Contrast that to the soul-crushing dismay when you realize that what you hoped would be a great couple of hours is instead going to be a dreary death-march of clichés, lazy writing and bad music broken only occasionally when you glance longingly at your watch and wish you could have your $11.50 and two hours back. 

—–

You know a great opening when you see it; if fact, you feel it.  My definition of “opening” is rather loose.  An opening can go up to, or past the credits, or it may just be the credit sequence itself.  Some openings are rather long, 10-15 minutes.  Some are just a couple of minutes.  There is no one formula for a great opening – the ten listed here as my personal favorites are as different from each other as Democratic Party governance is from competent leadership.  But there are some common threads.  A great opening tells you something about the story you will see.  It might be in words of formal narration, or a sequence that takes you into the story, or in some cases it’s just a few images.  There may be prominent music, or little or none.  But when the opening is over, you are ready – you understand enough to begin the journey.  And, more importantly, you are eager to go. 

It’s easy – and serves an important purpose – to point out where Hollywood fails.  But it’s a special pleasure to point out where it got it just perfect.  Here are my Top 10 favorite movie openings: 

1. The Guns of Navarone (1961) 

This is one of the great “men on a mission” WWII movies of the Sixties, a rousing story of a band of commandos led by Gregory Peck trying to destroy the titular cannons on a German-occupied Greek island.  This 5 ½ minute opening sequence is an example of narration and music in action.  Over beautiful shots of Greek ruins intercut with newsreel footage, James Robertson Justice provides a detailed prologue setting up the story (though, sadly, the narration track is not on YouTube) while Dimitri Tiomkin’s Oscar nominates score plays quietly. 

—–

It’s one of the screen’s great orchestral themes, and as the narration ends and the opening credits begin it sweeps up into its full glory – rousing, majestic and stirring.  You watch the Cyrillic-style star credits flash by – Greg Peck, David Niven, Anthony Quinn – as that score plays and you know you’re about to watch one of Hollywood’s adventures.  

2. Alien (1979) 

Ridley Scott’s extraterrestrial terrorfest is one of only two movies that every really, truly scared me.  In contrast to the crowded, familiar outer space of Star Wars (see below), Scott’s universe is silent and cold, at once claustrophobic and massive. 

—–

With the terrible emptiness of space as the background, the opening credits leisurely form the title “Alien” as Jerry Goldsmith’s superbly creepy and jarring score sets you on edge.  Audiences had never seen or heard anything like it, and it set exactly the right tone of dread and disorientation that would permeate one of the greatest movies ever made.  

3. The Wild Bunch (1969) 

A band of cavalry troopers led by the heroic William Holden slowly ride into a dusty western town – they’re clearly the good guys, right?  Director Sam Peckinpah takes it nice and slow while dropping hints – a bunch of kids torment some scorpions, and when the credits come on screen Peckinpah photo-reverses Holden’s image, like Holden is the opposite of what he appears to be. 

Holden escorts an elderly lady across the street.  Ernest Borgnine even offers to carry her boxes – how nice of him!  Then they enter the bank and draw guns as Holden throws a civilian to the floor and orders his men, “If they move – kill ‘em!”  And then they shoot their way out of town in a bloody gun battle that leaves criminals, bounty hunters and a score of innocent civilians strewn across the streets. 

—–

Can you say “Anti-heroes?”  Well, you don’t have to – after that amazing opening, you knew that you were watching something entirely new.  And you knew that it wasn’t going to have a happy ending. Just an awesome one. 

4. Se7en (1995)

Here, director David Fincher wants to take us into the mind of a serial killer, but not in the same way a thousand hack directors had.  Se7en’s opening credits, set to Trent Reznor’s “Closer,” are displayed over a series of icky, freaky images – many of which, in retrospect, turn out to relate to the story to come (Look for the shot of the book discussing pregnancy!).  You know you’re on you’re way to crazyland, and you know you have no idea what’s going to happen next. 

—–

The credits are not a particularly delightful experience, and neither is the film.  But, undeniably, there is nothing else like it, and Fincher created an opening that was worthy of it. 

5. Goldfinger (1964)

There had to be a James Bond film on this list, and the most James Bond film of all James Bond film is Goldfinger.  The third of the series (you can read much more about it in Lawrence Meyer’s Big Hollywood series), it set in concrete many of the Bond traditions that would follow through five decades of  Bonds up through today. 

A Bond opening has three parts.  The first is the MGM lion roaring and the dancing dot that becomes the barrel of a gun aimed right at 007, who pivots at the last second and fires, followed by the animated sheet of blood pouring down the screen as the dot finds a corner and expands into the cold open action sequence. 

The opening sequence rarely has anything to do with the plot (though the recent ones are going in a different direction).  Here, Bond infiltrates an enemy facility disguised with a duck on his head.  Yeah, unfortunately there’s a bit of silliness in some of these, but it fades into a nice fight in a hotel room (where the amoral Bond uses a femme fatale’s head as a shield) and gives us one of the earliest hero quips: “Shocking, absolutely shocking,” he remarks about the baddie he just electrocuted. 

—–

Now, the third part of a Bond opening is the main titles, and these – with the legendary Shirley Bassey singing the best of the Bond themes – are just great.  Scenes of the film play out on the golden skin of a naked model as the credits play.  That pretty much sums up our James Bond.  Pretty girl, beware of this heart of gold! 

6. Star Wars (1977) 

In nerdspeak, it’s Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope.  But since I saw it in the theater, and I don’t put up with geek nonsense, this was, is and ever shall be known only as Star Wars.  And seeing it in the theater – as well as being around for the incredibly revolutionary effect Star Wars had on the movies – makes this legendary opening all the more memorable.  

We sat in the theater, the lights go down, the 20^th Century Fox intro played followed by the sky blue titles on a black field reading “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…”  Then BLAM!  John Williams’s unforgettable score hits you.  The iconic Star Wars graphic appears on the screen followed by the written explanation of the nonsensical plot.  Then the camera falls, a musical freefall supported by the score, and BLAM!   We are in a space battle with starships the likes we had never seen before that day in 1977.  

Maybe you had to be there…. 

7. The Dirty Dozen (1967)

Another terrific Sixties WWII “men on a mission” movie, but it could not be more different from Guns of Navarone in story, tone or opening.  It opens cold as a hearse enters a military prison.  The inmates are rioting as a condemned prisoner is being led to his doom.  On the gallows stands Lee Marvin as Major Reisman, who watches the proceedings with grim detachment, pausing only to glance at the priest’s Bible with a raised eyebrow.  The sentence completed, he departs.  A title card announces we are in London in 1944.  Reisman then gets his mission from our old pal, General Ernest Borgnine, in a great scene, snappy scene.  The jousting among the characters is marvelous – we learn just what kind of man Reisman is not just from dialogue describing him but from his actions.  He then returns to the prison to meet his team of convicts.  Only then, about 10 minutes in, do the credits play as the sergeant introduces each one with character name, crime and sentence. 

