Artistic, or histrionic, settings are limitless connotations — not just random constructs. They are, in more ways than one, burrowed truths moored in wide and deep realities, where each truth is a part of the whole, also its sum and substance. In simple words, acting is a myriad oeuvre that more than highlights, or celebrates, a particular, or distinct, context. This suggests that the construal of such a talent is not only elicitation, but also the shining light of a certain heightened, essential link, as also sublime, conscious interpretation. Its understanding, therefore, would inherently, or compositely, denote a rainbow synthesis of the numerous contexts determining the art.
In simple terms, it also corresponds to the amalgamation of the vistas — the emergence of the will to act as one whole. It also emphasises the understanding of every work of art and every talent. In other words, it is a process of self-understanding and expansively revitalising its final effect. To understand such a temple of art and science, one must, to a certain extent, enter its inner precincts, stretch its boundaries and, thus, grow in the process. Reason: the fusion of such horizons is the broadening, or expansion, of the actor’s celluloid self itself.
When one connects such a vibrant mosaic with Sir Thomas Sean Connery [August 25, 1930-October 31, 2020], one is consciously reminded of what superior art has in common — the capacity to, quite simply, take your breath away. It is something that makes you inwardly gasp, for a few seconds, when the ‘art’ first hits you, or enters your being. More so, because Connery first dazzled the arc lights in a different time capsule — it wasn’t like today’s electronic, or TV glitz. Result: you are lured, and yet stumped, to connecting picture frames of the old with the modern. But, what’s remarkable is — you are now open to perceptions that you had not seen before.
This was Connery’s magic — where his James Bond image seeps into your pores gently, also slowly. Maybe, just a little; maybe, a great deal. But, the effect is hypnotic. You are impressed, thanks to his range and breadth of awareness — call it the wholehearted, accepted existence of not just the canvas in terms of the films he acted in, but also its soul and spirit.
Connery was the ‘creator’ of the Bond persona. A revolutionary, Connery held conventional wisdom by the beard — especially in his later years. He turned his mesmeric presence on celluloid into a transcendent art — an accomplishment into a science. He developed the all-important criterion of style. In so doing, he expanded the refined theory of timing and dialogue delivery, where the two are equally imperative. Yet, he placed dependence on neither. He was, at his best, the finest actor born, or unborn.
Connery was the most recognised face on either side of the Suez — for decades. He was also the most dominant Mr Bond — thanks to the extent of his long career and strong pre-eminence in his time and beyond — as Connery, the actor, who used his superb diction with as much dexterity as the handgun he wielded in his movies. What made Connery a distinguished actor was his immense faith in the basics of art. The virtue of a straight face, in every crisis, for him, was akin to the purity of every musical note to Ludwig Beethoven, or the precise, correct word to John Milton. He ‘charmed’ the ‘villain of the piece’ in every movie and, of course, the stunning Bond ladies — in a manner born.
His walk, or the waltz into danger, was upright. His relaxed grace and aplomb were awesome and he brought into every cinematic shot an astonishingly swift response. The more quick-witted the dialogue, the more delighted he was. He also loved to smash the intruder in his room to pulp. This was because no instinctive response was as disheartening for the Bond antagonist as the initiative Connery celebrated and espoused — what’s more, the Bond in him cultivated this riveting art to perfection.
A great enthusiast of Scottish independence, and the environment, Connery’s value was just not confined to cinema. It extended beyond — not merely in terms of waves of hysteria of fans who wanted to see him, in flesh and blood, but also commercial output. He knew his price. He was also aware of how hard a bargain he could drive. In today’s world, Connery, as Mr Bond, would have made a great copy for writers, authors, and journalists, be it the West, or the East, thanks to his suave disposition and sense of caustic mirth.
As the BBC put it so fittingly, “Connery made the character of James Bond his own, blending ruthlessness with sardonic wit. Many critics didn’t like it and some of the reviews were scathing. But the public did not agree. The action scenes, sex and exotic locations were a winning formula. In truth, his Bond is now a museum piece; the portrayal of women impossibly dated. The action scenes are still thrilling, but the sex too often bordered on the non-consensual. Thankfully, it’s been a while since 007 slapped a woman on the backside and forced a kiss. But Connery’s performance was of its time, enjoyed by millions of both sexes and gave the silver screen a 20th Century icon.”
