Pierce Brosnan’s youngest son sometimes gets confused about what exactly dad does when he’s not at home. When he jumps into his car - an Aston Martin, of course - and drives off along the Californian coast, is he embarking on some dangerous mission to save the world, or has he just nipped down to the shops to buy a loaf of bread? It’s no wonder that Paris Brosnan is bewildered; after all, he’s only three years old. “He thinks dad is some superhero because he’s seen a bit of the Bonds,” says his father. “And that’s a big image for any kid to handle.” And it’s not just toddlers who find the line between reality and fantasy a little fuzzy. When Brosnan walks into a restaurant or a hotel bar virtually anywhere in the world, some wag will almost certainly send him over a vodka martini, shaken not stirred. “How many times? God, I’ve no idea. A lot. I don’t keep score, but it happens a lot…” Doesn’t it get annoying? “No, no it doesn’t. I usually just raise a glass and say ‘cheers’. It’s only their way of saying that they like the work, and that’s fine by me.”
For a decade now Brosnan has been James Bond - a very, very good one, too - and Bond has been Brosnan. The Savile Row suits and the highly polished brogues seemed to fit him like a second skin; and when he discarded them to hop into bed with one lovely or another - well, they would, wouldn’t they? Brosnan is good looking in the way that central casting used to dream about. Square jawed and blue eyed, athletic 6ft 2in build, dark hair flecked with grey, he wears his 51 years remarkably well, like a Gucci tux. His Bond has been pitched just right - rugged and suitably macho like Sean Connery, but deft enough to recognise, with a hint of a smile or a flicker of the eyes, that there are times when it’s all just too silly for words, just like Roger Moore used to do so well.
But now it’s over and the actor who re-invigorated a billion-dollar franchise is contemplating a future post-007. If he feels betrayed by the way it’s ended - in a prolonged and rather messy fashion - he’s careful not to show it. “It was ten years almost to the day,” he says. “And I feel a great sense of achievement that it worked, that they did so well at the box office and that a generation grew up with me as Bond.” And the satisfaction of knowing that he will go down as a classic Bond - like Connery and Moore - and not a dud like Timothy Dalton or George Lazenby? “It’s very hard to talk of yourself in those terms,” he says. “I did the best job that I could possibly do. It’s a huge character to step into.”
He’s already moved on, at least in terms of making different films, but he’s enough of a realist to know that, like Connery and the rest, he will never really escape it. “You get branded as a Bond and I will always be one of the Bonds.” His latest film, a heist movie called After the Sunset, teams him with Salma Hayek as his love interest - they play jewel thieves - and Woody Harrelson as the FBI agent trying to catch them. Both pairings work well, and the film has the light touch of romantic comedy thriller that Brosnan feels at home with - and which his biggest hit to date (outside of Bond) The Thomas Crown Affair proved.
The film was shot almost entirely on location in the Bahamas - where a huge resort hotel formed the backdrop for much of the action. Brosnan was unaware at the time that this would mark his first official post-Bond role. Now, back in Nassau to promote the new film, he’s still trying to work out exactly how Bond came to an end. “Does anyone know how it ended?” he asks. “My contract was for four films, and the invitation was extended for me to do a fifth, and I said yes, and then, for one reason or another, they changed their minds.”
Others will say what Brosnan is too dignified to say himself. Matt Mueller, editor of Total Film magazine, thinks ditching Brosnan is a panicky move: “He has saved the franchise and would have been fine in the role for another four or five years. Apparently, Pierce wanted the character to be more character-driven, and that could have been a point of conflict. If they get the wrong man, it could blow up in their faces.” There has been speculation that producers Barbara Broccoli and her half-brother Michael G. Wilson want a younger Bond and are looking at an actor in his thirties. Those apparently in the running include Clive Owen, Hugh Jackman, Ioan Gruffudd and even Paul Bettany.
