There is, I think, a degree of consensus amongst Bond fans (both serious and casual) about a great number of things. Everyone has their personal favourites and dislikes that go against the norm, of course, but there are few things that are genuinely divisive on a large scale. It’s largely accepted that Goldfinger is the distillation of The Bond Formula, for instance; or that any new Bond is judged against the yardstick of Connery; that On Her Majesty’s Secret Service is one of the better films, but long-maligned for its re-cast/miscast lead; that Moore was too old by the end; that GoldenEye was a great re-invention of the franchise; that Casino Royale was the same for a decade later; that Moonraker and Die Another Day and Quantum of Solace are rubbish; and so on. But nonetheless, a couple of things do generate a split of opinion — how good (or not) were Timothy Dalton and his films, for example. This is where I’d place Thunderball.

Adjusted for inflation, Thunderball is still the highest grossing Bond film of all time. It’s where the Bond phenomenon really kicked in. Popularity and success had built across the previous three films, reaching an unexpected fervour during the release of Goldfinger (just look at some of the footage of crowds at premieres on the DVD/Blu-ray), but Thunderball was something else again. Here the series gets big in every way, and obviously so: on screen, it’s in luscious 2.35:1, as opposed to the more TV-ish 1.66:1 of the previous films; there’s an awful lot of grand, expensive-looking underwater stunt work; and it’s relatively long too, the first Bond to pass two hours (and, even in the nicest possible way, it feels it). Accompanying it was an array of merchandising that, at least as I understand it, wouldn’t be seen again for years (these days it’s par for the course, kicked off by Star Wars, but could Lucas’ insistence on retaining and exploiting those rights have been inspired by earlier stuff such as this? I’ve no idea; some Star Wars fan might). The legacy of this is that some people absolutely adore Thunderball, especially if they’re of the generation who saw it on release.

Over time, this reputation has dwindled. This is all anecdotal, but it seems to appear less often at the top of lists, retrospective review scores seem to be lower, and so on. Personally, I’ve never liked it. My draft review from last time I watched it (around 2006) notes the “numerous faults: Bond ridiculously stumbles upon the plot while on holiday, the sped-up fight sequences, a fair bit of pointless running around, villains not nearly as menacing as those encountered before… There’s also something slightly undefinable that’s suddenly missing — it doesn’t have that same (for want of a better word) magic that the films before and after it do.” There’s also the never-ending climactic underwater battle, which I can’t believe I didn’t mention.

Well, to cut to the chase, and much to my surprise, this time I actually enjoyed Thunderball rather a lot. I still think it’s the weakest Bond to date, and I could add even more flaws to the above list — its bloated running time, partly the fault of a meandering story in need of tightening and streamlining, and so on — but if you just accept a few of those, allow them to wash over you as it were, then it’s quite good fun. For all its flaws, it’s also packed with brilliant moments: the scene at the Kiss Kiss Club is arguably the best-directed bit in the series to date, and remains one of my favourite moments from any Bond; then there’s the jet pack, indeed the whole opening titles; almost any scene between Bond and one of the numerous females; “I think he got the point”; Domino’s (first) swimming costume… Um, where was I?

Thunderball is never going to be my favourite Bond, or even my favourite of the Connerys; but rather than battling with Diamonds are Forever for which is his worst, it’s now contending with Dr. No for which is highest in the middle. That is, from my point of view, a pretty big shift.

Reviewed as part of an overview of the Bond movies. For more, see here.

It’s long been held as a truism that, though it’s the third film, Goldfinger really defined ‘the Bond formula’; and I’ve long argued against that, pointing to the elements that were ready-to-go in Dr. No and added by From Russia with Love. While that’s not untrue, it’s fair to say that Goldfinger is the Bond formula distilled: the previous two films may have debuted many key ingredients, but it’s Goldfinger that adds the finishing touches and perfects the recipe.

It’s also where the Bond phenomenon began to kick in, reaching its height with Thunderball the year after, and has oft been cited as The Greatest Bond Film — meaning there have been more than enough words written about it (whole books, I’ve no doubt) down the years. What little can I add? Not much, I’m sure, but reiterate what you already know. So instead I’ll say this: Goldfinger isn’t my favourite Bond film. I didn’t even like it that much last time I watched it (the running best-of list I was compiling last time I watched all the Bond films ranks it below three other Connerys), probably due to the constant high expectation placed upon it. My draft review called it “less than the sum of its parts”. Now, I think that’s a bit harsh.

