The Woman Behind the Golden Image

Mar­garet Nolan’s image is immor­tal­ized in one of the most icon­ic sequences in cin­e­ma history—the glis­ten­ing, gold-paint­ed body in the open­ing cred­its of Goldfin­ger (1964). But behind that daz­zling fig­ure was a woman of remark­able depth, humor, and resilience. Often pigeon­holed by her looks, Nolan forged a unique and qui­et­ly defi­ant path through British film, tele­vi­sion, and visu­al art. Her life is a tale not just of fame and glam­our, but also of sub­ver­sion, rein­ven­tion, and a fight for iden­ti­ty in an indus­try obsessed with image.

Mar­garet Ann Nolan was born on Octo­ber 29, 1943, in Hamp­stead, Lon­don, dur­ing the Sec­ond World War. Her father, an Army clerk, and her Irish moth­er raised Mar­garet between Eng­land and Water­ford, Ire­land, before she returned to Lon­don as a young teenag­er. Nolan trained as a teacher but grav­i­tat­ed toward mod­el­ing and act­ing in the ear­ly 1960s. With her stat­uesque fig­ure, blonde hair, and sul­try looks, she quick­ly became a sta­ple in glam­our pho­tog­ra­phy and British pop cul­ture.

Her mod­el­ing alias, Vicky Kennedy, gave her ear­ly expo­sure in pin-up mag­a­zines, where she embraced the sex­u­al­ly lib­er­at­ed spir­it of the Swing­ing Six­ties. But Nolan was nev­er mere­ly con­tent to be objectified—her choic­es often reflect­ed a sense of irony and aware­ness that would become a theme in her lat­er work.

In 1964, Nolan land­ed her most famous assign­ment: the gold-paint­ed woman in the title cred­its and pro­mo­tion­al mate­ri­als for the third James Bond film, Goldfin­ger. While Shirley Eaton played Jill Masterson—the char­ac­ter who dies famous­ly from “skin suf­fo­ca­tion” after being cov­ered in gold paint—it was Nolan’s body that appeared in the title sequence, designed by visu­al artist Robert Brown­john.

Though she had a small act­ing role in the film as Dink, Bond’s masseuse, Nolan’s gold­en sil­hou­ette became a cul­tur­al touch­stone, syn­ony­mous with Bond girl glam­our and 1960s excess. Yet she lat­er expressed mixed feel­ings about the role. In inter­views, she not­ed that her con­tri­bu­tion was often mis­tak­en for Eaton’s and that the noto­ri­ety it brought was both a bless­ing and a lim­i­ta­tion.

Rather than retreat into obscu­ri­ty or type­cast­ing, Nolan embraced the vibrant British com­e­dy scene of the 1960s and 1970s. She became a famil­iar face in the Car­ry On series—a fran­chise of bawdy, slap­stick films that were wild­ly pop­u­lar in the UK. Nolan appeared in six Car­ry On films, includ­ing Car­ry On Cow­boy (1965), Car­ry On Hen­ry (1971), and Car­ry On Girls (1973), often play­ing cur­va­ceous bomb­shells or saucy sec­re­taries.

Her appear­ances were always infused with a cheeky know­ing­ness. She brought a sense of com­ic tim­ing and aware­ness to roles that might have been flat or pure­ly dec­o­ra­tive in oth­er hands. Though the films were often dis­missed as low­brow, they remain a cru­cial part of Britain’s comedic heritage—and Nolan’s con­tri­bu­tions were far from insignif­i­cant.

Nolan was also a reg­u­lar on British tele­vi­sion through­out the 1970s and 1980s. She had roles in series like Step­toe and SonThe SweeneyCrown Court, and Budgie. She also worked in the­ater, which allowed her to stretch her act­ing chops beyond the stereo­types she was often assigned on screen.

Despite the play­ful sex-sym­bol image, Nolan was deeply thought­ful about her craft and the industry’s lim­i­ta­tions. She grad­u­al­ly with­drew from act­ing in the 1980s, frus­trat­ed by the lack of sub­stan­tial roles for women who didn’t fit the nar­row mold of youth and beau­ty.