Connery was born in Scotland. The son of a truck driver, and a laundress, Connery had a self-effacing childhood in a locality that was filled with repulsive, tart odour, the ‘culprits’ being a latex mill and a brace of breweries. He slept in a drawer, as a child, because his parents could not meet the expense of a cradle. As he once observed, “We were very poor, but I never knew how poor because that’s how everyone was there.”
In his formative years, Connery took up assorted jobs — delivering milk, moving coal, setting bricks, refining coffins and pose as a model. He was awfully stingy to save a few shillings — to enrol at a weightlifting club. He acknowledged, that, “It was not so much to be fit, but to look good for the girls.” In the process, he impressed his fellow gym mates too, who ‘designated’ him for the Mr Universe contest.
Connery took part in the challenge in 1953 in London. He courageously presented himself to the adjudicators as ‘Mr Scotland,’ while displaying his muscular 6′ 2″ frame. He came third and won a medal. What took the cake was he caught the eye of a resident casting director who liked the handsome Scottish participant and requested him to join the chorus of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, South Pacific. As Connery reminisced, “I didn’t have a voice, I couldn’t dance. But I could look good standing there.” The rest, to use a cliché, was history.
There was yet another ‘whack’ of providence, pronto. Producers Harry Saltzman and Albert ‘Cubby’ Broccoli cast him as the lead in a spy movie, based on an Ian Fleming novel — it’s ironical that Fleming did not at first favour Connery as Bond — where James Bond emerged into cinematic light, also destiny. The movie was Dr No [1962], which bid fair to two sequels — From Russia with Love [1963] and Goldfinger [1964]. This was followed by Thunderball [1965], You Only Live Twice [1967], Diamonds Are Forever [1971], and Never Say Never Again [1983].
This writer has always been a huge fan of Connery. The best part — I was intending to writing to the ‘Original’ Mr Bond for a while. Please forgive me for using such a platitude. The fact is Connery was indubitable. He was also the earnest torchbearer of his tradition with the ‘licence to thrill’ — one who also represented his own inspiring histrionic stamp. His bespoke, signature-engraved, artistic radiance, the sound and echo of his distinctive voice, in every movie — be it Bond, or non-Bond movies — or, to pick one of my favourite all-time films, Goldfinger, which I have watched over 25 times — are as refreshing as the early morning dew. They will be incessantly timeless; they will resonate each time one watches Connery’s character-centric, subtle repertoire.
Connery’s artistic expressions propelled his personalised ‘gene’ and ‘meme.’ They were a roseate revelation — a kaleidoscopic blend of art, acting, and the like, for a higher purpose. To state the obvious — Connery was blessed, as it were, with a rare charm, talent, charismatic, graceful face and endearing smile — along with a sophisticated, mystical aptitude to magnify and seamlessly incorporate composite histrionic nuances of tone, timbre, and so on — simply, prudently, pragmatically, also intensely, without pompous dramatics.
This was not all. Connery was, indeed, a classy, exquisite actor — a genuine article, yet one who was well-grounded, dedicated and diligent, notwithstanding certain idiosyncrasies, aside from a plethora of accolades and top awards. What his legion of fans admired was Connery, who once got ‘bored’ playing Mr Bond, always remained his true self. Besides, he never ever allowed all the adulation, whatever there was to it, to get the better of him as an individual and actor. He’s one of a kind. He will, doubtless, keep smiling as effortlessly as he’s accustomed to doing, or did, on planet earth, forever — more so, in the other world, that resides yonder every known planetary stretch, and, in so doing, have a great, prolonged spell, entertaining the gods with his most treasured histrionic endowment.
It sums up Connery, the fountainhead of the Bond genre and beyond — a thespian, like no other, who carried nothing else but his originality to a world beyond space and time.
— First published in Madras Courier