However, I did also note that “those parts are mostly so excellent that its still a greatly entertaining film, and, I’m sure, not undeserving of the adulation lavished upon it by so many”, and that’s certainly true. You only have to list bits to bring back fond memories: the pre-titles (filled with multiple memorable moments, even if it’s completely unrelated to the rest of the story); the title song; the title sequence (by Robert Brownjohn, not Maurice Binder); the gold-painted girl; the gold game; Oddjob and the statue; the Q scene (despite Goldfinger’s Q-branch-tour being the archetype, it’s not repeated in a similar manner for decades); the gadget-laden car; the stunning Swiss locations; “no Mr Bond, I expect you to die”; Pussy Galore; the epic raid on Fort Knox; Oddjob and the electricity; the clock stopping at 007; Goldfinger being sucked out of the plane; hiding from rescue in the life raft… That’s quite a haul. Even the less feasible bits, like the cardboard-cut-out gangsters, have a certain charm.

I’d forgotten just how funny it is too. That’s part of ‘the Bond formula’, of course, and it is present in Connery’s first two films. There, however, it’s more akin to the Daniel Craig era: just flashes of wit and sarcasm; but Goldfinger is where it’s really defined — and in the right balance, unlike some later entries. Although Russia debuts a couple of them, this is really where the famous Bond puns make their mark (“Shocking. Positively shocking.”); but not only those, because there’s a scattering of general humour too. After Bond’s attempted escape at Auric Stud, the roomful of henchmen guarding him, revealed by Hamilton through a slow camera move, has always been one of my favourite gags in the series.

If you think about it too much then the plot is like a machine-gunned windscreen — spattered with holes. But they’re mostly minor niggles rather than glaring errors, and it’s more than covered by the fun you’re having. There are several films that would contend the top spot on my list of Favourite Bond Films and Goldfinger probably isn’t one of them, but that’s a personal thing and it’s surely destined for at least the top ten.

Reviewed as part of an overview of the Bond movies. For more, see here.

If Dr. No gives the impression that the cinematic James Bond was born almost fully formed, then its sequel stands in stark contrast: with hindsight, it’s hard to avoid the fact that, for great swathes of its running time, From Russia With Love doesn’t feel that much like A James Bond Film. And yet it is nonetheless one of Fleming’s best novels turned into one of the series’ absolute best movies.

Uncommonly, it’s a very faithful rendition of the book. That makes it a Cold War spy thriller, albeit one with fantastical touches — it switches the novel’s Russian villains for Blofeld’s independent SPECTRE organisation, which is duping both the Brits and Ruskies. Mostly, though, it feels remarkably plausible. Sequences like the theft of a decoding machine from the Russian consulate, or the famous confined train carriage fight with Red Grant, have real-world heft rather than typical Bond action sequence fantasticism. With the Daniel Craig era (and Timothy Dalton, if only in retrospect for many) the franchise’s later years have shown it has room for both.

Indeed, those who note Craig’s general toughness undercut with the odd sliver of wit or sarcasm would do well to take another look at films like this one. At this early stage Connery’s Bond can be cold and calculating, as in the sniper-ish assassination of a Russian agent, or the previous film’s wait for Dent. He even slaps a woman. She’s drugged so perhaps it’s not entirely uncalled for, especially by the era’s standards, but it still strikes the viewer. Plus he’s not throwing out puns at every opportunity, or quipping with every particularly notable dispatch of a villain, but instead tosses the odd line or even just glance. There’s a direct line between this and the Craig films, neither of which seemly hugely similar to the more comical Moore (or even Brosnan) era.

In terms of the franchise’s development, FRWL does offer us the pre-titles action scene. Not scripted as such, but moved in the edit for effect, it was producer Harry Saltzman’s idea to kill off the hero in the opening minutes. Even when you know what’s going on, it’s still an impactful sequence. It segues wonderfully into Robert Brownjohn’s title sequence, with the credits projected onto close-ups of gyrating half-naked women. They have some relevance to the film itself rather than being wholly gratuitous (see the gypsy camp scene), but between this and his similar work on Goldfinger, Brownjohn’s significance to the familiar style of the Bond title sequence is perhaps understated. These aren’t the silhouettes and complex visual choreography of Binder’s even more distinctive work, but it’s a step in that direction from the flowing dots of Dr. No.

