and rarely any criticism – like todays feedback for example, which included no criticism, I want to make sure it is because I am worthy of it. And not because I won you over by involving myself in your extracurriculars or because we are… uh.. friendly.”

He looked at me with a reassuring smile, his gaze steady and sincere. “First of all, let me assure you that you are never inappropriate. The friendship we’ve developed is separate from our academic interactions. Outside of school hours, I call you by your first name to maintain that distinction. In the classroom, I evaluate you purely on your merit.”

He leaned forward slightly, his tone earnest. “The reason your feedback today contained no criticism is that your paper was truly flawless. If there had been any weaknesses or areas for improvement, I would have pointed them out without hesitation. I hold you in very high regard academically, and that respect extends to all aspects of your work. If I ever notice any shortcomings, I will address them so you have the opportunity to refine and grow.”

His expression softened, a touch of concern in his eyes. “The only issue I see here is that you are doubting yourself. Your achievements and the praise you receive are well-deserved. You have a remarkable ability, and I believe in your potential. My only hope is that you start to see in yourself what I see in you – a brilliant, dedicated student who deserves every bit of recognition they receive.”

I nodded, feeling a sense of relief and a renewed confidence. When I looked down at my lap I heard him continue:

“And of course I value the relationship we have fostered outside of class. Would I be the man I am today if you hadn’t introduced me to the wonders of Moroccan cuisine?” He tried to joke to ease the tension and unsurprisingly it worked as it earned him a soft chuckle of honest amusement.

“Theres the y/n I know and love” he bantered though I cant say my heart didn’t skip a beat at the mention of the word “love”.

“You know, there are many other cuisines you’re yet to try,” I said with a playful glint in my eye. “For someone who’s so well-traveled and cultured, it’s surprising how much you’ve missed out on when it comes to food.” I teased.

“Well, perhaps you’ll tell me all about it when we’re in Amsterdam for the debate competition,” he said with a smile, his eyes twinkling with genuine excitement.

I blinked, momentarily stunned. “Wait, what? You secured that for us?” My voice wavered slightly as my heart leaped with joy. “I can’t believe it! I’m so excited. This is incredible news!”

He chuckled, clearly pleased with my reaction. “I thought you’d like that. It’s an excellent opportunity, and I know how much you’ve been looking forward to it.”

I couldn’t help but beam, my excitement bubbling over. “This is amazing, truly. Thank you so much!” I stepped closer, touched by his thoughtfulness and dedication.

As I reached out, our hands brushed briefly, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver through me. His gaze softened, and I could see the sincerity in his eyes. “I’m just glad we get to share this experience together,” he said softly.

The moment felt charged, filled with unspoken words and mutual appreciation. I nodded, my heart full of gratitude and warmth. “Me too,” I murmured, feeling the depth of our connection more than ever before.

Time jump – December is getting ready for Christmas.

As we stepped into the hotel lobby, the excitement was palpable among the debate team. Amsterdam was already charming me, even though I’d only glimpsed it through the bus window. The streets were lined with picturesque canals and quaint buildings, each one more enchanting than the last. I couldn’t help but talk animatedly about how I’d dreamed of visiting the Netherlands ever since my father told me stories about the blooming flower fields when I was a child.

Harry, who had been sitting beside me on the bus, watched with a fond smile. “You really seem to love the city,” he said. “Maybe we could find a couple of free days between the training and the competition to visit the flower fields.”

My eyes widened in delight. “Really? That would be incredible. But managing a whole field trip with the debate team might be a bit complicated.”

He grinned, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Well, we could go alone. Just you and me. A little escape from the team.” He added. “We could explore some other things too if we’d like.”

The thought of spending time alone with him, wandering through a sea of flowers, made my heart race. I felt a warm blush creep up my cheeks. “That sounds amazing. I’d love that.”

When we checked into the hotel and were given our room keys, Anika, my vice president, and I realized that Harry and I had rooms on a separate floor. In fact, they were deluxe rooms though him and I booked standard rooms for everyone when we went over the budget. Anika seemed particularly perplexed by this.

