ryanbarwick

[ryanbarwick]

“This Never Happened to the Other Fellow”

#6 On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969)

Bond: George Lazenby (first and only appearance as Bond)

Villain: Blofeld’s back, baby

Location: The Swiss Alps

Silly names: Irma Bunt, Grunther (I’m reaching a bit)

It is so obviously clear in the 30 minutes of On Her Majesty’s Secret Service that no matter how many times Sean Connery told the folks at Eon that he wasn’t getting in that damned tuxedo again, nobody considered the franchise without him.

So when Conney did drop out, audiences were left with generic label Bond: The australian George Lazenby, in his only performance in the franchise. And as is a consistent theme here at Thunderblog, when in doubt, the Bond franchise will almost always opt for the least subtle approach to addressing anything. 

Tonally, the film’s first half is lazy and as limp as they come, unclear whether to look back at previous films with a wink or to look ahead to the future.

An example: When Bond break’s the fourth wall before the credits role and reminds the audience “This never happened to the other fellow!”

Yeah, we’re aware, George. Sure, that Scottish guy was better...but you don’t have to remind us so soon into the film! 

(And the fact that it was Lazenby’s only film makes it all that more awkward—there’s another example where he’s rifling through his desk and the film literally plays the theme from each movie.)

Maybe I’m being too harsh. For his first film, Lazenby survives as a pretty face with shoulders broad enough to throw a believable punch. 

But he isn’t helped by an incredibly boring first half, inwhich Bond romances the daughter of a gentle terrorist for intel on Ernst Blofeld, our favorite baddie from the first two films, now holed up in the Swiss Alps posing as the director of an “allergy-research” institute. Oh, an Blodfeld’s trying claim some sort of medieval title too? Sure.

One thing leads to another, and before you know it, we’re given Winter Sport’s Bond, nay Christmas bond (!), skiing between bullet sprays. 

Eventually, as is tradition, we wind up in the warm, nostalgic jacuzzi of an evil lair followed by a high speed chase. The action itself is entertaining, least because Lazeby doesn’t have to say too much. 

Sidenote: Her Majesty’s could arguably be called a Christmas movie as the snowfall provides a perfect winter wonderland. Even Blofield’s office has a Christmas tree ordained with (what else?) gold tinsel.

Did we mention that Blofield has a haram of women from every background? But of course he does.

Lazenby is helped immensely by an old face, Bond’s arch nemesis (so far) Enrest Blofeld, this time played by a younger, more agile, more...bald, Telly Savalas, who in fact, might actually be evil. 

Outside of Goldfinger’s Gert Fröbe, Savalas is the best, most demented villain in the franchise yet and I was bummed to learn it was his only film. 

Outside of Goldfinger’s Gert Fröbe, Savalas is the best, most demented villain in the franchise yet and I was bummed to learn it was his only film. 

Save for some of the more dramatic moments, most of the underlying soundtrack comes from what sounds like a cheap synthesizer and I’m not sure I would have noticed it had Connery been playing the part. Ultimately, Lazenby is no Sean Connery, but is anyone?

[ryanbarwick]

“Now that you’re dead, perhaps some of your old friends will pay a little less attention”

#5 You Only Live Twice (1967) Bond: Connery Location: Japan > Space Villain: #1, revealed as Ernst Stavro Blofeld Silly names: Tiger, Blofeld

Release at the height of the space race—practically two years before we even landed on the Moon—the franchise’s fifth film isn’t yet ambitious enough to spend Bond to Space. 

So they settled for Japan, complete with all the throwing stars and sumo wrestling you’d expect out of a film that falls head first into whatever the most obvious stereotype is at a given time.

Tossing the Kung-Fu flick crazy of the late sixties into a blender with Bond’s usual Cold War cool, You Only Live Twice perfectly encapsulates all the best things about the Connery years, and the worst, making it one of the most dated films of the bunch so far—“Bond-san” never sounds right, and yet we hear it more than a few times.

The gist of the plot is that something keeps snatching up Apollo spacecrafts.

 The American’s think it’s the Russians and vice versa. Only the mild British delegates believe that, of course, Spectre is behind it all. The title is pulled from the film’s pretty unconvincing plot point in which Bond fakes his own death to hide, and I guess…spy better?

Anyway, Spectre’s hiding behind a Japanese chemical conglomerate which Bond infiltrates, ultimately leading to a kickass fight instead a volcano.

But, oh reader, there are detours.

The worst of which include Bond getting plastic surgery to “become Japanese,” culminating in a 25-minute sequence that has aged like hot, dashboard yogurt in the middle of July.  

