60 Years Ago: Goldfinger (1964) and the Perfect Bond Movie Model

Unlike many film critics, I do not count Goldfinger (1964) as the absolute “best” James Bond film of all-time. You can check out my rankings of the 007 movies here, but I actually list Goldfinger in the second position, right behind From Russia with Love (1963).

However, there is one fact about the excellent, sixty-year Goldfinger that is indisputable. Even if one doesn’t count it as the greatest James Bond film ever made, it is undeniably the “model” 007 film.

What do I mean by that term? 

Well, a model might be defined as “a thing, system, or object utilized as an example for purposes of following, or imitating.”

That definition describes the Guy Hamilton film perfectly. It is Goldfinger -- not From Russia with Love, or even the first Bond film, Dr. No (1962) -- that serves as the model that most Bond films follow (with a few exceptions, of course). 

Why do other 007 movies follow the formula that Goldfinger pioneered more than sixty years ago? 

Well, as its title suggests, Goldfinger remains the gold standard. It perfects the Bond formula -- across the board -- and today I’ll write about some of the pieces or ingredients of that formula and how other 007 films have attempted to recreate the same magic.

Before I move into a discussion of the elements of the formula perfected by Goldfinger, I should begin with a note about Bond himself. 

Goldfinger represents, perhaps, a high point for actor Sean Connery. He appears more confident and relaxed in Goldfinger than he does in the first two films in the series. Also, he is not yet bored with the role, as he appears during some of his later performances.  Here, Connery is at his most suave and charming, as well as, perhaps, his most athletic or physically fit.  In this sense, certainly the third Bond film is the charm.

Finally, Goldfinger represents the franchise’s transition to a more fantastic template. From Russia with Love, except for a few outliers, exists in a “real” Cold War world. Goldfinger inhabits a different, more fantastic world, with lasers, ejector seats and the like.

Now, let’s begin to survey elements of this Bond movie model. Specifically, we’ll gaze at the way that Goldfinger spear-headed or perfected these ingredients, and other films in the franchise imitated them.

“I Have A Slight Inferiority Complex” - The Pre-Title Sequence

Before Goldfinger’s production, the pre-title sequence in the Bond films feature some important (if tangentially-related) aspect of the film’s overall plot or narrative.  

In Dr. No, for example, the pre-title sequence diagrams the assassination of a British station chief in Jamaica. This is the precipitating event to pull Bond into the action after the credits. 

Likewise, the pre-title sequence for From Russia with Love features a man masquerading as Bond, hunted by an agent for SPECTRE, Red Grant (Robert Shaw) in a training simulation. It sets up a conflict between the two men that we see played out in the movie proper.

By contrast, Goldfinger’s pre-title sequence does not connect meaningfully to the actual plot of the film (the hunt to discover how Auric Goldfinger is smuggling his gold overseas). Instead, it serves as a re-introduction of the iconic 007 character, but while is on a separate and individual mission.  

In particular, Bond -- with a bird decoy on his hat -- surfaces in the water, and sets out to destroy an enemy headquarters. He plants explosives, but then removes his commando gear to reveal a white dinner jacket and a bow tie. Waiting for the boom, literally, Bond goes for a smoke break, as the enemy HQ explodes.  

Then Bond meets with a lovely woman, and finally, 007 must defeat one last bad guy. He does so, and before the fade-out to the credits, delivers a pun. After electrocuting an enemy in a tub, Bond says “Shocking…positively shocking.”

This sequence -- instead of setting up important details of the plot -- features all elements of the Bond mystique: the danger, the women, the action, and even the gallows humor. So we actually get from Goldfinger’s pre-title sequence, a mini and self-contained 007 adventure.

Can you think of a better way to re-acquaint us with Ian Fleming’s agent and his universe.

Following Goldfinger, the pre-title sequence is often utilized in a similar fashion. Throughout the franchise, it is divorced from the central plot-line in examples such as For Your Eyes Only (1981), and Octopussy (1983). 

But except in the rare-one off example (such as Live and Let Die [1973]), every follow-up pre-title sequence in the film series features Bond, and functions, essentially, as a mini-adventure with just the right combination of extravagance and spectacular stunts. The purpose, to reintroduce the character into the pop culture. The secondary purpose, to one-up the climax of the previous movie, and raise the bar to an “all-time high,” at least until the next film.