In one economical, fluid opening, we meet and understand the hero, learn about his challenge and get thoroughly introduced to each of the Dozen.  Now that’s how a movie is made! 

8. Gone With the Wind (1939)

Just a title card, credits and the lush, amazing score of composer Max Steiner provide a worthy opening to what many consider the greatest American film ever made.  GWTW was a huge event when released, and in those days they felt they had to make a film worthy of the hype.  It was also better than three hours long.  Sure, critics today have problems with it – they probably feel it lacks alienated hipster characters whining about their feelings, and they astonishingly expect a 70+ year old movie to share the same lockstep vision of political correctness that characterizes the Hollywood of today (conveniently forgetting the fact that GWTW was revolutionary in the dignity it bestowed on many black characters, a dignity you will not find in the average gangster rap video or Martin Lawrence “funny black guy in a fat suit” sequel.) 

—–

The opening is amazing.  Steiner’s music begins with a flourish that evokes the Old South with a hint of “Dixie” then turns into the sweeping, grand “Tara’s Theme” as a title card sets the stage and then the credits roll over an idealized backdrop of a life soon to be swept away.  As a son of the Union whose family’s home town of Chambersburg was burned by Confederates (and whose great-great grandfather preceded me as a U.S. Army cavalryman by 125 years), I have no illusions about where the pretty life the characters live early in the movie came from, but the opening still perfectly captures the sense of these characters whose way of life would be “gone with the wind” of history during the course of this magnificent film. 

9. Magnum Force (1973)

Yeah, this one tells you all you need to know about the next two and a half hours of awesome, prime Eastwood mayhem.  

—–

A disembodied hand raises up and holds a Smith & Wesson .44 magnum revolver over a red background for a couple minutes as the credits run and Lalo Schifrin’s awesome, swingin’ n’ jazzy theme plays.  That’s it.  That’s all. 

Then the thumb pulls back the hammer, the looming barrel swings toward the audience, and Clint intones his famous “Do you feel lucky?” line from the original Dirty Harry.  Wait a beat.  BLAM! 

Rad.  Well, a man’s got to know his limitations.  And if you don’t dig that opening, it’s your manhood that’s limited. 

10. The Road Warrior (1981) 

Wind.  “My life fades.  My vision dims.  All that remains…. are memories.  I remember a time of chaos.  Ruined dreams, this wasted land.  But most of all, I remember the Road Warrior”  

With these words, uttered by the now elderly Feral Kid, one of the best action films ever made begins.  You don’t need to have seen the original Mad Max – the narration and footage bring you up to speed on the scenario, and on Max, and on why he went out to the desert…. 

But the narration isn’tall.  No, it’s just the beginning, because as the narration ends and director George Miller’s camera swoops down onto the endless road, the white lines shooting past, into darkness as a roar overtakes you.  And the roar gets louder and louder, and then the camera pulls back out of a tunnel, but it’s not a tunnel at all – it’s the yawning mouth of the supercharger on Max’s car, “the last of the V8 Interceptors.”  And we are right in the midst of Max’s latest asphalt battle for his life. 

Okay Hollywood, that’s how it’s done.

A Different Bond, James Bond 

We begin as we always do, with the man himself.  The man, however, is now George Lazenby.

There have been many detractors of Mr. Lazenby over the years, but here in 2011, he comes off as completely credible, a perfectly competent actor, and he cuts a masculine and heroic figure.  He’s got a different look to him than Mr. Connery – he was a male model, after all – but no less intriguing. His first appearance is on a windy beach road, passed by in a sports car by his soon-to-be-lover Tracy Di Vicenzio (Diana Rigg).   The director, Peter R. Hunt, was the editor of all the previous Bond films, and plays coy with the audience for only a few moments before revealing the new Bond.  Mr. Lazenby is shown only in silhouette or in extreme close-ups.  When he leaps from his car, we get our first look.   It isn’t long before he’s in a wave-crashing and sand-blasting fistfight with the thugs assailing Tracy.  Although I hate the moment where he says, “This never happened to the other fellow” and throws a quick glance to the camera, Mr. Lazenby’s introduction makes it pretty clear: he’s no pansy.

There’s a subtle difference between Mr. Connery’s later, more relaxed appearances, and Mr. Lazenby’s portrayal.   Mr. Connery’s persona was one of granite and steel.  You knew he always meant business, and that nothing much would get past him.  Mr. Lazenby’s interpretation is warmer, more welcoming, and more of the playboy seen in Mr. Fleming’s novels.  I think this choice is a good one.  In order for us to buy the romance between Tracy and Bond, the lead actor had to present a softer side we had not seen before.  Yet, this vulnerability plays perfectly in contrast to what we expect from Bond: a rough-and-tumble spy.  He’s in a tough fight right from the start, and 14 minutes in, he’s got a formidable opponent in Tracy’s bedroom (an African-American tough, recalling both Dr. No and foreshadowing Live and Let Die).

We also finally get to see Bond believably fall for one of the Bond girls, and again screenwriter Richard Maibaum comes through, by providing Bond with a woman we would expect him to fall for.  She’s suicidal, a wild horse, a gambler, a masochist, and rather tough in a fight herself.  When her father, Draco, tells Bond that she needs a man to “tame her”, the line feels like such a relic of the late 60’s.  But it’s true!  She not only needs a man to tame her, but a man who can actually handle her!  There’s plenty of sexual tension between the two, and the movie takes its time developing their relationship.  The primary storyline doesn’t begin until 37 minutes in, with the break-in of Gumbold’s safe.

I love it.  It’s solid writing, solid direction, a believable love story, and still plenty of action to keep audiences engaged.

The second act is somewhat problematic, but overall still works very well.  Bond’s charade as Sir Hilary Bray is great from a story perspective, but it’s a bit silly. What is nice, however, is that Bond’s bedding of various women is in service of the story, as he attempts to find out what Blofeld’s plan is.  Once Bond’s charade is discovered, the film recovers supremely well, with an extended sequence of his pursuit by Blofeld’s henchmen into the ski village.

And then, of course, there is a wonderful moment.  Unexpected.  Romantic.   Totally coincidental – and that’s what makes it special.   In the midst of frantic crosscuts very typical of this era of filmmaking, as Blofeld’s people close in on Bond, who really has nowhere to hide….suddenly all the cuts come to a screeching halt as a pair of skates skid to a stop right in front of Bond.   It’s Tracy.  And she knows he’s in trouble.  She rescues him.  The romance continues amidst the continuing chase.  By the time we reach the film’s controversial and heartbreaking conclusion, there really is no doubt – Bond has fallen hard for Tracy.

It all circles back to the choice to pull back on the Bond gimmicks and trademarks that were beginning to epitomize the series.  The subject matter and tone are more serious, skewing more towards From Russia With Love, and making Bond vulnerable. In fact, at the skating rink, he’s actually scared.  I like it.  It makes him human.

