James Bond
007 Ranked
Welcome to a rundown of 007's greatest, and not so greatest, hits. If you agree, disagree, or believe that, like Kanaga, I have an inflated opinion of myself, let me know in the comments. Oh, and the title quote is, of course, from The Man with the Golden Gun, M's response to Bond asking, "who would pay a million dollars to have me killed?"
24. Die
Another Day
(2002)
An
inglorious 40th birthday celebration for 007, as Pierce Brosnan’s last bow topples into a death plunge of
hideous CGI and wearisome action sequences. For all that, the first half is
actually quite decent, with Bond captured, incarcerated and tortured
pre-credits and during the titles (you know, for acting), an enjoyable jaunt to
Cuba and a vigorously OTT sword fight with villain Gustav Graves.
The North
Koreans are the bad guys yet they aren’t even allowed unchaperoned villainy,
led as they are by Toby Stephens’ white-washed, DNA-restructured and Anglicised
Tan-Sun Moon. Unfortunately, the character and performance are ridiculous
without being fun with it. Halle Berry is so lacking in presence (introductory
scene aside) as Jinx Johnson (what?!), it’s mystifying a spin-off was ever
seriously considered, but Rosamund Pike is actually pretty great (it would only
take her another decade to be duly celebrated, though). There’s also Madge on
instantly-dated song duties (and in an instantly ripe cameo) to contend with and
Lee Tamahori’s thunderously distracting direction. It’s fairly typical of the
series that, when the producers finally recognise Bond needs a stylistic shot in the arm, they look in completely the
wrong direction. Cue jarringly awful slow motion and speed ramping. And the
CGI. CGI planes, invisible CGI cars, CGI surfing of CGI waves, CGI satellites
spitting CGI death rays. All of it bad
CGI!
Review: Die Another Day
23.
You
Only Live Twice
(1967)
A sluggish,
set-driven mess. Sean Connery would clearly rather be anywhere else, and is
ridiculously turned Japanese (if it was funny, as in self-mocking, that might be something, but there isn’t a
shred of knowingness here).
Lewis
Gilbert is all-at-sea, which suited him better tonally and geographically in The Spy Who Loved Me, as there’s scant
humour to be mined. Only Donald Pleasance makes much impression among the guest
cast (and even then, he’s more memorable in light of Dr Evil than for any
particular wit). Bond looks like a
very tired series with little life left in it at this point. It’s a good thing
change was in the air…
Review: You Only Live Twice
22. Licence
to Kill
(1989)
As with For Your Eyes Only, Licence to Kill has its defenders to the hilt, particularly since
the new dawn of Daniel Graig. It was “ahead of its time” (see Timothy Dalton
generally). You can see why the comparisons are drawn, as Bond gets all moody
and vengeful when poor Felix Leiter has his leg chewed by a shark (forget about
his raped and murdered wife, it’s Felix who matters). Aside from the classic line
“He disagreed with something that ate him”
(a Fleming original) this is mostly a long-winded bust, one even Benicio Del
Toro and Robert Davi’s spirited performances as the bad guys can’t alleviate
(oh, and mentions too for a ludicrously explosive Anthony Zerbe and an amusing
Wayne Newton as a tele-evangelist).
Bond
undercover has potential but, as played out, Davi’s Sanchez is a complete idiot
to even entertain him. The gritty drug cartel plotline, along with Micheal
Kamen’s Die Hard-esque score, is an
ill fit with John Glen’s leaden direction. Carey Lowell (for some reason she
agreed to marry hamster man Richard Gere), meanwhile, is sadly saddled with a
ridiculous jealousy subplot that entirely undermines her character. Bond needed a serious revitalising tonic,
but it be six years before it got medicined.
Review: Licence to Kill
21.
A
View to A Kill
(1985)
A
watery-eyed, post-facelift Roger Moore, knocking 60, doesn’t really seem to
want to be here. Not so surprising, since he’s obliged to share love scenes
with the fearsome Grace Jones; Moore’s autobiography makes it clear the
relationship was as uncomfortable off-screen as on. A View to a Kill goes down better during the first half, when Bond
is idling around with John Steed (Patrick MacNee) and indulging a day at races,
but even then it isn’t up to much.
Christopher
Walken might be perfect casting for a Bond
villain, and he certainly exudes a sense of the oddball as the genetically
modified Max Zorin, but he’s dissipated by a surrounding movie severely lacking
zest and energy, with the more topical elements, Silicon Valley (to be flooded)
and Duran Duran’s (very sprightly) theme song getting dragged down with him.
