Under Neon Loneliness

Four years we've been waiting for Skyfall as MGM crumbled and continued before finally Bond's 50th gets a 23rd film as celebration.  Unfortunately, it's not exactly Christmas.  I wanted to love Skyfall and have been waiting an age for it's release.  Between the restoration of old traditions and the long, lingering camera shots of watches and sunglasses there's something missing.  Bond's tale of self discovery and resurrection is, at times, painfully slow, always threatening to explode but not quite letting off the fireworks.  Having said that the reinvention of Craig's Bond is now complete and the series is aimed at the future whilst aiming maximum respect at it's past.

Skyfall is a celebration of all that has gone before and nods it's head and homages in ways more subtle and nuanced than the fateful 40th anniversary abomination Die Another Day.  From Craig's novel use of a Komodo Dragon to ape Moore through to the signature gun that would make Dalton jealous, Skyfall treads a familiar path within the Bond canon.

Skyfall is a tale of revenge and salvation yet this time it isn't Bond out for revenge set largely against a backdrop of London which makes the capital look glorious in this Olympic year.  Despite the obligatory globe hopping this is a very, very British Bond film.

We begin in Turkey and Bond stumbles across the loss of a laptop hard drive.  A hard drive full to popping with the list of secret agents undercover in terrorist cells.  All very Mission Impossible.  Accompanied by Eve, Bond is off on a slow burning car chase before ending up on a train.  Yes, another incarnation is about to take a turn for the worse on a train.  It seems that Bond will never learn.

Dead again

M's loyalty to the mission sees Eve put in an impossible position but she takes the shot and, not for the first time, an obituary is typed up for Commander James Bond.  Bond's descent into the watery depths begins a credit sequence that is probably the best in the franchise's history.  Adele's inevitable theme hovers above a hall of mirrors that would have made Scaramanga blush.

Bond's death and the loss of the list of agents is soon lost under a pile of bureaucracy as we are introduced to Mallory: Ralph Fiennes' implausibly trousered Whitehall enforcer.  Skyfall begins to open out, it's not going to be a run of the mill Bond film.  This time it's an M film.  In the face of enforced retirement M watches as her world is blown up around her.  Again Millbank is exploded and you wonder if the Tate avoided the shrapnel.  Thankfully, The Clampers are absent this time.  M and MI6 are being personally targeted by a cyber terrorist who obviously watched Jurassic Park.

The dust settling by the Thames is reported by CNN to a fully alive James Bond who has been contemplating life and apparent betrayal whilst playing stinging drinking games by the beach.  In desperate need of a shave Bond bombs back to Blighty and makes himself comfortable in George Smiley's front room (now resident to M.)  Bond's resurrection is hampered by standard procedure which has set about erasing him from history.  All seemingly very easy to do to an orphan with no next of kin.  Will the tearful restauranteurs and underemployed tailors of Bean's Goldeneye tirade really be all that's left?

M puts Bond back to work, but first he has to prove himself and we see the gruelling rebuilding of the secret agent in the gym.  Something that was painfully missing from Bruce Wayne's resurrection in The Dark Knight Rises.  Bond is put back on field duty and dispatched to Shanghai to find his old train companion.  Before he goes he has an appointment with The Doctor, sorry, the new Q.  I miss Desmond now more than ever.

Hunting Replicants and a massive jellyfish

This is where we see Bond for what he really is.  He's not a spy, he's a government hard man getting his hands dirty so politicians don't have to.  This is best seen in the airport as Bond's crap disguise leads him to follow his target up a skyscraper.  Shanghai has been ripped from the celluloid of Bladerunner as Bond stalks the shadows and reflections of an assassination.  The constant neon jellyfish haunting a fight in a glassy prison.  It's surprising Coca Cola didn't insist on their own little chunk of product placement.

The assassin's cryptic payment is a casino chip and we're off to Macao.  Skyfall has been drawn off a palette saturated with colour and the neon noir of Shangai juxtaposes with the seedy vibrancy of Macao almost perfectly.  No Lazar this time but a very seductive Severine.  She looks like a villain but you know deep down that she can't be as she's not ginger even if she does have very, very, pointy nails.