Supporting the Film

Supporting characters this time around are uniformly outstanding.  Detractors of the film point to Ms. Rigg as being rather plain in comparison to the voluptuousness of previous Bond girls.  I think the casting here is inspired.  It’s against type, totally in concert with the casting of Mr. Lazenby, and Ms. Rigg carried with her a degree of kick-ass iconography having portrayed Emma Peel in the The Avengers. She and Mr. Lazenby make a fine on-screen couple and the very fact that she isn’t some exotic specimen grounds the story and the romance all the more.

Blofeld is portrayed this time by the late Telly Savalas, and he’s given far more to do than all the other Blofelds combined.  It’s difficult to articulate exactly why Mr. Savalas’ interpretation works so well here.  Perhaps it’s because he’s presented as a very worthy opponent.  He’s confident, strong, and just as athletic as Bond.  He skis in pursuit of Bond himself, and handles a bobsled like a pro in the climactic chase.  The other thing, however, is just that thing we call “charisma”.  Mr. Savalas had it.  His screen presence is just great, even stronger than Mr. Lazenby, and I think this all adds up to a memorable role.  It also stands in stark contrast to many of the other Bond villains and Blofeld portrayals up to this point.   Previously, Blofeld was seen only in a reclining chair with a cat on his lap.  Donald Pleasance wasn’t given a lot to do, and he played the role almost as a cripple, a kind of modern Richard III.  Goldfinger was, at his core, a small man desperate for respect.  Emilio Largo had potential, but never comes to fruition.  Only nemeses such as Red Grant in From Russia With Love and Oddjob provide a real challenge.

Draco, the head of the crime syndicate, proves to be an interesting character.  As often happens, Bond is aided by a third party who has varying cross-interests.  Draco is the kind of rogue we like seeing Bond associate with, and that it is his men who assist Bond in the attack on Blofeld’s HQ makes their relationship all the more satisfying.  Beyond him, we have the amusingly stern Irma Bunt (recalling Rosa Klebb).  There’s also two nice moments involving M. The first when Bond is thrown off the mission to find Blofeld.  He tenders his resignation as a bluff, and is shocked (as are we) when M accepts it moments later!  Only then is it revealed that Moneypenny actually tendered a request for two weeks leave, and that is what was granted.  And only then is it revealed that Moneypenny also told M that she switched out the requests, to which he says, “What would I do without you?”

The other nice moment is at the wedding, when M runs into Draco and compliments him on some illegal activity that the Brits couldn’t nail him on.  They act like old friends as M asks how he pulled it off.

Other Cool Bond Stuff

There are numerous references to earlier Bond films, and the choice to show snippets of them during the opening title sequence is a bold choice.  The producers basically spend three minutes reminding everyone about Sean Connery, only to pull the rug out by introducing Mr. Lazenby.  We see Bond’s office for the first time, and he rummages through a few props from the previous films with bits of the respective scores underneath.

The movie hews so closely to the book that Blofeld and Bond do not recognize each other when they meet, despite having met face-to-face in the previous film.  One might plausibly explain this as Bond having…uh…plastic surgery to alter his look, to assist him in his hunt for Blofeld.  At any rate, Blofeld himself had his earlobe removed to pass off the ruse of his “royal” lineage, and must’ve had that awful scar removed as well.  There is also a nifty little side plot involving Bond’s ally, another MI6 agent who provides assistance to Bond during the clever break-in of Gumbold’s office, and provides cover during his visit to Blofeld’s chateau.   It’s a nice touch to show that he has backup, and that he is brutally murdered by Blofeld.

One can’t discuss OHMSS without mentioning the skiing.  Like Downhill Racer, also released in 1969, the film broke new ground in filming ski scenes.  It’s not exactly Warren Miller, but the ski chases are actually quite thrilling in places.  Much of this is due to the handheld camerawork, which places us right in the middle of the action, and overhead shots (achieved by dangling a cameraman in a parachute harness from a helicopter).  One can’t help but also be impressed by extensive shots of a stuntman whipping along on one ski, which Bond does after wiping out the first time.  Remember, movies were a long way from CGI back then.  This is the real thing.  There are also beautiful sweeping shots of Bond and Tracy being pursued by six of Blofeld’s men down the mountain.  Combined with John Barry’s magnificent score, it creates an iconic Bond sequence.

Blofeld’s plan is clever but far-fetched considering the era — induce sterilization among all food-producing animals and plants — but viewed through a contemporary prism, the idea of a bioterrorism threat introduced through the food supply is all-too-credible.  Then again, the plan isn’t what’s important in a Bond film.  Blofeld’s motivation is also rather curious.  Okay, we get that he’s holding the world for ransom.  That’s what he does every time.  But to what end?  There’s an implication that his intent is to simply retire!  Being Blofeld, however, he intends to retire royally.  He wants a royal title, a royal estate and full immunity from prosecution. I guess it means he’s had it with villainy. Then again, if what he wanted was to retire, he shouldn’t have spent all that money on the volcano base or the Swiss chateau.

After having strong thematics in the first three films, the series stumbled in the following two outings.  However, OHMSS tosses us a few crumbs in that department with numerous references to time.  Of course, Bond’s and Tracy’s ill-fated theme song and manta, “We have all the time in the world”, is the primary reference.  However, there are several others.   The opening shot of the film is a close up on MI-6’s headquarters emblazoned with the familiar cover plaque of Universal Exports.  In the reflection of the gold-plated sign is Big Ben.  The opening title sequence is all about time.  The primary image is of an hourglass (which morphs back and forth into a martini glass) and we see images from the previous films slide through it.  The most striking, and unexpected image, is at the opening of the sequence.  Here, Bond dangles in Buster Keaton fashion from a massive clock hand as it ticks backwards, showing us all the aforementioned images.  It is also a beautifully concise image of Bond’s emotional state in the film – hanging onto time for dear life, namely his doomed time with Tracy.  Note that as the clock hands pass by again at the sequence’s conclusion, Bond is gone, presumably having fallen off – foreshadowing the film’s tragic conclusion.

There is a clock tower seen outside Gumbold’s office as the safe-cracking device is elevated to Bond, a grandfather clock appropriately placed inside M’s home, and numerous references to time in many scenes inside Blofeld’s chateau – itself shaped like a clock (and continuing the motif seen since the series’ beginning, that circles represent evil).  There’s also a critical exchange of dialogue between Tracy and her father in the car.  She mentions that she’s in love, and he asks, “Mr. Bond is in love with you?”  Tracy hesitates, then says, “That may come to, one day”.  Draco tells her, “Life’s too short for some day”.   Indeed.

That Score!