The worst thing you can level at a Rog Bond
entry is that it isn’t gloriously self-aware, and this one isn’t. Bond on a
blimp on the San Francisco Bridge? Only attempt set pieces if you can make them
look vaguely convincing. And, while Rog’s chemistry with prior leading ladies wasn’t
always a dead cert (Carole Bouquet in For
Your Eyes Only, for example), it looks positively electric when compared to
Tanya Roberts’ Stacey.
Review: A View to a Kill
20.
Quantum
of Solace
(2008)
In some quarters there has been a growing reappraisal of Quantum of Solace; an unfairly maligned
entry, it was laden with the impossible burden of following the
universally-lauded Casino Royale.
Viewed with hindsight, it’s actually a perfectly serviceable Bond revenger. Pay no heed to such
talk. Hindsight reveals it is even worse
than first impressions. Not only is Marc Forster’s ADD direction and editing an
impediment to finding any of the action remotely thrilling, but the plot, what
there is of it (Bond follows the villain around, a villain who wants to control
the water supply in Bolivia, M shows up a lot, because that’s what regal Judi
Dench’s M does) is as slim as the running time.
Olga Kurylenko makes for a regressively rescuable Bond girl, equipped with ultra-clichéd
motivation, and Mathieu Almaric an unremarkable villain, particularly when he
resorts to beating on Bond will a metal bar. The entire escapade is frenetic
without being pacy and, for the shortest Bond
film to date, it seems to take an age. A rare bright spot is Gemma Arterton’s
Fields, but, alas, she only shows up for a couple of scenes, while the sterling
Casino Royale supporting cast have
exited by the time we reach the halfway mark.
Review: Quantum of Solace
19.
For
Your Eyes Only
(1981)
Celebrated as Roger Moore’s Bond getting back to basics
after going far too far on his Lewis Gilbert jaunts (this is the same kind of
approach that spawned the likes of Licence
to Kill and Casino Royale,
evidencing the essentially cyclic nature of the series), For Your Eyes Only casts Moore adrift from his moorings, foisting
an unaccustomed and uncomfortably ruthless persona on his 00-quipster.
Bereft of big set pieces, ironically the best is a comedic
jaunt in a 2CV along a Corfu mountain road(s). Elsewhere, Moore must play the
prudish uncle to a waif ice skater (a particularly irksome subplot) and exhibit
negligible rapport with co-star Carole Bouquet. For Your Eyes Only is pedestrian, rather than gritty, and even the
much-vaunted scene where Bond pushes a villain’s car off a cliff (Sir Rog was
reluctant) is lacking when compared with the for-laughs rooftop henchman
holding onto his tie for dear life in The
Spy Who Loved Me. The Sheena Easton tune is quite nice, and Topol is good
value, but Julian Glover makes a so-so villain and the chortlesome final scene,
At Home with the Thatchers, is a
shark-jumping series nadir the previous whacky, anything-goes Moore era antics
would never have stooped to.
Review: For Your Eyes Only
18. The
World is Not Enough
(1999)
Good ideas, muddled execution. The World is Not Enough is the closest Brosnan got to a “serious” Bond movie, what with 007 running around
injured and ruthlessly shooting a woman at point blank range. But it’s a
thoroughly conflicted trifle too. On the
one hand there’s the Patty Hearst-esque Stockholm Syndrome suffering Electra
King (a good, but unsympathetic Sophie Marceau) and a deceptively tricky plot
in which Bond spends most of the first half unwittingly doing exactly what the
villains want. On the other, 007 is paired up with the silliest Bond girl this side of… well, perhaps
ever in Denise Richard’s Christmas Jones, shamelessly named to set up the final
Bond smutty line of the 20th
century, a sadly bog-standard heavy in Robert Carlyle’s Renard, and a
plucked-from-the-headlines premise concerning oil pipelines undone by a nonsense
plan to gain maximum wealth through blowing up a nuclear submarine.
The biggest problem in all this is director Michael Apted,
however, who has zero aptitude for action and leaves whacking great joins and
scant chance of meshing together the first and second unit work. The biggest
positive in this rather broken-backed enterprise is Robbie Coltrane’s Valentine
Zukovsky, who turns out to be a decent kind of rascal, making it the more
glaring that Bond is such a pig to him throughout. Oh, and Desmond Llewellyn
waves a rather touching farewell (Brosnan always had great chemistry with him),
replaced (briefly) by the lazily cast John Cleese.