Camp blonde hair and an awesome island shirt

Through Severine we finally meet our villain.  It's been a slow slow-burner so far but now things are looking up.  The villain has his own island! Hurrah!  The spirit of Blofeld rejoice!  Not as impressive as a hollowed out volcano but still, it's a fucking island.

Out-camping the combined efforts of Mr Wind and Mr Kidd Javier Bardem's Silva or Rodriguez arrives via a lift to get all touchy feely with 007.  Silva has the hump with M for seemingly selling him out for being too good at his job.  It's a little hard to swallow such an Hispanic former MI6 agent after the diet of Dalton's Gibraltar, Brosnan and Bean et al.  Silva is captured and taken back to London and it's all a bit too easy.  Enshrined like Heath Ledger playing Hannibal Lecter, Silva finally reveals what M did to him and the perils of a cyanide capsule.  I don't know if cyanide has a best before date but judging by Silva's dental work and Blofeld-esque droop I think it might have.

The film has been building now for a while and we're beginning to feel like we're ready for an explosive finale.  In fact, we're beginning to need one.  Will Silva escape and Bond pursue him to a tropical demise?  No, Q's uber geekiness pops the plastic chamber and Bond lays a trap in Scotland after a suspiciously tame rush hour on the District Line and Silva's grasping assassination attempt in Westminster.

Scotland.

Scotland.  Forgive me for being underwhelmed but I've been brought up on mushroom shaped islands in the Far East and buried satellite dishes in Cuba.  Instead we're about to get a back story for Bond and a very sad ending.  At least the DB5 is back, the ejector seat still intact.  Up on the moors is a lonely old house.  A house called Skyfall.  Bond's ancestral home and lurking in the shadows (inexplicably) is Albert Finney with a shotgun.  Silva is being lured to Skyfall and Bond sets about drawing on his memories of seeing Home Alone to even up the playing field.

Our creaking finale is punctuated by dancing on ice and nail bombs before an attempt at salvation.  Mortally wounded and abandoned M is cradled by Silva who has gone full blown Joker and wants them both to die at an attempt at 'freedom.'  A death last reserved for Rosamund Pike paves the way for a tragic goodbye to Judi Dench.

Cradling M in his arms, Bond cries as he says goodbye to his replacement mother.  The affection he shows for his boss is on a par with Bond's (deliberately tearless) goodbye to Tracy and you feel that maybe he is now irretrievably broken.  All goes dark before we see Bond gazing out over the London skyline, isolated against the landmarks of the country he defends.  Bond is joined by Eve before the most obvious twist in a long time.  The running joke that Eve may be more suited to a desk job is cemented as she is formally introduced.  Perched behind her Sony Vaio it's difficult to see Moneypenny hot desking.  Instead she is the guardian of the man behind those leather cushioned doors.  Having proven himself to Bond earlier as more than just another bureaucrat Mallory assumes the initial and tosses a dossier towards Bond.  Top secret and for 007, now that he's shaken off his case of Brosnan's Shoulder, a new mission.

The reboot is complete and all the true Bondian elements have been restored.  So now, perhaps, we shake off the shackles of Jason Bourne and have a little fun?

James Bond will return and I think I want Quantum to return too.

Hopefully this time the gun barrel will be AT THE BEGINNING.

Fiddler In The Monastery

After the over the top and frankly horrendous Moonraker Bond is returned to his roots.  This is almost a reboot as Bond is stripped bare and we have a film actually driven by plot rather than stunts and gadgets.  For Your Eyes Only is a reinvention, we have new music for the gun barrel and Roger seems to be buying into it.  He doesn't look as tired and disinterested as in Moonraker.  The next Bond reboot, Casino Royale, bears a few similiarities to For Your Eyes Only, both are stories of double cross with hints of revenge.  However, For Your Eyes Only doesn't start too well.

Sheena the Gozerian

Bond visits Tracy, the only reference made to Mrs Bond during Roger's reign, before being interrupted by a soon to be remote controlled helicopter.  It seems Blofeld is back, crippled and soon to be dead once and for all (or not Kevin McClory).  Moore's Bond has never faced Blofeld before and this is a timely, if a little flippant, nod to past glories.  As Blofeld falls away to nothing the warble of Sheena Easton takes over.  The most notable thing about Easton's involvement is her boat race plastered all over the opening titles.