Commenters in previous articles have been haranguing me over my failure to mention John Barry’s scores.   The truth is that I wasn’t wild about them until OHMSS. Yes, they were perfectly acceptable and even great…but only in places.  I found the theme in Thunderball to be irritating.  Goldfinger was very well scored.  However, it’s here that Mr. Barry really knocks it out of the park.  Not being a musician, it’s difficult to articulate what makes the score so fabulous.  For starters, it’s just…cool.  Memorable.  Great uses of horns, which have become synonymous with James Bond music.   As an audience, we want music to help provide an emotional through-line.  Mr. Barry’s theme for OHMSS feels adventurous, sweeping, romantic, and fits just so perfectly with the ski chase scenes.   The shots of Bond and Tracy swooping down the slopes in early morning, which then transition into a pursuit – with the music – it’s one of the highlights of the entire series.

——

The music has a feeling of pursuit to it, of relentless forward trajectory – with the time signature providing a heart-pounding pace that just pulls us along.   We’ll see how other scores compare going forward, but the only one I remember coming close to OHMSS is The Man With The Golden Gun.

The End 

There’s not much to say about Tracy’s tragic assassination by Blofeld and Bunt that hasn’t been said already.  It comes as a terrible shock.  It really destroys Bond, and in watching it this time, I felt very invested in the romance.  That the film just ends – boom – right there is a major downer.  It takes the wind out of the film’s sails and just plunges the knife right in our hearts.   On the one hand, it’s a WOW moment.  I can’t think of many other emotional moments in the entire series that hit like this.  It remains an incredibly bold choice even 42 years later.  Amazingly, the film was enormously successful despite this.   There are only four references to Tracy in the remainder of the series, although there is a direct homage to OHMSS in the ski scene with Bond and Elektra King in The World is Not Enough.

Overall, I loved this entry and it was a welcome recovery after the two previous outings.  As my old high school math teacher used to say, “if you’re going to do something, do it first-class”.   They did.

James Bond will return in Diamonds Are Forever.

Bond, James

We begin as we always do, with Sean Connery’s portrayal of 007.  His performance continues to evolve following his first two outings.  Whereas he began to settle into the role in From Russia With Love, at this point he is more than just relaxed in it.  He owns it.  There is a sense that he is a full-blown agent now, that he’s been on countless missions, and his charm and grace are being pushed to the forefront.  The more brutal qualities he exhibited in the first two films are toned down, while the British sophistication is far more evident.  This is also consistent with the more playful tone of the movie (more on that shortly).  The harder edges of masculinity that were showcased in the first two movies recede just a bit into the background.  Mr. Connery is seen more often in suit and tie, and for that matter, the suits themselves feel to be of a classier cut.

There is a warmer side to Bond this time, as well.  Viewers will remember that he did not need to save Honey Ryder as Dr. No’s lair crumbled in the first film.  She was a true innocent.  In Goldfinger, Bond clearly feels responsible for the death of Jill Masterson.  Bond seduces her, causing her to betray Goldfinger as he cheats at cards.  When Oddjob later kills her via epidermal suffocation by painting her gold, M confronts Bond regarding his ability to handle the mission objectively.  Her death clearly weighs on his conscience, though we only see it for a moment or two.  Interestingly, this is one of at least three occasions in which it is suggested that Bond is motivated by revenge (the others being License to Kill and Quantum of Solace).  It’s a bit odd for him to feel so strongly for a woman he certainly didn’t love.  The subtext, then, is that Bond in fact carries a guilty conscience over Masterson’s death.  Later, when he inadvertently exposes Jill’s sister Tilly, and she ends up dead at the hat of Oddjob, one can only conclude that Bond now has a double case of guilt to deal with.

As we push forward with the series, it should be interesting to see how Bond reacts in regards to the women he seduces.  Is his protectiveness the result of true feelings he develops as a result of each seduction….or of a guilty conscience?  We shall see.

The Man with The Midas Touch

Auric Goldfinger stands apart from almost every other Bond villain.  Most of them pretty much want to rule the world, destroy the world, or cause global havoc.  On the surface, Goldfinger wants gold.  However, his behavior and the eccentric performance of Gert Frobe (and dubbed by Michael Collins) suggest he is motivated by a deeper psychology.  There is a subtext at work in the character — that of a rather small and petty man desperately seeking respect.

He cheats at cards, instead of using an obviously superior intellect to win honestly.  He punishes Masterson’s minor betrayal by murder.  Why such a harsh punishment?  Because his fragile ego was shattered and he was embarrassed when told to lose at cards.

He cheats at golf, having Oddjob “find” his golf ball when it is lost in the rough.  He even cheats in his grand plan — murdering all the mobsters who helped piece together Operation Grand Slam, even the one who said he wanted out and was made to believe he would receive his payment.

He surrounds himself with beautiful women, but apparently isn’t sleeping with them.  Masterson makes it quite clear that she is paid only to be seen with Goldfinger.  Pussy Galore makes it clear that she’s only being paid as his pilot.

The scene in which he reveals his plan to the mobsters is all about Goldfinger showing what a big man he is — as he pompously lays out his plan for all to see and hear.  I might be reading too much into certain visuals — no jokes, you vandals — but holding the pool cue right at waist level as he points to the image of Fort Knox is about as phallic an image as one is going to see.   And his ranch in Kentucky isn’t a ranch.  It’s a stud.  And in case that’s lost on you, we not only see the sign indicating it as such but Auric greets Bond with, “Welcome to Auric Stud, Mr. Bond.”   Heck, may as well point out the tall pillars that grace the front of the mansion there, as well, not to mention the large laser pointed right between Bond’s legs.

He’s also a show-off, like all people with fragile self-esteem.  Everything we see regarding Goldfinger in production design and wardrobe is gold — his car, his recreation room, even the inside of his airplane.

There’s also an arguable plot hole that could be dismissed based upon the relationship between Goldfinger and Bond.  In the famous laser sequence, Bond bluffs his way out of being cut in half by saying he knows all about Operation Grand Slam.  There’s really no reason for Goldfinger to keep him alive, whether Bond knows about it or not.  One interpretation is that Goldfinger wants Bond around because he wants to be Bond.  He wants Bond’s respect.  Here is this British gentleman — the upper-crust of spies — who dresses in suits and ties, plays golf, and drinks Dom Perignon.

Meanwhile, Goldfinger’s wardrobe is rather drab and ratty.  Tans, golds, brown, tweeds.  Yuck.  It’s very lower-class.  Heck, his “star entrance” drastically contrasts that of Dr. No’s.   Whereas the latter was filled with mystery and later a cool detachment, Goldfinger first appears a bulbous Pac-Man, dressed in ugly yellow swimwear more suited to the geriatric denizens of Miami Beach rather than the hip poolside setting he plays cards in.

The scene with Bond and Goldfinger at the stud, talking over mint juleps (not exactly a high-glass drink, with apologies to Kentuckians), is very telling.  Just watch Goldfinger as he lays out his plan, gently teasing Bond into figuring it out.  He LOVES his plan.  He LOVES that Bond loves it!  He LOVES that he earns Bond’s respect.  The truth is he’s flattered that he’s got the attention of both the CIA and MI6.  It’s also a character-driven method by which the villain reveals the rest of his grand plan, rather than just monologuing.

