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Gary Larson
He created a world entirely populated by the lumpy, the big-nosed, the bespectacled, the bug-eyed and the foofy-haired. Welcome to "The Far Side."
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Nothing Personal
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Nothing Personal
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As a child, I first saw him in films like "Goldfinger" and "From Russia with Love," outfitting James Bond with a slew of fantastic gadgets and weapons -- the Aston Martin with the ejector seat, the lethal briefcase with the hidden knife.

Back then, as an 8-year-old boy in suburban New Jersey, I believed that surely, somehow, somewhere in London, Q existed. He must be real, I told myself. Q and Bond. We needed guys like that to fight the Cold War, didn't we?

Thirty years later, in September 1994, I found myself sitting in an abandoned Rolls Royce jet engine factory, 30 miles north of London, writing the last draft of the James Bond film "Goldeneye."

I'd held the legendary Bond gun, the Walther PPK. I'd taken the Aston Martin for a spin. I'd learned -- to my great amusement -- that Q stood for quartermaster, and that in the scripts, the gadgets and weapons were referred to as Q-toys. But I still hadn't met him.

Then, one October afternoon, Desmond Llewelyn came to our makeshift movie studio for lunch. And, all of a sudden, I was an 8-year-old boy again.

"Yes, I know Q is beloved," Desmond said, with a faint roll of the eyes. "But for God's sake, don't make him some kind of sentimental grandfather -- that's what I am in real life."

"The key to Q is his conflict with Bond," Desmond explained that day at lunch. "When I was cast, the director said, 'Everyone loves Bond, except for you. You hate him. You don't think he appreciates you. Or your equipment. He doesn't respect you. You're always saving his life, and he never says thank you.'"

To illustrate this, Desmond proceeded to replay the famous scene from "Goldfinger," where Q tells Bond about the ejector seat in the Aston Martin. Bond's reaction: "You must be joking," to which Q replies, "I never joke about my work, 007."

Over the years, I would see Desmond in London or L.A., whenever we were in the same city. He became something like the great uncle I always wanted, the one with the fantastic war stories.

He'd wrap his giant hands around a tumbler of Jack Daniels and joke about the burdens of being typecast. He could talk with equal enthusiasm about "Larry" Olivier, with whom he worked in the '30s; about Lara Croft vs. James Bond ("I don't know about you, but the way I see it, Lara Croft is no James Bond") and about the battle of Hastings, which took place near his home in Sussex in 1066.

"Of course I'm fascinated by it," he'd explain, "I was there when it happened."

Contrary to the usual actorly behavior on a movie set (disappearing into your trailer for the 50 minutes between shots), Desmond was a delight on set. He'd remain on the stage the whole day, signing autographs and telling stories.

In fact, shooting Q's scenes was always the highlight of any Bond film. On the days that Desmond worked, the studio became a carnival. What seemed like hundreds of guests would arrive hoping for a glimpse of the two idols, Bond and Q. Ringed with onlookers, the soundstage was all but transformed into theater as even the most blasé grip and technician had made sure to get his son, nephew and uncle a pass onto the set.

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