Ask JKM a Question: Who is the Most Important Cinematic James Bond?

A reader named Ben writes;

“Hello there. I am really enjoying your writing. I read your Bond movie review last week and wanted to ask you a question that you have not answered yet.

Historically, whose interpretation of 007 is the most important to the franchise’s longevity?”

Ben, thank you for the question. I actually have a stock answer for this question, which is the same one I have used before, in regards to the Doctor, on Doctor Who (1963-1969).

Before I get to that stock answer, I’ll give a few options.

I could write, quite persuasively, that the most important Bond interpretation is Sean Connery’s, because he was the first actor to take on the role for the movies. Had he not “clicked” as 007, the franchise would not have taken off.

So from one viewpoint, Connery’s interpretation of the James Bond role is certainly the most important, and the one most responsible for the film series’ longevity.

I could also make arguments for other Bond performances.

Timothy Dalton re-grounded the role, when audiences began to seek more realistic action, during the late 1980s.

Pierce Brosnan brought the character back to life after a six year absence from the screen, and thus is responsible for “reviving” the franchise. 

And Daniel Craig, of course, shepherded the film franchise “re-boot” of Bond to its most successful financial incarnation.

So you could probably make a plausible argument for any of those actors. Of course, those arguments may not be very strong, because by the time of Dalton, everyone was used to the idea of Bond changing actors.

But if you read my blog regularly, you know I prefer to think unconventionally, or at least outside conventional wisdom.

So here is my official answer: the most important Bond actor is Roger Moore.

Why?

Allow me to explain.

When people ask me who the most important Doctor on Doctor Who is, I always go with one answer: Patrick Troughton, the second doctor.

Had he not thoroughly made the role his own, Doctor Who -- while beloved during the William Hartnell Era -- would never have lived to see a second decade on air.

In other words, the era of greatest jeopardy for Doctor Who occurred when Hartnell, the First Doctor, wished to leave the role, and a new actor had to assume the mantle of the Time Lord.

If that actor had failed, we would likely have had no Doctor 3 – 12.

So, Troughton nailed the role at the time of greatest danger for the franchise, and the franchise endured.  Hence, his importance.

I would make the same argument for Roger Moore.  George Lazenby’s brief tenure as Bond -- just one film appearance in 1969 -- likewise hints at the importance of the second actor to catch-fire in a beloved role. 

After Lazenby’s only film (which I love, by the way), the producers went running back to Connery for Diamonds are Forever.  

It was not a certain thing, at all, at that point, that the James Bond movie series could endure in the seventies, and outlive Connery’s star presence.

But then along came Roger Moore, the Bond actor I grew up with, and one I think very highly of. His take on Bond -- while undeniably different from Connery’s -- re-popularized the character, and proved that the 007 film series could transcend one well-loved performer.

Like Patrick Troughton in Doctor Who, Moore came along at the time of greatest danger for the franchise, and gave it the second life 007 needed.  Moore was the first talent who proved that Bond could survive the passing of the torch in terms of actors.

If Moore had failed to catch fire, as Lazenby had failed, we would likely never have gotten the Dalton, Brosnan, or Craig eras.  James Bond in the cinema would have been remembered as a product of the 1960’s, not as an iconic character who has transcended his original cinematic context.

So I think you can clearly make a case for Connery as the most important 007. If he had failed to make Bond so appealing, the movie-going world might never have known the name Bond, James Bond. 

On the other hand, Moore came in after Lazenby’s failure to succeed -- at the point of greatest jeopardy for the franchise -- and had to deliver a popular interpretation of the role when everyone already pictured 007 as Sean Connery.

He did, and the rest is history.

Don’t forget to ask me your questions at Muirbusiness@yahoo.com

Soundtrack of the Week: Goldfinger

Model Kit of the Week: Goldfinger; Odd Job (Polar Lights)

Goldfinger (1964): The Model Bond

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 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 fifty 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.

Movie Trailer: Goldfinger (1964)

A View to a Kill Deluxe Talking Storybook

Theme Song of the Week: A View to A Kill (1985; Duran Duran)

The Films of 1985: A View to a Kill

Roger Moore’s final cinematic outing as James Bond, A View to a Kill (1985), is not generally considered one of the better titles in the 007 canon.  

