Take a Drink: for sex and entendres from double on up
Take a Drink: for anything that feels familiar to the Bond canon
Take a Drink: whenever Moore is one cold-hearted sonofabitch
Take a Drink: for a special kind of sexism
Take a Drink: whenever Jaws fucks something (or himself) up
Take a Drink: for classical music
Do a Shot: fucking sound effects
By: Henry J. Fromage (Four Beers) –
Perhaps I’m drinking the kool-aid at this point, but I think I’m enjoying the Roger Moore Bond films more than the Sean Connery ones. Don’t get me wrong, in a lot of ways they’re objectively worse, but I’m enjoying Moore’s hammy with a wink, horndog without being a sexist creeper interpretation.
The plot involves an undersea-dwelling billionaire who wants to destroy humanity and start civilization over again in his undersea community. Bond stuff happens and he is foiled. The wikipedia gem of a sentence “Jaws fatally bites the shark and swims to freedom.” is born. All is right in the world.
Don’t watch if you’re pregnant, or don’t want to be
At this point, Roger Moore had settled into the role of Bond like breaking in a comfy suit, one that he would wear longer than any other actor. While not nearly as credible as a threat than a Sean Connery or Daniel Craig…
You gonna die
… he’s the Bond I’d most want to sit down and have a beer with, if only because he seems less likely get alpha male aggressive and shove said beer up my ass than Connery, or suggest doing so, like Lazenby. Timothy Dalton probably thinks beer is for dirty commoners. Anyway, I’m down with Roger Moore, and that’s not a position I was in when I began this half year-long Bond marathon.
Regarding The Spy Who Loved Me in particular, you can’t say the budget isn’t right up there on the screen. The film boasts some of the best stuntwork in the entire series (that ski jump alone…), even though that’s one list waaaayy harder to put in order than your run of the mill “Best Bond Theme” or “Best Bond Girl” listicles that litter the internet like all the illegitimate children littering Bond’s past. The Spy Who Loved Me also blows shit up real nice, and boasts some of the best cinematography up until that point… whenever they aren’t rear-projecting Roger Moore into some dangerous stunt, that is.
Put down the martini, Roger! That’s the next scene, dammit.
However, this film’s place in the Bond pantheon is established by one word only… Jaws. Let’s be honest, a list of Bond villains has to begin at Richard Kiel’s goofy, mind-boggingly enormous, and clearly most real-life terrifying of performances. Moonraker made him adorable, but in this movie I’d rather face the shark version of Jaws than this one.
Oh fuck no.
An Alpine chase. A shark tank. Anonymous megalomaniac wants to kill world. Bond is a walking boner. There is almost nothing that we haven’t seen before in other, inarguably better Bond films, and what is new is just lifted from other sources (Captain Nemo, Lawrence of Arabia… rather shamelessly) Nobody broke a sweat writing this thing.
It’s not the 80s yet, but don’t tell the godawful synth score. Carly Simon’s theme barely has a pulse, either.
For several movies now, the Bond franchise has been embracing its inherent silliness in a gradually tightening death grip. Honestly, at this point it was the smart move, but the unfortunate side effect is that when Grandpa thinks he’s in on the joke, the joke’s already dead. Most of the intentional jokes written for the film are just trying way too hard for your laughs, and the result is often more sad than funny.
Fuck off Grandpa, you don’t even know what a lemon party is.
The Spy Who Loved Me is on nobody’s list of best Bond films, and yet I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it, especially whenever Jaw’s nonsense proportioned body was onscreen.