Surely, after the surgery, they replace Sean Connery with a Japanese actor, right? Reader, no, they give him bushy eyebrows and a bad haircut and its all over within 30 minutes. Connery even keeps the Scottish accent. The mind reels.

I should have know things were going to get weird considering Bond’s first couple lines of dialogue in the film in which, naked, he asks his lover why Chinese girls “taste that way.” She replies that he is very “sex-iful.” Then, he’s given a geisha bath. “In Japan, men always come first,” he’s told. Ew. 

Ewwwww.

(Side note: This is now the second movie in which Bond gets a massage. It’s also the third that ends with Bond in a life raft.)

It’s all so batshit insane that you’d figure whoever wrote the script was high on paint fumes and not *check notes* beloved children’s author Roald Dahl, creator of Matilda, Charlie and the Chocolate factory and James and the Giant peach.

And yet. AND YET (takes a deep breath). There’s some great scenes in this movie. 

Besides the obviously cool shots of Tokyo in the late 60s, where Thunderball invested in snorkel equipment and flippers, You Only Live Twice invested in bullets, a lot of them. The last scene is the biggest set yet and every inch of the screen is filled with repelling ninjas, thugs with machine guns, and mad scientists running with their heads cut off—at least it feels that way.

There are also the exploding cigarettes, and “Little Nellie,” Bond’s pimped out helicopter that soars above expectations of Sean Connery atop a pommel horse in front of a green screen like previous action sequences. The stage craft is finally catching up with the writers ambition!

Finally, we see #1 for who he really is: ugly as hell. And he’s not all that different than every other villain, although his iconic Persian cat is pretty cute. His name is Blofeld and instead of Sharks, he’s got killer piranhas. Sure. 

At this point, what’s the difference?

(Another side note: why does all the furniture in every Bond villain's lair look the same? What’s the connection between Mid-century modern furniture and global domination? Should I be concerned about my girlfriend’s taste in coffee tables?)

It is easily Connery’s most downplayed performance. He’s never really given a chance to play it cool, or win anyone over. In fact, as the title suggests, whether he’s faking his own death or *ugh* given plastic surgery, Bond’s best when he’s the life of the party not hiding behind racist eyebrows.

[ryanbarwick]

“Do Not Live in Hope, My Dear”

(dude, same)

#4 Thunderball (1965)

Bond: Connery

Villain: Emilio Largo (old eyepatch, patchy)

Location: Bahama Bond!

Silly names: ...Pinder? Feels like I’m forcing the bit.

As the namesake of this here blog, I wanted to enjoy what was the longest Bond film at the time. 

On face value alone, it’s an ambitious attempt to overcome the comic book color of Goldfinger and its quick dialogue.  But when Goldfinger succeeds in over to top presentation, Thunderball sinks.

Literally. Most of the movie takes place underwater. 

No amount of screen time showing Sean Connery in latex can district from the fact that water is dense and karate chops and sucker punches are slow in said environment.

After a brief pause, Spectre is back. So is the guy stroking the white kitten and a henchmen (#2!) with an eyepatch — The effect here is immensely dulled when Austin Power’s is literally writing the same script. The Ringer’s Miles Surrey does a fantastic job of this here.

(It’s a great read, I was gonna pitch something similar when this is all done. The bastard.)

The main gist of the plot is that through the magic of plastic surgery (yep) Spectre is able to steal a nuclear armed NATO bomber, steal its nukes, and hold the western world ransom.

The western world responds by printing really, really large maps.

We get some scenes of M16’s actual, agency infrastructure, as there is a meeting of the 00’s each tasked with a different clue to solve the geopolitical crisis. 

Of course, they don’t send Bond to Detroit, or Kiev, or St. Paul. They send him to the Bahamas—his now second trip down to the Caribbean following the first film, Dr. No. 

This time there’s more to see and do, investigating the mysterious Emilio Largo and his yacht, the Disco Volante, which is French for cocaine. Largo turns out to be Spectre’s #2 (maybe the eyepatch was a give away?) and excitement follows as Bond tracks down the two nuclear missiles. 

This was actually supposed to be the first Bond film to launch the franchise but for legal reasons (and practical purposes) they went with Dr. No. 

When Bond’s producers chose to return to Thunderball they went whole hog, as the movie starts with one of the most ludicrous stunts I’ve ever seen as Bond takes flight in a jetpack, helmet and all. Reader, to the Tube:

This scene, followed by Tom Jones intro music, unhinged my jaw from my mortal coil. I almost fainted.