In fact, the critical consensus suggests precisely the opposite. Most aficionados consider the film to be Moore’s worst title, and place it in the (dreadful) company of Diamonds are Forever (1971), Sean Connery’s last canon film, and Die Another Die (2002), Pierce Brosnan’s final Bond film.

One reason that folks tend to dislike the film involves Moore himself. Even he acknowledges that, at 57 years old, he was likely too old to play 007. Moore's age is usually the elephant in the room when critics discuss this film, and yet I think there's a counterpoint worth making. 

First, I hope I look as fit and handsome at the age of 57 as Moore does, in A View to A Kill. We should all be that fortunate.

And secondly, I actually prefer Moore's Bond with a little age on him, when he's less the smirking, somehow arrogant pretty boy.  

Yes, Moore is sort of leathery and grizzled here, and yet, with age also comes experience. We look at Moore's deep-lined, but still-attractive visage here, and we can see life experience all over his face. His 007 has been to the rodeo before (six times, actually...), which is important to consider because experience is, perhaps, the one advantage Bond has in a battle against a brilliant sociopath: Max Zorin.  Lest we forget, the posters for A View to a Kill asked, specifically: "Has James Bond finally met his match?"  

If this tag-line is the movie's chosen thematic terrain, then the character of each combatant in this contest is significant, as I'll write about further. Moore's humanity (reflected in his graceful, but obvious aging) thus plays into the movie's central juxtaposition of genetic perfection/moral emptiness vs. humanity/morality.

Critics complain so much about Moore's age because -- let's face it -- it's an easy target. I remember back when Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (1986) was released, critics were calling the Enterprise crew "the over the hill gang."  Well, what I wouldn't give, in 2017, to have four or five more Star Trek films, today, featuring that particular "over the hill" crew.

Broadly speaking, I would hope people could judge a work of art on more than just the superficial quality of age, and looks. But that hope is, frankly, in vain. Critics often go for the low-hanging fruit. 

Despite the brickbats, I have -- since first seeing A View to a Kill in theaters in 1985 -- found myself frequently re-watching the film, as though checking in again to see if it remains such a poor effort.  I always return thinking that there is something -- something -- there.

But on re-assessment, I absolutely see the same deficits.

And yet A View to a Kill still intrigues me quite a bit. In fact, I would argue it is not nearly as bad as the other two 007 films that I name-checked above. Moore’s final outing carries such an endless fascination for me, I suppose, because it is all over the map. The tone is wildly inconsistent, for example.  It is a film of notable highs, and dramatic lows.

Consider that A View to a Kill features -- courtesy of Duran Duran -- one of the most memorable title tracks in the whole franchise (right up there with Goldfinger [1964], Live and Let Die [1973], and Skyfall [2012).

Consider, also, the film’s (generally) superior casting. The film features Christopher Walken, Grace Jones, and Patrick Macnee. That’s an “A” list supporting cast. (Let's just not talk about Tanya Roberts, yet).

In addition, many of the set pieces include amazing stunt-work and beautiful location photography, all scored to thrilling and lugubrious perfection by John Barry.

Still -- quite clearly – there’s something amiss with the film overall. Sir Roger Moore himself reported his dislike of A View to a Kill. It’s his least favorite of all his 007 appearances. He found it too violent, too sadistic, and, as noted above, judged himself too old to play the part.

Drilling down further, I suspect that what fascinates me about the film is precisely what troubled Moore. The film is darker than most of the other Bond films from this era, and in that way, an absolutely appropriate lead-in to the reality-grounded Timothy Dalton era. 

Yet for every foray into darkness and sadism, A View to A Kill hedges its bets with an unnecessary and silly joke, or action scene. The film keeps teetering towards an abyss of darkness, and then keeps backing away from it, into comic inanity.

Unlike Moore, I believe the film would have worked much more effectively if it maintained or sustained the dark atmosphere, and didn’t attempt to play so many moments lightly. A serious approach makes more sense, thematically, given the nature of the film’s villain: genetically engineered Max Zorin, and his plan for human carnage and cataclysm.