Also note, the joke about the bird decoy on Bond’s head that accompanies the character’s introduction. Bond goes from being hidden in the water (beneath the decoy), to making a show of his good-looks and wardrobe, in the dinner jacket and bow tie. 

A similar joke, involving a crocodile, gets play in Octopussy.

“This is not a personal vendetta” - The Sacrificial Lamb and the Avenging Angel

I believe that the great author John Brosnan (1947-2005) gave this Bond character-type a name. 

Basically, the blood of an ally is spilled in the film, thus re-focusing Bond’s determination to destroy a particularly brutal enemy.  

There are two factors to consider here, both the nature of the death (which reflects the villain’s sadism), and the nature of the victim him or herself, which creates audience sympathy.

The greatest sacrificial lamb in Bond history (until Vesper, perhaps) is likely Jill Masterson in Goldfinger, a lovely young woman who unwittingly becomes involved with Bond and Goldfinger’s pissing match, and pays the fatal price.  She dies nude…painted gold.  

This act establishes Goldinger’s sadism (and ties into his love of gold), but also reveals Bond’s vulnerability.  He takes Jill’s death very personally, and wants revenge.

Later Bond films also utilize the sacrificial lamb as a kind of turning point. Aki’s death serves this purpose in You Only Live Twice. Vijay’s death serves the same purpose in Octopussy (1983).  As recently as 2008, the sacrificial lamb appeared in a Bond film. In Quantum of Solace -- in a scene directly inspired by Goldfinger -- an agent, Strawberry Fields (Gemma Arterton) is murdered, asphyxiated in oil after choosing to help Bond. Her nudity, her positioning on the bed, and her function in the story are all call-backs to the model Bond film: Goldfinger.

Intriguingly, Goldfnger features two sacrificial lambs. The second is Jill’s sister, Tilly Masterson (Tania Mallett), who actually serves two purposes. 

She is both a second sacrificial lamb, and an avenging angel. In the Bond canon, Tilly is not the last female character to dedicate her life to vengeance over the death of a loved one or loved ones. Consider Melina Havelock, and her function as an “avenging angel” in For Your Eyes Only (1981).  

Both characters are associated with weapons (whether a rifle or a cross-bow), and thus represent a kind of toughness that Bond finds appealing.

“The Customary Byplay” - Reintroducing the Supporting Cast, but giving them an opinion of 007.

After the pre-titles sequence and a (deadly) excursion in Miami, Bond returns to London in Goldfinger, and meets with several familiar supporting players: M, Q, and Moneypenny. 

All three characters appear in From Russia with Love, but once more, Goldfinger is the first film, perhaps, that models the right tone for all three character.  Here, M and Q show extreme annoyance (possibly jealousy) with 007.  They clearly find him insufferable (M) and glib (Q). M has to reign in Bond, reminding him that he is supposed to be cool and calculating, not headed.  And Q must remind Bond not to be so hard on his gadgets, which clearly, Q loves.

This personal touch to the characters enhances the film’s humor quotient.  Bond isn’t simply receiving a mission briefing, he’s interacting with supporting cast members who have distinguishable relationships with him. They are irritated with him (M, Q), or attracted to him (Moneypenny).  Again, it’s not that the earlier films didn’t feature M or Q, or even Moneypenny, it’s that Goldfinger “cements” the relationships Bond has with each, and accordingly some level of this “customary byplay” is repeated in every movie thereafter (at least through the beginning of Dalton Era).

“Choose your next witticism carefully, Mr. Bond, it may be your last” - General Villain and Soldier Villain

Although From Russia with Love features a general villain, Rosa Klebb, and a soldier villain, Red Grant, the model is perfected in Goldfinger, with Auric Goldfinger (Gert Frobe) and Odd Job (Harold Sakata). 

To put it simply, Goldfinger is the brains, Odd Job the brawn. 

In many cases, the soldier villain in a Bond film possesses some sort of physical difference that makes him unique, or distinctive. Odd Job is mute, and throws a steel-rimmed hat. In The Spy Who Loved Me (1977), Jaws (Richard Kiel) has a mouth filled with steel-teeth, and similarly doesn’t speak, except once, if memory serves. He serves two general villains: Stromberg in The Spy Who Loved Me, and Drax in Moonraker (1979).

