For Your Eyes Only

www.paulcoia.com

God bless the British public and John Sergeant. The great armchair telephone jury stuck two fingers up at the BBC, and their show Strictly Come Dancing, by refusing to vote off the lumbering bear who has the rhythm of granite and the balance and grace of a sperm whale handstanding on Nelson’s Column.

Week after week, despite pleading from plastic poseurs on the judging panel, the former TV political correspondent became a returning favourite with his blend of wounded elephant and infirm Chewbacca until last week when, under pressure, he resigned. Like an unlucky Catholic his rhythm method may have let him down but, before departing, Sergeant triumphed at blowing a huge hole through the format that is Strictly Come Dancing.

Don’t underestimate how bad this is for the BBC who sell this programme around the world and make local versions in places like America and Australia. Apart from having to refund viewers who voted, BBC heads are having to accept that their cash cow has an almighty tummy bug and that Sergeant’s popularity and style - less Fred Astaire more Stenna Stair - showed up something no one had noticed till now. Formats have to be tested to destruction before getting on air, but the Quality Assurance people went AWOL here.

I accept that if you run a dance competition then the best dancer should win, but if you ask the public to vote, and take money off them for the privilege, you have to accept whatever they give you, even if they keep blowing raspberries at your format by voting for the one who makes them laugh. It means the idea is flawed, a bit like getting a brand new, safety tested, car and finding the seat belts are made of elastic.

Even the new series of I’m A Celebrity faced revolt when contestants threatened to walk off unless conditions improved this week, so another weakened format and another triumph for people power over media execs at the Groucho Club.

In this new spirit of spotting flaws and speaking up for what the common man wants, can I this week start a backlash of my own and ask you to join in? I’m forming a movement called BBOOB, which stands for Bring Back Our Old Bond because, right now, Daniel Craig and the producers of Quantum of Solace are making a pig’s ear out of it.

I was watching the actor Jason Statham on NBC the other night and he told a story about driving through Hollywood in a beat up old banger when a shiny, chauffeur driven car pulled up alongside and his old mate Daniel Craig wound down the rear window and shouted something rude. Statham mouthed “Shut up, Mr Bond”, and drove on. I loved that story for many reasons but mainly because it shows Daniel Craig is human and just may be able to have a laugh – something lacking in his James Bond outings where irony, humour and fun have disappeared along with the gadgets and decent theme song.

At the risk of sounding like the little boy in the crowd who shouts “The king’s in the buff”, especially when so many are saying that it’s good to get the films back to the style of the books, let me shout as loudly as I can as the king goes past that the books must have been flippin’ hopeless. And anyway, I enjoy my choc ice and popcorn at the movies not the library.

Every two years the new Bond film was an event I looked forward to, a big red circle on my calendar. The various actors brought their own, individual, take on the icon with Connery as the original, Moore as a more comic creation, Brosnan as an ironic, sassy, agent and now Craig plays him as if troubled with diverticulitis where any sudden movement may mean M getting a bill for a new pair of pants.

He doesn’t even have to think on his feet as the director goes so close to the action, and cuts so quickly, that no one knows what’s going on as his enemies fly through the air and disappear for no reason, unless perhaps it’s because of boredom. Craig’s lack of personality is matched by the baddies. Another Goldfinger? Jaws? Scaramanga? Oddjob? This new lot have a water fetish and will be remembered about as long as the new theme song which is called …er…. something or other by …er.... those two Americans.

There are two female leads in this movie. One looks to be a woman, the other like she’s just stepped off a hockey pitch and is on her way to sit her A level exams dressed in her mum’s Sunday best. Guess which one he seduces? Yep. Bond has become a dirty old man.

Expecting the famous Bond guitar theme to play during the chases? Forget it. Waiting for lines like “shaken not stirred” or “the name’s Bond. James Bond?” You’ve come to the wrong place. Wanting Bond to appear in his swimming trunks again? Well, our Daniel takes himself very seriously and didn’t like the attention last time so there’s no room for that. Just as there’s no room for a memorable stunt before the titles. Where once we got thrilling ski chases followed by Bond flying off a mountain wearing a Union Jack parachute, we now get yet another car chase with the punchline being him opening the boot of his car. I can do that in Wimbledon rush hour.

So, please join me in BBOOB. You need a cause to rally round now that John Sergeant’s gone from the dancing show and perhaps we may even ask for John to become a baddie in the next Bond movie. Or maybe he will sing the theme song. Or, even better, replace Daniel Craig.

At least Sergeant knows how to get a laugh.