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Why would they put Bond in this humiliating situation?
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Daniel craig is nor will he ever be james bond. The end
He already is Bond and will continue to be Bond. Keep your politics out of my board please
Correct
your seething is not enough to change reality
>AAAAAHHH RIGHT ON THE THUNDERBALLS
they really wanted to make that reference
>Now the whole world's gonna know that you died scratching my octopussy
That felt a bit out of place tbqh
they have a humiliation fetish.
it's not "who can we entertain" anymore, it's "who can we chastise by our every creative decision being brought to the forefront for inspection and praise". The Emperor has no clothes.
If this scene was made today y'all would be crying about demoralization, LGBT and Blackrock.
This is the origin story of James Bond. It sets him up as a character who cares only about the mission, never the girl. He didn't care when the woman earlier got killed so now they up the stakes - if he doesn't break and fail the mission this new girl he might care about will die, and they will also cut him to pieces.
His response is to troll them. It really shows how he is who he's supposed to be.
To try and break him.
This scene was a fricking riot in the theater with every dude in the audience audibly wincing
Why he was just smacking him in the ass?
It's not humiliating to Bond. It's humiliating to Le Chiffre.
He's the one that's in some real deep shit and he's desperately trying to torture Bond to get some levity and all Bond does is laugh at Chiffre's inevitable demise. Even when he's got Bond tied up, naked and with mangled balls, Chiffre is still feeling powerless.
i thought this was some newage ball smashing humiliation ritual, but its lifted directly from the book. picrel is the car he wrecked
>i thought this was some newage ball smashing humiliation ritual, but its lifted directly from the book
That book is from the 50s, too
Lmao it actually is in the book, only he uses a carpet beater (pic rel) instead of the rope thing
Its all in chapter 17 in the book
>Le Chiffre pointed at the cane chair.
>‘That will do excellently,’ he said to the thin man. ‘Prepare him quickly. If he resists, damage him only a little.’
>He turned to Bond. There was no expression on his large face and his round eyes were uninterested. ‘Take off your clothes. For every effort to resist, Basil will break one of your fingers. We are serious people and your good health is of no interest to us. Whether you live or die depends on the outcome of the talk we are about to have.’
>He made a gesture towards the thin man and left the room.
>The thin man’s first action was a curious one. He opened the clasp-knife he had used on the hood of Bond’s car, took the small armchair and with a swift motion he cut out its cane seat.
...
>Le Chiffre came quietly back into the room. He carried a pot of what smelt like coffee. He put it on the small table near the window. He also placed beside it on the table two other homely objects, a three-foot-long carpet-beater in twisted cane and a carving knife.
>He settled himself comfortably on the throne-like chair and poured some of the coffee into one of the glasses. With one foot he hooked forward the small armchair, whose seat was now an empty circular frame of wood, until it was directly opposite him.
>Bond stood stark naked in the middle of the room, bruises showing livid on his white body, his face a grey mask of exhaustion and knowledge of what was to come.
>‘Sit down there.’ Le Chiffre nodded at the chair in front of him.
>Bond walked over and sat down.
>The thin man produced some flex. With this he bound Bond’s wrists to the arms of the chair and his ankles to the front legs. He passed a double strand across his chest, under the arm-pits and through the chair-back. He made no mistakes with the knots and left no play in any of the bindings. All of them bit sharply into Bond’s flesh. The legs of the chair were broadly spaced and Bond could not even rock it.
>He was utterly a prisoner, naked and defenceless.
>His buttocks and the underpart of his body protruded through the seat of the chair towards the floor.
>Le Chiffre nodded to the thin man who quietly left the room and closed the door.
>There was a packet of Gauloises on the table and a lighter. Le Chiffre lit a cigarette and swallowed a mouthful of coffee from the glass. Then he picked up the cane carpet-beater and, resting the handle comfortably on his knee, allowed the flat trefoil base to lie on the floor directly under Bond’s chair.
>He looked Bond carefully, almost caressingly, in the eyes. Then his wrists sprang suddenly upwards on his knee.
>The result was startling.
>Bond’s whole body arched in an involuntary spasm. His face contracted in a soundless scream and his lips drew right away from his teeth. At the same time his head flew back with a jerk showing the taut sinews of his neck. For an instant, muscles stood out in knots all over his body and his toes and fingers clenched until they were quite white. Then his body sagged and perspiration started to bead all over his body. He uttered a deep groan.
>Le Chiffre waited for his eyes to open.
>‘You see, dear boy?’ He smiled a soft, fat smile. ‘Is the position quite clear now?’
>A drop of sweat fell off Bond’s chin on to his naked chest.
>‘Now let us get down to business and see how soon we can be finished with this unfortunate mess you have got yourself into.’ He puffed cheerfully at his cigarette and gave an admonitory tap on the floor beneath Bond’s chair with his horrible and incongruous instrument.
>‘My dear boy,’ Le Chiffre spoke like a father, ‘the game of Red Indians is over, quite over. You have stumbled by mischance into a game for grown-ups and you have already found it a painful experience. You are not equipped, my dear boy, to play games with adults and it was very foolish of your nanny in London to have sent you out here with your spade and bucket. Very foolish indeed and most unfortunate for you.
>‘But we must stop joking, my dear fellow, although I am sure you would like to follow me in developing this amusing little cautionary tale.’
