The Many Lives of James Bond

by Mark Edlitz

  Age aside, how is James Bond Jr. like James Bond? How is he different?

  Completely the same outlook, though inexperienced in the ways of the world, without scars of battle or tragedy affecting his demeanor. Or expression of chest hair in his stance. He would also reflect a touch of fame-by-association syndrome, as if to intone that unfortunately familiar subtext with a constant yet unspoken refrain of: “My uncle (more likely his true scandalously absent father) is the positively legendary hero of Her Majesty’s Secret Service, and I am his one true royal heir—so treat me accordingly, or else!”

  Despite the show’s title, James Bond Jr. is neither the son of Bond nor a younger version. He’s a nephew. Why not just make him a young James Bond, which is an approach they eventually employed in the Young Bond novels?

  Precisely. I figure the producers didn’t want to set the show back in time to depict an earlier era, so the mature Mr. Bond we knew from the movies was tagged as the bachelor uncle, still off on assignment somewhere in the world of intrigue and unimaginable danger, while we could all be in on the kid-friendly hijinks that might transpire within the more wholesome and whimsical environment of Warfield’s “young spies in training” program. Strictly Saturday morning fare. No smoking, vodka martinis, or conscious references about activities related to any character’s naughty bits, even though the surfer-stoner persona of Gordo surely had a voracious appetite for all manner of forbidden fruit, presumably being furtively satiated just beyond the virtual camera lens.

  There are many references to the Bond films. But there are many more instances in which the iconic heroes and villains have little to do with their on-screen counterparts.

  My guess is that they wanted to steer clear of sociopathic and misogynistic inferences, making it all about having a jolly good time saving the universe from impending doom and disaster, in simplistic Good Always Prevails against innately, unjustifiably Cruel Forces of Evil—without muddying up plots and personalities with all those bothersome motivational complexities inherent in the full spectrum of emotional subtext behind either heroic or villainous human behavior.

  There weren’t any justifiably troubled or tormented souls in cartoon series back then. We found only noble warriors, goofy sidekicks, and reckless madmen on the cluttered game boards and battlefields of life in the syndicated realm of cartoon storytelling before cable made nuance and subtle human frailties possible to depict on the blurry low-res NTSC [the video standard used in the United States] canvas and monophonic “squawk box” low-fi three-inch speaker cones of the small screen.

  What are your memories of Albert Broccoli?

  He was so kind and gracious to all of us in the cast; he said sitting in on the session was like being in the studio audience for a radio show. With a warm handshake, it felt like a visit from our kindly old Uncle Cubby. And brushing off the compliments, I expressed polite regret that it wasn’t one of our most engaging episodes that week, saying something like “I wish we’d had a better script for you to hear us perform today.” To which he responded with a heartfelt gesture of complimentary protest, insisting that he’d tremendously enjoyed watching us perform the show and only regretted that he had to get back to “business” and couldn’t stay longer. He was so dear and genuine.

  Then there was a mysterious session scheduling gap for a few weeks, after which I was shocked to receive a conference call from the production office, somewhat tentatively addressed at first by the normally congenial Sue Blu, saying that she was there with the show’s line producer, whom I’d barely ever spoken with previously, who abruptly began confronting me in a strangely brusque “I’m in charge here” tone. “Do you have any idea what you put us through these past couple of weeks? Since our last recording session?” I had no idea what he was going on about. [He repeated,] “What did you say to Mr. Broccoli!?” [I replied,] “Whaaaat? I remembered Cubby expressing how much he enjoyed sitting in, that it was like listening to a radio play and reminded him of shows like The Lone Ranger and Jack Benny when he was a kid. I really liked him and talked about old radio sho…” “I heard you,” I was interrupted in a prosecutorial manner, never before known in my decades as a cartoon voice performer. “I wish we had a better script. Sound familiar?” “Oh yeah, probably something like that. It was all very friendly.” “Well, we’ve been going back and forth about firing you. I don’t know if you meant to trash our writers and make us look bad in front of Mr. Broccoli? Because that’s what it sounded like you were doing.”

  I was aghast at the accusation of intentional assault toward the integrity of our show based on an awkward remark during a warmly personable moment of interaction with an iconic legend of the movie industry. Who would even imagine such a thing? And how dare this syndicated TV cartoon production clock-watcher accuse silly little me of trying to sabotage any animated series, especially one that had me in a leading role? I never much cared for teen boy or hero roles as it was, so didn’t care about losing the gig—but over a paranoiac reaction to a casual expression of professional modesty?

