For sheer entertainment alone this is a 5/5 but it’s suffused with added value because of its influence on its 007 progeny. More so than Dr. No (1962), this is the prototypical Bond, all the ingredients coalescing but not at the expense of plot or pacing. It’s a Bond 101, and few subsequent entries have been up to scratch.
Stunning vistas, flawlessly executed set pieces, it’s at its core a glorious spy thriller with intentional, which always helps when the jokes are not by accident, comedic elements that aren’t too outlandish. Even a scene as basic as Bond checking into a hotel and casually scouring the room for listening devices somehow dazzles.
And Lotte Lenya whacks Robert Shaw in the stomach with a knuckleduster.
The Jason Bourne films coupled with a mighty dose of political correctness defeated the James Bond films. The rot began at the beginning of the noughties with the near-simultaneous release of The Bourne Identity (2002) and Die Another Day (2002). The former was an ascetic, bare-boned spy thriller sans gadgets and one-liners; the last Pierce Brosnan outing was a Roger Moore movie on steroids. And with an invisible car.
Die Another Day, a 40-year anniversary Bond replete with references to previous episodes in the franchise, riled the critics to no end; even today it’s deemed the ‘Worst Bond ever’ etc. The thing is, it’s not that bad. Bond has always been ludicrous, and that’s the appeal. Roger Moore knew this so played to the gallery. He’s impossible to kill and every shady fucker knows who he is the minute he checks into a hotel.
The custodians of Bond looked at this new gritty Bourne phenomenon and had a lightbulb moment. They did away with the special effects and made Bond a well-dressed Matt Damon – humourless, dour, and more boring than Matt Damon, who incidentally isn’t boring. The whole point of Bond is that he’s meant to be impervious to change, an anachronism spanning developments in the cultural landscape. These days he drinks Heineken, is the subject of psychoanalysis sessions at MI6, and proclaims he doesn’t give a damn if his voddy martini is shaken or stirred. And apparently Generation Snowflake think it would be more inviting if Bond were a woman.
I’d also like to add that Skyfall (2012) is an absolute howler of a movie. It’s as exciting as unblocking a toilet. To top this off the third act descends into a minimalist Home Alone (1990) set in the Scottish Highlands. Bond is fucked. Bring back the gadgets.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 