All in all, Auric Goldfinger is an interesting and engaging villain because his plot is centered around his own character flaw.  This doesn’t happen too many times in the Bond series.

Tone and Theme

From Russia with Love’s theme was chess.  This time around the theme, other than the obvious, fits with the film’s overall playful tone: games.  The almost genial rivalry between Bond and Goldfinger contrasts starkly with the intellectual Cold War manipulations of From Russia.  Goldfinger is introduced playing gin rummy, and Bond squelches his victory by literally playing with his cheating partner.  Then we move to the golf course, where a game of ball-switching goes on within the golf game itself.  Bond literally bluffs his way out of his laser predicament, as would befit a game of poker.

The Auric Stud is introduced with shots of men harness racing.  Goldfinger’s presentation of Operation Grand Slam (a baseball term) includes a life size game board of Fort Knox and the surrounding area.  On Goldfinger’s jet, the Korean stewardess is told to spy on Bond in the bathroom.  Three times she tries to peep at him, each time he frustrates her by blocking her eyepiece.   When Bond is incarcerated at the Stud, he plays a game of peek-a-boo with the guard as a ruse for escape.  Finally, the CIA and the Army engage in an elaborate game of pretend, as they literally play dead as Goldfinger’s gas-laden planes roar overhead.

Design

From Russia With Love was, from a design standpoint, also reflective of the film’s tone.  The film feels gritty, dirty, and earthy.  Goldfinger’s look is, well, polished.  Most of the scenes have a high degree of contrast associated with them.  The shot design often places individuals within wide, sweeping shots.  It may be Bond on a mountain road.

It’s Oddjob framed against a wide open sky.

It’s Pussy Galore set against a flat landscape.

It’s Pussy’s airplanes sweeping over Fort Knox, or Bond creeping alongside massive circular oil tanks.  It’s Bond and Goldfinger are solitary figures on a huge golf course.

The choice of composition and lighting in almost every scene gives many of the scenes a visual pop.  Foregrounds are starkly separated from backgrounds.  Individual elements with each frame are sharply delineated.  The contrast is even apparent in character — Bond vs. Goldfinger.  The effect gives Goldfinger the feeling of a sweeping adventure, in contrast to the claustrophobia of From Russia With Love, especially on board the train.

The bravura set for the vault at Fort Knox is really worth noting.  The vault has nice visual flare thanks to lots of contrasting lines (verticals and horizontals), and contrasting shapes (the circular vault door to the rectangles of the vault).  Even the cylindrical bars which electrocute Oddjob are themselves stacked as vertical lines.  Design students will remember that the point is to provide viewers with a subconscious feel of dissonance.  As this is the suspenseful conclusion, it works rather well.  The effect is heightened by the lack of orchestral score.  Just as with the climactic fight in the previous film, Bond’s smackdown with Oddjob only has the sounds associated with the scene itself, heightening the tension.

Women

Honor Blackman portrays Pussy Galore as a highly capable woman — a no-nonsense pilot who has trained a cadre of other capable women.  As Bond women go, she’s one of the best — beautiful, with a stunning figure, gorgeous blue eyes, and physically adept.  Women make it a point in the film to let Bond know that they are not being used as sex toys. In fact, Bond has to crack Pussy’s tough exterior before winning the literal roll in the hay.  In addition, this is the first film where Bond’s seductions directly serve the story.  It is that roll in the hay that allows Bond to win Pussy over and turn the tables on Goldfinger’s plan.

Boo-Boo’s

Goldfinger only suffers from two plot bumbles.  In the opening sequence, after blowing up a bad guy’s operation, Bond returns to his hotel room against the advice of his contact.  Why?  “For some unfinished business.”  He enters, kisses a woman we know nothing about, is ambushed by some bad guy, defeats him, and walks out on the woman.

Huh?

I know the opening sequences often have little to do with Bond films, but the degree of pointlessness of this one was really frustrating.

By now, the producers were obviously struggling with how to reveal the villain’s grand plan.  They got away with in in Dr. No because it was the first film and No had a degree of motivation to let Bond in on his plan.  In the second film, Robert Shaw has the drop on 007 and says, “I don’t mind telling you what we’re up to.”   Well, that was pretty clumsy.  This time, however, Goldfinger gathers all the mobsters together, tells him his evil plan…and then kills them all.  Why?  Apparently so Bond can overhear the entire plan while hidden beneath the life size Fort Knox board game.

There’s some clumsy undercranking that speeds up some of the action, which looks silly.  But those are balanced by some nice miniature work, such as the crash of Pussy’s plane.

Overall, Goldfinger really does hold up.  It’s an instructive paradigm for the series — a nice balance between a realistic spy film and heightened reality, totally entertaining, with great characters, and another fine turn by Mr. Connery.

James Bond will return in Thunderball.

In this post, I want to give some advice to beginning screenwriters who are having difficulty finishing — or even starting — their first screenplay. I’ve been mulling over what to say for several weeks now, trying to come up with some inspirational words of advice to motivate you into achieving your goal. After much thought and deep-dish contemplation, I’ve boiled my advice down to this:

If you want to write for Hollywood, think like a
hack writer and stick to the Hollywood Formula.

How’s that for inspiring rhetoric?

Now, most “creative” types (that is, people who don’t actually have a job writing for Hollywood) will tell you that adhering to a formula is a bad thing because it stifles creativity.

But in the hands of a writer who knows what he is doing and why he is doing it, the standard Hollywood Formula allows the creation of inventive, daring and inspiring movies and the occasional masterpiece. Whether adhering to these principles results in hackwork or a classic movie depends entirely on the gifts of the writer doing the work and the skillfulness he brings to thinking inside the box of the Hollywood Formula.

Think Hollywood. Think inside the box.

It’s a craft I learned through trial and error. Some people pick it up faster than others because they have an intuitive feel for what needs to be done. But many people don’t quite see what is needed, or why.

That’s what this post is for. First, to convince you that sticking to the Hollywood Formula is a good thing and, second, to give you an example of how it works. Quite frankly, I wish someone had told me this stuff when I was just getting started. I think it would have helped me, so maybe it will help you. Here goes.

A man’s got to know his limitations. – Inspector Harry Callahan

To write screenplays for Hollywood, you’ve got to think small.

After all, you’ve only got about 120 pages (or less!) to tell your story. Compared to a novel, that’s not a lot of room to create a fully-formed narrative.

If you’re a beginning screenwriter, however, it appears just the opposite. The task ahead feels  overwhelming, and the blank page on your computer screen seems a bleak and disheartening void. How will you ever fill an entire stack of HP Premium 24 lb. Inkjet? You’ve got plenty of ideas, sure, but weaving all those threads together into a colorful and compelling storyline for 120 pages seems an impossible task. You’ve only just begun, and already you feel like Nicholson after 6 weeks in the Overlook Hotel.

