Dear James, I was your biggest fan. I miss you!

You used to be the most incredible man I’ve ever seen. You were handsome, stylish and elegant. You had class. There was an aristocratic air to you. You were the guy a woman wanted to go to an Opera Gala with and then tear off his immaculate tux and have sex with him. You were a spy, full of secrets (and special skills). You had a license to kill. And you killed like a gentleman. What a combination! You spoke languages, had a vast knowledge about most bizarre things. You were clever and witty and funny. You used to talk. You talked to women and to other agents and to the bad guys. You don’t talk anymore. You had incredible outfits, cars, gadgets. Where did your gadgets disappear to? I loved your gadgets. They were sexy. They were full of surprises. And dangerous. And fun. What about a gun that fires only with your fingerprints, and a radio? James, those lame things make you impotent!

You used to take me to all those fantastic places. And we would spend time there, enjoy the scenery. We mingled with locals. We were skiing in Switzerland, diving in Greece, partying in Rio and walking down the beach in the Caribbean. We’ve spent time on that beautiful beach enjoying the sight of Ursula Anders. Last night we were at a beach in Turkey, with some nameless, faceless woman, but it was just a snapshot. We didn’t enjoy that beach like we used to. And what happened to the women? Women used to be gorgeous, special, they had stories, characters, tasks, wit, they were stylish and they were larger then life (oh, and those names!) There were many and we both loved them. They made you more interesting. You would seduce them, spend time with them, talk to them, use them, kill them. Yesterday, there was one. And she was a characterless, uninteresting snapshot, just like your locations.

What happened to the villains? To your operations? Just like the women, your villains used to make you special. They belonged to a super-life that only existed on the big screen, not something we read about in papers. Crazy guys with incredible ideas, who created all those surreal situations. Ah, that white cat, and a house on the bottom of the ocean, on the moon, in the volcanoes, those incredible yachts. The corpse of a woman covered in gold! Once you started hunting boring, real bad guys like Russian mafiosi, you became like every other man on the big screen.

Yes James, now you are like every other guy out there. You are a muscular, ugly thug with uninteresting cars, a pretty but boring girl, running after some guys we are not scared of. You're impotent. You are not saving the world in style.

James, please come back. I want you to put your tux on, be the most elegant and handsome man I’ve ever seen, speak five languages, dance a perfect waltz at a ball, fool the guy who wants to enslave the world by implanting chips into our heads into believing you’re a neuro-scientist/chip-inventor just to kill him with your sun glasses-turned-nuke-revolver while wrestling him on his space-jet-turned-gothic-mansion while it is cruising around the earth. While the queen of the universe is watching, ready to have sex with you right after you fired that bullet.

James, please become larger than life again.

Yours, Ana

P.S. I saw it in IMAX -  and still managed to fall asleep during the subway car scene. Boring. Why did it break records for the biggest in James Bond opening?