The Bond studio, MGM, has recently been acquired by Sony, which is said to want to broaden 007’s appeal and move him away from the older male fan base to grab a bigger slice of the lucrative teen market which flocks to see the likes of Spider Man and Charlie’s Angels. In other words, Brosnan is too much of a grown-up, a man’s man. But it’s difficult. You tamper with the Bond legacy at your peril. Cast the wrong man and the world’s most successful film franchise ever could be struggling in an increasing field of rivals. Meanwhile, the negotiations to find the new man continue out of the public eye.
Brosnan, of course, knows exactly what it’s like to be the subject of such speculation. He was first lined up to play the character in 1986 when Roger Moore decided to call it a day. The late Cubby Broccoli, who had single-handedly invented the movie franchise after acquiring the rights to Ian Fleming’s novels, offered Brosnan the role, only to lose him when the producers of Remmington Steele - ironically a pseudo-Bond role he was playing on US television - refused to let him go. Timothy Dalton took over, and Brosnan would have to wait eight years for another chance. When it came, he was ready. “It was daunting, very daunting. But somehow, because it had come into my life before, it seemed like it was my destiny to play the role.”
He obviously would have preferred to make at least one more. His first, GoldenEye, was in 1995 and took $350 million worldwide, while his last, Die Another Day, in 2002, grossed a staggering $430 million. Brosnan is the first to point out that he has enjoyed his share of the rewards. Playing Her Majesty’s longest-serving secret agent has made him an A-list star, commanding multi-million-dollar salaries; he’s set up his own company, Irish Dream Time, on the back of it; he owns houses in California and Hawaii, fast cars and the rest. But it’s still a shock when you are unceremoniously dumped. “It’s very hard to find the truth in that town,” he says. “All I know is that they changed their minds. If it’s true, they are looking for a younger actor, good luck to them. It’s out of my control. Do I take umbrage at this? Am I staggered by this? No. It’s a hard business and I wish them well, and I wish the next guy well.”
Brosnan is well used to setbacks. He’s had to endure plenty of them, both professionally and privately, in what has been a remarkable life. Born in Navan, Co Meath, Brosnan came to London when he was 11 with his mother, May, a nurse, and her partner, Bill, a Glaswegian who would become his much-loved stepfather. His father, Thomas had separated from May when their son was a toddler. London was exciting, but it was also tough. Plonked into a large South London comprehensive, it was a struggle to be accepted. “It was huge and it was a baptism of fire, there was a lot of fending off the lads because you are easy pickings as a Mick. I fought. I had to. I had one glorious fight over the milk one morning. I had a soft spot for a girl and this lad had been on my case and he said something to her and that was it. And so it began. The fighting went on until I thought ‘this is nuts’, and I began to reinvent myself. I used humour to be accepted, until I was one of the lads.”
Along with “the lads”, he’d pop to the cinema in Clapham or Wandsworth, and the first film he remembers was Goldfinger with Connery as Bond. “I loved it.” He was asked to audition for school plays, but wouldn’t dare. “A bunch of cissies did that. No way could you do that.” Instead, he went to see Hollywood films and their stars - Clint Eastwood, Steve McQueen - and marvelled at their cool. “It wasn’t so much that I wanted to be an actor, I just wanted to be up there on the silver screen.”
He left school at 16, a gifted artist - he still paints most days he isn’t filming - and worked as a graphic artist in a small studio in Putney, which mostly supplied drawings of furniture for newspaper ads. “I wanted to do album covers, something that was hip and cool. I made the coffee and watered the spider plants.” Escape was provided at a performing arts centre in Kennington after a chance conversation with a colleague about his love of cinema. “I had long hair, an earring, a great coat. I was about 17, I walked in and life changed like that [he clicks his fingers]. There were all these different people there, working class, middle class, black, white, musicians, poets, writers. It was just awesome. I thought to myself, ‘If this is acting, I’m going to have some of this!’”
Within a year he told his parents that he wanted to give up the day job - Bill was worried but May encouraged him. “Dad wanted me to have a good trade. He was like, ‘What are you doing with all those theatricals?’” he laughs. “He thought I was turning. It was, ‘Dad, I’m not, I just really like it.’”