“Why did you get such a nice room and I didn’t?” Anika questioned, her tone tinged with curiosity as she approached me in the lobby.

I shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “Maybe Mr. Styles thought I needed a little extra comfort. You know, as president” I joked, not really sure if that was the case. “Besides, he probably just had to make decisions based on what was available.” I found myself lying, knowing I was curious myself.”

Anika raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe he’s using the budget money to splurge on you. I’ve noticed you two have become quite friendly. Could it be that he has a thing for you?” she teased, knowing I have spent months pining and flirting.

I laughed, shaking my head. “I don’t think so, Anika. We’re friends, and that’s all it is. I don’t think he feels anything else.” I said, confidant of my words for the first time in this conversation. “Plus, you are the only person other than me and Harry that got her own room. Others are sharing and you likely have a king bed all to yourself.”

“Harry? Is that his name now?” she smirked. “I guess you forgot to tell me you are on a first name basis. Are you holding out on me Y/L/N?” she joked though she was never oblivious to the fact that you kept some encounters with Harry to yourself, as if it would fuel the fantasy somehow.

I raised an eyebrow and gave her a playful grin. “Oh, come on. You have to admit everyone in the poetry society calls him that when we are outside the university.” I said, knowing that it was only one guy who was a family friend of Harry’s who got the honor.

She chuckled, but there was a hint of curiosity in her gaze. “Right. But you can’t deny there’s something a bit… special about how you two interact. Just saying.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not holding my breath for anything more on this trip. We’re here for the debate, remember? That’s the focus. But if anything happens later…” I shrugged playfully as she returned my knowing smile.

“Fair enough. Just keep your eyes open anyway, okay? Sometimes things happen when you least expect them to.”

I heard Harry calling my name from the end of the hall. I turned around to see him walking towards me with a thoughtful expression.

“Hey, do you still want to gather the debate team for a brief practice session before the afternoon debate?” he asked, his tone carrying a hint of concern.

I shook my head, smiling. “No, no need. You were right; they need a break. Plus, everyone has their notecards and seems prepared.”

Harry nodded, his smile relaxing into a satisfied grin. “Alright then. Let’s head to the elevator; it’ll be a bit quieter now anyway.”

We walked to the elevator together, and once inside, he pressed the button for my floor. The confined space seemed to amplify the gentle hum of the elevator, making it feel intimate.

Harry glanced at me with a soft smile, his eyes lingering a moment longer than usual. “Your hair looks different today. Did you do something special with it?” he asked, his voice carrying a playful undertone.

I felt a tinge of embarrassment, my cheeks warming slightly. “I just blow-dried it differently since I was in a rush this morning,” I replied, trying to sound casual.

Harry’s smile grew, his eyes twinkling with a mix of admiration and something else I couldn’t quite place. “Well, it looks beautiful. I wouldn’t have guessed it was rushed.”

His compliment made my heart flutter, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Harry. That makes me feel a lot better about this hectic morning” I tried to divert the conversation, feeling nervous at his focus on me.

“Yeah, well, at least you have matching socks,” he joked, and before I could ask him what the hell he was talking about, he lifted his foot, revealing his own mismatched socks with a playful grin.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You and your accidental fashion choices,” I said, shaking my head with a smile, remembering that time I complimented his shoes only to find out he ordered the wrong ones online and couldn’t get them returned. He looked handsome in them anyway, I had told him.

He shrugged, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “What can I say? I like to keep things interesting. And besides, it’s a good thing someone’s got their fashion game on point around here.” He said, brushing off the fact that it was a rushed accident.

I playfully nudged him. “Well, I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. And for the record, I do have matching socks today, just in case you were wondering.”

Harry’s eyes softened as he looked at me, a warmth in his gaze that made my heart flutter. “Well, I must say, your socks are a lot less distracting than mine.”

I chuckled, feeling the tension between us ease into something more comfortable and light-hearted.

