‘I’m thrilled to have Bond as my alter-ego’
In his exclusive weekly report, the actor talks about morphing into James Bond for Movie Week
Idon’t know about your week, but I found last weekend a bit of an emotional rollercoaster. Not only the story of my beloved sister and the dance that followed, but then the excruciating anxiety of waiting to see if we had to go into the dance-off. Adam Peaty said that alone put two years on his life. None of us realised quite how much of a terror that is. Combined with a vicious cold, I entered the week at a whole lot less than full throttle. I’m rather enjoying the football-rattle of a cough now, except that every time it occurs anyone nearby hurls themselves as far away as possible. I’ve screamed “It’s not Covid!” more times than seems reasonable.
I feel very privileged to have been able to talk of death and grief on primetime Saturday evening television. Bring the “D Word” out of the dark spaces we prefer it to inhabit (much to our detriment I believe) and set it square in the glittering heart of Strictly. So many of us have faced traumas over the last 18 months, and we all need to know we are not alone. Talking, listening, acknowledging the pain and celebrating those that have left us is key, and I hope that was at least helpful to a few folk. It certainly was for me, although as I raised my arm in the first movement up towards the sky, I admit I nearly lost it.
Again, however, there is no time to dwell on what came before. All focus is now on “Movie Week”. I’ll be dancing the Paso Doble as – I can’t believe I’m even writing this – James Bond.
“Do you expect me to talk?” says Sean Connery, in Goldfinger – “No, Mr Bond, I expect you to dance”. Or am I misremembering?
I start the training shaken and not stirred. Still carrying this cold, with no energy, no focus, a fluey-stiffness. My partner Karen is so patient, but the first stumblings were more like her trying to train a recalcitrant circus pony: much hissing, tutting, tongue-clicking. I often find myself wanting to whinny.
In the Paso Doble, the man is the Matador, and the woman his cape and the bull. I have to swoosh Karen when she’s the fabric, and lead her when she’s the horned quadruped. There is grace combined with menace and mistrust, she is both my shield and the danger coming for me. I’m led by the hips, which must be thrust out, but with the shoulders back, arms wide and curved, and a straight stance. This feels primeval, elemental, a dance to the death. Although I’m a reasonably blokeish sort of chap, this macho-man doesn’t sit easily, but fortunately I have Mr Bond as my alter-ego.
Even my mix of genetic history – Transylvania, Croatia and Northern British is of no help: why couldn’t an antecedent of mine have had a fruitful relationship with an Iberian? The only bit I am confident of is the walk at the start after I get off the snowmobile (you heard – no expense spared on Strictly). But I persevere. I imagine a beach ball held between our arms; the banana lean; the power of the straight leg. Bond was half Scottish wasn’t he? Maybe I could do this in a kilt.
Whatever I end up wearing, I need to hang this most Mediterranean style on our quintessential servant of the Queen. No guns here, though – this is a family show – so Bond’s Walther PPK morphs into the matador’s banderillas, the dart-like sticks, and I am able to form my fingers into the Paso dagger as my weapon of choice.
And I hope that in the great tradition of Fleming’s anti-hero – I’ll get to dance another day…
Strictly Come Dancing is on Saturday on BBC One at 6.45pm