Everyone knows You Only Live Twice; if not from the film itself then from cliché and Austin Powers. It’s the one with the hollowed-out-volcano base; the scarred villain with the cat; a piranha pool to dispose of failed lackeys… If the first three films defined James Bond, this one defines the Bond villain.

Yet for all that, in recent years it seems to have fallen into some kind of disrepute. I used to think it was quite well regarded, but these days you’re more likely to see it as a surprise choice in the lower reaches of “worst Bond films” lists than somewhere in the best-of. Perhaps its the occasionally old-fashioned treatment of the Japanese, at its worst when Bond undergoes implausible plastic surgery to become ‘one of them’ — an implausible, slightly caricatured one at that. Hey, it could’ve been a lot worse.

For me, it’s a minor point in a sea of positives. There’s Little Nellie, which may look silly but features in one of the series’ most thrilling action sequences — and, like the jetpack in Thunderball, it’s real! There’s a fabulous array of gadgets, from the X-rays checking Bond out when he goes undercover, to the helicopter that can pick up a car and drop it in the ocean. There’s that rooftop chase, where the camera just keeps pulling back and back and back to reveal the action. There’s Charles Gray’s cameo-sized but memorable role as MI6’s man in Japan, or Tetsuro Tamba’s loyal and capable Tiger Tanaka — why didn’t they bring him back? He’s better than any Leiter we’ve yet seen.

It’s not perfect. The middle is a bit confused, Connery occasionally lets his boredom with the role show, and it lacks the globetrotting scope of other adventures. But it puts Japan to good use, Connery is Bond, and on either side of the wavering there’s much fun to be had. The climax, in Ken Adam’s impossibly huge set — one of his greatest, and that’s saying something — which fills with explosions and ninjas and all sorts, is still an awe-inspiring achievement today.

I can see that YOLT isn’t perfect, but I don’t have much truck with the complaints against it. It’s not only a defining Bond adventure, it’s one of the most fun and exciting too. It’s not in contention for the series’ best entry, but it’s up there with those right behind.

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

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.