Chapter 5 explores the cultural politics of the ageing star, analysing why Connery managed that notoriously difficult transition so successfully. Central to his success, the chapter argues, was his development of a coherent new persona, the father-mentor, who embodies wisdom, knowledge, understanding and above all a centred integrity that he imparts to a younger man who becomes his surrogate son. This construction began fortuitously in Highlander (1986) but gained industry traction as the ‘Connery role’ after he won an Oscar as Best Supporting Actor in The Untouchables (1987), whose success also restored him to A-list stardom. The chapter analyses these films in detail along with The Name of the Rose (1986) – his astonishing performance as a mediaeval monk that was a huge success in Europe, demonstrating Connery’s transnational appeal in a role that would have severely challenged an American actor. Close attention is also given to Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989), in which Connery plays a comic version, and The Hunt for Red October (1990), in which his father-mentor is a magisterial figure. The chapter argues that the father-mentor was a much more capacious construction than Bond, one that offered a variety of acting challenges. The persona enabled Connery to project many of his own values in these roles, which are notable for often being politically progressive, his character at odds with a corrupt and venal society. They are also mythic and thus could accommodate the scale of Connery’s stardom.
Chapter 2 focuses on Connery’s international stardom playing James Bond, from Dr. No (1962) to Diamonds Are Forever (1971). It examines why he was offered the role, the uncertainties about his choice and the series’ hopes of success. It emphasises that Bond was a considerable acting achievement, for which Connery’s early career had provided the skills and training, and the importance of the ironic humour with which he imbued the role, alongside his supple athleticism and sex appeal. It discusses how he developed the role and the increasing subtlety of his interpretation. The chapter foregrounds the Bond roles as a particular form of stardom, the ‘serial star’, the product of an industrial form of authorship in which the producers regarded Connery as a replaceable component in the franchise, claiming it was the character, not the actor, which generated the series’ extraordinary success. This produced an intensified form of typecasting, commodification and entrapment, the usual hazards of the successful star. The chapter explores in detail Connery’s struggles for increased remuneration and recognition and his frustrations at not being offered a partnership. It also discusses how the scale of the ‘Bond phenomenon’ threatened to engulf Connery’s whole identity, how his complete identification with a fictional figure did not allow him to develop a separate star persona, nor was his acting achievement in creating the screen Bond recognised. The chapter concludes with an analysis of Bond’s iconicity as a new form of cosmopolitan masculinity, a classless modernity that displaced previous forms of the British hero.
The first portion of Chapter 6 outlines a complex web of interpersonal-cum-religious-cum-financial disputes that rose to a head in 1634 during an episcopal visitation of Bernard’s parish. Then, the chapter addresses Bernard’s manual on giving, Ready Way to Good Works, published just a few months later. Though Ready Way made no explicit mention of the local controversy, this context clearly influenced the work. The chapter identifies several passages that gesture subtly – but meaningfully for those in the know – to Bernard’s local situation; it also highlights several additional passages that explained parts of Bernard’s personal and financial history. Both of these, in different ways, can be read as a sort of life writing which not only intended to provide readers with a positive view of Bernard himself, but also functioned symbiotically with the publication’s overarching aim of encouraging charity. As we will see, this has important relevance for the ways we conceive of authors’ self-presentation before different sorts of audiences.
Through an examination of the editions of Bernard’s popular clerical manual, Chapter 3 provides new insight into the early modern debate about the nature and uses of religious print. It also helps frame the question of what distinguished a pastor-author, actively pursuing ministry through print and thinking about how readers would respond to different types of material, from the larger number of ministers who had a sermon printed here or there, but did not actively engage with print as part of their pastoral vocation. The chapter begins with an analysis of Bernard’s clerical manual, The Faithfull Shepheard, and explores shifts in his approach over three editions (1607, 1609, and 1621), with later editions suggesting Bernard’s increasing awareness of, and willingness to accommodate, his readers’ needs for explanation and demonstration of the principles he espoused. The second portion of the chapter addresses Bernard’s approach to printed sermons. By examining several publications that Bernard based upon sermons, we see that he maintained the common contemporary understanding that the Word preached orally had special spiritual use and power that could not be replicated in print. Yet rather than driving him away from publishing sermon materials, this led him to consider how sermon material might be presented differently in print, to achieve other, distinct, purposes. Altogether, this chapter allows us to more fully understand the place of printed sermons – and print more generally – within godly pastoral contexts.
As the whole book is organised thematically, the conclusion offers to span the evolution of the discourse on spas throughout the long eighteenth century, reprocessing the various notions addressed in the book within a stricter chronological frame. Three main topics are discussed in relation to the evolution of spas and spa towns throughout the century: medicalisation, commercialisation and cosmopolitanism.
The Conclusion assesses Connery’s significance and summarises what his career reveals about the nature of stardom. It discusses how Connery’s determination to become an accomplished actor was inseparable from his ambition to be a major international star who could compete for roles with Hollywood stars. It argues that his greatest achievement was to invest ‘popcorn hits’ with the delineation of engaging characters of some depth and complexity, alongside his ability to reinvent his persona from Bond to father-mentor. The Conclusion argues that his Scottish identity redefined post-war Britishness as part of a generational group of British actors in the vanguard of social change. It debates how his representation of masculinity was wide-ranging but always haunted by its association with a retrograde traditional patriarchy and his public condoning of male violence. The Conclusion summarises the importance of attending to the varied dimensions of stardom: commercial, cultural, iconic/mythic, social and political. It reviews the various ways in which stars’ careers must be contextualised within the shifting commercial systems in which they are situated and the conditions of their employment. Although the study has shown that even star actors’ agency is often highly circumscribed, the chapter argues that Connery’s lifelong truculence and his separateness from the Hollywood establishment helped increase stars’ autonomy and economic status. Although Connery was a singular star, the Conclusion argues that his struggles illuminate the complexities of stardom as an occupation.