Back to the film proper and we soon find we have an understated, almost subtle Cold War thriller on our hands.  Secrets and Russians abound as we have a naval ship, the St Georges, disguised as a trawler doing a bit of actual spying.  There are no killer freighters hungry for the Royal Navy but an almost humble World War Two mine to provide Great Britain with problems.

This is where we need M, not the bleeding Minister Of Defence.  A mark of respect to the late Bernard Lee but a memo would have been better than Fredrick Gray.  The extent of Gray's conversation seems to be 'Hmmmm'.  It's like his prostate is falring up.  Thank God for good ol' General Gogol.  It's Gogol who lets us know what the Navy were looking after, an ATAC which turns out to be some kind of nuclear submarine walkie talkie.  Quite an important bit of kit and now the Russkis are after it.  Cue Bond.

Or not.  We're off to the Greek Islands first where some posh bit with too much hair is going home to daddy.  It doesn't end well and a long and lazy close up let's us know she's out for revenge.  But will she bleach her upper lip first?  Now it comes together as Bond is tasked with finding a Cuban hitman, shame it's in that bloody Lotus.  It seems the daddy of posh bit (Melina) was a British agent.  This doesn't explain the quite bizarre difference in accents.  Anyway, Bond goes off to find Tony Montana.

There's a Viagra joke in here somewhere

Cunningly dressed as a middle aged man trying to recreate his youth Bond bumps into Melina and her crossbow and loses the Lotus. YES!  This is the first time we've seen Moore's Bond have to think on his feet as in between umbrellas and a very resilient Citroen 2CV he escapes some goons.  A quick lecture for Melina on the perils of vengeance before Bond is headed back off to Blighty.

Seeing that Q pretty much invented LCD TV amongst other things it's a bit odd he still uses a Charles Babbage original.  Despite this, the interplay between Bond and Q this time around is up there with the best and helps Bond identify a bloke from a Tron storyboard as a bad guy.  Target acquired.  And he's Belgian.

Sporting some more dubious leisurewear Bond encounters Ferrara (reprised as Casino Royale's Mathis?) and Kristatos.  Now I don't trust Kristatos.  Anyone spending that much time watching teenage ice skaters is a bit dodgy.  Even if he is sponsoring her.  And he's got a Russian bird in his employ.  Alarm bells should ring loud but Bond is happy to make friends and let Kristatos lay the blame with Colombo.  Thank God Bond didn't make friends with Bibi.  Perhaps Roger put his foot down over the age difference.  Despite later thinking that Bond is from the British Narcotics Board(?) Kristatos sells Bond his story.

Colombo is 'The Dove', a semi legit businessman who munches pistachios and doesn't have a trenchcoat.  The chase for Colombo is manipulated by Kristatos via a biathlon and a needless turn in ice hockey gear before a very awkward dinner with ex Mrs Brosnan.  There was nowhere near enough soft focus and vaseline going on to make her attractive and how she thinks that's a Liverpudlian accent is beyond me.  Our newly promoted director John Glen again reaches back to On Her Majesty's Secret Service as Mrs Brosnan is dispatched rather brutally on the beach.  We've already seen a cosy ride in the snow, a ski chase and a bobsleigh.  Nice to reference your first Bond film every now and then.

My wings may be a shield of steel but they're no match for Topol's hair

 Bond is kidnapped and dragged before a very Drago like Colombo.  It's now that the Fiddler on the Roof tells Bond the truth.  Bond really is getting gullible in his old age, he's buying stories of any Topol, Kristatos and Harry.  Dr Hans Zarkov proves that he is a good guy by taking Bond on a jolly to a drugs factory in Albania.  It seems that Kristatos is, indeed, a KGB'd up bad guy.  Especially when he appears to have a stash of mines like the one that blew up the St Georges.  It's amazing what Topol can do with some nutshells, his improbable hair and a penchant for dressing like a bin man.  He makes Neville Southall look dapper.

Coveted by Bond villains everywhere

The tension (remember that?) builds underwater as Bond goes after the elusive ATAC only to find the bastard Kristatos waiting for him on the surface, it's only dispelled as Moore talks to himself while cutting the ATAC free like a pensioner trying to get a Sky+ box to work.  Don't worry, the bad guys still have their obligatory yellow submarine.  A spot of keel-hauling from the novel of Live And Let Die and a chat with a parrot leads Bond to cracking Kristatos plan.  Yes, that said 'parrot'.  Just be grateful the fucking pigeon hasn't come back.  The tension is ramped up some more as Bond ascends to a remote monastery as Kristatos prepares for victory.  A sequence which Sylvester Stallone managed to turn into an entire film.