Review: The World is Not Enough
17. Thunderball
(1965)
The first
time the series falls seriously prey to the more-is-more (and in the latter
’70s, more is more is Moore) approach. I don’t think Eon got the message. A
series of set pieces (some tiresomely elongated; see the sleep-inducing underwater
climax) in search of an involving plot, Thunderball
is frequently very nice to look at but little else. That said, the first
half of the picture isn’t bad at all (something true of several Bond failures), and there are welcome
distractions in the form of Claudine Auger’s Domino and particularly Luciana
Paluzzi as SPECTRE employee Fiona Volpe; she’d have been much better positioned
as the main villain, rather than Adolpho Celi’s Largo.
Memorable
turns too from Philip Locke (Vargas) and Guy Doleman (Count Lippe; Doleman
being best known as Harry Palmer’s concurrent boss Colonel Ross). The end result,
though, is as loud and empty as Tom Jones’ title song. Still, Thunderball was a massive hit, possibly
still the series’ biggest ever globally (inflation adjusted figures are only
available for the US, where it sits at the top of the roost), and so dictated
the approach of many future instalments, alas. It also gave Kevin McClory a
protractedly disputed stake in Bond (Never Say Never Again is not to be found
in this rundown; nor are the David Niven Casino
Royale or Operation Kid Brother
come to that).
Review: Thunderball
16. Dr. No
(1962)
Just
because it’s first, doesn’t mean it’s fantastic. Connery’s debut as Bond is
more satisfying in the opening stages, when it more closely resembles a
traditional spy picture, than when we are introduced to the titular character
and his soon-to-be typically extravagant lair. It’s a fairly no-frills picture,
made on a slim budget but boasting an exotic Jamaica location shoot and an easy
confidence.
The
crippled super villain is a requirement from the off, and his affliction (and
name) is more memorable than the character Joseph Wiseman is required to essay.
Ursula Andress’ remains justifiably the most iconic Bond girl entrance, and Connery himself inhabits his part
magnificently. Much credit is due to Terence Young for influencing both the
Scot’s performance and the series’ template. Also notable for Jack Lord’s Felix
Leiter, the best Leiter until Jeffrey Wright alighted 44 years later.
Review: Dr. No
15. The Living Daylights
(1987)
As noted above, the Dalton era has its staunchest advocates,
claiming him as a trailblazer for the later success of Daniel Craig. Yet he
never appeared entirely comfortable as 007. Indeed, his later riffing on the
character in Looney Tunes: Back in Action is much more estimable than
his two appearances proper. At the time, though, while he failed to capture the
public’s goodwill in the way Roger Moore (abundantly) had, his incarnation was
seen as a much-needed return to the spirit of Fleming following Sir Rog’s
eyebrow raising digressions.
The Living Daylights
did sufficient business to keep the franchise ticking over, while striving for
a more grounded milieu, reminiscent of For
Your Eyes Only six years earlier. An accompanying reinvigorated eye for
action might have served Dalton’s debut better, but direction-wise this is
probably the most satisfying of John Glen’s ‘80s-spanning stint on the
series. While the Afghanistan backdrop
may not have aged as badly as Rambo III’s,
it’s nevertheless determinedly glib and broad-brush. As for the villains
(despite Joe Don Baker’s debut in a Bond
movie), they are wholly forgettable. So too, alas, is Maryam D’Abo’s chaste, anodyne,
AIDS era Bond girl. Like A View to a Kill, the boy band pop of
A-ha’s title song suggests an up-to-date sensibility the actual movie can’t
match, but this isn’t a bad effort, all told.
Review: The Living Daylights
14. Tomorrow Never Dies
(1997)
Brosnan’s
second serving is a tad underrated, probably because it can too easily be
mistaken for any old ‘90s action movie. If Tomorrow
Never Dies doesn’t quite squander the potential of the best premise for a “classic”
Bond villain since the ‘70s (media
baron Elliot Carver is much better on paper than as portrayed by Jonathan Pryce,
in full mugging mode), it doesn’t get the most out of it either.
But the
mid-section of the picture nevertheless boasts strong action beats courtesy of
journeyman Roger Spottiswoode, including a sterling Propellerheads-fuelled
remote-controlled car park chase, a motorbike versus helicopter altercation,
and, best of all, Bond’s confrontation with Herr Doctor, played by Vincent
Sciavelli. Also on board is Michelle Yeoh as Brosnan’s most complementary Bond girl, kick-ass and with a sense of
humour to boot.