As the elevator chimed and the doors slid open to my floor, Harry didn’t make a move to exit. Instead, he turned to me with a charming grin, his eyes sparkling with warmth. “Let me walk you to your room. It’s the least I can do. After all, it’s not every day I get to be a gentleman,” he said, completely ignoring the fact that his room was directly across from the elevator.

I laughed softly, touched by his thoughtfulness. “You’re too kind, Harry. It’s just down the hall here,” I said, gesturing toward my door, which was a short distance away from his.

As we walked together down the hallway, the atmosphere felt lighter, filled with a quiet, pleasant tension. Harry’s presence beside me was comforting, and I found myself appreciating the little things—like how he occasionally glanced my way, as if trying to make the moment last just a bit longer.

When we reached my door, Harry reached out and brushed his hand lightly against mine as he opened the door for me. “Even so, a little extra time with you—well, when else can I talk about my accidental shenanigans and have someone listen intently?” His voice was low and warm, and his gaze lingered on me with an intensity that sent a thrill down my spine.

I felt a flutter in my chest at his words but remained blissfully unaware of the deeper implications behind his gaze. “Well,” I said, smiling as I unlocked the door and stepped inside. “Thanks for walking me. It’s always nice to have a bit of company, especially when the company is as pleasant as yours.”

Harry’s smile grew softer, and he took a step back, still holding my gaze. “Anytime, y/n. I’ll see you in a few hours. Get some rest.

“You too, Harry.” I said as he walked back to his own room.

——————————————————————

PART TWO IS NOW UP 🌷🌷

[w7ves]

rue sous la neige ; la pie, claude monet / three women, sylvia plath / little women (2019) dir. greta gerwig / christmas song, mccarthy trenching / dead poets society (1989) dir. peter weir / friedrich nietzsche, from selected letters / the perks of being a wallflower (2012) dir. stephen chbosky / war of the foxes, richard siken / the holdovers (2023) dir. alexander payne.

[hautemeditation]

New series: Incredibly Stylish Films

Dr No (1962) - Terence Young

I’ve decided to pair my love of film with fashion by starting a new series, where I document and review the best of fashion and style in some of my favourite films. And what better way to start than with one of the legends of classic style and sophistication on screen - James Bond. Each Bond film - and iteration of Bond himself - is known for a unique, yet timeless sense of style. And whilst I love them all differently, it’s hard to deny that Dr No (1962) remains arguably the most iconic film in the Bond series to date.

If you appreciate impeccable tailoring, juxtaposed with some utterly cool sports casual looks, then Sean Connery’s 007 delivers it all. From the classic dinner suit in Bond’s introduction scene, to a well-fitting polo shirt and rolled-up linen trousers during action scenes on the Jamaican sand, in Dr No, we’re treated to a spectrum of truly sophisticated 1960s menswear.

It would be difficult to discuss fashion in a Bond film without also mentioning the array of classic looks from the women on screen. In Dr No, again we’re treated to a spectrum of quintessential 60s style - a dramatic red evening dress from Sylvia Trench (Eunice Gayson), stylish workwear from Miss Moneypenny (Lois Maxwell) and of course, a sporty-chic white bikini from Honey Ryder (Ursula Andress) - the first of many memorable Bond girls. Bonus points in Dr No must go to Sylvia Trench for also delivering one of the most timeless looks of all - and possibly my favourite in the film- an oversized white pyjama shirt with heeled sandals - paired with a full face of make-up and perfectly styled hair (obviously).

So whether you’re a Bond fan or not, after watching Dr No, you’re bound to understand why James Bond is regarded as one of the most stylish film characters of all time - as well as hopefully having a newly-discovered appreciation for a well-tailored dinner suit.

