Showing posts with label Roger Moore. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Roger Moore. Show all posts

Saturday, 7 September 2013

Victim

In his long career as a state sanctioned killer, James Bond has taken an inordinate amount of lives (he’s also been indirectly responsible for loads more deaths, but let’s park that for now). To be fair, most of his targets were trying to kill him or, at least, were in the employ of the agents of evil, so he sometimes has a point but, even so, that’s a hell of a lot to carry around. This new series will look at some of Bond’s victims, more specifically the ones that, if he had a conscience, might occasionally shake their gory locks at him in unpleasant dreams: the ones who suffered, the ones who screamed, the ones who died in cruel and unusual circumstances.


Take this bloke, for instance. He’s a pilot and a common or garden villain only distinguished by a great moustache. Halfway through the flight, he leaves the cabin, pulls a gun, shoots out the control panel and then bails out leaving James without a parachute in a plane that’s about to crash. Little things like that don’t bother 007, of course, who simply jumps out, catches the pilot up, then knocks him about and nicks his parachute from him before kicking him away into the ether.




What’s disturbing about this incident is that the doomed pilot gives out two screams as he floats off: the first full of indignation at being kicked in the face and forcibly parted from his life saving device, and a second anguished, horribly strangled cry as he realises that he is now as dead as a doornail, but will have to hang around hopelessly and helplessly waiting to hit terminal velocity and begin his long drop to the ground. 





What do you do with that time? What does that realisation of impending annihilation do to the human mind? Baddie or not, it’s an awful way to go. I hope you’re proud of yourself, Bond.

Friday, 6 September 2013

Outer Space Now Belongs To 007...


‘Moonraker’ is a Bond film of contrasts – it’s fast moving, packed full of stuff, and the outer space battle is really pretty cool. On the other hand, it takes the smug, smirky elements of the franchise to their logical extreme, and, at times, becomes totally ridiculous.



The story is pretty standard: a mad Frenchman operating from a space station wants to poison the Earth and everyone on it and then re-populate it with a hand-picked master race. Only James Bond and his glamorous CIA partner / shag can stop him. So, after a lot of messing about and about a dozen near death experiences, they stop him.

The 52 year old Roger Moore plays Bond, and seems so lethargic and weary it seems astonishing that he would appear in another three films, finally retiring when he was pushing sixty. Moore’s Bond was never really very physical, of course, certainly not the brawler that Connery was, or the blunt instrument of Fleming, but watching him go through the motions of having a really, really slow fight with Jaws on top of a fake cable car is almost excruciating, and has all the menace and dynamism of a mime festival at an old people’s home.




It’s a feature of the series that footage is occasionally sped up (not particularly well) to enhance the action, but here they do it about a dozen times and it soon becomes pretty tiresome, a shortcut to actually putting some energy into the scenes. When you later see Bond grappling with an obviously rubber snake, or see the poor bluescreen work, or notice that his stand in in the opening parachute scenes is suddenly wearing goggles, it becomes clear that the film makers don’t really care about making a decent product anymore, and that they are just indulging themselves, safe in the knowledge that the film will make a shit load of cash regardless (‘Moonraker’ was the highest grossing film in the series to date, and remained so until the Brosnan re-launch in 1995).

The nadir of this jokey, lazy attitude comes in a scene set in Venice where Bond pushes a button and his souped up gondola converts into a hovercraft, climbing out of the canal and traversing a busy St. Mark’s Square. It’s bad enough that one witness does ye olde ‘looking at a bottle of wine and shaking his head in amazement’ routine, or that a waiter pours a beer over a patrons head but, when a pigeon does a double take – a fucking pigeon – that’s too much, especially as the visual effect is so poorly done.






That said, the outer space sequences are good if you don’t try and be a spoilsport and calculate the impossible amount of money Drax would have needed to set it all up – and they look great, so there’s an inconsistency there that rankles. The franchise would get worse, of course, and, for the most part ‘Moonraker’ is really very entertaining. But it could have been brilliant – a bit like the theme tune, which has a beautiful melody but never really sparks into life, not even in the disco version that plays over the end credits.

For the record, this was a film that I couldn’t wait to see back in 1979 but, at the time it was first released, I was at Sea Scout camp, so my Mum brought me the novelisation to be going on with. I read it three or four times and got more and more excited. When I finally got to see the film on the screen instead of in my head, I was, of course, really disappointed. And, no, even at the age of eleven, I didn't laugh at the pigeon.

FINALLY -- this film cost £35m to make. In 1979. This is the stand-in they used for seven foot tall metal toothed Jaws. Difficult to find a lookalike, yes, but come on...the real thing first, then the double --



Moonraker








Saturday, 18 August 2012

More Moore Than Before


I know what you're thinking: two Roger Moore's? Oh, fuck off - but 'The Man Who Haunted Himself' is a very effective thriller indeed. Perhaps more metaphysical than supernatural, Moore plays Harold Pelham, a Marine Engineering executive of extremely regular habits: he wears the same tie every day, works exactly the same hours, always buys the same make, model and colour of car. He even refuses to sleep with his wife because it would crease his pyjamas too much. After a near fatal car smash, however, he is dismayed to find that there seems to be another Harold Pelham out there - a smirkier, sexier one who is enjoying himself a lot and, it seems, planning to replace the original entirely.

The film never bothers to explain how there came to be two Moore's running about London and, in the end analysis, it doesn't matter. A fantastic situation is created, continuity is maintained, and the conclusion is satisfactorily arrived at without reference to boring old reality. Well done, Rogers!

In  a bold casting move, King of The Island Freddie Jones is on hand to provide Roger with psychiatric assistance. That's right, Freddie Jones is the sane one! But more of that tomorrow...