The same dynamic plays out with Mr. Big and Tee-Hee in Live and Let Die, Scaramanga and Nick Nack in Man with the Golden Gun (1974), Kamal Khan and Gobinda in Octopussy, and on-and-on.

It’s an intriguing idea to split the characteristics of one “complete” villain between two characters. Goldfinger is a brilliant and egomaniacal criminal, but he has no physical prowess or strength. Those qualities go to Odd Job. Bond, on the other hand, has both the wit/intelligence, and the physical capabilities of both villain types. He is a complete person in the way that the villains never are, which may explain why he is always successful.

In this dramatic set-up, Bond can trade witticisms with one type of villain (the general), and trade punches with the other (the soldier).  We see this in Goldfinger during the laser table sequence. Bond asks if Goldfinger expects him to talk.  Goldfinger replies, delightfully, “No Mr. Bond. I expect you to die.”

But later, of course, Bond fights Odd Job over an atomic bomb, in Fort Knox.

“I Never Joke about My Work, 007” – The Car

In Goldfinger, Q Branch gifts James Bond with a new car, an Aston Martin DB-5, which comes equipped with machine guns, rotating license plates, smoke screen, oil slick, and, most memorably, an ejector seat. This is the first Bond film that gives 007 a ride like this, one that is the center of its own action sequence, and which deploys a number of (destructive) gadgets. The most elaborate gadget, previous to Goldfinger, is the exploding brief-case in From Russia with Love.

So, we’re on a whole different, fantasy-esque level here.

Again, this model scene -- Bond driving a car with a “few optional extras” installed -- has been played out, over and over again, in later Bonds, with 007 getting a new car (often another model Aston Martin, but not always), from his weapon master.  We have come to expect, since Goldfinger, that Bond will drive the slickest, meanest, most heavily-armed car on the road. The gimmicks (or gadgets) have changed, of course.

Roger Moore drives a car that becomes a submarine (The Spy Who Loved Me). Timothy Dalton drives one with a rocket engine and skis (The Living Daylights [1987]), and Pierce Brosnan drives a car that can turn invisible in Die Another Day (2002), to name just a few of the variations.

This is one ingredient that Goldfinger truly spearheaded, as the first film to feature a “Bond” car.

“Man has climbed Mount Everest…He’s fired rockets at the Moon, split the atom, achieved miracles in every field of human endeavor except crime.” – The Criminal Scheme and the Double-Cross

In Goldfinger, Auric plans, from his headquarters, the ultimate criminal scheme. Teamed with a criminal syndicate (whose funds he solicits), he plots to irradiate all the gold in Fort Knox, de-stabilizing the West and increasing the value of his own gold.  The plot is laid out, in the film, in every detail, with a scale model.

After demonstrating the plan with the model, Goldfinger kills his audience, double-crossing them. One wonder why he went to all the trouble of explaining, when he could have just take their money, and killed them.

However, the scene serves two purposes. It demonstrates the ultimate plan to the audience (cue Basil Exposition) and also reveals again, the villain’s untrustworthy nature.  He even kills his allies.

A View to a Kill (1985) is the Bond film that most closely parallels the model example above. Zorin (Christopher Walken) demonstrates his Operation, not Grand Slam, but Main Strike, using a scale model of Silicon Valley.  He then kills a prospective ally, who wants out.  Later, in a mine-shaft, Zorin takes an Uzi to his people, killing all the witnesses.  So what we get are, as in Goldfinger, the plot details, and the double cross.

To some extent, this idea also recurs in Octopussy (1983), with Kamal Khan (Louis Jourdan) double-crossing Octopussy (Maude Adams) and The Living Daylights, involving a drugs for guns scenario.

There are other elements too, that Goldfinger perfects: the sting-in-the-tail, for instance, though this one goes back to From Russia with Love and Rosa Klebb.  

Finally, we have the presence of a female lead -- Honor Blackman as Pussy Galore -- who first distrusts Bond, but then comes to legitimately care for him, and become an ally.  Finally, Goldfinger features a scene in which Bond out-cheats a cheater.  Specifically, he beats Goldfinger on the golf course.  This scene, of Bond out-cheating or out-maneuvering an untrustworthy villain occurs in later entries including Octopussy (using Backgammon) and Moonraker (pheasant hunting).

