The Living Daylights (1987) There is a fairly vocal body of opinion that regards Timothy Dalton as the zenith of 007s. He was the Bond who got back to the basics – or, even, found those basics – of what Ian Fleming’s character was all about, discarding the silliness that infected later Sean Connerys and most of the Roger Moores. This was a Bond who took being James Bond seriously, and would never, ever, be seen with a duck on his head or donning clown make-up. I have some sympathy with the desire to see an iconic character resemble his original devising; I'm as prone to reacting that way with certain books or properties. But I’m not an aficionado of Fleming’s novels, so my allegiances extend only as far as whatever makes an entertaining Bond movie. And on that score, unfortunately, I find Dalton a bit of a washout. The Living Daylights isn’t a bad Bond movie – it’s one of the better ‘80s entries – but its lead actor never seems very comfortable. Ironically, he would pro