At times in the series’ past, From Russia With Love has been overlooked as an anomaly; a serious-minded stumbling block in the series throughline of outlandishness that leads directly from Dr. No to Goldfinger to hollowed out volcanoes in You Only Live Twice and the daftness that characterised so much of the Moore years. Recently, it’s garnered appreciation, both as not that much of a sore thumb and as an exceptional film in its own right. It’s well-deserved, because on any level this is one of the absolute best the series has to offer.

Reviewed as part of an overview of the Bond movies. For more, see here.

“Bond. James Bond.”

It’s a line we’re all over-familiar with now, almost to the point of cliché (which is why it’s largely been dropped from the Craig-era reboot), but it became that way because of the moment, precisely eight minutes in to Dr. No, when it’s uttered on screen for the very first time. (Wouldn’t it have been good if they’d managed to place it at exactly seven minutes?) Sean Connery reportedly spent a whole morning fluffing the line before, in true Scottish style, having a large stiff drink at lunch and then nailing it in one. But credit for the moment’s impact is at least as much due to director Terence Young, keeping Connery’s face off screen to the point of absurdity, delaying the reveal through a lengthy stretch of card game, until Sylvia Trench asks her simple question, and suddenly there he is, cigarette hanging from his lip, the now-famous theme bursting onto the soundtrack… It’s a moment that is built to be iconic, and my how it succeeded!

But that’s how an awful lot of Dr. No is constructed. Witness the posters — “the first James Bond film adventure!” Who would dare make such a claim today? Imagine if they tried putting that on John Carter, say — and that’s precisely why they don’t. The Bond series wouldn’t become the phenomenon we know until Goldfinger, a hit that’s also largely credited with defining the formula, and Thunderball, a genuine global mega-hit of epic proportions. Yet for that received wisdom about Goldfinger, ever so much of the familiar Bond recipe is here from the off: the gun barrel sequence, a dramatic pre-titles (albeit post-titles here), the music-driven silhouetted-girls-filled title sequence (even if they’re clothed here), Bond’s casual attitude towards women, his dry humour, his relationships with M and Moneypenny, his detective skills, his fighting skills, his driving skills, the megalomaniac villain, his extravagant lair, and of course the Bond girls — indeed, for all of the fame of Goldfinger’s gold-covered beauty on the bed, Honey emerging from the ocean is still the most iconic Bond girl of them all. And I imagine there’s more I’ve neglected to include.

As a film, Dr No could come off as a funny old mix. It starts off as a fairly straight spy thriller, but gradually slips in some more extreme elements until, captured on the titular villain’s island, it goes all-out ’60s pulp sci-fi — an underground base, hewn from rock, linked with huge metallic doors or Star Trek-esque sliding numbers, lit with a purple glow; vast angular rooms housing nuclear equipment and sundry other faux-scientific gadgetry… I don’t know if Ken Adams’ set defined this iconography or were born of it, but think of ’60s futurism and the design work in Dr No’s lair is what will come to mind.

The other advantage Dr. No has is its as-yet-undefined Bond. So there’s fewer puns, but instead wit and sarcasm. He’s more ruthless, too: for my money, the sequence where he sets himself up in Miss Kano’s house to wait patiently for the arrival of Dent, then dispatches him with a combination of preparation (“that’s a Smith & Wesson, and you’ve had your six”) and an arguably-unnecessary second shot, just to be sure, is amongst the series’ finest depictions of the reality behind Bond’s line of work. Plus, freed from the need to constantly Do Bond-Like Things, we get some solid detective work from our hero, rather than just turning up and saving the day. To put it another way, there’s a mystery and a story, not just a series of set pieces.

It’s often overshadowed by the film’s that follow it, and not without reason (as we’ll see in a minute, From Russia With Love is a fine Cold War spy thriller in its own right, and Goldfinger does refine the formula to a repeatable point), but it would be wrong to ignore Dr. No. It’s not yet quite the typical Bond movie, but it’s close enough that the casual observer wouldn’t notice, and it’s an exciting, fun beginning to a franchise.

Screenwriter Wolf Mankowitz took his name off the film when he saw the dailies, fearing a huge flop; but, as history has shown, whoever came up with the poster’s tagline was closer to the mark.

Reviewed as part of an overview of the Bond movies. For more, see here.