Mr. Goldfinger
By Hans Casteels, lamenting why and how a she song that was meant as entertainment has become commentary.
There is something profoundly clarifying about hearing Goldfinger blasting through a Belgian radio station at breakfast while buttering a croissant in suburban Canada. You do not expect geopolitical insight from a 1960s spy theme, yet there it was, pouring out of the speakers with operatic certainty, describing a character of such gleaming greed and theatrical menace that only one modern figure immediately came to mind. Not a fictional villain in a tailored tuxedo. No. The gentleman occupying far more psychic real estate south of the border.
And suddenly the lyrics began to sound less like James Bond nostalgia and more like a documentary. Because if there is one thing history keeps teaching us, it is that satire eventually runs out of exaggeration and must simply begin quoting reality.
The song opens with the immortal description: a man with the “Midas touch.” Everything he touches turns to gold. It was originally meant as a warning about obsession with wealth, about the corrosive power of greed elevated to personality. Yet in modern America, this is no longer cautionary. It is branding.
The transformation of wealth from private ambition into public identity is perhaps the most remarkable cultural shift of our time. Once, conspicuous greed was something to be disguised with philanthropy or softened with humility. Now it is performed like theatre. The louder the display, the greater the applause. The man who measures worth exclusively in dollars is no longer seen as morally suspect but rather as proof of competence. The Bond villain once existed as a symbol of corruption. Today he exists as a leadership style.
“Gold finger,” the song continues, describing a figure whose touch signals danger, whose presence drains warmth from every room. One cannot help noticing how modern politics has embraced this same aesthetic. Empathy is weakness. Compassion is naïveté. Cruelty, delivered with confidence, becomes strength. We have arrived at a moment where public callousness is marketed as authenticity.
The performance matters more than the substance. The spectacle outweighs the consequence. The colder the statement, the stronger the perceived authority. Entire rallies now function as emotional refrigeration units where outrage is preserved, packaged, and redistributed.
Goldfinger, the character, loved gold not merely for its value but for its symbolism. Gold is permanence. Gold is dominance. Gold is visual proof that one has risen above ordinary humanity. It is no accident that authoritarian instincts and gilded surfaces tend to travel together. The obsession with golden decor, golden buildings, golden names embossed across every available surface is not merely decorative. It is psychological architecture. The message is simple. I am untouchable. I am permanent. I am the brand.
The Bond song warns listeners not to trust such a figure. It describes a man who loves only gold, who values nothing human, who views relationships as transactions and loyalty as currency. Replace “gold” with “power” and you have a precise description of modern populist politics. Power is no longer a means to an end. It is the end itself.
We watch this dynamic unfold through constant reinvention of reality. Truth becomes negotiable. Facts become optional. The narrative is always whatever benefits the figure at the centre of the stage. Like the original Goldfinger cheating at cards with hidden technology, the system itself becomes something to manipulate rather than respect. And the audience, astonishingly, cheers.
There is a curious comfort in strongman theatrics. Complexity is exhausting. Nuance requires effort. The promise of a single decisive figure who will dominate the world through sheer willpower is emotionally satisfying. It offers clarity in a chaotic age. It replaces democratic friction with the fantasy of effortless control.
Goldfinger promised domination through wealth. Modern equivalents promise domination through personality. The Bond universe understood something essential about such figures. They require constant attention. Their power exists only so long as the world continues watching. Remove the spotlight and the myth begins to collapse. Which explains the permanent spectacle.
Every day brings a new outrage, a new proclamation, a new dramatic conflict. The cycle must continue because stillness invites scrutiny, and scrutiny invites accountability. Noise is protection. Chaos is strategy.
In this sense, the comparison to a cinematic villain is almost charitable. Fictional antagonists at least possess coherent plans. They desire world domination, strategic advantage, some comprehensible objective. The modern spectacle often appears less organized, more improvisational, driven by impulse rather than design.
Yet the psychological effect remains identical. The world is divided into loyalists and enemies. Institutions become obstacles. Critics become traitors. Reality itself becomes negotiable terrain.
The song’s chorus insists repeatedly on danger. “Beware,” it warns. Not because the villain is merely unpleasant, but because his values are incompatible with collective well being. A society built entirely around personal gain inevitably corrodes its own foundations. One might assume such warnings would resonate.
Instead, something remarkable has occurred. The villain has been recast as hero by those who see in his defiance a reflection of their own frustration. The outsider persona, carefully cultivated, allows enormous privilege to masquerade as rebellion. Billionaires become champions of the common person simply by insulting the right enemies.
The performance works because it speaks to genuine anger. Economic anxiety, cultural displacement, institutional distrust. These forces create fertile ground for the charismatic figure who promises to smash the system.
The fact that he benefits from the very structures he condemns becomes irrelevant. The narrative is emotionally satisfying. And emotion, in modern politics, is stronger than evidence.
From a Canadian vantage point, the entire phenomenon carries a certain surreal quality. We watch from across the border like neighbours observing a house party that escalated into a demolition derby. There is fascination, concern, and the occasional urge to quietly lock our doors.
“A View From Canada” offers a peculiar perspective on American drama. Close enough to feel the tremors, distant enough to maintain observational clarity. The spectacle south of the border often resembles a grand theatrical production, complete with dramatic speeches, loyal crowds, and a protagonist who appears convinced of his own mythic destiny. It would be entertaining if it were not consequential.
The genius of the original Bond film lay in its recognition that greed and power, when fused with narcissism, become existential threats to stability. The villain does not simply accumulate wealth. He seeks to reshape the world according to his obsession. Sound familiar.
Yet perhaps the most unsettling aspect of the comparison is how comfortable many have become with this dynamic. The very qualities once associated with villainy are now reframed as desirable leadership traits. Ruthlessness becomes strength. Excess becomes success. Domination becomes vision.
Goldfinger, at least, was fictional. His ambition remained safely contained within cinema. Modern equivalents operate on the global stage, shaping economies, alliances, and the collective emotional climate of entire populations.
Which brings us back to that Belgian radio broadcast at breakfast. There was something almost poetic about hearing that dramatic anthem echo through a quiet Canadian kitchen. The booming vocals, the warnings of danger, the celebration of a figure consumed entirely by gold. The song was meant as entertainment. It has become commentary.
Perhaps future historians will examine this era and conclude that we were not deceived so much as enchanted. We chose spectacle over substance. We mistook volume for authority. We confused wealth with wisdom.
The Bond franchise understood a timeless truth. Societies always produce figures who embody their deepest desires and darkest impulses. The villain reflects the values of the world that creates him. And if the theme song fits a little too well, perhaps the problem is not the song.
Perhaps the orchestra is simply playing what the audience demanded.
If I May: A request for your consideration.
I don’t charge for this Substack and I never will. If you judge that this writing has any value, the only place it can be converted into money is here: a voluntary GoFundMe to help purchase new NICU bassinets for William Osler Health Centre. This exists because Ontario’s healthcare funding model has been allowed to decay to the point where essential neonatal life-support equipment can be twenty years old and still in service. That is not resilience. That is neglect with a communications strategy. When governments chronically underfund hospitals, responsibility quietly migrates downward until the public is left compensating for structural failure. Premature and critically ill newborns do not benefit from ideology, talking points, or budgetary patience. They benefit from functioning, modern equipment. This is you and me stepping in because the system did not.