Thanks to the recession and the subsequent collapse of Woolworths, I have been working my way through a stack of old Bond DVDs like Mr Broccoli himself.
And, you know, when it comes to it there are great films and then there are Bond films.
Casino Royale and the subsequent Quantum of Solace were great action films (and no amount of idiotic whinging by critics like Kermode that QoS was ‘too complicated’ and ‘too Bourne’ will convince me otherwise). Thunderball, Live and Let Die and Goldfinger are Bond films. And never the twain shall meet.
Bond, before his psychodynamic-inflected incarnation at the hands of Daniel Craig and the gang, was a big old bundle of misogyny, racist fancy dress and buttock clenchingly naff one-liners.
Moore seems to focus on the sex, Connery on the fighting, which is no surprise seeing as Connery was built like a brick shithouse when most of Britain was still trying to unbend their rickety knees after wartime rationing.
Of course as I child I loved Roger Moore. I thought his quips were hilarious – “sheer magnetism darling” as he uses his powerful magnetic watch to undo the dress of yet another fawning, soon to be dead Bond girl. But then again, I thought Yellow Submarine was a great Beatles song. You can’t hold an eight-year-old to account for their sense of taste.
After having watched them all again in close proximity, mixing up eras like a veritable Fanny Cradock of the DVD player, you begin to see a pattern. In cycles, the pantomime gives way to a new age of ‘realism’ and ‘drama’.
The roll call of baddies is also an interesting reflection of the contemporary international relations. The voodoo conspiracy of Live and Let Die is horrifically racist.
In 1967 we see the Cold War fought out in the stratosphere (only for it to be revealed that it’s not the Russians we should be worried about, but deranged criminal masterminds living in volcanoes). And 1965’s Thunderball has a secret pact of hidden evil doers clandestinely plotting to destroy the world – if only they didn’t all wear inscribed rings to give them away, duh!
In comparison to all this tomfoolery, I think Quantum of Solace is a breathtaking bit of cinema. The high drama and beauty of the opera scene, the startling reference to Diana Rigg, the fact that not all the women die – it’s enough to make Odd Job crush his nuts.