Review: Tomorrow Never Dies
13. Skyfall
(2012)
Perhaps the
adulation and phenomenal success of Skyfall
was bound to crumb-oh. I didn’t quite get the raves in the first place, to be
honest; as a critic of Judi Dench’s increasingly omni-present M, this movie, The Bond and M Show, or Stop! Or My M will Make Dreadful Jokes About
the Ejector Seat, is too indebted to her misplaced importance in the
series. Consequently, villain Silva (Javier Bardem) is granted only a couple of
scenes of preening before being reduced to standard-issue villainy, with a
scheme heavily influenced by The World is
Not Enough. So most of what is good here comes from the stylistic
pretentions of Oscar-winning Sam Mendes, hardly an auteur when it comes to
action but, helped along by cinematographer Roger Deakins, delivering by far
the best-looking Bond movie, which in
a paper-thin franchise like this counts for a surprising lot.
The embrace
of Bond iconography after two movies
staunchly resisting such things is only a partial success, with the new Q and M
both well-conceived. But, for a picture attempting to be self-aware and
progressive, it’s afflicted by a heavy dose of dubious sexism (Bond shagging a
sex slave, Moneypenny consigned to a desk job, ‘cos fieldwork’s too tough for a
silly woman); perhaps Goldeneye’s
blundering address of such series tropes wasn’t such a bum move after all, if a
director with Mendes’ rep can allow them to creep in so easily.
Review: Skyfall
12. Spectre
(2015)
Who’d have
thought, after nigh-on a decade of tracking down the elusive and mysterious
Quantum organisation, the author of all Bond’s pain would turn out to be
Christoph Waltz. Cuckoo! If Waltz’s Blofeld is a fizzle, and the childhood
backstory an unnecessary encumbrance, Spectre
is refreshingly old-school in its lack of obeisance to Bond’s pain, torment
etc. All the things that have informed the post-Dalton era, to a greater or
lesser degree, basically.
The
downside is a mismatch of tone and content, the arch villainy of Spectre refusing
to ally itself with Craig’s down-to-earth Bond and the ungainly desire from
Mendes, thrust into the most conservative and reactionary of series for the
sake of a pay cheque, to comment on important issues such as the surveillance
state. A disappointment in the eyes of many, but they tended to worship the
preceding entry.
Review: Spectre
11. Octopussy
(1983)
Roger Moore
wearing a clown suit. What’s not to like here? Admittedly, I used to hold this
penultimate Moore excursion in slightly higher esteem; in the cold light of day,
the Octopussy plotline is a bit of a damp squib. On the other hand, Octopussy features one of the best Bond songs (albeit perhaps only in my
mind) and, if the finale is standard fare, it’s preceded by a first-class
countdown race against time (cue the aforementioned clown suit). Plus, there’s
Steven Berkoff, spitting scenery with every exhalation.
Moore’s
‘80s efforts definitely saw him looking the worse for years, but this is the
noble exception and, if the flippancy never reaches The Spy Who Love Me/ Moonraker
levels, Bond swinging on a vine accompanied by a Tarzan holler is irresistible.
And let’s hear it for the double-taking camel.
Review: Octopussy
10. The Man with the Golden Gun
(1974)
Moore’s second
adventure, and the end of his “early period”. The result is ever-so-slightly
run-of-the-mill (bring on Pepper again, why don’t you, boy?), but hugely boosted by a charming and sophisticated
performance from Christopher Lee and Britt Ekland’s inept eye candy turn as
Agent Goodnight.
Bond is fully embroiled in fantasyland by this
point, with cartoonish henchmen (Nick Nack), flying cars (both literally, and
in terms of impressive stunt work) and an exotic, hi-tech island paradise
(since an over-indulged tourist attraction). If Lee’s Francisco Scaramanga
never quite becomes the mirror of Bond as devised, there’s a winning vibe of
iconic ‘70s presences at loggerheads here that makes The Man with the Golden Gun one of the defining Moore entries. On
the minus side, Lulu’s theme song is akin to being beaten about the head with a
breezeblock. Or a Nick Nack.
Review: The Man with the Golden Gun
9. Goldeneye
(1995)
If Martin
Campbell’s first exercise in reinvigorating Bond
isn’t on a par with his second, it’s still nothing to be sneezed at. As with
the Craig era, Brosnan’s best came first, in a sprightly post-Soviet tale that expressly
expunges all trace of the Dalton double (it begins in 1986) and takes in a
hugely impressive opening leap, a St Petersburg tank chase and the first
appearance by Dame Judi Dench’s ubiquitous incarnation of M.