Lacking thematic and tonal consistency, A View to a Kill is a sometimes satisfying, sometimes inadequate Bond film, but ceaselessly fascinating. I understand why so many scholars and critics count it as Moore’s worst, while simultaneously feeling that there is also much to appreciate here.

Perhaps a better way of enunciating my point about the film is to say that I can view how the movie, with a few changes, could have been one of the strongest entries in this durable action series, especially as Bond prepared for a big transition to another actor, and to  another style and epoch of action filmmaking.

“Intuitive improvisation is the secret of genius.”

In Siberia, James Bond, 007 (Roger Moore) follows up on the investigation of the deceased 003, tracking down a computer microchip, produced by Zorin Industries, that can withstand an electromagnetic pulse.  The Soviets also want the chip recovered, and attempt to kill Bond before he makes a successful escape (in a submarine that looks like an ice berg).

Back in London, M (Robert Brown), assigns Bond to investigate Zorin (Christopher Walken), a former KGB agent, now entrepreneur. 

Zorin’s interests are varied. Beyond his tech company (which produces microchips), he breeds and sells horses.  At Ascot Racetrack, Bond, Moneypenny (Lois Maxwell), and M16 agent Sir Godfrey Tibbett (Patrick Macnee), observe Zorin’s newest colt, Pegasus, an animal that may be the result of genetic manipulation, like Zorin himself is rumored to be.

Bond then heads to Paris to meet an informant, Aubergine (Jean Rougerie), at the Eiffel Tower, who possesses information about an upcoming horse auction at Zorin’s extravagant French estate. The informant is killed by Zorin’s hench-person, the imposing May Day (Grace Jones), who flees Bond by parachuting from the Tower.  

Bond pursues, and sees Zorin and May Day escaping together in a boat.

Bond then goes undercover, with Tibbett at his side, as a wealthy horse buyer, at Zorin’s event. There, he confirms that Pegasus is the product of genetic manipulation and steroid use. He also encounters a mystery woman, Stacey Sutton (Tanya Roberts), whom Zorin pays five million dollars.

The next phase of Bond’s investigation leads him to San Francisco, where Sutton lives, and where Zorin is planning Operation Main Strike, a man-made earthquake that will destroy Silicon Valley, and leave Zorin the sole world provider of computer micro-chips.

After Bond teams with Mayday to stop the earthquake, Zorin abducts Stacey, and flees the city by blimp.  Bond pursues, and the nemeses fight to the death atop the Golden Gate Bridge.

“What’s there to say?”

A View to a Kill feels so schizophrenic because it vacillates between extreme seriousness or darkness, and then moments of ridiculous humor. Instead, the film should have stayed with the serious tone, which benefited Moore’s Bond immensely in my favorite from his era: For Your Eyes Only (1981).

Why should the jokey moments have been downplayed, or jettisoned, and the darker moments, highlighted?  

For a few reasons. Consider, first the sweep or trajectory of film history.  Overall, it might be viewed as a shift from the artificial and stagey, to the naturalistic and real, or gritty. Certainly, that is the direction the Bond films have headed in, moving to Dalton, and then, finally, to Craig. Modern audiences apparently seek more reality, and less theatricality and camp in their thrillers.  A View to a Kill demonstrates the damaging juxtaposition of these two approaches, and should have settled on one.

I choose the darker, more serious approach for this film, because of the gravity of the conflict. Here, Bond challenges Zorin, a sociopath, and a person not bound by morals or laws. Zorin is also engineered (by his mentor and father-figure, a Nazi scientist named Dr. Mortner) to be physically strong, and, frankly, a (mad) genius).

Bond, by contrast, is the product of natural biology, and bound by laws and some code of ethics or morality. But 007 has his experience and training to benefit him, and make him a contender. This is a conflict of two very unlike men. In a way, the dynamic is not entirely unlike Khan vs. Kirk in Star Trek, except for the fact that Kirk is much more up-front about his deficits than Bond is. 

