Got a call from Danny Craig last week, begging me to attend the premiere of Casino Royale. The poor chap was terrified of being compared unfavourably to Sean Connery and desperately wanted someone to take the spotlight off him. While agreeing that a gorilla in a dinner jacket might well steal the evening, I told him to let the critics be damned and face the glare of publicity like a man.
He was also worried about being shorter than his predecessors. I told him to forget it. In my experience, the tall man is vulnerable – pat him firmly in the midriff and he folds up like an Arab tent. Pierce Brosnan was a damn fine actor, but I’ll never forget the scene in which Miss Onatopp squeezes the pips out of him while bringing herself to a climax. She’d never have attempted a trick like that on Daniel, who wouldn’t miss a breath if a couple of geishas danced on his chunky chest.
Daniel has been pestering me for advice ever since I got him the part of 007. After initially getting refused for the role, he turned up at Dr Whipsnade’s residence when I was there on a short visit. He joined me in the drawing room and slumped down on a sofa with his hands over his face.
“I was great in the screen test so why did they turn me down?” he moaned. “I don’t know what to do, GB, I just don’t know what to do.”
“You can stand up and behave like a man!” I barked, hauling him to his feet and slapping his face.
He then told me about his audition and pleaded for my help, knowing full well that a gorilla never refuses a request when he’s living in the home of a human.
“Leave this with me, Danny,” I said. “We’ll persuade the producer to change his mind.”
So Dr Whipsnade drove to Pinewood Studies to meet Michael G Wilson, the man in charge of the James Bond project. Wilson admitted that Daniel was perfect for the part but angrily refused to reconsider his decision, claiming that his half-sister had once been goosed by Daniel at a party. Dr Whipsnade told me the bad news straight away and I joined him in Buckinghamshire. We eventually found a way of reasoning with the tough-talking movie-producer. I don’t want to go into details, but suffice it to say that Wilson woke up one morning with the severed tail of his pet Iguana under the duvet.
I hoped that Daniel would relax after getting the part, but like so many actors he’s plagued with insecurities. Very self-conscious about being the first blond 007, he called me in a huff after some hack had dubbed him “James Blonde”. I told him not to worry about it; but then he came up with the crazy idea of shagging ‘M’ to prove he wasn’t a girly man. “Only a really hard stud would do something like that,” he asserted. “I’ll ask for the scene to be in the next picture.”
I clearly had to nip this one in the bud. “Having sex with ‘M’ is out of the question, Danny,” I said firmly. “She’s old enough to be your mother and a Dame of the British Empire to boot. Do you want people to think you’re a granny-chaser?”
“Well what do you suggest?” asked Daniel querulously.
My mind flashed back over previous Bond movies. “I’ve never seen James Bond having really wild sex,” I mused. “I mean thumping his chest like a gorilla before mounting his female co-star in the ‘squatting-baboon’ position.”
Daniel was suitably impressed by this idea, so I promised to fix it with Wilson. I called Dr Whipsnade next day to make the following inquiry:
“Does that movie-producer have any other pets besides the lizard I pruned?”
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