If only that excitement could have lasted the rest of the movie. As mentioned, wanting to take advantage of the Ba-hemic setting, we get long drawn out scenes underwater. 

Bond even pulls off Scuba sex, defying the laws of nature and I’m sure some sort of international acquatic law.

Everything culminates in an aquatic duel between Largo’s men and The U.S. Navy where each side lines up like they did in the revolutionary war, replacing muskets with harpoons. A look at my film notes and I wrote “Sharks!” nine times. 

(The scenes that aren’t underwater are at night and dark as hell. Like Dr. No, we get some Caribbean nightlife, this time during the Junkaroo festival. It’s fun for B-roll but pointless to the plot as nothing comes from it.)

While the action sequences are lame and dull, the grossest part are Bond’s sexual advances. 

Relentless horniess has always been at the cold core of Bond’s soul but at least feigned consent made the franchise easier to watch. For whatever reason, in Thunderball the screenwriters wanted to show women fighting and resisting Bond (as any normal person would!) but he fights them off and they give up. This happens twice and it's creepy as hell.

Even though Largo’s eyepatch is pretty nifty, he’s a boring villain. So much so that I had to IMDB his name twice while watching. That’s inexcusable following Goldfinger. 

To his credit, he does feed his henchmen to sharks, a one up on Goldfinger’s laser.

For all its faults and ambitions, Thunderball is neither timeless or dated in a cute and redeeming way. I wonder how I’d feel about it if it was a stand alone film outside of the franchise. But following the murder’s row of the first three Bond films, Thunderball will most likely sink to the recesses of my mind.

Oh, and apparently Johnny Cash submitted a take for the theme song. What could have been.

[ryanbarwick]

A Note Before Goldfinger

We left Brooklyn last Saturday after two weeks of social quarantining for the long, manicured lawns of Camden, Delaware, a town I legitimately didn’t know existed all through highschool. This says more about me than it does of the town, considering we played them in every sport. 

 I didn’t really want to leave but now we’re living with Christine’s parents and they’re paying for our groceries, which is nice and a privilege. I don’t miss the ambulance sirens but I miss my refrigerator, walking around naked, and the pigeons for which we’ve traded for geese. Much louder. I don’t want to tell you how much weight I’ve gained but I’ve started jogging every morning to avoid developing an underlying condition.

There was a rally to reopen the country in Dover, Delaware not 15 minutes away. 

I mostly wrote this on Sunday but got busy with work then I felt self concious about posting about my own personal writing during my work week which is really dumb.

Anyways.

With love,

Ryan

[ryanbarwick]

“Like a Blow Torch Through Butter”

#3 Goldfinger (1964)

Bond: Sean Connery Location: Miami, Geneva, Kentucky Villain: Goldfinger Silly Names: Oddjob, Pussy Galore (really)

There really should be a full disclosure claim at the start of this so I’m going to do that. 

As noted multiple times in previous posts, I had never watched any of the Bond films. However, this entire project/experiment was kicked off after an especially [redacted] Sunday spent blasting through the first three films in the franchise, which, as of now, all three have been reviewed.

To clarify: I’ve watched each of the first three films twice, once in a row, and then each individually to review and write and do this little thing we’re doing. 

Still with me?

I was anxious about reviewing Goldfinger as I didn’t really care for it after my first watch. 

Why? Maybe I was in a weird mood? Maybe I was burnt out of the same routine, day after day. The paranoia of the first two weeks of quarantine didn’t help. I get paid to write professionally (miraculously, really) but I am not a professional movie watcher and reviewer. Nevertheless.

Goldfinger kicks ass. 

Lasers, Nazi gold, mint juleps, Car Chase(s) and an incredible ensemble that each take a turn beating the hell out of Bond. 

It’s a flying carnival of soft serve, ice-cream melting fun that keeps its Kennedy cool and stays true to the franchise. 

It’s also a markedly different film than the first two, most notably because Spectre is not pulling the mischievous strings behind the films chief antagonist (see title). 

The film starts with M16 ruining Bond’s Miami vacation. He’s been staying at the same resort as Auric Goldfinger, an international jeweler with a shady background. From there, we are whisked away to Geneva to Goldfinger’s smelt and factory and the finally to (cue the Kentucky Bluegrass fiddle) Louisville, a suspicious choice for Bond’s first sojourn in America, where Goldfinger aims to carry out his master scheme.

And that’s one of the subtle differences in this  film compared to the others. We don’t actually know what Goldfinger is up to until the last half hour. 