  For the record, it was one of our weaker episodes, and I honestly did wish he’d been there to hear us delivering snappier, cleverer dialogue. “Well, some of us fought to keep you on, but it was a close vote. I guess I can believe you probably didn’t mean it that way, but it sure pissed everyone off.” Now my temper was roiling. But I always remember the wisdom of my professional mentor, Daws Butler, who upon being told auditions were going around to replace him as the voice of Cap’n Crunch, simply accepted the career slap in the face with a knowing shrug, “Well, they’re gonna do what they’re gonna do.” And I thought back on the good times with Sue and the fun-loving cast and held my tongue. “I had no idea…. Just trying to be humble about it, in my own awkward way,” I apologetically fibbed. “Well, luckily for you, recasting at this point would be a lot of work, and nobody has time to go through all that in the middle of everything, so we decided to give you a second chance. But if you ever open your big mouth again, you’re out for good. Do you think we can trust you to keep your mouth shut from now on, or do we have to call it quits?” Oh, what I’d have like to have said—but for the sake of all the positive aspects of working in an otherwise joyful environment, I intoned in my most reassuring broadcaster delivery, “Absolutely.” There was a bit more hot air and negotiation wrapping up the call, but I’ve gone on too long already with this backstage tale and probably said too much.

  This should be all about Cubby Broccoli anyway. But it was a rather sour note to tag onto the wonderful brief moment I lucked into, sincerely relating affectionate regards to the legendary cinematic showman who clearly welcomed the spontaneous candor of my remarks. I believe he’d have been horrified to have learned that our lighthearted exchange about a shared love of classic Theater of the Mind radio entertainment from that great bygone era was being jealously eavesdropped and scrutinized from behind our backs to be cynically interpreted as some inexplicably insulting act of arrogance and insubordination toward the production staff deserving harsh disciplinary measures and the ultimate punishment.

  Needless to say, if you’ve checked into my IMDb credits [four hundred and counting], I’ve since gone on to heights of career accomplishment, longevity, and respectability few off-camera performers have ever come close to achieving, more in demand now than I would prefer to be at this “mature” chapter of life. Sue Blu is as delightful, lovely, and successful as ever, and we’ve continued working together on fun projects to this day.

  All I know is that Cubby Broccoli was one of the grandest gentlemen I’ve been privileged to encounter, and that James Bond would never have become the everlasting, monumental screen icon we’ve all come to revere in perpetuity without his inspirational passion and perseverance.

  The show premiered two years after the release of Licence to Kill, which, at the time, was the most violent film in the series. The adult nature of the Bond character seems to be at odds with a cartoon aimed squarely at children.

  I agree w
ith your notion and feel that the cartoon production strayed too far from the essence of Fleming’s cheeky atmosphere of dangerous intrigue and Bond’s devil-may-care sense of masculine playfulness in the face of impending doom. But the market wasn’t yet ripe enough to invest in animated series targeting the now-booming young adult demographic dominating the feature film box office and cable network offerings. In taming the tiger, they were left with more of a cute pussycat than the graphic novel superspy he might better have been.

  It was closer to Johnny Quest meets Scooby-Doo, when the later animated Superman would have been a far better storytelling style to fit the Bond brand franchise, in my opinion. [Burton played supervillain Brainiac in Superman: The Animated Series (1996–2000).] Unfortunately, the industry was still focused on self-imposed limitations on violence and sexual innuendo, so essential to the universally compelling characterization of James Bond.

  What is your assessment of the show?

  It wasn’t horrible, I suppose. Empowering for developing youngsters to emulate. The cast was decent, and a fair amount of dialogue and gags were amusing enough. But it wasn’t really any discerning fan’s notion of Bond: junior, nephew, or otherwise.

  To what do you attribute its shortcomings?

  Toy marketing profit goals over general audience entertainment values. They had the equation backward: great characters and their associated props sell products, but only extraordinarily successful toys can generate enough interest in a cartoon series to sustain a profitable following. And those toys have to prove themselves first, before a series can perpetuate those sales to stratospheric numbers. But if you’ve gone the extra mile to captivate a loyally passionate following, you can sell anything with that brand’s official badge affixed. It probably would’ve done better to license classic props and RC model cars based on the film franchise than to strip the cool adult-themed soul out of the character and storyline to suit a Saturday morning cartoon demographic. But I can’t complain—those were fun times.

  The show isn’t necessarily remembered well. In some ways it’s like The Star Wars Holiday Special (1978)—somewhat disavowed. Can you discuss its place in Bond lore?

  From dialogue to animation workmanship—character design and execution, in particular—lackluster gadgetry and absence of novelty in storytelling, I was certainly disappointed with the quality of the series, in practically every aspect of production. Even down to its cheesy theme song and score, not to mention dreadfully off-sync facial animation and poorly posed physical expression that our recorded sessions seemed merely randomly tethered to.

  On the upside, those sessions were a great deal of fun, with a warm and supportive roomful of kind and talented individuals on both sides of the glass. Okay, maybe a few not-so-stellar in regard to journeyman-level voice acting experience and prowess, but damn nice people at least. Just seemed to me like it missed the point on too many levels to accrue wide-ranging success as an entertainment venture, with sausage factory production standards setting the bar below any reasonable expectations of the vast 007 fan base.

  Just look at what Saltzman and Broccoli did on relatively modest budgets with their inventively clever use of limited resources to expertly craft a series of block-buster classics that swept audiences into a world of intrigue and excitement from that dazzling first blare of brass to their romantically satisfying conclusions, even thrilling the audience with the promise of another fabulous spin with Bond and company tagging out the end credits. Showmanship and transportive adventure don’t need spectacular budgets to create memorably great spectacle, just passionate artistry and dedicated craftsmanship to combine great stories and talent into something transformative and distinctively rewarding, where your life is forever changed in the space of time between curtain opening to house lights up full again for that lost-in-rapture walk through the lobby and back into the ordinary world outside.