[cressida-jayoungr]

One Dress a Day Challenge

September: Bond Films

Casino Royale (2006) / Eva Green as Vesper Lynd

Continuing with the five primary modes of Bond Girl chic, the third item on the list is evening wear. We've already had a taste of that with Sylvia Trench. Vesper Lynd's backless purple gown from Casino Royale is perhaps the most iconic evening dress of the Daniel Craig era. The plunging neckline and gathered material in the bodice make me think of Marilyn Monroe's famous gold dress, while the long lines echo the 1930s by way of the 1970s. The sparkly edging to the neck is meant to be attention-grabbing, and it is. The dress is finished with a matching wrap and clutch purse.

Like many dresses that appear deep purple onscreen, it appears considerably lighter and closer to raspberry-pink when seen offscreen. Compare this dress for another example of the same phenomenon.

[ultimate-007]

DR NO 1962

Sylvia Trench (Eunice Gayson) and James Bond (Sean Connery)

[frank-o-meter]

JAMES BOND in DR. NO

When I was in high school I read many of Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels. But I mostly remember them from the Sean Connery films. Recently I came across some BBC audio dramas based on the books and I’ve listen to Dr No and Goldfinger. They are both pretty good.

The audio dramas follow the plots from the novels and are also set in the 1950s when the early books were written. Toby Stephens, son of Maggie Smith, plays Bond. He’s good and could have been great as 007 in a movie. Instead Stephens’ played a Bond villain, opposite Pierce Brosnan, in Die Another Day (2002).

I’m not sure if I ever saw the Dr No film (1962). If I did, I don’t remember many details - mostly that the Chinese villain was played by a white actor. And the first appearance of Ursula Andress as Honey Ryder rising out of the ocean in her white bikini. This scene would be recreated twice in later films. First by Halle Berry as Jinx in Die Another Day (2002) wearing an orange bikini. Then again in Casino Royale (2006) with Daniel Craig wearing snug blue swim trunks.

In the audio drama David Suchet played Dr. No. Suchet is famous for playing Hercules Poirot, his best role. I absolutely did not recognize his voice in the audio drama. Suchet’s Dr No is very creepy.

This week I decided to rent the Dr. No movie on Amazon Prime. Sean Connery is incredibly handsome in it. Immediately you understand why he became so popular.

Between the 1960s and 1990s, Bond films were famous for the Bond Girls. And that was all introduced in Dr No. Connery has sex with at least 3 women:

Sylvia Trench, a beautiful woman he meets in a casino early in the film (she was originally intended to be a recurring girlfriend in the Bond films.)

Miss Tao, a double agent in Jamaica. Bond has sex with he even tho he knows she was plotting his death.

Honey Ryder - the beautiful bikini clad sea shell hunter played by Ursula Andress.

But there are several other women (receptions, hotel clerks, and Miss Money Penny of course) who swoon at the very sight of Bond. A couple make a point of checking out his butt as he walks away.

I used Wikipedia to compare the plot of the book to the audio drama and to the film. Most of the changes involve the villain Dr No. But they all agree on his main effort - he uses radio waves to disrupt rockets launched from Cape Canaveral.

Dr No is played by Joseph Wiseman. He isn’t even mentioned by name until 35 minutes into the story. And he doesn’t appear on screen for another 30 minutes. He has one scene where he monologue’s his nefarious to Bond. On the whole, Wiseman forgettable (David Suchet in the audio drama made a much stronger impression.)

Bond also meets up with his CIA counterpart - here played by Jack Lord (who would later become famous for the Hawaii 5-0 TV series). Lord had been asked to return for Goldfinger but he wanted a lot more money. He didn’t realize how easily he could be replaced. (BTW - Felix Lester was played by 5 different actors between 1962 and 1973.)

Here’s another piece of trivia… Ursula Andress’ voice was dubbed. Although she had been in Hollywood for nearly 10 years before the movie was made, she still had a heavy Swiss accent.

Is Dr. No as great Bond movie? Truthfully no. While Connery is good, the pacing is slow, too much time is spent on procedural stuff, the fire breathing “dragon” is laughable, and the villain is weak. But if you are a Bond fan, Dr. No is worth watching, to see how the building blocks evolved.