For Your Eyes Only sees Bond as gritty and realistic.  Devoid of gadgets Bond becomes the cold killer that we've been missing for ten years.  This is best shown as he says goodbye to the Belgian Lucque with a kick and an acceptable quip.  Bond is proven to be resourceful as the ATAC is lost to both sides.  Detente indeed.

Not only has Bond saved the western world but he's had a good go at rescuing United Artists too.  After their humbling with Heaven's Gate and Kris Kristofferson For Your Eyes Only provided some much needed box office dollar.  Despite this United Artists was swallowed up by MGM and Bond will be represented by a roaring lion from now on.  For Your Eyes Only shows that Bond can be realistic and successful.  Just don't mention Maggie Thatcher.  Hopefully the producers will keep this in mind for the next film.  Oh, wait, Octopussy's up next.

James Bond will return but he'll be doing an impression of Dr Dolittle.

Glang, glang-a-lang-a-lang, glang-a-lang

The most jingoistic titles ever?

Roger's third jaunt is Bond's tenth big screen outing. Except this isn't really a Bond film.  Having flirted with blaxploitation and kung fu in his past two outings Moore is now fully exposed to Carry On.... treatment.  At times this is a nonsensical sequence of set pieces loosely brought together by a tedious game of one upmanship between Moore and Mrs Ringo.  Looking back there's a horrible feeling that Bond is about to get left behind as summer blockbusters really take over.  We've already had Spielberg and Jaws and Lucas is about to spew out part one (four) of the Star Wars saga.

Alan Partridge might extol the virtues of The Spy Who Loved Me but to me it's the turning point for Moore's Bond.  And it's a turn for the worse.

The Spy Who Loved Me is a lighthearted faff around the desert and Europe which is in no ways taxing as Bond pursues the villains who have stolen a submarine tracking system.  If you close your eyes the pre credit sequence is practically a copy of You Only Live Twice. Have Eon and Cubby got so lazy, so quickly?  This, of course, comes before that parachute jump.  Hurtling towards the edge of the cliff you genuinely wonder what Bond will pull out of the bag.  The huge jump is breathtaking but, as now seems customary,  the tension is diffused with a tongue planted firmly in cheek as a massive Union Flag unfurls.  We'll let them off though as Carly Simon belts out a bloody great theme tune.

Right stop listening to Carly, one of our submarines is missing!  So Bond pops on his commanders' uniform and heads for M.  With the help of a roll of cling film, Inspector Wexford and the soon to be exceptionally annoying Minister of Defence, it's established that someone has mastered a way to track nuclear submarines.  Quelle surprise the indications are that the system will be sold to the highest bidder. But what's this? The Russians have lost a nuclear sub as well? Bummer.  Up steps Triple X.  The Russian equivalent of Bond is a lady and it just so happens we've already seen Bond dispatch her uber hairy lover.  It's not long before our competing heroes cross one another's path as they seek out the buyer.  After a run in with Jaws and a sleepy cigarette the two are put on a joint mission.

This is where Bond makes one of his classic mistakes.  He takes the train.  AGAIN.  Will he ever learn?  After From Russia With Love, after Live And Let Die here he is again on a choo choo.  I give it five minutes before it kicks off.  Oh look, Jaws was in the wardrobe (somehow he fit.)  The toothy bastard has hands bigger than Moore's head and yet still ends up out the window.  Nothing like a train based dust up to help Bond do away with foreplay.

We arrive in Sardinia as the pair target Stromberg and meet Q.  Or is it Q?  He's in the field and yet not wearing one of his ludicrous shirts and what's this? A Lotus Esprit?  It had better be decent or I'm going to petition for the Aston Martin.  Now we get into silly season.  The helicopter.  The massive War of the Worlds Martian base Stromberg lives in.  The inexplicable and endless supply of goons appearing from nowhere to chase Bond.  All completely devoid of tension.  Curt Jurgens tries to be menacing and a little sinister as Stromberg but it's hard to look passed the fact he just sits around a lot pressing the odd button.  It's as if he was cast for his voice more than anything else.

