Director: Guy Hamilton
Cast: Roger Moore, Yaphet Cotto, Jane Seymour, Geoffrey Holder
Have I Seen it Before: Yeah…
Did I Like It: And so, we renew my vow to not be all that into the Roger Moore reign behind the wheel of the Aston Martin from Q Branch (or, as he so often inexplicably drives, a Lotus Esprit).
Things start off on a rocky note. One wants to give credit to Moore for making the dauntingly bold gambit of taking over for Sean Connery, especially when the last fellow to try that has spent most of the last fifty years pilloried for his efforts. But when the assignment from M comes not during a meeting at MI-6. This precludes the possibility of this new Bond having his moment with Desmond Llewellyn’s Q, which makes it hard to accept this as a Bond film at all, even if the gun barrel sequence helps. But far more unsettling is tiny little farce that plays out while Bond is trying to keep M (Bernard Lee) from realizing that he has a woman over. It’s so, un-Bondian. The literary Bond or even Connery’s Bond (and let’s get real, Lazenby wouldn’t give a shit, either) wouldn’t be so coy about relations with a woman. Maybe The Saint would be that precious, and that’s probably the problem.
But let’s talk about Racism! The film makes that fatal flaw of several of Moore’s later outings by trying to imitate another genre, in this case the blaxploitation films of the 1970s. But when the film is exclusive authored by white filmmakers, all we get here are the trappings, but none of the authentic style.
But more importantly, let’s talk about sexism! Now that may seem like a strange criticism for a Bond movie. If I wasn’t budgeting for a certain amount of sexism, I probably should have watched a film from some other series. But every black man seems to be cunning, when the few scant women of color—mainly Rosie Carver (Gloria Hendry)—screech and faint their way through the movie. I can roll my eyes at the Stacy Suttons and Christmas Joneses of the world as much as the next guy, as their faux over capability beggars all believability, but a little bit of agency wouldn’t hurt, especially when by this point the series had a plenty of relatively self-possessed heroines. Even Jane Seymour has more of a certain serene aptitude about her.
That whole penultimate act, though… And that’s before I even approach the unslightly beginning of what would become the epic tragedy that is Sherriff J.W. Pepper (Clifton James). Roaring through the marshes of Louisiana is not exactly the Baccarat (or Poker) table at the Royale, but a Bond movie needs to be a little more exotic than that. Even Diamonds Are Forever (1971) brought Bond down to the banal world of the United States, but at least had the good sense of placing him in Las Vegas, a place I might believe to see a character like Bond. And here, Bond lifts himself out of his dilemma with Mr. Big’s (Cotto) henchmen with all of the lethality of Bugs Bunny.
Your individual feelings about this film will likely be tied directly to how you feel about Moore as Bond. Thus, if he’s your man with the License To Kill, then this is likely to be a highlight. For me, it’s just a portent of far worse things to come.