To describe all this another way, Goldfinger took the established pattern of the early 007 pictures, and perfected it, making the action bigger, the villains larger-than-life, and the even the gallows humor more acute. 

In moving Bond’s world from an approximation of reality to a more fantastic one, the filmmakers established a formula that has been modeled ever since.

In my book, many of the best Bond films are actually the ones that break, stretch, or pre-date the Goldfinger model, titles such as From Russia with Love, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969), Licence to Kill (1989) or Casino Royale (2006). 

But Goldfinger remains the paragon, the prototype for the Bond film universe. If we're talking about formula, nobody does it better.

50 Years Ago: The Island at the Top of the World (1974)

Fifty years ago, I was five years old, and at that tender young age I dreamed of "lost worlds of fantasy," as I call them as a critic now. In particular, I loved movies and TV shows about discovering lost worlds like Skull Island, Caprona, Pellucidar, and the like. 

For my fifth birthday, I believe, my parents took me to see the newest entry in this fantasy sub-genre, The Island at the Top of the World. Then, and now, I love this film, whatever its perceived failings may be.

The film's story commence in 1907 as an archaeologist, Professor Ivarsson (David Hartman) is unexpectedly recruited for an unusual expedition. Sir Anthony Ross’s son Donald has disappeared in the Arctic, near a mythological island that is reputedly a burial ground for whales.  

Ivarsson accepts the invitation, and along with Ross travels to that distant destination in a technologically-advanced dirigible, the Hyperion, commanded by eccentric French captain, Brieux. The group also teams up with an Eskimo and friend of Donald’s, Oomiak (Mako).  

The expedition soon finds a lost world separated from the rest of modernity, known as Astragard. It is peopled by primitive Vikings, who view the visitors as intruders and plan to execute them. 

Donald and his Viking lover, Freyja, are rescued by the expedition, but Ivarsson wants to learn more about the lost world of Astragard…

As noted above, he “lost world” premise (or trope) was one frequently depicted in the disco-decade fantasy cinema, in films like The Land That Time Forgot (1975), King Kong (1976) and At The Earth's Core (1976). 

This type of film often expresses the desire to experience something new, natural or different in the increasingly mechanized/computerized, buttoned-down era of the 1970s, an age when it felt like the whole world was explored and known.  The discovery of a lost world meant a return to excitement, an opportunity for adventure, and the opportunity to interface with creatures, peoples and lands one forgotten.

One of the decade’s early variations on this format was The Island at The Top of the World, a Disney film which depicts the story of a fantastically-advanced dirigible, the Hyperion, as it heads north to a forgotten world of dangerous and martial Vikings.

Roughly the first half of the film involves the trip to this lost world -- which is quite dangerous since the Hyperion is untested -- and the second half involves the twentieth-century crew interfacing with a culture that is a relic from an era long gone.  Escape is not easy, and the film throws in an active volcano for good measure.

 

Seeking to appeal to the same audience that loved 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1954), with the wondrous Hyperion filling in for the wondrous Nautilus, The Island at the Top of the World features solid miniature work as the Hyperion navigates through the clouds, and between jagged, craggy cliff-faces.  The volcanic island, which boasts a hidden, green valley at its center, is also well-depicted in 1970s movie terms, with evocative matte paintings and the so on.  

As for the story, it is definitely pitched to children, but nonetheless features a strong emotional pull since it revolves around the efforts of a father to rescue his son. The characters are all colorful and memorable, particularly the French captain, though it is perhaps unusual that a newscaster, David Hartman, plays the film’s lead role. I remember him from Good Morning America!

Although The Island at the Top of the World lacks the overt story appeal of a monstrous nemesis like a giant ape (Kong), dinosaurs (The Land That Time Forgot), or even ancient statues come to life (The Golden Voyage of Sinbad) it is nonetheless a lost world film of startling and impressive vistas. The Astragard lands feature ice caves, a graveyard of giant whale carcasses, volcanic lava flows and other wonders, and then pits a wonder of modernity, the Hyperion, against all of them.  

