Film review: The Living Daylights

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, Timothy Dalton's all too brief tenure as 007 emerged from the charred remains of the Roger Moore era -- a phase in the series that I could never fully get behind but which even I could tell was in a vastly worse state by the end of his tenure than when it had begun. I maintain that Moore should have stepped down after MOONRAKER -- the film itself was terrible, and the more sombre, down to earth FOR YOUR EYES ONLY could have served as the perfect introductory film for a new Bond of the sort ultimately played by Dalton. Sadly, it was not to be. Dalton arguably arrived a good six years too late and only got to play Bond in two films. But my, what films!

I'd previously seen THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS in two halves -- and, rather counterproductively, I saw the second half first. This was my first time watching it from beginning to end, and while I'd always known it was in the upper echelons of the Bond canon, I hadn't appreciated until now just HOW good it is.

Indeed, there's a case to be made that it features the best script in the series. Richard Maibaum, who had a hand in penning virtually every film in the series until the end of the 80s, dives into his brief to deliver a more grounded, realistic Bond with unmistakable relish, delivering a script that, barring a few moments of residual silliness, stands on its own two feet as a gripping Cold War spy thriller. Although it begins with a suitably action-packed pre-credits teaser, once Maurice Binder's opening titles are out of the way, the wacky hijinx of the Moore years are jettisoned in favour of an extended sequence in which Bond relies on his natural resourcefulness rather than sci-fi gadgets to extract a Soviet defector from Czechoslovakia. The whole thing is as expertly handled as any "serious" spy movie, and serves as a perfect introduction to the new Bond: cold, ruthless, cunning and jaded. There are no raised eyebrows here. Dalton's Bond is Fleming's Bond: a cool, calculating bastard who carries out his mission with expert efficiency.

And it's not just the script and Dalton's performance that carry the sequence -- everyone involved seems to have upped their game, from John Glen, whose previously rather flat direction now ekes out every last ounce of tension from the scenario, to John Barry, who, in his final contribution to the series, delivers the best score to a Bond film since ON HER MAJESTY'S SECRET SERVICE. It's a standard that's kept up for the duration of the film, which sees Bond set off on the trail of the supposed defector (it's actually a brilliantly executed triple-cross), taking him from Bratislava to Tangier by way of Vienna, and finally to Afghanistan where, in a move that will probably raise a few eyebrows among modern day audiences, he teams up with the noble Mujahideen to drive out the occupying Soviet forces. Along the way, he falls for Kara Milovy (Maryam d'Abo), the cellist girlfriend of said defector, and takes her along for the ride. Kara might not be an iconic Bond girl like Tracy or Pussy Galore, but she's believable and her relationship with Bond is genuinely charming. For once, her wide-eyed naiveté isn't annoying but rather entirely appropriate given the situation in which she finds herself.

If I have a slight preference for the first half of the film, it's because I find the European locales more redolent of Cold War espionage than the African and Asian settings of the second half. Once the film relocates to Afghanistan, it becomes more action-oriented and the spy mechanics take a back seat, but it remains thoroughly gripping nonetheless. A great many Bond films, particularly during the Moore years, suffer from a sagging middle; this one doesn't, and I suspect this is largely due to the fact that we actually invest in Bond as a character. I can't praise Dalton's performance enough. Whereas Moore and even to a considerable extent Connery played the character as a collection of easily recognisable traits, Dalton approaches the part with the utmost seriousness, taking a method approach to the character's motivation and responding to the events taking place as if they were real. Watch the scene where, after a fellow agent, Saunders, is murdered, he returns to Kara and pretends that everything is fine while at the same time conveying to the audience that he's ready to explode with anger. I'm not an actor myself, but even I can tell that something like that requires immense skill to pull off, and it's electrifying to watch on screen. If Connery and Moore were movie stars, Dalton is an Actor with a capital "A".

The film's only real failing, and the one that ensures that it remains behind FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE in my ranking of the series, is its villains -- something that the next film would rectify, in spades. The blond adonis Necros is really just a thinly veiled reimagining of Red Grant from that earlier film, while Jeroen Krabbé as the defector Koskov is too much of a figure of fun to ever seem like a genuine threat. Arms dealer Brad Whitaker (Joe Don Baker) is actually quite an interesting creation -- a self-styled "general" obsessed with military history -- but again it's hard to take him seriously, partly because he's so much larger than life compared to the comparatively sombre proceedings taking place around him. On the side of the goodies, we get a memorable turn from Art Malik as the leader of the Mujahideen, as well as Caroline Bliss's short-lived nerdy/sexy Moneypenny (Lois Maxwell looking even longer in the tooth than Roger Moore by this stage). Judging from the evidence on display here, she's no great actor, but her awkward delivery is somehow endearing, and I love the scene were Bond puts her glasses back on her face lopsided.

Rewatching THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS (and in its proper order!) has given me a newfound appreciation for the film, not to mention impressing on me the fact that, regardless of the many strengths of Dalton's next film, LICENCE TO KILL, this is by far the superior of the two. In many respects it's the last true hurrah of classic Bond: a proper Cold War spy thriller that contains just enough of the series mainstays -- Q's gadgets, "Bond, James Bond", vodka martinis -- to fit into the series as a whole while still standing on its own feet as an excellent film in its own right. I'm delighted that, after spending so long as the black sheep of the Bond series, Dalton is finally beginning to get the recognition he deserves.

