He of beauty and truth – he of mighty intelligence and wondrous might – has cast his eye over James Bond, and verily he doth not approve.

According to ::sticks tongue behind bottom lip:: Matt Damon (he of Team America fame) James Bond is dated. Apparently “Bond is an imperialist and a misogynist who kills people and laughs about it, and drinks Martinis and cracks jokes.”

His director, Paul Greengrass, added; “The Bourne franchise is not about wearing Prada suits and looking at women coming out of the sea with bikinis on. It’s about essence and truth, not frippery and surface.”

Essence and truth, eh? So you go to the cinema to see essence and truth? Me neither.

Pirates of the Hypogean
hy·po·ge·al (hÄ«’pÉ™-jÄ“’É™l) Pronunciation Key
adj.

1. Located under the earth’s surface; underground.
2. Botany Of or relating to seed germination in which the cotyledons remain below the surface of the ground.

http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=hypogean&r=66

Scene: Torchugaurd Estate, South East London. A man stands outside a towerblock, shellsuit rippling in the wind. In his hand, a sharpened cigarette; on his wrist, a tattoo of a flighty, swooping bird (name: Nancy; tits: big). Suddenly, a formidable, deathly black Ford Escort draws up. Our hero scowls, lighting his cigarette and quickly dousing the flickering flame. A dark, mysterious figure leaps out of the car.

Will Turner (for it is he): Wassup Jazza?

Jazza Sparrow: Oi. *Captain* Jazza, actually.

Will: Whateva. Where’s the booty?

Jazza: Inside, innit?

The men stand in silence. Tension mounts. Finally, Captain Jazza takes one last, hungry draw on his cigarette and turns to go inside.

Cut to a darkened bedroom, full of junk, used tissues, dirty plates and reeking of the stench of mystery.

Jazza: [shouts] Mam, make us a cup of tea, will yer?

Jazza’s Mam: [off set] Get yer own, ya lazy oik!

Jazza: Aw, Mam…

Jazza’s Mam: Orwight, orwight, jus’ this once, then.

Captain Jazza pushes aside a mouldy pizza box to reveal a state-of-the-art Alienware computer, gleaming in the darkness. Will’s eyes widen, and he starts to move towards it, hand outstretched – but Jazza elbows him away.

Jazza: Oi, gerroutavit! Where’s the feckin’ monkey? I want the fecking monkey.

Will: Orwight, here’s yer fecking monkey [hands over wad of crumpled £20 notes]. Now where’s me treasure?

Jazza pauses, slowly counting the cash.

Jazza: And you’re tellin’ me there’s five ‘undred nicker here?

Will: Yes, yes, I ain’t lyin’. Now come on, ‘and it over!

Jazza: Na’ your talkin’, innit.

Captain Jazza reaches down and pulls out a box, from which he carefully and reverentially pulls out three gleaming, silvery round towers. Will’s eyes widen, the multicoloured reflecting shining in his eyes.

Jazza: Right, what was yer wantin’? I got two ‘undred copies of The Simpsons Movie, one fifty of Transformers and one eighty of ‘Arry Pottar.

Will: Yer wot? I’ll never shift all them!

Jazza: Yeah you will. Tell yer what, since yer me mate, I’ll stick in ten retro editions of Casino Royale, innit.

Will: What, Casino Royale? You must be fecking jokin. Bond is an imperialist and a misogynist who kills people and laughs about it, and drinks Martinis and cracks jokes, innit. The Bond character will always be anchored in the 1960s and in the values of the 1960s.

Jazza: Orwight, orwight, tell yer what, ‘ow about fifteen of Evan Almighty, since yer such a good mate an’ all?

Will: Aw yeah, that’s dead funny that is, ’specially when the bird craps on ‘im and all.

…You get my point.