>He suddenly dropped his bantering tone and looked at Bond sharply and venomously.
>‘Where is the money?’
>Bond’s bloodshot eyes looked emptily back at him.
>Again the upward jerk of the wrist and again Bond’s whole body writhed and contorted.
>Le Chiffre waited until the tortured heart eased down its laboured pumping and until Bond’s eyes dully opened again.
>‘Perhaps I should explain,’ said Le Chiffre. ‘I intend to continue attacking the sensitive parts of your body until you answer my question. I am without mercy and there will be no relenting. There is no one to stage a last-minute rescue and there is no possibility of escape for you. This is not a romantic adventure story in which the villain is finally routed and the hero is given a medal and marries the girl. Unfortunately these things don’t happen in real life. If you continue to be obstinate, you will be tortured to the edge of madness and then the girl will be brought in and we will set about her in front of you. If that is still not enough, you will both be painfully killed and I shall reluctantly leave your bodies and make my way abroad to a comfortable house which is waiting for me. There I shall take up a useful and profitable career and live to a ripe and peaceful old age in the bosom of the family I shall doubtless create. So you see, my dear boy, that I stand to lose nothing. If you hand the money over, so much the better. If not, I shall shrug my shoulders and be on my way.’
>He paused, and his wrist lifted slightly on his knee. Bond’s flesh cringed as the cane surface just touched him.
>‘But you, my dear fellow, can only hope that I shall spare you further pain and spare your life. There is no other hope for you but that. Absolutely none.
>‘Well?’
>Bond closed his eyes and waited for the pain. He knew that the beginning of torture is the worst. There is a parabola of agony. A crescendo leading up to a peak and then the nerves are blunted and react progressively less until unconsciousness and death. All he could do was to pray for the peak, pray that his spirit would hold out so long and then accept the long free-wheel down to the final blackout.
>He had been told by colleagues who had survived torture by the Germans and the Japanese that towards the end there came a wonderful period of warmth and languor leading into a sort of sexual twilight where pain turned to pleasure and where hatred and fear of the torturers turned to a masochistic infatuation. It was the supreme test of will, he had learnt, to avoid showing this form of punch-drunkenness. Directly it was suspected they would either kill you at once and save themselves further useless effort, or let you recover sufficiently so that your nerves had crept back to the other side of the parabola. Then they would start again.
>He opened his eyes a fraction.
>Le Chiffre had been waiting for this and like a rattlesnake the cane instrument leapt from the floor. It struck again and again so that Bond screamed and his body jangled in the chair like a marionette.
>Le Chiffre desisted only when Bond’s tortured spasms showed a trace of sluggishness. He sat for a while sipping his coffee and frowning slightly like a surgeon watching a cardiograph during a difficult operation.
>When Bond’s eyes flickered and opened he addressed him again, but now with a trace of impatience.
>‘We know that the money is somewhere in your room,’ he said. ‘You drew a cheque to cash for forty million francs and I know that you went back to the hotel to hide it.’
>For a moment Bond wondered how he had been so certain.
>‘Directly you left for the night club,’ continued Le Chiffre, ‘your room was searched by four of my people.’
>The Muntzes must have helped, reflected Bond.
>‘We found a good deal in childish hiding-places. The ball-wiener in the lavatory yielded an interesting little code-book and we found some more of your papers taped to the back of a drawer. All the furniture has been taken to pieces and your clothes and the curtains and bedclothes have been cut up. Every inch of the room has been searched and all the fittings removed. It is most unfortunate for you that we didn’t find the cheque. If we had, you would now be comfortably in bed, perhaps with the beautiful Miss Lynd, instead of this.’ He lashed upwards.
>Through the red mist of pain, Bond thought of Vesper. He could imagine how she was being used by the two gunmen. They would be making the most of her before she was sent for by Le Chiffre. He thought of the fat wet lips of the Corsican and the slow cruelty of the thin man. Poor wretch to have been dragged into this. Poor little beast.
>Le Chiffre was talking again.
>‘Torture is a terrible thing,’ he was saying as he puffed at a fresh cigarette, ‘but it is a simple matter for the torturer, particularly when the patient,’ he smiled at the word, ‘is a man. You see, my dear Bond, with a man it is quite unnecessary to indulge in refinements. With this simple instrument, or with almost any other object, one can cause a man as much pain as is possible or necessary. Do not believe what you read in novels or books about the war. There is nothing worse. It is not only the immediate agony, but also the thought that your manhood is being gradually destroyed and that at the end, if you will not yield, you will no longer be a man.
>‘That, my dear Bond, is a sad and terrible thought – a long chain of agony for the body and also for the mind, and then the final screaming moment when you will beg me to kill you. All that is inevitable unless you tell me where you hid the money.’
It's the Left's revenge against an iconic character for displaying masculinity and heterosexual desire throughout the decades. Showing men who want to be like Bond that ((they)) now control him, neutering and emasculating him.
Still Bond had more dignity at the end
"Now the whole world's gonna know that you died scratching my balls"
And bond even had a daughter after this
>Can I hold it? I just want to see how it feels...
>Honor Blackman
Nuff said
A woman wrote this gay ass scene
Ian Fleming wasn't a woman
Probably to get women to watch
>Bond reboot
>literally neuter him off the bat to make him like modern men
just setting audience expectations
I rubbed my pussy so much to this scene it's unreal
post armpits
Post breasts