Film begins well, showing us Connery's return to the role (after bailing out after You Only Live Twice in late 1966/ early '67) as Bond tracks down and seemingly kills Blofeld. A perfectly done title sequence goes quite well with a great title song, before we get down to business: an initially literal adaptation of Fleming's novel, as Wint and Kidd smuggle diamonds out of Africa, after brutally killing the courier, and the deliverer. Bond, none too enthused about being assigned to what he calls "a relatively simple smuggling matter," is sent to intercept the next link, a professional smuggler called Peter Franks, in Amsterdam. Bond, after rendezvousing with yet another smuggler (gorgeous Jill St. John) ends up beating Franks' ass in close-quarters-combat in a lift, in another highlight of this movie.
Unfortunately, after the exciting and well done first forty minutes, leading this Bond fan to think I'm about to watch potentially one of the best Bonds, the screenplay degenerates into a seemingly never-ending series of gags and pratfalls and silly vignettes. Jill St. John and Lana Wood are both gorgeous, but Jill loses interest halfway through the movie and becomes a bumbling nitwit, and Lana Wood has only a cameo, played strictly for laughs. Throw in a Bullitt-inspired car chase through the Las Vegas Strip, a faked moon landing, a Howard Hughes clone Willard Whyte, and some type of diamond powered space laser(?) and that makes up the majority of the second half.
Bond, after violently fending off the attacks of several armed guards in the pre-title sequence, and the aforementioned fight in the lift, basically has his ass handed to him by a pair of female gymnasts, in what will forever be remembered as one of the dumbest and most inane scenes in any Bond film.
Charles Grey is a wonderful actor, and I do wish they had used more of him in the Bond series, but he was a terrible Blofeld, too nice of a guy to be an international terrorist set on killing Bond, and they've turned Blofeld into a cross dressing terrorist with a cat fetish? Connery's weight was obviously up and down during filming; as he is briefed by M., it looks like he needed a crowbar to fit into his suit. Likewise, by the poolside, with the body floating in it. Those thick, bushy grey sideburns only made Connery look older. Indeed, he turned 40 years old during filming, but he looked closer to 60.
The ending is anticlimactic; the fight in the lift was more exciting.
Overall, the film is enjoyable for its first third, then in a surreal way for its final two thirds, but I wish they had followed the plot of Ian Fleming's original novel more closely. That would have made the film consistently good. Or at least, not as uneven as it is now. Filming wrapped in September 1971, and it was released to cinemas in December of 1971; its rushed post production undoubtedly contributed to its randomness.
Unfortunately, after the exciting and well done first forty minutes, leading this Bond fan to think I'm about to watch potentially one of the best Bonds, the screenplay degenerates into a seemingly never-ending series of gags and pratfalls and silly vignettes. Jill St. John and Lana Wood are both gorgeous, but Jill loses interest halfway through the movie and becomes a bumbling nitwit, and Lana Wood has only a cameo, played strictly for laughs. Throw in a Bullitt-inspired car chase through the Las Vegas Strip, a faked moon landing, a Howard Hughes clone Willard Whyte, and some type of diamond powered space laser(?) and that makes up the majority of the second half.
Bond, after violently fending off the attacks of several armed guards in the pre-title sequence, and the aforementioned fight in the lift, basically has his ass handed to him by a pair of female gymnasts, in what will forever be remembered as one of the dumbest and most inane scenes in any Bond film.
Charles Grey is a wonderful actor, and I do wish they had used more of him in the Bond series, but he was a terrible Blofeld, too nice of a guy to be an international terrorist set on killing Bond, and they've turned Blofeld into a cross dressing terrorist with a cat fetish? Connery's weight was obviously up and down during filming; as he is briefed by M., it looks like he needed a crowbar to fit into his suit. Likewise, by the poolside, with the body floating in it. Those thick, bushy grey sideburns only made Connery look older. Indeed, he turned 40 years old during filming, but he looked closer to 60.
The ending is anticlimactic; the fight in the lift was more exciting.
Overall, the film is enjoyable for its first third, then in a surreal way for its final two thirds, but I wish they had followed the plot of Ian Fleming's original novel more closely. That would have made the film consistently good. Or at least, not as uneven as it is now. Filming wrapped in September 1971, and it was released to cinemas in December of 1971; its rushed post production undoubtedly contributed to its randomness.