Except for rare occasions such as Never Say Never Again (1983), the films do not acknowledge Bond’s aging. In the Roger Moore films, furthermore, audiences don’t really know Bond’s deficits as a human being. Instead, he’s a bit of a plastic-man in this incarnation, able to undertake any physical challenge with perfect acuity. Because Bond's aging is not acknowledged in A View to the Kill, the real nature of the conflict between Zorin and Bond is lost to a certain degree.

Moore’s age could have worked for the picture, instead of against it, had it been acknowledged with Moore's sense of humor, and again, his grace. Imagine an older, more world-weary, less physically “perfect” Bond being forced to confront a kind of superman with no sense of morality or humanity.  It could have been his greatest test, and acknowledging Bond’s age would have created a greater contrast between the two characters and their respective traits.

Still, the grave or serious attitude in A View to a Kill is justified. 

One can dislike the sadistic violence, of course, but the violence makes sense given this tale. Zorin possesses as little regard for underlings as he does for his enemies. People are just a means to an end to him. They may be loyal to him, but he doesn’t care.  

His lack of caring, of empathy, is what gives him his power. Zorin can gun down his employees without caring, and then offhandedly quip that his operation is moving "right on schedule." He can kill a million people in Silicon Valley for his own ends, and not see how evil his plan is.  He can achieve his ambitious ends because he possesses no sense of his limitations, and no sense that other people matter.

These qualities make Zorin different from the Bond villains of recent vintage, who were more grounded in reality. Kamal Khan (Octopussy [1983]) was a glorified jewel thief who became enmeshed in the Cold War  plot. In the end, he was still a jewel thief. And before him, Kristatos was, similarly, a grounded-in-reality “agent” for the Soviet Union, attempting to conduct an act of espionage (acquire the ATAC and return it to his KGB masters).  

Zorin represents a dramatic return to the Drax/Stromberg school of villainy, but in far less cartoon-like terms.  The camp elements of Drax and Stromberg’s stories are mostly absent here, at least in terms of Zorin’s world, and so he emerges as a dire, physical and mental threat to Bond’s success.

Christopher Walken brings his patented weirdness -- and brilliant unpredictability -- to the role, making Zorin a dramatic and legitimate danger to 007, and the world at large.  

Significantly Drax and Stromberg were no physical match for Bond, and their megalomania had a kind of predictable movie villain logic to it. Zorin is determinedly different.  Scene to scene, the audience is uncertain how Zorin will react, or respond to challenges. Walken brings the character to life in a dramatic way, and contrary to what some critics claimed, does not take the role lightly. Instead, Walken's Zorin is an almost perfect (crack'd) mirror, actually for 007. He is a fully developed individual with sense of humor and mastery over his world, but one who lacks morality, humanity, and empathy.

May Day fits in too with the idea of A View to a Kill as a grave, serious, violent film. She works for a sociopath, and is attracted to him; to his power and strength. But ultimately, May Day possesses something Zorin lacks:  a conscience.  How do we know? Because she makes emotional connections to people (like Jenny Flex), that Zorin can’t make, or  can't even understand. 

Unfortunately May Day’s conflict could also have been developed far more than it is.  Her decision to fight Zorin plays more like a third-act gimmick than a credible character development, even if the seeds for that character development are right there, in the script, and on screen.

A View to a Kill should have been the supreme contrast between a man who kills for reasons of morality (Queen and Country, essentially) and a man who kills for no moral reason whatsoever.  The other characters, like May Day, are the collateral damage in their contest.  

Instead, however, the movie’s essential schizophrenia -- perhaps cowardice -- diminishes its effectiveness.

Let’s gaze for a moment at the (almost...) fantastic pre-title sequence in Siberia, which highlights some of the most amazing (and well-photographed) stunts of the entire Moore era…and that’s saying something, given the pre-title sequence of The Spy Who Loved Me, or the mountain climbing sequence in For Your Eyes Only. 

Barry’s score here is moody and serious, the matters at hand are absolutely life and death, and then…in the middle of it, we get a dumb joke to break the mood: California Girls by the Beach Boys (but performed by cover band) gets played as Bond uses one ski (from a bob-sled) to surf a lake. The tension of the set-up -- so assiduously established -- is punctured, and we are asked, as we are asked frequently in Moore’s era, to laugh instead of legitimately invest in 007's world.