Although the Hyperion is seen as a sanctuary in the film, as well as a “modern marvel” (of the year 1907), the land of Astragard is also contextualized in positive terms.  “The day may come when this land is man’s last refuge,” one character importantly notes, and that observation ties-in directly to a primary fear of the 1970s, that pollution and environmental rape would render man extinct in short order. The Viking land here is an unspoiled “time capsule” of a time before technology, when man could live off the land, but not harm it.  Again, it seems no coincidence that this tale of exploration is set right before first "technological war," World War I, a time seen by many as the dawn of the Anthropocene, man's technological age.

Although it won my heart as a would-be adventurer and five year old, this "lost world" film failed at the box office and the intended sequel, The Lost Ones was never produced, The Island at the Top of the World is a solid and inoffensive family adventure film, and today seems very innocent compared to fantasies of the modern era.  Now, as fifty years ago, I would have loved to see the Hyperion soar once more.

50 Years Ago: The Man with the Golden Gun (1974)

Although not precisely a good James Bond film, 1974’s The Man with the Golden Gun is not as overtly or consistently unlikable as Diamonds Are Forever (1971), A View to a Kill (1985) or Die Another Day (2002), the three worst franchise outings in 007 history. 

Instead, The Man with the Golden Gun showcases the film series’ continuing growing pains as producers attempt to accommodate a new era, a new pop culture, and a new actor, Roger Moore, in the iconic role of British agent 007. 

The Man with the Golden Gun is Moore’s second outing, and the formula is clearly not yet perfected. For example, the humor (which has been developing and growing as a substantial factor since Diamonds…) is further highlighted here, but there are also remnants of Connery’s tough guy or “brute” image, and they don’t fit the dapper, suave Moore at all.

In terms of the pop culture, The Man with the Golden Gun --  like its predecessor Live and Let Die – also seems intent on aping other successful film forms, rather than innovating within the pre-existing confines of the enduring spy series.  

Live and Let Die’s energy and life-blood emerged from the Blaxploitation film movement of the early 1970s, and similarly, The Man with the Golden Gun is an “Eastern” Bond film arriving in theaters just in time to capitalize on the global box-office’s love affair with Bruce Lee and Kung-Fu films such as Enter the Dragon (1973).

Although it would be easy to scoff at The Man with the Golden Gun’s “energy crisis” plot-line, one can see that the film is veritably loaded with pop culture references of a similar stripe that attempt to keep Bond relevant.  These references include the mention of Evel Knievel, and the sinking of the Queen Elizabeth in 1973. Such touches, actually, help to ground the film, especially when The Man with the Golden Gun threatens to descend into slapstick.  The allusions remind us that the real world is still relevant to Bond’s increasingly fantastic adventures.

Still, there are a number of grievous creative missteps one must contend with in The Man with the Golden Gun, most notably the re-appearance of a stock Southern sheriff, J.W. Pepper (Clifton James) from Live and Let Die.  

And yet, as noted above, the film is not as painful to watch as many of the worst Bonds are. For example, the photography, particularly at Scaramanga’s island paradise, is frequently stunning.

Furthermore, some visual compositions nicely (and covertly…) suggest a unique subtext; a sexual undertone to the action.  Indeed, much the drama in the film emerges, one might conclude, because of the acts of a sexually dissatisfied mistress seeking liberation. 

Also -- and this is entirely a personal conclusion -- I enjoy Moore’s performance as Bond here (when he isn’t strong-arming women, anyway…) as a bit of a cad, and a poor sportsman. 

It’s pretty clear that his Bond is a hedonist, and one who won’t expend valuable energy if he can gain an advantage without doing so.  

The later Moore films downplayed this aesthetic, so that Bond was more of a traditional “good guy” but The Man with the Golden Gun certainly showcases the secret agent’s naughty side.  Bond dispatches a martial-arts opponent in sneaky, bad-sportsman-style, and I love it.  After all, 007 isn’t playing for the title of world’s nicest secret agent…he’s fighting for his life.  Who cares if he bends the rules a bit?

“He must have found me quite titillating.”

Agent 007, James Bond (Roger Moore) receives a golden bullet with his number engraved on it, a sign that he is the intended target of a high-priced assassin named Francisco Scaramanga (Christopher Lee).  

