For Four Eyes Only
Excerpted from David Kahane’s new book, Rules for Radical Conservatives.


Act One
London. Bond flirts with Moneypenny (Geena Davis), sees M (Harvey Fierstein in drag), and is informed that the world is not enough, that you only live twice, and that tomorrow never dies. Bond stops off to see Q (Crispin Glover), gets some cool new weapons that I’ll have to think up later, then heads for someplace glamorous, ditto, where he meets a girl, plays a few rounds of baccarat, wins big, and sleeps with the girl, who wakes up dead. During his interrogation for her murder, he’s miraculously busted out of police headquarters by a mysterious Beautiful Woman/Bond Girl who pulls up in a Testarossa.

As they drive along the corniche, they’re suddenly chased by a squad of deadly Mini Coopers. The Bond Girl, however, is too much for them, and one by one they go plunging off the cliffs, screaming, to their deaths. Only the driver of the last Mini Cooper survives long enough to be interrogated, but when Bond asks him who he’s working for, the man gets a terrified look on his face, curses Bond in a funny foreign language that mystifies even the multilingual Bond Girl — but which Bond seems to recognize — and chokes himself to death with his bare hands.

Bond and the Bond Girl make love. When Bond wakes up, he finds himself strapped to the bed, naked, and looking not at the girl but at GYÖRGY SCHWARTZ, who is holding a white cat and chuckling ominously.

BOND: Ut-wo expecto du moi to duo?

BOND GIRL (amazed): Shames, I didn’t know you spoke Esperanto.

If Schwartz is surprised by Bond’s fluent command of Esperanto, he doesn’t let on. Instead he replies:

SCHWARTZ: Expecto ich tuo to die-o.

(All Esperanto will, of course, be subtitled.)

Act Two
As we writers know, this is the boring part — 70 to 80 pages of car chases, explosions, deaths of minor characters. You civilians call this part of the film “the movie.”

Act Three
Varna, Bulgaria. As usual, Bond awakes in bed. The Bond Girl is beside him once more. By now, though, she’s in love with him, so she’s no longer working for Schwartz; her heart belongs to the man she calls, in her delightfully piquant former-Yugoslavian accent, “Shames.”

“Shames,” she says, “he’s going to kill us. So make love to me, like it was the last time.”


“I know,” says Bond, lighting up a cigarette and then remembering it’s no longer politically correct to smoke. Steeling himself for the torturous ordeal he knows is coming, he stubs it out on his manly torso, singeing his chest hair. The Bond Girl falls in love with him all over again.

“Nada vas me mein selbst thru went have,” says an ominous voice. It’s Schwartz, dressed as Harvey Fierstein as M in Act One. Suddenly it’s all terribly clear . . .