Eric
Serra’s score is divisive, and Sean Bean manages to be one of the least notable
Bond villains (like a fine wine, or
more aptly an earthy ale, he became richer and more rounded with age), but, as
per Casino Royale, the supporting
cast are, in the main, exceptionally well chosen (Robbie Coltrane, Joe Don
Baker, Famke Janssen), the titles provide a necessary upgrade on the tired
Maurice Binder efforts, and the picture is shot through with a kineticism sadly
lacking from the John Glen’s ‘80s output.
Review: Goldeneye
8. Live and Let Die
(1973)
Roger
Moore’s debut, embracing Blaxploitation movies and dressing 007 in some very ‘70s fashions. It’s the
incongruity, in part, that makes the whole so appealing. Highly formulaic in
some respects, quite unusual in others (the supernatural element), Moore enters
the scene like he’s been playing the part for years (because, with The Saint and The Persuaders, he pretty much had).
Jane
Seymour is at her most comely and a whole two decades shy of the TV doldrums of
Dr. Quinn, but Solitaire is easily the
least autonomous Bond girl up to that
point. Moore’s penchant for adlibs (“Butter
hook”) works better than some of the scripted laughs (the character of
Sheriff Pepper is one long, overlong, equivalent of a fart gag). McCartney’s
theme song is marvellously overblown. In some respects, this is still the
coolest Bond movie, even if it’s some
way from the best.
Review: Live and Let Die
7. From Russia with Love
(1963)
The second Bond, and the last time (for a while at
least) a tight budget would dictate content. The result is as economical and
crisp as the series gets. Robert Shaw’s Red Grant is the ultimate brawny match
for Connery’s brawny 007, and having him shadow the British spy, one step
ahead, until the classic train dust-up is a smart move that puts our agent on a
back foot. The fight itself is enthrallingly visceral.
Lotte Lenya
makes a highly memorable henchwoman as Rosa Klebb (Frau Farbissina, anyone?),
equipped with determination, endurance, and a poisoned toe-spike, but Daniela
Bianchi, for such a suggestive title, is one of the least memorable Bond girls.
Review: From Russia with Love
6.
Moonraker
(1979)
For some,
the nadir of the series. Bond in space! Jaws attempting to fly, set to comedy music, before landing in a circus big top! A double-taking pigeon! It’s difficult to
understand this one being vilified and The
Spy Who Loved Me being garlanded, however; they’re very much companion
pieces, to the extent that they have virtually the same plot, and Moore’s at
his arch best up squared off against Michael Lonsdale’s underrated Drax (definitely
in the upper pantheon of Bond
villains).
If Lois
Chiles’ Holly Goodhead is merely adequate (surname apart), Jaws’ pig-tailed
cutie Blanche Ravalec offers that most peculiarly loveable of henchmen a
strangely touching send-off. The post-Star
Wars cash-in (albeit with impressively old school effects) finale is
laser-zap at its best. Perhaps the least
illustrious thing here is wheeling Shirley Bassey back out for a non-descript
title song.
Review: Moonraker
5. The
Spy Who Loved Me
(1977)
Very much
in the mould of the modern Bond film,
where set piece leads to set piece leads to set piece. In that respect, The Spy Who Loved Me is merely picking up
where the overblown mid-60s Connerys (Thunderball
and You Only Live Twice) left off. Whether this was creatively advisable or not
is another becomes irrelevant in the face of how much money the picture made.
And
besides, the series now had an additional weapon in its arsenal; overt, even
postmodern, humour. Richard Kiel’s Jaws delivers an imposing but pronouncedly
comedic villain, Moore is ladled whole scenes based around his schoolboy wit (Egyptian
builders and women drivers) and there’s a lightness of touch that feels fresh and
different, even for a series which had spent the decade to that point going fairly
broad anyway (but nothing on the level of the Lawrence of Arabia theme).
The grand villainy
of (the somewhat indifferent) Stromberg (Curd Jürgens)
contrasts with a post-SPECTRE interest in real-world Russkies, hence the title
and Bond bonking his way to détente (Barbarba Bach, Mrs Ringo Starr, makes a
much better Bond girl than she does a
believable Russian agent). Elsewhere, Marvin Hamlisch delivers a Bond-disco-a-go-go score, while director
Lewis Gilbert is completely on board with the goofy tone. Just don’t expect him
to get action sequences “just so”. Alas, he comes as unstuck with the
show-stopping enormity of the fireworks finale as he did previously in You Only Live Twice (that said, there’s
a marvellous slapstick fight with Jaws on a train).