Again and again, the movie lunges for the cheap gag, rather than embracing the seriousness of the affair. 

After Zorin has committed point-blank, brutal murder and devastating arson in San Francisco, and is about to detonate a bomb that will cause a massive earthquake and kill millions, we are treated to a joke action sequence with Bond and Sutton aboard a run-away fire engine.  

The stunts are impressive, sure, but to no meaningful, thematic, or even tonal point.  Do we really need to see a put-upon cop get his squad car pulped, while he reacts with angst?  Do we really need the draw-bridge operator  joke, as he shrinks back in his booth, recoiling from the demolition? Do we really need to see Bond swinging haplessly side-to-side, on an un-tethered fire engine ladder?

Only minutes after audiences gasp over Bond’s delicate rescue of Stacey from the roof of City Hall -- losing his footing and nearly falling from a tall ladder -- we’re suddenly in The Cannonball Run (1981), or some such thing.

As the movie leads into its amazing finale, a legitimately tense (and very realistic seeming and vertigo-inducing) fight atop the Golden Gate Bridge, we also have to get the requisite shot of Bond’s manhood in danger, as the blimp flies too near an offending antenna, and threatens his crotch. 

I’ll be honest here: The Golden Gate Bridge set-piece is one of my all-time favorites in the Bond series. 

The location shooting is amazing. The score is pulse-pounding, and the dizzying heights of the bridge rival For Your Eyes Only’s mountain-top finale. There’s a sense of chaos unloosed too, as Mortner arms himself with a grenade, it detonates, and the blimp shift.  

And then there’s the physical fight, at those vertiginous heights, between Zorin and Bond.  

Zorin is armed with an axe. Bond has nothing to rely on but his wits. It’s a great, splendidly orchestrated sequence, and very few phony rear-projection shots take away from the stunt and location work.  The fight's outcome is perfect too. Starting to slip  from his perch, Zorin giggles a little, before plunging from the bridge to his death.  

I love that little laugh, and Zorin’s brief moment of realization, before he falls. 

But before reaching that incredible conclusion, we have to deal with such absurdities as a large, loud blimp sneaking up on Stacey, a return visit to our put upon SF cop (now directing traffic), and Bond’s crotch in danger from that antenna.

These gags are not only dumb and unnecessary, they take away from the movie’s serious approach; an approach that could have led us smoothly into the Dalton era of a more realistic, graver 007 universe. We have seen so many fan edits of Star Trek or Star Wars movies in recent years. I’d love to see a fan edit of A View to a Kill in which some of the cringe-worthy gags got omitted, and the grave tone of the movie, instead, was maintained throughout. 

Obviously, such an edit would not fix some things. 

I would much have preferred to see a tired, bloodied Bond here, instead of one who can run at top speed, leap on draw bridges, or ski, and surf flawlessly through dangerous terrain. I would have rather seen a tired, huffing and puffing Bond these challenges, using his wits. I feel like that my preferred approach to A View to a Kill would have made it easier to invest in the story, and been a real proper send-off for Moore’s Bond, whom I grew up with...and love without reservation.

Could the movie have -- with that approach -- gotten beyond Tanya Roberts’ grating performance as Sutton? 

Would the strangely brutal violence in Zorin's mine have felt more appropriate, or better justified?  I suspect these deficits would have been judged differently, had a consistent tone been applied to A View to a Kill.

Again this film fascinates me almost endlessly. Sometimes -- such as in the Golden Gate climax -- it’s nearly a great James Bond movie. And some of the time a View to a Kill is a terrible Bond movie (the fire engine chase).

And the incredible thing is that from minute to minute, A View to a Kill vacillates between those two poles. There’s no middle ground.  Diamonds are Forever is glib, glitzy, inconsequential and dumb throughout; Die Another Die, ridiculous and campy to its core. 

But Moore’s final hour as James Bond is an animal all its own. A View to a Kill is a schizophrenic reach for greatness (and for the future direction of the Bond films…) that, simultaneously, plumbs the worst depths of the actor’s tenure in the role.

So, curse the bad, or appreciate the good?  I guess that's your view...to this film.