The end game
OF ALL THE Bond movies, The Man with the Golden Gun was one of the most ludicrous. Filmed 30 years ago in Hong Kong, Macau and Thailand, it featured an assassin with three nipples, his tuxedo-clad dwarf assistant, karate-kicking school girls, a misplaced loudmouth Texan sheriff, a hopeless bimbo and something called a 'solar agitator'. It truly belonged in its day.
Only Austin Powers would get away with it now, such are the changes brought in those past 30 years. The Cold war has thawed, the axis of evil has risen; Bond has been reincarnated twice and, most tellingly of all, his boss is now female.
Attempting to stand firm in this sweeping tide is Tsim Sha Tsui's Bottoms Up, the topless bar in Hankow Road that to this day trades off its bit-part in the movie (despite the fact that the interior was recreated on a London soundstage). Roger Moore may have retired from playing Bond in 1985, but Bottoms Up simply refused to age gracefully, clawing its way through the hard times, shaken but unstirred - until now. The dimly lit circular rooms, velvet curtains and plush loveseats of the city's 'first topless bar' will finally bite the golden bullet at the end of this month.
Yet just as the ever-changing face of Bond matches the times, Bottoms Up is to be reborn in Wan Chai in early May, complete with all the usual refinements as well as a few modern extras - including a big screen for live sports, and possibly a bouncer on the door.
'We'll try to preserve the original layout as much as possible in Wan Chai, as well as some new elements in the club that we want to introduce,' says Vitus, who owns the club with his partner Ivy. 'The basic concept will remain unchanged - the mirrors, the curtains, the furniture. But we want to give the customers more options. Hopefully this will bring in more business.'
He believes there's no future in Tsim Sha Tsui. Whether or not high rent is forcing them out, the fact remains that business is bad. 'It just gets quieter and quieter,' he says as we settle down at one of the club's octangular bars. It's 11pm on a Friday and the place is eerily empty save for two plastered regulars and a portly old businessman, upon whose knee balances a young lady who is just about wearing a see-through top.