There’s a significant amount of disrespect to the memory of the Contessa to have started this failure of a Bond film with Roger Moore visiting her grave. He looks over her headstone with all the morose nature of a man waiting for a cue for his next line instead of a mourning husband. The moment itself could have been touching if it hadn’t descended into a Wile E. Coyote cartoon.
Seriously, things start strong and forty seconds later descend into lunacy.
Blofeld, in a wheelchair and neck brace, tries to kill Bond with a remote controlled helicopter. Bond quickly turns the trap around and drops a pleading Blofeld into a smokestack.
It was the least befitting ending for such a formidable foe that one could imagine.
The story then revolves around another code machine from a British submarine. The Russians are sort of after it, but it’s Greek figure skating enthusiast Kristatos after the code machine so he can sell it to the Russians. Kristatos is played quite capably by Julian Glover, who seems to be the only actor in this film trying. He channels a quite convincing Claude Raines, but it’s like using a 21-year-old Scotch to kill infections on a wound. It’s simply a waste.
This film is populated by a cast of cartoon characters beyond belief. First there’s Bibi Dahl, a barely legal figure skater who tries to sleep with the geriatric Bond at every turn. Topol’s Columbo gnaws through the scenery, making you wish he was singing. And there’s Melina, the Bond girl who seems more bored than any other Bond girl ever.
The stakes in the story are so low, you’re wondering why you should even care. There’s really not even a reason to be bothering to try to kill Bond. It makes little sense.
And the Guns of Navarone business at the end was preposterous, climbing a Greek mountain face to attack an enemy of superior force. Except there’s way less at stake.
Seriously, this entire film had no reason for existing. Nothing I cared about mattered. Even the Russians at the end of the film just shrug with a smile on their face when everything turns out to be a draw.
This might be the stupidest and most pointless of the James Bond films. I wonder if the next Bond film will up the stakes in anything but absurdity… What’s next? Octopussy?
Fucking hell.
This film had a plot that didn’t even rate the use of Bond’s time. Moore was showing his age and nothing mattered. They shouldn’t have shit on the memory of Diana Rigg and Telly Savalas (and Donald Pleasance) in this film. This film gets 1 martini out of 4.