It's the scene in the film where Bond dines with the mastermind-antagonist at his underwater nuclear installation and they test their intellects against one another, invariably setting up the final act. At Bond's suggestion, the Bond-girl of the moment, Ursula Andress, is removed so they can have a proper tête-á-tête.
Dr. No himself remarks, rather cavalierly I might add, that "I'm sure the guards will amuse her," insinuating gang rape. Bond leaps into action– it's time for ass-kicking and escape!
He grabs a bottle of champagne and is about to rain holy hell upon the henchmen when Dr. No reminds Bond what's at stake:
"It's a Dom Perignon '55 . It'd be a pity to break it."
At which point, Bond, realizing that it'd be a crime to waste booze of such pedigree, calmly places it back inside its ice bucket, careful not to bruise the exquisite hooch.
Bond then sits back down and says, lamely:
"I prefer the '53 myself." Ah, what a shallow attempt to save face, Mr. Bond! If the '53 is sooo superior, why didn't you bust some heads with that piddling '55? In my opinion, Bond would have treated any alcohol with greater consideration than human life, even if the alcohol in question were... Thunderbird. (Which begs the question of how much more excellent THUNDERBALL would have been had it been entitled THUNDERBIRD.)
But let's go back with a magnifying glass to the very moment when he decides to choose somebody else's booze over his gal-pal of the moment.
Look at that. It's not a particularly difficult decision for him, but he's still a little rankled, because he has to admit the fact in front of God and Dr. No and everybody. Even the henchman is going– 'Holy shit, seriously?!'
Good 'ole James Bond. How about a toast: here's to keepin' it klassy... on Krab Key.
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