Goons submarines have to be yellow. Them's the rules

Turns out the Lotus can swim.  This can mean only one thing.  Baddies in yellow submersibles and a slow motion underwater fight!  Hurrah!  The updating of Thunderball, punctuated by Moore's bizarre 'brace yourself', is all a little tiresome.  Cue amusing drive up the beach.Punter checks his bottle of vino and kids queue up for a fish.  No sign of Mr Whippy just yet.

Mind you, we haven't had the fucking pigeon yet so count your blessings.

In all the splashing about you'd forget there was some espionage going on.  A buxom reminder is delivered as we find out that Stromberg's massive tanker has never put into port.  This can only mean one thing.  That big ship is eating submarines.  Is that being a little presumptuous?  No, I've seen You Only Live Twice so I know how this works.  If only there was a way for Bond to get aboard that tanker.  Why not drop in on an American submarine and see if it gets eaten?  Everyone needs a hobby.  Now we just need to storm the volcano lair.  Cunningly disguised as Stromberg's massive tanker the volcano lair is everything you'd expect. Chock full of random barrels of oil, fully equipped with an armoury to supply any and all imprisoned sailors or soldiers and including an impenetrable control room.  THERE'S EVEN A MONORAIL.  Many henchmen in Star Trek red are dispatched as Bond sets about foiling Stromberg's dastardly plan.  His plan to wipe out the world in nuclear holocaust and live beneath the sea is a little deluded.  Surely most of the nuclear fallout will end up poisoning the seas and making his new civilisation a prison?  Obviously details like this aren't high on a megalomaniacs agenda.

Bond has time for a quick game of Operation! before he rescues Triple X via jet ski.  Stromberg's demise is almost as pointless as the rest of his performance thus far, the last battle being left for Jaws.  Being mindful of his surroundings sees Bond triumph and Jaws plunge into a shark pool.  It's not quite a pressurised air pellet but then Jaws isn't dead.  Sarcasm dictates that I can't wait to see hm again.  I miss the days when the Russians and S.P.E.C.T.R.E. were the baddies.

Triple X is a woman. Do you get that now?

The Spy Who Loved Me has set the stall for the foreseeable future.  Bond films must now be full of gadgets and breathtaking, if implausible stunts. God forbid a story will help the franchise compete with Hollywood's cheesiest summer blockbusters.  Moore has definitely peaked already as Bond and the slide into torpor continues.  The 1970s really are becoming Bond's lost decade and they're not over yet.

James Bond will return, and it's ALL George Lucas' fault.

Roger, Pepper And Three Nipples

Two films in sees Roger Moore settling into his role as Bond and the franchise is slowly removing itself from it's own history.  Moore's debut was a blaxploitation flick. The Man With The Golden Gun is a kung fu jolly.  Enter The Dragon this is not. It's as if the producers saw David Niven in Casino Royale, thought it was a good idea and then went zeitgeist shopping.  Playing Bond for laughs is not a good look.  Eight films ago we had the tension and suspense of Crab Key, now we have Thailand and bad white wine.


The Man With The Golden Gun is a film that could have delivered so much more but all the promise is lost under the sound of a penny whistle.  The whole thing is as crooked as M's office on the part submerged Queen Elizabeth.  

Only one thing could improve this stunt.....a comedy sound effect!

We begin with Dracula playing a game of cat and mouse with a gangster from Diamonds Are Forever in a fun house in the Far East. Yes, it's as daft as it sounds. Dracula, now reincarnated as trick shot making Fransisco Scaramanga is said to be the world's best assassin and charges $1 million a job. Dr Evil would be proud. He even has a midget as a butler/companion. The 70s were so ridiculously un-PC.  The pre credit sequence ends with Scaramanga shooting the fingers off a wax work of 007. Such attention to detail of your supposed foe borders on fetish.  To stop us dwelling on these thoughts we have Lulu caterwauling the worst Bond theme so far.  Presumably Don Black had been watching Carry On films as lyrical inspiration.

