And we're blown right out of Bond's estate being destroyed to a shot of SMERSH headquarters. SMERSH being the Soviet spy agency that Bond fought against in the Casino Royale novel. (The EON Bond films changed the name of the organization to SPECTRE, to distance it from the real Soviet agency called SMERSH.)

Here, however, SMERSH is less of a spy agency, and more of a loose coalition of stewardesses and nannies causing assorted mayhem across Europe. Their headquarters consists primarily of a huge control room staffed entirely by beautiful women. It's like Dr. Strangelove as filmed by Russ Meyer.

A shadowy figure on a monitor tells his henchgirls (or is it henchwomen?) that the original James Bond is now back in action. But this time, it's the True Love Waits version, and their mission is to infiltrate his perimeter, if you catch my drift. This shadowy figure won't be named for a long, long time, but I'll just go ahead and tell you this is Dr. Noah (clever name, eh?), the closest thing the movie has to a main villain.

Cut to Niven-Bond driving what looks like a stovepipe on wheels, in front of an obvious blue screen effect. All I can tell you about his car, which apparently was adapted from old oil drums and a scrapped locomotive, is that it's a Bentley, which is actually another of the film's sporadic nods to the original novel. Supposedly, Ian Fleming usually had Bond driving a gray Bentley convertible. It's kind of funny to see little touches of authenticity in an otherwise bizarrely psychotic film adaptation. It's sort of like casting Christopher Walken as the lead in The Margaret Thatcher Story, and then making sure to find and use the exact broach she wore when she was shaking hands with Mikhail Gorbachev.

Bond zooms past a woman fishing on the river bank. She speaks into the reel of her fishing pole, telling SMERSH Control that Bond has entered Scotland. Cut to a castle with bagpipe music playing. See? Scotland.

One of the bagpipers on the roof speaks into one of the pipes of his instrument, saying he's spotted Bond, and that they've fully infiltrated M's castle. He's reprimanded that M's full name was McTarry, and to use it from now on. The piper tells the voice that, in a change of plans, Agent Mimi will be playing his widow. His what? The last we saw, M had his toupee blown off by an explosion in a delightful giggle-bration of merriment and wonder and laughter; that killed him? I could believe John Huston dying of embarrassment, but I suspect that the six credited screenwriters treated this like the game of writing a paragraph of a story, folding the page down to the last line, and passing it to the next in the circle.

The voice expresses incredulity at Agent Mimi playing the widow Fiona, but is told she has the best Scots accent, and by "best"—as we're about to find out—they must mean "most impenetrable". With dialogue like this, that's almost a virtue.

Cut to a grave-looking Deborah Kerr as Lady Fiona, thanking Bond for taking the time to come pay his respects. Bond is looking uncomfortable at all the redheaded lasses in black that fill the room. There's nothing weirder than a Scottish harem. He offers that at least M's death was in the service of his "m-m-majesty" and asks how she found out M had passed away.

Fiona trills that the "Grreeay Piper" told her. She asks one of the girls to explain that whenever a McTarry passes on, the Grreeay Piper comes down the mountain, across the loch, and through the heather—because it's Scotland, did I mention that?—to deliver the news. Scotland, you see, apparently has yet to discover the telephone, and so must rely on more elaborate methods of communication. Such as: imps, woodland spirits, and random ethereal manifestations of performers of nationally revered musical instruments. Assuming you're willing to bend the category of "musical instrument" to include the bagpipe.

Bond asks who exactly the Grreeay Piper is, and the girl says that they "doona ken", but that's it's been the same one for six hundred "yearhs". She says they always leave a "tappet hen of usquabae" out by the door for him. Bond looks confused, and another girl raises her glass and clarifies, "A quart of whiskey!" So this Grreeay Piper is sort of like Santa Claus, except his big red sack is full of death certificates, and he's a drunk. Not that the big red nose hasn't made me a little suspicious of St. Nick already.

Bond presents Lady Fiona with a wooden box, saying that this is all that remains of her husband. He says he's not sure whether it counts as an article of clothing or an anatomical feature, and is wondering if it should be given a Christian burial. He opens it to reveal M's toupee [!]. Fiona considers it, and says that it can be considered a "hair-loom". Hahahahaha— Yeah. My, that was a long, long way to go for a joke that inconsequential. And we're just getting started here, folks.

A scared bleat causes the group to turn toward the door, where a live goat is being carried on a pole. Boy, I hope they can all get inside before the T-Rex comes. Meanwhile, six Brigadoon extras awkwardly try to carry the poor crying and thrashing beast off the set.

Fiona coolly informs Bond that it's yet another McTarry tradition. On the death of the "laird", six barefoot virgins (or, one presumes, a reasonable facsimile) bear a live "he-goat" into the kitchen, where Fiona will slaughter it for the midnight wake for the departed. She then goes into a graphic description of preparing haggis out of the animal. "Sub Rosa" didn't hit all the Scottish clichés this hard, and if this keeps up, "Sub Rosa" is actually going to be the one producing fewer squirm-inducing embarrassments out of the two. Seriously, listen to this MP3 clip of just a small snippet of Deborah Kerr's dialogue. If you can understand more than half of it, feel proud of yourself.

She then explains how, the next morning, they all go "awah" to the "Memorial Grouse Shoot". Bond stutters that the grouse is not in season, but Fiona replies, "Whenever a McTarry dies... the grouse come into season!" Strangely, there's no rimshot after this line. The Tijuana Brass Band must have fallen asleep.