If the road ahead seems endless, the problem is you’re thinking too big. You’ve got to think small. A man’s got to know his limitations if he’s going to write for Hollywood.

Learning to limit yourself is the key. Screenplay writing requires understanding the general limitations of the Hollywood movie, wisely choosing the particular limitations of the story you want to tell, then artfully echoing these limitations throughout the movie.

In feature films, creativity springs from thinking inside the box of these limitations.

“The Box” is actually a collection of boxes that are the central structural and thematic reference points for creating your movie. If you choose them with intelligence and purpose, everything you need will be found within them. If you dare to gaze outside these boxes…well,”to a dark place this line of thought will take us.” Just ask Jack.

The first set of boxes are already in place for you. They are the structural boxes that are inherent in the Hollywood movie; in other words, the standard Hollywood Formula. The formula boxes provide the fundamental boundaries of your screenplay and guide you toward the choices you will make. This is the stuff that producers, directors, stars and studios are looking for. When they pick up your script, they expect to see these boxes because this is what Hollywood makes, 90% of the time.

The second set of boxes are the ones that you create specifically for your screenplay. They also will guide you to the choices you’ll make. And when the producers, directors, stars and studios pick up your screenplay, they want to be knocked out by the intelligence, emotional depth and cinematic versatility in your selection of these boxes. These are the boxes that lift the Hollywood Formula out of banality and bromide. They stir the creative impulses inside the above-the-line types, and inspire them to utter those magic words: Yeah…I want to make this!

And the reassuring, wonderful secret of these boxes is: you don’t need a lot of them. A few boxes for characterization, a few boxes for types of scenes to write, a few boxes for specific thematic elements — before you know it, you’ve got what you need to fill up the screenplay.

The final step is repeating and connecting the contents of all your boxes throughout the movie.  The boxes may be few in number, but a screenwriter can keep pulling new things out of them all the time, scene after scene. This echoing effect reinforces all that came before and all that will appear afterwards.

Echoing creates threads and connections that tie the film together in a satisfying way. The audience is searching for these patterns. The audience wants these patterns because this is the way people understand the world.

Human comprehension is formed by identifying and integrating the information we receive. So we look at each piece of data and categorize it, making it fit into the scheme of things we already know. This is how we comprehend data — by weaving it into patterns that make sense to us.

When the audience discovers these patterns in your storyline, their connection with the movie clicks. If you select the right boxes — boxes that echo with significant emotional and intellectual meaning for the audience — then you are giving your audience exactly what they crave. The movie comes to life, vibrating with excitement and inspiration.

It is these threads, connections and patterns that fill up your film, not a multitude of disparate ideas. Everything a screenwriter does is compacted and then linked to other elements of the screenplay as much as possible.

The emotional and intellectual weight of your movie is achieved — not by how broad your vision is — but by how skillfully you can weave just a few simple concepts into a satisfying whole. Movies are about density.

And you achieve density by keeping your thoughts focused on the boxes of your film and echoing their contents, again and again and again. If you let your mind wander beyond these limitations, it is likely you will lose the thread of your storyline, and the creative motor of your movie will sputter and die.

That’s the secret behind working with limitations — they actually free your creativity. If you find it impossible to begin your screenplay, or if you keep hitting writer’s block, most likely the trouble is that you have not limited the choices available to you.

When the screenwriter is faced with unlimited choices, there’s no compelling reason to choose one thing over another. You get stuck. There’s a paralysis of decision-making, and that means the death of the creative process. After all, the creative process – no mater how mysterious and ineffable it may be – always boils down to an explicit decision by the artist. “I choose this idea over that idea.”

When you limit yourself, you’ll find it much easier to make a creative decision. And when you limit yourself to the boxes of the Hollywood Formula, you’ll find it much easier to make the right creative decision.

Now, this advice may seem counter-intuitive. All your life you’ve been taught that creativity lies in thinking outside the box. Creative thinking became synonymous with looking beyond the conceptual framework of the problem. In other words, the opposite of “hackwork,” which simply follows a formula.

This may work well in other areas, but if you want to write for Hollywood, hackwork is called for. Paradoxically, creative thinking begins with embracing the conceptual framework of Hollywood movie-making and finding your inspiration within it.

I say “paradoxically” because creativity is not often associated with limitations and a narrowing of focus. Instead, the creative process is often pictured as a wide-ranging, freewheeling daydream where the mind wanders over a landscape of unlimited possibilities until inspiration strikes and the right idea suddenly appears before you, fully formed, and you simply snag it out of the air. Kinda like this…

Wheee! Creativity!

When it comes to Hollywood movie-making, however, the creative process is the exact opposite. Writing the Hollywood screenplay is a narrowly focused search within the boxes of the Hollywood Formula and the particular boxes of your screenplay. No daydreaming is allowed and wandering is a punishable offense. (The punishment being either an uncompleted screenplay or a screenplay nobody wants to buy.)

The creativity of screenwriting lies in figuring out how to expand and reinforce the few ideas found inside the boxes that make up your movie.

Again, you may rebel at this idea because it sounds too limiting. But the box is deceptive this way. Every well-chosen box is much bigger than it appears from the outside.

If you pick a good box and open it up to reveal its contents, you’d see that a single idea rests inside, but that idea is reflected and refracted endlessly into the same idea seen from many different angles. Kinda like this…

Inside the Box. No smoke…all mirrors.

Each box has only a single idea, but it is echoed in as many ways as possible throughout the film, intersecting with and enhancing the other boxes in your movie. In this way, you deepen and expand each idea to the max, creating patterns and density to your story that the audience responds to. Kinda like this…

Goldfinger is one of my favorite movies, and it’s a great example of how thinking inside the box leads to creative thinking. Here’s a look at how the authors of Goldfinger deliberately set up the echoes and patterns in their storyline, bringing density and completeness to their film.

As with the others movies in the 007 series, Goldfinger has several boxes that are particular to Bond films — the Megalomaniac Villain Box, the Playboy-era “Bond Women” Box, the “Clever Quip after a Kill” Box, and so on. But I’m going to focus on the box most associated with this movie in particular — the Gold Box.

(Throughout the following I speak of the screenwriters as making all the decisions, but the primary source material is, of course, the book by Ian Fleming.)

Even before you enter the theater, the movie poster entices you by pulling its creative inspiration out of the various boxes that make up the film.

The graphic artist who created the poster above had every color imaginable at his disposal, every scene in the movie to pick from and all the words in the English language to create this advertisement. Why did he choose these particular colors, images and text?

Because he limited his thinking to inside the Boxes of the film. He deliberately focused his thoughts on the  structural and thematic elements found in the movie, which guided his creative decisions.

The first box he chose was the Gold Box. With black as his base, and white as his highlight, he limited his color palette to hues suggestive of gold — a deep, rich orange and bright yellow . And he chose the golden girl as his primary image of the poster. Visually, the poster is all about gold.

