The Art of Ignorance and James Bond

As a distinctly lazy teenager, I am all too familiar with the mysterious,overpowering mist of sleep that descends over the senses every time it becomes evident that the work load is, in fact, a bit too much to deal with in the slim time frame that a neglected deadline always leaves behind. 

I have the tendency to decide on critically and oddly timed naps during ungodly hours like say from 2:46 am to 3:02 am, with ambitious and fearless plans to complete everything properly once I am a rejuvenated academic beast and, more importantly, a little more awake. As an extremely predictable anticlimax from which I refuse to learn anything, I don’t wake up and finish what looks relevant in a panicked frenzy half an hour before the submissions/exams.

When I go to sleep, I have the battle tactics and passions of a Spartan warrior, but when I wake up, I have the twitch and squeak of a squirrel 2 days before winter arrives.

Similarly, when a chapter appears too long or alien, I don’t read it at all, disregarding it in its entirety, sticking to what I think I know and vaguely recall, rooting for the famous saying “ignorance is bliss” to be true.

Yes, pigheadedness is very natural to some of us, and when it is coupled with paralysing lethargy and bad concentration, worlds can go completely unnoticed and unacknowledged. 

It is amazing what a persistently ignorant brain can fail to accomplish.

This is the only explanation I can come up with for not having watched a single James Bond movie until yesterday. There were so many of them and so much to them, that I gave up before I even began. It was, admittedly, deliberate and unforgivable. I am guilty of cinematic negligence. Fortunately, I cannot be put on trial for that and so here I am, with my free speech and glassy eyes, in a new world where Bond exists to me.

I understand the craze now and I finally comprehend all those clumsy movie references. Bond is the blonde, blue eyed British agent, always in an impeccable suit, always having things go his way in his expensive, sleek car. He inevitably gets the insanely attractive girl with his womanizing smoulder and classy one-liners.He has the loyal, equipped and fashionable fellow agents to support him as he battles insurmountable odds and dastardly villains with cool gadgets and a cold dauntlessness.

It is all so excitingly unrealistic that I fell for the cliches.

I believe Bond is everything a man wants to be but can’t be in real life, so his mere fictional existence fulfils half the purpose of cinema. We all need a hero sometimes and we don’t mind if he looks perfectly dashing and scores a few ladies on the way. We know he is going to win, but we go to watch him anyway because, unlike most of us, he’s got style, a license to kill, classic background scores and evil masterminds to defeat. He lives plots that are racy and adventurous, but always in a predictable and comfortable pattern, kind of how we would all like life to be. There is pain and the orphan sob story behind him but in spite of that, he is an unstoppable man on a mission, again something the best of us aspire for. As if all of this isn’t enough, he communicates in witty banter and beautifully executed smirks, without the slightest hints of awkwardness.

 Do you see what I mean?

Bond is idealism at its epitome and he is everything you’re not, which is why I approve. He is a very unrelatable man. Living vicariously through him is extremely thrilling and that is all there is to it. It’s beautiful how humans thrive on the make-believe and Bond is just another perfect example of that. Strange things make me love the world. 

That’s all for Bond for now though, but another thing about me is that I tend to get obsessed when I do begin something, whether its a chapter or a gold studded movie franchise.

I guess all I wanted to say was I am going to watch the movies now.

There was hardly any point to this post and I apologise if you feel cheated of your time. But what is done is done. I bid you goodbye and wish you good food and happy dreams.


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