Lulu's theme sets the tone for the film as we now see Bond abandon wit and charm in favour of smut.  M summons Bond to his office and confronts him with a golden bullet with 007 etched on it. Apparently Bond is now a target for Scaramanga. The background is rife with mumbles of an energy crisis and a missing scientist who has a Solex device that will create free energy and yet Bond is dispatched to Beirut where an encounter with a stripper is his first clue on the hunt for Scaramanga. I say 'stripper' with a shudder.  Her (only) charm is the golden bullet she keeps as a memento of one of Bond's colleagues. In tawdry fashion Bond recovers the bullet and returns to Q whose analysis identifies the bullet's manufacturer. This screams the question 'why not use the bullet sent to M, why go to Beirut at all?'  Q snootily and rather brilliantly identifies Lazar as the bullet's maker and Bond is off for a snoop around Macao as he gets a step closer to Scaramanga.  The missing link is Octopussy Andrea Anders. Anders is Scaramanga's resentful bit of stuff and is the real sender of the bullet to M.  Later we find out that she wants to be rid of Scaramanga and wants Bond to facilitate this.  In the meantime she's just a courier.

The story begins to come together as we see missing solar scientist Gibson get his outside a strip club. Scaramanga, it seems, is quite a good shot.  Scaramanga has been hired by the Chinese businessman Hai Fat to remove Gibson and keep the Solex agitator off the market.  Handily Hai Fat is believed to have never clapped eyes on Scaramanga by Bond. Quite how this logic works is beyond me. If I was splashing out a million I'd want to meet the bloke doing my dirty work.  The twisted logic allows Bond to attempt to impersonate Scaramanga in a meeting with Hai Fat. He just needs Q Branch to rustle him up a fake third nipple. Don't ask.

It turns out that Hai Fat has, in fact, met Scaramanga and is positively in cahoots with him. This results in Bond's disguise being rumbled. Hai Fat decides the best form of execution is to send Bond to a martial arts school and let him get roughed up by some kids. We scan the background the hidden lasers, poisoned darts, anything to no avail. Hai Fat seriously thinks a bit of kung fu will do the job.  The pathetic nature of this scheme is compounded by Bond's escape. He jumps out of a window and into a boat. The marine based chase echoes Live And Let Die right up to it's inclusion of Sherriff J W Pepper. Oh yes, he's back.  Is it just a cameo? Is it balls.

More realistic than the flying car

Bond tumbles into Anders again and agrees to lose Scaramanga in exchange for the Solex agitator.  Unfortunately, this leads to Miss Anders death and Britt Ekland's incompetence as her character, Mary Goodnight, gets locked in Scaramanga's boot.  Cue car chase. Oh, great. Pepper's back and this time he's going to be Bond's comedy sidekick.  Your heart rises and then crashes as Bond corkscrews over the river with THAT sound effect.  It's all a waste as Scaramanga flies away in his car. Yes, he flies away.



Wherever could Scaramanga have escaped too? Have no fear, Goodnight had a tracking device about her person. Naturally Bond homes in on this signal and follows it to the film's conclusion.  Scaramanga's private island has been converted into a solar power generator and he wants to sell the technology to the highest bidder. Oil companies will buy it to keep it off the market whilst governments will want it to provide free energy for their countries. Apparently.  Not content with completely renewable energy the solar technology also comes with a massive laser gun as a bonus.  Before he cashes in on the Solex he decides to challenge Bond to a duel.

The original premise that Scaramanga was Bond's criminal opposite and equal is used as The Man With The Golden Gun's conclusion.  Bond emerges victorious from this tension with a bit of speed dressing in the dark. Bond has to suffer a spot of dry ice and some more Goodnight incompetence en route to his escape back to normality.  The journey home is interrupted by an appalling fight with a midget and an excessive waste of wine before Bond can use Goodnight's name in vain.

It's telling that The Man With The Golden Gun is the lowest grossing film of the franchise and it's easy to see why. It rivals Moonraker in terms of appalling-ness and cements the 70s as Bond's lost decade.  You begin to wonder how much better Tom Mankiewicz's script was and how much strife was really caused off camera.  The film has it's good points and they all belong to Christopher Lee. Lee is great as the villain and you wish that Fleming had remembered to recommend him for the role of Dr No. His weapon of choice is also more than memorable.  A gun in several innocent parts. The next time you're in an office and fiddling with your pen and cufflinks you'll wish they were golden.

I want one, you know you do too

James Bond will return as Roger Moore attempts to better Connery's Jacques Cousteau impression.