This grave situation precludes Bond from continuing his hunt for the missing Solex Agitator, a miraculous device that harnesses the energy of the sun, and could be the solution to the ongoing Energy Crisis.  

Instead, Bond tracks down the golden bullet’s origin, and cuts a path from Beirut to Macau, to a Hong Kong casino.  

Bond soon learns that Scaramanga’s mistress, Andrea Anders (Maud Adams) sent him the golden bullet in hopes that 007 would rid her of a man she loathes and despises.  

Bond also learns that Scaramanga is after the critical Solex Agitator and 007 masquerades as the assassin in Bangkok, attempting to learn more from the wealthy industrialist Hi-Fat, a ruse which fails.  

After Bond escapes from a karate school where he is used as a real life training dummy by the students Scaramanga captures Bond’s assistant, lovely Mary Goodnight (Ekland) and takes her, via a flying car, to his private island. 

There, Bond must recover the Agitator, which Scaramanga intends to sell for a huge profit. But the man with the golden gun is more interested in a duel with his greatest rival than the energy crisis… 

“You’re the only man in the world that can kill him.”

Rather uniquely for the male-driven Bond series, most of the action in the Man with the Golden Gun is driven by the actions of a woman, Andrea Anders (Maud Adams).  She is Scaramanga’s mistress, and an unsatisfied one at that. 

Trapped in her unhappy life with Scaramanga, Anders executes a strategy to rid herself of the assassin and her oppressor.  She sends one of his gold bullets to the only man in the world who can kill him: James Bond.  

Although Scaramanga possesses three nipples -- and men with three nipples are legendarily supposed to possess remarkablesexual prowess -- it is clear that this is a myth in terms of Scaramanga...not a reality.  

As the film opens, we see Andrea bend down on her knees to towel him off after a swim. She kneels before his crotch…and the film cuts immediately to Nick Nack (Herve Villechaize) popping a champagne cork.  

The one-two punch of this edit suggests, quite simply, that Scaramanga can’t hold his wad. He’s a poor lover. Andrea not only hates Scaramanga, she feel s he is a rotten lover.

On at least two other occasions, the camera registers sympathetic close-ups of Andrea Anders during foreplay and love-making, as she practically blanches at Scaramanga’s closeness and touch.  

At one point he fondles her aggressively with his gun, and she turns away in displeasure.  Again, the concept here is one of dissatisfaction, and Bond is the antidote in two ways.  First, he will provide sexual excitement, and second, he will actually kill Scaramanga.

We know Bond is a better lover, in part, because the film shows us that fact.  For example, we witness 007's foreplay with a belly-dancer in Beirut.  He kisses her belly, attempting to extract a golden bullet from her navel.  But what does it look like he's really doing?

It’s clear that Bond is not a stranger then, to using his mouth.  By contrast -- as we have seen -- Scaramanga always leads with his “golden” gun. And he pops his cork too soon!

Given Andrea’s crucial role in the film and the fact that she  literally brings Bond into the action, it’s a shame that the remainder of the film doesn’t score too highly in terms of its treatment of female characters. 

Mary Goodnight, while absolutely gorgeous, is a dumb blond.  One minute she refuses to be another of Bond’s “passing fancies,” and literally the next moment she has undressed for him in his hotel room and is ready to bed him.  She also ends up trapped in a car's trunk for much of the film's last act.

Similarly, the scene in which Bond questions Andrea and threatens to break her arm is literally cringe-inducing.  Roger Moore absolutely has his talents and skills as 007, but he just looks mean -- and horrible -- slapping Andrea and twisting her arm. These moments play as horribly anachronistic today, and they are wrong, tonally, for a Moore picture.  This Bond shouldn't be violent towards women.

Moore is much better, I feel, when his Bond cleverly pinpoints an easy advantage, and plays it out. 

For instance, I love how he turns a bullet-maker’s gun around on him.  Bond then tells him to spill his guts or “forever hold his piece/peace,” meaning his genitalia…which the rifle is aimed at.   

Similarly, I like how Bond stuffs Goodnight into a hotel room closet and makes her listen there while he beds Andrea.  Such caddish, wicked, and rotten behavior...and yet this seems like the perfect Bond aesthetic for the 1970s.  This Bond is on the side of right, yet isn’t going to go out of his way to reach the moral high-ground.  He's sort of...sleazy.