Explication and implication in anti-Catholic publications
Amy G. Tan
While Bernard held a position fundamentally opposed to Catholicism throughout his career, his works took a distinctly anti-Catholic focus during only one relatively brief period, c. 1617–29, with a shift c. 1622 in the tone and content of these publications. Chapter 5 first analyses what we know of Bernard’s foundational beliefs about the danger of Catholicism, and then proceeds to contextualise and historicise this amplification, shift, and de-amplification in his published rhetoric about Catholics. It identifies several factors in Bernard’s parish and diocesan contexts, as well as national and international developments, that influenced this trajectory. In particular, it highlights an uptick in his eschatologically centred anti-Catholic writing under Bishop Lake; his shift to a rather less heady eschatological view from c. 1622; and how his 1626 Rhemes Against Rome was intended not only as an anti-Catholic response to John Heigham’s attack on Protestantism, but also as a puritan counterpoint to Richard Montagu’s anti-Calvinist response to Heigham. Subsequently, it discusses several factors related to a growing de-emphasis of overt anti-Catholic rhetoric – until, that is, a 1641 publication directed to Parliament. In all this, the chapter demonstrates ways that different publications – and sometimes, the same publication – could target different audiences with different sorts of messages that nevertheless complemented one another, in view of various theological aims and ecclesio-political contexts.
Chapter 1 explores Connery’s early career before he became James Bond. It analyses the significance of the particular social conditions from which Connery emerged: a working-class area of Edinburgh and the importance of physical display in his cultural formation, notably his bodybuilding. The principal focus is on his haphazard development as a professional actor, the significance of his unorthodox training – including attending classes with Yat Malmgren, the Swedish movement teacher – and the ways in which he negotiated the three interlocking but separate production contexts of theatre, television and film. His neglected television work is examined in close detail, including his ‘breakthrough’ role as an over-the-hill boxer in Requiem for a Heavyweight (1957) and his major parts for the BBC such as Hotspur in An Age of Kings (1960) and his work with Rudolph Cartier on Adventure Story (1961) and Anna Karenina (1961). The chapter argues that during this period Connery’s television work was far more important than his unsatisfactory roles in feature films and the failure of Twentieth Century-Fox to promote his career despite his long-term contract. The intention throughout this chapter is to give this formative phase of his career its proper attention and integrity, and to demonstrate Connery’s commitment to developing the craft of acting as an art form. In this way the chapter contests the conventional approach that interprets every element of his early career as an anticipation of becoming James Bond, which, it is argued, could not have been predicted nor was something towards which Connery worked.
The shift from contract to freelance stardom is the conceptual focus of Chapter 4, discussing the types of role Connery was able to negotiate during the 1970s as a transnational star working principally in Hollywood. The chapter argues that Connery was more successful in the first half of the decade working with directors – John Boorman (Zardoz), John Milius (The Wind and the Lion), John Huston (The Man Who Would Be King) and Richard Lester (Robin and Marian) – who had the autonomy and intelligence to sense his possibilities as a star best suited to playing archetypal, mythical roles in which the Bond persona could be reworked rather than rejected. However, in the second half of the decade, Connery struggled to find appropriate roles as the studios reasserted their control, leading to a succession of undistinguished parts in mediocre films – such as Meteor (1979) – that were commercial and critical failures. The chapter also discusses two films – A Bridge Too Far (1977) and Cuba (1979) – which were flawed but contain two of Connery’s most intelligent and underrated performances. The chapter concludes with a detailed discussion of his return as Bond in Never Say Never Again (1983), another undervalued film, that was both an attempt to resurrect a flagging career and the opportunity to essay a mature Bond. Throughout, the chapter highlights the importance of Connery’s relationship with his agents and the significance of the switch from a British agent, Dennis Selinger, to an American one – Michael Ovitz and the Creative Artists Agency.
‘From bog to jug: a risky remedy?’ explores the multiple representations of the dangers of the water cure. It challenges the idea that mineral waters were yet another cure-all in the quack pharmacopoeia of the eighteenth-century commercialised and competitive medical world. Relying on recent scholarship in the history of medicine, I contextualise the contemporary accusations against water doctors in eighteenth-century medicine, and I address the question of spa promotion, rooted in the relationship between commerce and medicine at the heart of the development of spa towns. In a second section, ‘waters as pharmakon’, I turn to the descriptions of water treatment as a corrosive and potentially dangerous remedy. Waters, doctors argued, were not to be taken lightly, and could have dramatic consequences on the patient’s life if their intake was not properly monitored by medical prescription. This discourse aimed at fighting the practices of self-prescription, especially the habits of the local people of drinking purging waters at smaller wells. The last section, ‘Brine, mud and dung’, focuses on the waters themselves and their literal murkiness: some drinking wells produced cloudy waters with stinking smells, and their origins could be traced in the muddy ponds of nearby swamps. Contemporary descriptions of baths and bathing facilities could be revolting. Many a watering place was satirised as a house of office, and the results of constant purging were exposed to the reader in rich scatological imagery.