Film review: For Your Eyes Only

If ever there was a film that makes it plain that Roger Moore should have hung up the mantle of James Bond before he did, it's this one. Not because it's a bad film or even because HE'S bad in it, but because it seems plain that it was written for a more ruthless, harder-edged interpretation of the character than Moore was capable of playing -- or had any desire to.

As the first 80s Bond, tonally it marks a clean break from the films of the 70s, which were characterised by increasingly outlandish stunts, sets and scenarios, culminating in the monumentally stupid MOONRAKER, an obvious cash-in on the success of STAR WARS that, after meandering all over the place for a tedious hour and a half, completely jumps the shark during its final act, sending Bond into space to engage in laser battles. As was the case when Sean Connery stepped down from the role, a change was desperately needed, and it came this time round in the form of producer Cubby Broccoli bringing the series back down to earth with a more sombre, realistic spy thriller in which Bond helps a young woman avenge the death of her murdered parents.

Unfortunately, with Moore still in the role and already wearing that wide-eyed, quasi-senile look that would come to define his performance in his subsequent two films, the series' transformation feels like a job half done. It doesn't help that the film begins with a pre-credits teaser straight out of the worst of the 70s Bonds, with Bond trapped aboard a helicopter being remote operated by a thinly-veiled Blofeld stand-in. Dispatched in an utterly ridiculous manner that feels like it was purely intended to give Kevin McClory the middle finger, the slapstick and bad puns are at odds both with the first shot of the sequence (Bond laying flowers at his wife's grave, in a callback to ON HER MAJESTY'S SECRET SERVICE) and the far grittier film that follows the rather bland, Maurice Binder-designed opening credits (I'm quite partial to the Sheena Easton song that accompanies them, though I appreciate that I'm in the minority there).

"Don't worry, old fella. We'll have your stunt double

take care of all the wide shots for you."

What follows feels like budget Bond to an extent, with the largely realistic sets and heavy use of locations contrasting with the bravura Ken Adam designs of the last two films, and the stakes rather lower with Bond up against a smuggler, Kristatos (Julian Glover), rather than a megalomaniac bent on world domination. But the tone works here because first-time director (and long-time editor) John Glen fully commits to the more sombre tone, ill-advised pre-credits sequence and an idiotic coda featuring a Margaret Thatcher impersonator aside. He, in collaboration with new production designer Peter Lamont and veteran writer Richard Maibaum, succeed in dragging the series back to its novelistic roots, albeit unfortunately saddled with Moore as a painful reminder of what came before it. He never looks truly comfortable in this film, and I suspect it's not too much of a stretch to assume that he was happier with the more campy theatrics of the preceding films. I know he found the scene where Bond kicks a car off the side of a cliff, sending its driver plunging to his death, particularly distasteful and didn't feel it was in keeping with the character. (Perhaps not in keeping with his Bond, but certainly in keeping with MINE!) Glen's direction is unflashy, almost utilitarian, but as was the case with Peter Hunt's direction on ON HER MAJESTY'S SECRET SERVICE, his past experience as an editor obviously paid dividends in terms of his ability to build tension. The highlight comes at the start of the climax, with Bond scaling a sheer mountainside. The whole thing is shot and edited in such a way as to be positively nerve-racking, making you actually fear for Bond's safety for the first time since... well, probably OHMSS.

Like a number of Bond films, this one suffers from a sagging middle, with the action coming more or less to a standstill in the Corfu and Albania sequences, while the presence of Bibi Dahl (Lynn-Holly Johnson), a precocious ice skater who has the hots for Bond, is most unwelcome. The character and the actress are both excruciatingly annoying, and the sight of a teenager attempting to bed the increasingly aged Moore makes for decidedly uncomfortable viewing. On the other hand, Carole Bouquet imbues the Bond girl du jour, Melina, with a sense of wounded dignity and comes across as far less of an airhead than any of her 70s counterparts. For once, she's actually a fully developed character in her own right with motivation that makes sense, and you end up rooting for her. The romance between her and Bond is allowed to develop naturally and isn't actually consummated until (we assume) after the end credits, though it would have been more convincing had she been playing opposite a Bond closer to her own age. That said, she mercifully comes across as an adult rather than the overgrown children that so many Bond girls have resembled.

As much as I didn't want this review to descend into "I wish Moore wasn't in it", it's somewhat unavoidable and it's the note on which I'm going to sign off. FOR YOUR EYES ONLY has been described to me as a Timothy Dalton Bond film before its time, and oh how I wish Dalton had been cast a few years earlier! He would have really sunk his teeth into this material, and I suspect that his presence would have elevated the film to "great" as opposed to merely "decent". As it is, it's not the best of the Moore era -- that would be THE SPY WHO LOVED ME -- but it's a very close second and, it has to be said, far closer to my idea of Bond than that earlier film.