"Pussy Galore? I must be dreaming."
It might be fair to say that if you don't like Goldfinger, then you don't like James Bond movies. Scottish star Sean Connery is widely considered to be the true incarnation of the British agent, and Goldfinger often receives mention as the greatest entry in the most successful franchise of all time. Goldfinger is not only an action movie, but an action movie template: slick introductory scene, catchy theme song, flashy opening credits, beautiful women, more than one roll-in-the-proverbial-and-actual-hay, puns and innuendo, inventive ways to kill, some high-stakes cardplaying, expensive drinks, a gadget session with some new toys, ego-stroking flirtations with the secretary, a briefing from the ineffectual boss, an obligatory car chase, plenty of mindless thugs, a series of captures and escapes, a ticking time bomb in need of defusing, and an escalation into a spectacle-heavy finale. The James Bond universe is by no means realistic, but instead a PG version of how most men would like the world to work. The story, the props, and the supporting characters all serve the same function as the Bond's signature tuxedo: accessories to make him look cool. This film's iconic trio of antagonists become mere subjects for Bond's conquest: outwit the mastermind criminal (the soliloquizing Goldfinger) on the biggest scale, defeat the physically dominant rival (the silent Oddjob) in hand to hand combat, and seduce the femme fatale (the vaguely lesbian Pussy Galore) through masculine charm. Goldfinger delivers what all James Bond films promise to deliver, a shameless male fantasy that is equal parts violent, sexual, materialistic, and comedic. Perhaps sensing that something was still lacking, this one even finds time for an extended golfing sequence.
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