Review: The Spy Who Loved Me
4. Casino
Royale
(2006)
On one
level, it’s slightly galling to have to admit that a reboot resulting directly
from the Bond producers getting cold
feet over the direction of the franchise, which entailed looking over their
shoulders to Jason Bourne for (lack of) inspiration, led to such a vital shot
in the arm. Well, for one movie anyway.
Yet so much
is so good here, it’s very difficult to be crabby. Craig in particular, despite
being a bit long in the tooth for a fledging agent (although still fairly
junior as far as post-Moore Bonds go), is an unreconstituted sociopath of a
007, with a sure line in acid wit. Returning director Martin Campbell ensures
the picture is sharp and brutal as far as the action is concerned, and the
plot, through sticking closely to the Fleming novel, is that rare robust winner
for a series so determinedly inflexible in terms of structure. At least, until
the waterlogged finale. Strong support too from an astutely picked supporting
cast, especially Eva Green and Mads Mikkelsen as Bond girl and villain respectively, and one of the very best, if not the best, title sequences.
Review: Casino Royale
3. Goldfinger
(1964)
The one fans
and the public alike extol as a benchmark for quality Bonds. Certainly, the gift that is Gert Fröbe (albeit
dubbed), possibly the Bond baddie par
excellence, keeps on giving, He’s the ultimate scene-stealing villain, escorted
by a soon-to-be-obligatory distinctive henchman (Harold Sakata ensuring Oddjob
remains the Korean adversary of the
series thanks to the risible Die Another
Day). Meanwhile, Connery is still putting in some effort, and Honor Blackman
more than matches him as his believably equal-and-opposite sparring partner.
So how to
countenance the raves with the lack of action and Bond being locked up for half
the running time? That it works, basically, but trying to make Goldfinger some kind of template would have
been asking for trouble (notably, the planned return of Fröbe as Goldfinger’s brother never happened). It helps too that the finale
is really good, of course, since it’s
sadly much more common for the series to fluff them than to fashion them into a
success.
Review: Goldfinger
2. Diamonds
are Forever
(1971)
Connery’s
return for (charity-bound) big bucks is ironically the smallest scale 007 picture since From Russia with Love. The consequence is an emphasis on character
and humour that pre-empts Roger Moore’s incoming era and echoes the more
off-the-wall stylistic conceits of TV’s The
Avengers. Connery may be greying and less-than-svelte, but he seems to be
enjoying himself immensely, which is more than could be said for his two previous Bonds.
The supporting
cast is appealingly larger-than-life, including Charles Gray as the best
Blofeld (in a dress, no less) and gay hit men Mr Wint and Mr Kidd. In theory,
you’d expect the Yankophile tendencies to maroon the series, but the Las Vegas
seediness lends Bond a tawdry reinvigoration.
And brash Tiffany Case could easily have been all wrong, but Jill St. John effortlessly
establishes her as one of the most appealing, resourceful and all-round very
best Bond girls. Added to the mix are deadly henchwomen Bambi
and Thumper, Jimmy Dean as the hugely likeable, Howard Hughes-esque Willard
Whyte and the bizarrely brilliant TV studio Moon landings/Moon buggy sequence. Oh,
and John Barry, fully on board with one of his most playful Bond scores.
Review: Diamonds are Forever
1. On
Her Majesty’s Secret Service
(1969)
George Lazenby’s solo outing is also
the best Bond by some distance. Don’t
listen to those claiming On Her Majesty’s
Secret Service would have been even better with Connery; can you imagine
that heart-breaking final scene, the romance with Tracy (Diana Rigg), or Bond desperate,
vulnerable and alone, delivered by the Scottish titan? No, Lazenby fits the
material perfectly.
Peter Hunt (formerly working on the
series as editor; this was his only Bond
helming credit, alas) directs with flair and energy that still impresses. Telly
Savalas might not be the best Blofeld (see Number Two on the list) but he’s no
slouch, and the non-action interlude at his Swiss allergy research institute is
a breezy highlight, giving Bond detective work to do while beset by a bevvy of
beauties. Which entails him wearing a kilt and being dubbed by George Baker. The
frosted icing on the cake (appropriate given the snowbound setting) is John
Barry’s most glorious Bond score and Louis
Armstrong crooning its most gorgeous song (We
Have All the Time in the World).
Review: On Her Majesty's Secret Service
Comments
Post a comment