Bond is shown to his room, where he finds two girls who introduce themselves as Meg and Heather. They help him undress, and one sinks below the frame and Bond's eyes widen and he starts and fidgets. He warns, "Be careful, that's my loose kneecap!" Wow, I didn't know you could imply this in a movie made in 1967. Hey, where is that kneecap exactly, anyway?

He asks how many daughters M had, and they tell him eleven, all between 16 and 19 years old [!]. Wait, did Bond wind up at Castle Anthrax by mistake? Do these girls all spend their time bathing, dressing, undressing, and making exciting underwear? From the evidence on display, apparently so. Bond expresses wonder at how that could possibly happen, and he's told that several of the comely young maidens are adopted. Well, yeah. Only girls, though, because Daddy didn't care for boys. And this is supposed to be charming?

The two Babes in Robroyland tell him that his bath is waiting. He's led down the hall to that infernal Casino Royale Theme (which has already worn out its welcome at a whopping 17 minutes into the movie). Several other girls give him come-hither stares from the doorways of their bedrooms. And remember, dude, they're all sisters. Score!

Bond enters the steam-filled bathroom, locks the door, and begins to undress. He's startled by a young woman waiting in the tub. She coos that Daddy always had her test the water, to make sure the temperature was fine, and even called her his "little thermometer". Daddy's little thermometer? Bleaurgh. I'm starting to wonder if we've somehow slid into a docudrama called If Priests Could Marry.

Bond tries to flee, but drops the key [?]. Nervously getting in the tub, he asks her name, which turns out to be Buttercup. Or, rather, "Beauhtercup". The woman playing Beauhtercup, Angela Scoular, is one of the handful of Casino Royale refugees who later ended up in real Bond films. In her case, she only made it into the Lazenby movie, so she only gets partial credit, Bond-Girl-wise. Oddly enough, in that film she's also one of a coterie of beautiful young women that Bond stumbles across in a secluded location. That seems to happen to him a lot.

Beauhtercup begins to scrub Bond's back and Bond gets a pained expression. He then quickly turns on the cold water, and looks a little relieved. Wow, I really didn't think you could imply that in a 1967 movie, either. Hair-loom! Hahahahaha— still not funny.

Beauhtercup asks him to turn around. He tries to talk to her about school, but she turns the subject around, saying that her favorite course is anatomy. She then gives the Latin names for several of Bond's body parts. She complains that the water is getting too cold, and that her daddy "liked it hotter". I know these girls aren't really his daughters (at least I think they aren't; perhaps reality has already started to eat itself by this point). But trying to make a joke of M keeping an underage, incestuous harem is really not working. The worst part is there's even more leaden incest humor to come.

Meanwhile, back in Bond's room, Meg and Heather are speaking in very labored French, talking about how a MacGuffin button they're sewing on his jacket is only to be used as a last resort. One assures the other that Mimi has never failed them before. Don't you love expositional dialogue? Hello, O terrible screenwriter, I hate you because you wrote this movie. As you know, this is a fist, which is very soon going to collide with your face.

A rough jump cut takes us to that night's memorial feast, presumably after the sacred mutilation of the Holy Goat. (God, where is Rowan Atkinson when you need him?) Zoot, I mean, Fiona knocks back another flagon of drink, and stares at an ancestral portrait, seeing double. Burly Scots in full kilts wail on the bagpipes, while the girls giggle and whoop and dance drunkenly to the droning cacophony, in togas fashioned out of tartan. Because tartan is Scottish, and they're in Scotland. I hope we're on the same page here.

Bond looks as miserable as I am at the noise, and tries to make conversation with Fiona. Meanwhile, two girls play footsie with him. Fiona cheerfully explains that another portrait, that of an unfortunate-looking woman, is of a family member who was raped in the 17th century. In retaliation, all of the rapist's daughters were assaulted. But because the youngest bore triplets, it all worked out in the end, with the families uniting and landing the McTarrys a "good stretch of salmon water", along with several other unintelligible properties. Oh, movie, I came here wanting to like you, to fight in your corner, and what do you do? You show that you are the Über-Hudson Hawk. Why you got to be like that?

The pipers wail on the pipes, ever more intoxicated (how? is there liquor in the bagpipes?). The girls spin ever more wildly, giving close-ups of their granny panties. Deborah Kerr's strawberry blond wig slips ever more wildly off her head, revealing her fine red hair. Fiona stands, and begins to jig. The pipers and girls start to pass out from (I can only assume) drink and exhaustion, with some bugging their eyes and lips out like only a bad actress/model/producer's girlfriend can. What, pray tell, is the point of this dinner, anyway? In terms of the plot, I mean. It's obviously in the movie so we can watch beautiful young women getting drunk while listening to bagpipe music. Not one of your more common fetishes, but there's a website for everything.

But what are these (presumed) agents of SMERSH trying to accomplish here? Are they trying to get Bond drunk? Isn't the first rule of getting someone drunk to make sure they drink more than you do? Are they hoping he'll take advantage of them when they're knocked out and unconscious? Not that James Bond wouldn't do such a thing, but surely you need to have the secret self-destruct codes for the World-Splitter Missile tattooed on your labia or something for him to even bother. Right? I'm thinking they skipped a chapter in James Bond for Dummies.

Soon, our hero is the only one left standing. He shares my bemused "that'll happen, sure" expression, as we both take our leave of the group. He's got one advantage over me, though, because as he repairs back to his room, he takes a moment to pilfer the quart of whiskey, AKA the "tappet hen of usquabae" off the table. Smart thinking, James. I know you'll need it.