For scenes in the movie, he again limited his choices by looking inside the Bond Boxes associated with the 007 series — Connery himself, violence and sex. By limiting himself to the boxes strongly associated with Bond pictures, he created a poster that captured the essence of this Bond movie.

The meaning of the text – EVERYTHING HE TOUCHES TURNS TO EXCITEMENT – is also an obvious allusion to gold, as well as a comment on a Box to be expected in a Bond film.

In sum, the artist’s limited color palette and limited Bond boxes in no way compromised the effectiveness of his poster. Quite the opposite, they pointed him towards the right artistic decisions.

At this point, you may be thinking, “Well, yeah…what else was he going to do? It’s a James Bond movie about a villain obsessed with gold.”

Exactly.

Just as it seems obvious that the graphic designer would make these choices, it should be just as obvious to you what choices to make in your own screenplay. 

If it is not obvious what your screenplay choices should be, it’s because you have no boxes, or you aren’t looking inside them, or your boxes are poorly chosen.

When the screenwriters of the film wrote FADE IN: the first thing they reminded themselves was: This is a James Bond movie about a villain obsessed with gold. Everything else in the screenplay flowed from that.

The movie itself begins with a self-contained sequence full of Bond Boxes as 007 completes a mission in a Latin American country. But the Gold Box soon appears, providing inspiration for an unforgettable credit sequence and equally unforgettable theme song.

One of the points I want to emphasize is that creative screenwriting requires connecting and echoing the contents of one box with the contents of other boxes within the film. The title sequence does just that, brilliantly.

In the Goldfinger title sequence, scenes from the movie (featuring the hero, the villain, sex, explosions and gunplay) are projected onto a beautiful, semi-naked golden girl. Here we have the Gold Box intersecting with the Sex and Violence Boxes associated with Bond films in general, and the character Boxes of this film in particular. Gold, sex, violence, hero and villain all work together in this sequence to reinforce the themes of the film. The result is one of the most famous title sequences in movie history…a brilliant visual example of how one box can be made to intersect and reinforce the other boxes of your film.

All this time, of course, Shirley Bassey is belting out the lyrics of the title song.

Golden words he will pour in your ear
But his lies can’t disguise what you fear
For a golden girl knows when he’s kissed her
It’s the kiss of death from Mister

Goldfinger
Pretty girl beware of this heart of gold
This heart is cold

He loves only gold

Bassey sings of sex, death and gold — the major boxes of the film are all echoed and reinforced in the lyrics of the title song.

Do you sense a pattern here?

After the gold-themed credits, the plot of the movie is set in motion as CIA agent Felix Leiter delivers a message to Bond from M.

Bond is assigned to observe Auric Goldfinger.

The name “Goldfinger,” of course, evokes the story of King Midas, the legendary figure who’s finger-touch turned everything into gold.

Even Goldfinger’s first name “Auric” is a term pertaining to both gold metal and its color. So even something as simple as deciding what to name the villain is solved by looking inside the Gold Box.

And when we get our first glimpse of the villain, he’s decked out in gold — gold shirt, gold ring, gold watch. Even his hair — what’s left of it — is gold. 

With a golden-haired girl as his hired help…

…who dies as the daughter of Midas died, with a touch that turned her to gold.

The naked, golden body of Jill Masterson is one of the most famous images in the whole Bond series.

Why? Because of its Supreme Boxiness.

First, the image of the dead, nearly naked golden girl is found inside many of the boxes that make up the Hollywood Formula:

• it heightens conflict between the two main characters
• it personalizes the conflict
• it establishes that the stakes of the struggle as life and death
• it reveals Goldfinger’s character traits, in this case, cruel indifference and morbid humor

Second, it’s found inside many of the boxes that make up a James Bond picture in particular:

• a woman that Bond makes love to gets killed
• unusual death
• as much sex and nakedness as PG13 will allow
• an over-the-top villain with a streak of megalomania

Third, it’s found inside a box that is particular to this movie:

• The Gold Box

The gold motif doesn’t stop with Masterson’s death, of course. Gold figures directly into the plot.

In a dinner meeting at the Bank of England (holder of Great Britain’s gold reserves), Bond is briefed on his mission by M and others. Goldfinger is smuggling the precious metal out of England. Bond’s assignment is to find out how.  

Bond is given a bar of gold as bait. 

Gold, it seems, is an integral part of the plot…there’s be no Goldfinger without it. With gold front and center in the picture, it’s no wonder that gold is chosen as the story’s primary thematic image. Which provides us with another lesson: your particular boxes must reflect the major themes of the movie.

The next time we see Goldfinger, he is again dressed in golden hues on the links of St. Marks. It seems that movie’s costume designer is always looking inside the Gold Box, too.

Bond has wrangled his way into a golf match with the villain.  James pretends to have gold to sell and, to get Auric’s attention, Bond drops the bar of gold at the man’s feet during the match, just as he’s about to putt.

Bond’s gesture is mischievously designed to break Goldfinger’s concentration.

And now, a terrific, telling moment from the screenplay authors.

Goldfinger eyes the gleaming ingot, but refrains from saying anything. Auric is certainly aware that Bond’s gesture is a bold attempt to rattle him and get his attention at the same time. Goldfinger attempts to act cool…but we see something in the covetous squint of he eye. He says nothing and with the bar beside the hole, Goldfinger calmly lines up a short putt that should drop easily into the cup.

But his putt misses the hole, and it veers off to the right, towards the glittering metal.

Wow! The Gold Box has now been used to establish an important personality trait for the antagonist. Despite his attempt to be cool and in control, the sudden appearance of gold has rattled the man, indicating its significance to him. It’s a clue to the man’s character. The lust for gold has made the villain wealthy and powerful, but it may also be a weakness.

They screenplay authors follow up on this idea, in Goldfinger’s own words:

This is gold, Mr. Bond. All my life, I’ve been in love with its colour, its brilliance, its divine heaviness. I welcome any enterprise that will increase my stock, which is considerable.

The gold, indeed, turns out to be a weakness. Goldfinger plays Bond for the gold bar. It allows Bond to get close to Goldfinger and bug the villain’s Rolls Royce with a homing device, which starts the beginning of Goldfinger’s downfall.

Note that even the color of the villain’s auto echoes Goldfinger’s obsession.

The color of the Rolls makes it fit inside the Gold Box of the movie. But a good screenwriter knows that the quest for patterns and density requires that the writer attempt to place each part of the movie into as many boxes as possible in as many ways as possible.

Such is the case with the Rolls Royce. It turns out that Goldfinger is smuggling his gold out in the body of the Rolls, right under the noses of the authorities. Bond discovers this when he tails the Rolls to Goldfinger’s metal processing plant in Switzerland. The Rolls is not only a golden hue and a symbol of Goldfinger’s wealth, it’s a plot device. This kind of triple-duty is exactly what screenwriters are looking for to bring density to the film and tie different elements together.

