[This article contains 50 year-old spoilers.]
If you're alive and semi-conscious about pop culture you know the James Bond template even if you've never seen one: Action Prologue, superfluous; Bond Girls, multiple not all of whom survive; Locations, multiple across the Globe; Talkative Villains; Impressive Gadgetry; Salty Quips; Fancy-Ass Title Sequence (with its own mandatory template items). Much of that was established or fine-tuned right here in the third Bond film Goldfinger (1964).
But we need to talk about James Bond's cock. By my count, imagination, and visual cross-checking [ahem] he is exceptionally virile, has an impressive rock-hard member, and beds three women in Goldfinger.
If you realllllly look closely at the plot and story beats of Goldfinger this is Bond at his most ineffectual; cocky, sure, but totally flaccid. What does he actually do? He can't save any of the girls whose lives are in danger. He can't get a sneaky message to his people to prevent an attack on Fort Knox. He is knocked unconscous, his body going completely limp, repeatedly. At the end of the movie he (hilariously) can't even disarm the bomb to save the day. The only true success he has in the whole movie, apart from the minor triumph of dressing himself suavely within the confines of an airplane bathroom, is when he forces himself upon that most sapphic of Bond girls, the aptly named Pussy Galore.
Pussy has a whole squadron of her own girls that don't become Bond's. But true to the demands of enduring male fantasy, always expertly channeled through the Bond franchise and in this case the actual 007 cock, he 'fucks some sense into her' as it were. (It's 1964 -- sorry 'bout it.) And that's the only way the day is saved. Pussy saves the day but only because of Bond's "007". (According to Auric Goldfinger's nefarious calculations America's entire gold supply would be radioactive still today in 2014 and stay so for another 8 years... or at least until Daniel Craig is replaced.)
All of which is why this was my one and only possible option as "Best Shot" goes, despite a plethora of beautiful images thanks to the rather amazing BAFTA nominated (Oscar-snubbed) production design by Sir Ken Adam, and the cinematography by Ted Moore.
You have to love this sequence. Goldfinger has one of the best villain HQs and this is just one tiny peek at it. At this moment he is planning to kill Bond with a laser, dick first, for messing with his golden plans. Our secret agent stares at his own crotch with great concern, and his eyes dart around for any possible solution. He actually spends more screen time (3 minutes) staring at or worrying about the possible destruction of his manhood than he does frowning over both Bond Girl corpses combined (1½ minutes).
And why shouldn't he? These family jewels are worth more than anything in Fort Knox.
This has been an episode of Hit Me With Your Best Shot, the mid season finale to be precise, hence the not at all desperate bid at grabbing your attention via that salty title. A complete listing of the contributions 'round the web is coming tonight at 10 PM. If you'd like to contribute to Best Shot but haven't yet done it, shoot us an e-mail and will give you ample warning of future installments.