The moment in which Bond head-butts an opponent during a bow of respect is classic in that regard.  Indeed, this is how I would have liked to see the less-than-physically-intimidating Moore interpret Bond in all his pictures.  As a guy who seeks the advantage, whether it is noble or not.

While we’re discussing performances, some mention should be made of Christopher Lee.  He’s a great actor, but he doesn’t seem to project much menace, or much character in Man with the Golden Gun.  

His Scaramanga is unfailingly polite and charming, the “anti-Bond”/Bond, but he’s sort of a big black hole at the center of the movie.  Some blame must go to the writers, I suspect.  Why is a laid-back, happy-go-lucky, well-paid assassin even bothering with the Solex when he is living in paradise?  

And why do his confrontations with Bond seem so casual and off-handed, if he is so obsessed with beating 007 in a duel?  

The screenplay never manages to bridge this contradiction.  Again, I love Lee.  He’s a great actor.  But his Scaramanga doesn’t rank as a great Bond villain, or even a particularly good one.

The Man with the Golden Gun possesses a negative reputation with Bond film lovers, in part, because it possesses few memorable stunts or set-pieces.  

The pre-title sequence -- usually a brilliant, self-contained action show-stopper -- is instead but a trip through Scaramanga’s hokey, low-scale fun-house/shooting gallery.  We get a very clichéd looking gangster exploring the attraction, and even making a joke about Al Capone.  One might wonder what all this is about until one remembers that The Man with the Golden Gun came out just two years after The Godfather’s blockbuster success.  

And if The Man with the Golden Gun can be said to concern anything, it is exploiting pop culture trends.

In terms of action, the film’s big stunt is a car jump featuring a rather unromantic automobile: an AMC Hornet.  While incredibly impressive, the stunt is over very quickly, and is accompanied by the ludicrous sound of a slide whistle, a “note” which totally undercuts any sense of shock and awe regarding the spectacular flip.  

Similarly, Scaramanga oversees a huge island fortress and a giant complex that operates an impressive solar laser. And he has precisely one henchman (other than Nick-Nack) to control all that machinery.  

Budget cuts?

The greatest problem with The Man with Golden Gun is not its largely forgettable action, however, it is the return of an unnecessary and distasteful character.  Sheriff  J.W. Pepper (Clifton James) is a Louisiana policeman, a raging racist and Southern by the grace of God. And he shows up in The Man with the Golden Gun…shopping for a new with his wife while on vacation in Thailand. 

So, first of all, why shop for a car while on your vacation in a foreign country?  

And secondly, who believes for one second that a bigoted, ignorant character like Pepper would leave the confines of ‘Murica and visit a country in the Far East? (Especially during the Vietnam War...).

It makes no sense, and Pepper’s presence in the film’s big action scene is a pandering move to bring the inexplicably popular Archie Bunker-type character back for an encore performance.  

Despite these myriad flaws, what The Man with the Golden Gun does possess in spades is a sense of timeliness.  The film’s McGuffin is the Solex Agitator, a device that can adapt the power of the sun, and the ongoing Energy Crisis is name-dropped in the film on at least one occasion. 

The film’s action plays in a world that had just endured the OPEC oil embargo of 1973, with all its repercussions and frissons.  M (Bernard Lee) makes a speech about peak oil, and the need for an alternative energy source if the West is to survive.  In the 1980s and 1990s, perhaps this felt like a relic from a different time.  Today it seems relevant again.

The Solex Agitator thus represents one of the most focused attempts by the Bond franchise to be overtly topical in presentation, though The Living Daylights (1987) involves an Iran-Contra-type arms deal, and Quantum of Solace (2008) carries an environmental message. 

Although it is widely considered one of the worst films in the Bond franchise, The Man with the Golden Gun moves with relative agility and pace, and is more often than not entertaining.  

In fact, The Man with the Golden Gun is a whole lot more seamless than the bloated Diamonds are Forever.   This one is close in tone and shape to Moonraker (1979), perhaps, a Bond film that is sort of funny and sharp, even while at the same time it is hopelessly silly.