Bond delivers this familiar French phrase in Licence To Kill as he disposes of a security guard into a drawer filled with maggots and fish bait inside Milton Krest’s marine research facility.  It’s a small but memorable moment, since it happens right after Bond discovers cocaine stored alongside the fish bait, blowing the lid off of Sanchez and Krest’s operation.  In my opinion, the drug-running plot remains one of the most compelling Bond movie narratives and consistently comes to mind when I think about the most grounded and effective Bond storylines.

Although the scene quickly shifts focus to the ensuing gunfight, I cringe thinking of the fate of the unfortunate guard left behind.  I mean, if he’s not rescued and ultimately regains consciousness, the suffering that awaits him is an almost unimaginably horrific, slow and painful death.  Oh the horror!