Jill Masterson’s unforgettable, gold-covered death in Goldfinger has long defined her character (and understandably so), yet it often eclipses the meaningful role she plays beforehand when Bond discovers that Goldfinger is a canasta cheat. I’ve always appreciated the clever and memorable way she’s introduced after Bond’s instincts lead him to Goldfinger’s suite to reveal that a striking blonde is quietly orchestrating Goldfinger’s advantage. Once Bond dismantles Goldfinger’s scheme, Jill’s polite line, “I’m beginning to like you, Mr. Bond,” is awesome and underrated. And their particularly relaxed chemistry in the bedroom scene feels natural and unforced.

Her fate, of course, is sealed (no pun intended) by the film’s iconic image of a woman’s body covered with a lethal coat of gold paint. But as powerful as that moment is, I can’t help but think the character deserved more. Jill Masterson had the foundation for a memorable relationship with Bond, and it’s intriguing to imagine how they might have evolved (or unraveled) had she been allowed to live longer than a single act.