  Simon Vance Is James Bond

  Simon Vance has recorded the audiobook adaptions for all twelve of Ian Fleming’s Bond novels and Fleming’s two short story collections, as well as all of John Gardner and Raymond Benson’s continuation novels. Vance, who has also recorded under the name Robert Whitfield, has narrated more than eight hundred books, including works by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Charles Dickens, Mary Shelley, Bram Stoker, Oscar Wilde, Agatha Christie, Anne Rice, Michael Crichton, and Arthur Conan Doyle. Esteemed writers like Neil Gaiman have lavished praise on Vance’s artistry.94

  What were your initial thoughts about being asked to narrate a James Bond book?

  I was excited because the books are so iconic. I remember being a child and seeing the paperbacks in my parents’ bookcase. The covers were quite well done and stood out. I also love the movies. I grew up watching Goldfinger and From Russia with Love and so on. I think that when I was asked to do them, I didn’t have quite the profile in the industry that I have now. It felt quite an honor to be given these books. While they’re not literary productions, it was certainly something that I knew I had to get right. There was a mixture of excitement, honor, and some trepidation about doing the right thing by them.

  Was it one at a time or did they just say to record all of them?

  One at a time. Generally, when you’ve got a series like this, you’re given the first one, but there was probably an understanding that I’d do the rest of them.

  However, The Spy Who Loved Me was written with a female narrator and they sent me that book as well. I started reading and thought, “Ah, hold on.” And I told the producers that I believed they should give this novel to Wanda McCaddon [who narrated the book under the pseudonym of Nadia May] or another British female. I said that it wouldn’t be appropriate for me.

  But, yes, I understood that I would get the rest of the series. However, in the last couple of years, another company got the rights to the Raymond Benson and John Gardner Bond books. In that instance, I was told, “Here are fourteen books, record them in the next few months.” But that wasn’t the case with the Fleming books. They’d give me one, and then a couple of months later, they’d give me another one, and a couple of months later, another one.

  How do you prepare? I assume you read it in advance at least once?

  Yes, it’s particularly important with mysteries and thrillers because it’s essential that one understands the dynamics and arc of the plot. But if I’m reading a nonfiction book—for example, a book on World War II, I know who won. That’s not something I have to discover as I read. However, with a mystery or thriller, you want to be careful that certain characters don’t turn out to be pretending to be someone else or the same character using a different name. And you can get caught out with accents and so on, where for instance a character can be called Smith and, at the end, you discover the author referring to this broad Scottish accent and you got that wrong. There’s a lot of preparation.

  As I said, I was familiar with the movies, but the movies aren’t the books so it’s important to read them ahead of time and to make notes. Getting the pronunciations correct is important. But that’s not much of a problem with Fleming. He also didn’t use a lot of convoluted words or sentences. I make a list of pronunciations and names and get authentic pronunciations. I didn’t have to do much of that for Bond, but that’s generally what I do before I launch into recording.

  Do you audition voices for yourself before you start recording?

  I tend not to. The important thing in an audiobook, I think, is to provide enough differentiation so that people know who’s speaking. Only a bad writer puts “he said” or “she said” after every line of dialogue. You can have long stretches where people say things and, when you’re reading it, you have a good idea of who’s talking. But if you’re just listening to it and it all sounds the same, then it gets confusing for the listener. You need just enough differentiation. I like to maintain some consistency throughout the book so that you have a clear idea that this is Blofeld and this is M. You have to make sure that they don’t suddenly sound different from page one to p
age one hundred and fifty.

  I did an Anthony Trollope book, and he had five sisters around the table. I had to give each of them a particular individual voice and it is not that easy. I tend to go by age and maturity to differentiate them. But if you took one of those sisters and put them in another scene later in the book, she may not sound exactly the same but, in the moment of the scene around the table, they sound different enough.

  With Bond, I could hone in on the characters themselves and that helped a lot; in my mind, I’m seeing a movie in my head. When I’m reading any book it’s like I’m playing a movie in my head. Now in the Bond books, there are often movies, so it helps me to visualize some of those characters. I may voice them thinking of the character I’ve seen in the movie, but I’m not a mimic. But thinking of an actor gives the character an anchor so that I can hear that voice throughout the book. Now, let’s take M. In my mind, the classic M for these Bond books is Bernard Lee. In my head, I see Bernard Lee. My voice may or may not sound a bit like Bernard Lee, but that’s my hook so that when I come back to it, it’s Bernard Lee talking again and M’s sound is consistent all the way through.

  Simon Vance, the audiobook Bond.

  PHOTO COURTESY OF SIMON VANCE, © LUKE FONTANA

  When you do M from the first Bond novel, Casino Royale, and then return to the character eleven novels later in The Man with the Golden Gun, you go back to that anchor?