Inside the plant, Goldfinger removes the gold from his Rolls and ships it off to the highest bidder. A legitimate bullion dealer, Goldfinger has a metallurgical installation, which uses an industrial laser to cut the metal.

The laser also makes a great torture/killing device for Bond.

One of the boxes of a James Bond movie is to have 007 in physical jeopardy at the hands of the villain. (Parodied so well in the first Austin Powers picture as “an easily escapable situation involving an overly elaborate and exotic death.”)

The scene of Bond lying on a plate of gold while a laser threatens to cut him in two is another brilliant intersection of boxes — The Gold Box and the Physical Jeopardy Box. It’s also a modern, updated version of the “girl chained to a buzz saw” cliche from old-time melodramas.

Bond is spared death and awakens to find himself held prisoner in Goldfinger’s private plane. The set and costume designers continue to plunder the Gold Box. The plane’s interior is trimmed with gold, and the stewardess is, too.  Even the silverware isn’t silver — it’s gold!

Another Bond Girl, a…ahem…golden-haired Pussy. Who leads…

…another clutch of golden-haired Bond Girls, wearing uniforms accented with gold.

 OK…so you’re a megalomaniac villain obsessed with gold. What would you plan for your greatest criminal enterprise?

Break into Fort Knox, of course. Goldfinger reveals his plan, which comes straight out of the Gold Box.

 But first, a change of clothes into something a little more golden-hued.

Even the color of his mint julep compliments the color of his cuff links and ostentatiously displayed gold ring.

Eventually, the film moves towards the actual break-in of Fort Knox, an iconic location symbolizing America’s most conspicuous concentration of gold.

Do you think the art director stayed up nights worrying what color to paint the knock-out gas bottles?

Neither do I.

That’s one of the points I’m hoping to get across with all this. Once you decide on a box, you’ve also decided many other things about the film.

Page after page, you find that the plot points, character traits, locations, action sequences, and other things your film needs have already been set up for you by the boxes of your film. Whether it’s something minor that only the art director would worry about (“What color for the bottles?”) or something important that elegantly solves a script problem, the answer you’re looking for will be found inside your boxes.

Like this one, below:

If you’re writing about a Bond villain plotting to break into Fort Knox, you need a big, splashy way for him to bust inside. If you were alive in the mid 60s, you’d know that a giant laser is just the thing. Lasers, having only been invented a few years before, were considered exotic hi-tech in those days.

But what about basic storyline credibility? How would Goldfinger acquire such a machine without drawing attention to himself?  You want him to use something over the top because he’s an over the top villain, but you need to establish some sense of reality behind the outlandishness.

This can often be accomplished by simply setting things up beforehand. Lay the groundwork for it, and it becomes more believable. Especially if the groundwork involves a major box of your film.

Which makes me think…haven’t we seen that laser before?

Right! It’s the industrial laser that was used to threaten Bond in Goldfinger’s gold processing plant.

This is exactly type of thread and connection that the screenwriter is looking for. Industrial lasers cut gold. As owner of a metallurgic plant, it makes sense that Goldfinger would have one and it would not draw attention from authorities. The laser is also tied to the plot point of how Goldfinger smuggles his gold. Thus, Bond’s method of torture is tied to the villain’s gold obsession and the plot of the movie.  And finally, the laser is tied to Goldfinger’s plot to break into Fort Knox.  Setting up the laser at the beginning of the film establishes the credibility of using the machine later on. All these screenplay problems were solved by simply looking inside the Gold Box.

Gold is stored in vaults, so the production designer came up with a giant vault door to rival Jack Benny’s for the entrance to the Fort Knox storage bays.

Production designer Ken Adam was told to limit his thinking when creating the Fort Knox stage. The producers gave him the assignment to design a “cathedral of gold.” Do you think that limitation to look inside the Gold Box helped or hurt his creative thinking? The result is below.

I still get chills every time the gleaming, modernistic gold vault is revealed on screen in its full glory. What a fantastic set!

Heaps of gold are stacked within the room. And as Hitchcock said, “I make it a rule to exploit elements that are connected with a character or a location; I would feel that I’d be remiss if I hadn’t made maximum use of those elements.” Which is another way of saying, look inside your boxes for inspiration in every aspect of your movie.

For Hitchcock, that means photographer Jimmy Stewart defends himself with flashbulbs against the villain in Rear Window. For Goldfinger, that means James Bond defending himself by heaving bars of gold against OddJob as they battle hand-to-hand inside Fort Knox.

The screenwriters used Hitchcock’s dictim by exploiting things that are connected to both character and location!

It also means attempting to use the gold bricks to smash open the lock to a ticking atom bomb.

Bond, of course, saves the day. And as 007 wings his way back home, Goldfinger manages to make a final threatening appearance.

Hmmm. I thought The Man with the Golden Gun starred Roger Moore?  Oh well, never waste a good symbol. I imagine the bullets are made of gold, too.

And at the end of it all, a final wave goodbye from a Bond Girl dressed in gold galore.

Alright, let’s review all the ways in which the creators of the movie – limited by thinking inside the Gold Box — decided on various elements of their screenplay.

The Gold Box inspired decisions about marketing, theme music, title design, credit sequence, set design, set dressing, character names, costuming, hairstyling, props, dialogue, character traits, innumerable plot points (such as playing the golf match for gold, smuggling the gold out through the Rolls Royce, breaking into Fort Knox, fighting Odd Job, etc.) an innumerable links to various other Bond Boxes (death, sex, villains, etc.)

I’m sure I’m missing something. Oh, yeah, I just remembered…the putter in Goldfinger’s golf match is made of gold, too. What else am I missing? I’m sure you’ll tell me in comments.

Traditionally, “hack” has the connotation of a mediocre or disdained writer who sticks to formula thinking.

In recent years, however, the word “hack” has acquired a new meaning: “to program a computer in a clever, virtuosic, and wizardly manner.”

Just as a skilled and knowledgeable programmer uses the same code available to everyone to create something new and exciting, a skilled and knowledgeable screenwriter uses the Hollywood Formula, also available to everyone, to create something new and exciting.

That’s the spirit of hackwork I’m recommending in this post. Goldfinger and countless other films from Hollywood prove it can be done. Bad writing is not a problem caused by the Hollywood Formula. It’s a problem caused by the writer not knowing how to make the Formula work for his picture.

The secret to making the Formula work is to limit yourself to the boxes that make up the Formula and your movie in particular.

OK, but what are the Hollywood Formula Boxes? How do you choose Boxes specific to your screenplay? And how do you know you’ve made the right choice? In my next few posts, I’ll take a detailed look at just those problems as I describe what goes through my mind as I gaze into the Boxes and write a screenplay.

See you then!

Previous Heroic Hollywood screenwriting posts are found here, here, and here.