Titled Operation Grand Slam, Goldfinger is planning on igniting a “dirty bomb” inside Fort Knox, ruining the United States gold supply and subsequently making Goldfinger one of the largest holders of gold in the world.

In the same sense that I am not a film critique, I’m also not an economist, but even though the United States has only had a floating dollar since 1971, just because the gold is “dirty” doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. It still has “value.”

 ThunderBlog’s chief Delaware correspondent, Dave, tells me that it’s possible that the U.S. would no longer be able to manufacture things like electronics without gold. Sure. Why not?

I spent 20 minutes googling this and still haven’t found my answer. So I did the journalism thing and asked some economists what they thought. 

“I don’t think it would affect the market price of gold because the gold in Fort Knox is effectively out of circulation. It doesn’t go anywhere, it isn’t traded and doesn’t come out of the market. So, no I don’t think this plot would work,” said Adam Ozimek, an economist who is very popular on Twitter.

Ozimek then pointed me towards the economist George Selgin, the director of the Cato Institute's Center for Monetary and Financial alternatives and a professor at the University of Georgia.

Selgin told me that he used to actually pose this question to his undergrad students.

“Auric Goldfinger’s plot is deeply flawed,” said Selgin. “Titles to the gold might trade without anyone having to touch it again, that’s essentially how gold moves among central banks...The “dirty bomb” would have accomplished nothing save to make Fort Knox a more secure place for safekeeping gold than ever before.”

So there you go. The evil scheme doesn’t hold much water, but It’s so much fun watching it unfold, who really cares? Also, after kindly answering the question, neither followed me on Twitter. Cold world out here.

Goldfinger’s performance, played by the german actor Gert Frobe, matches Connery’s playful intensity. Man’s got a solid gold revolver, an 18k Rolls Royce, and gets to say lines like this:

[Bond, tied to a plate of gold with a laser climbing towards his groin]

Bond: Do you expect me to talk?

Goldfinger: No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!

Not to be outdone, Oddjob and Pussy Galore round out the ensemble, the former an iconic performance almost cheapened by the gimmick of the stupid razor hate (A shoe? Honestly?). The cherub smile he gives after every one of Bond’s punches land like a roll of toilet paper on concrete is equally endearing and cold as hell.

(Also, it’s never really explained why Goldfinger’s entire staff are...Korean)

Connery’s smiling more than the first two. Maybe the vacation was good for him? 

He’s actually having fun, even when Goldfinger has a laser pointed at his groin. On his way to stalk Goldfinger, we are given wide shots of the snow capped Swiss Alps and its genuinely breathtaking and gorgeously shot. The decision to rely much less on matte backgrounds was a wise one, as the international segments and location shots age these films like wine..

Unlike From Russia With Love and its overt use of political tension, Goldfinger has fun. It’s a bit heavy on the gadgets (the iconic Aston Martin DB5 equipped with radar, machine guns, and seat ejector) but Goldfinger has a freaking laser so it’s not like the gimmicks and gadgets give Bond the upper hand. Connery's wit and charm are no longer center stage, but there’s enough colorful chaos to capture our attention.

Next up:

Thunderball (1965)

[ryanbarwick]

“Where There’s Smoke There’s Fire”

#2 From Russia With Love (1963)

Bond: Sean Connery

Location: Venice, English Countryside, Istanbul (was Constantinople)

Villain: Assorted Spectre agents and a cat wielding mad man

Silly Names: Number One, Number Three

It isn’t the foreground of the Cold War that makes From Russia With Love a much better film than its predecessor. While Dr. No introduces the bulletproof Bond, it’s sequel convinces us that, for all his swagger, Bond can actually die. 

In From Russia (there’s really no way to comfortably shorten this, FRWL?) there are stakes. Foreign agents, honey traps, and double crossers hide in plain sight. 

Twice our hero is pinned and the only thing that saves him is savvy thinking and the creativity of British intelligence (I will not write a paragraph on the exploding briefcase but I would be remiss to neglect it). 

We’re taken to Venice, to Istanbul, to gypsy compounds (yep) and to secret temples. 

From a cinematic perspective, on the highlights is that director Terence Young (same guy as Dr. No) begins every scene with shots of each city, its ruins and cobbled streets. Actually digesting the settings make it that much more interesting when we watch the Russian’s stalk the British, the British eye the Bulgarians and the *checks notes* the Gypsies fend off Spectre? Sure!

In fact, everyone’s so bored by the geopolitical stalemate of the Cold War that it’s actually acknowledged by Bond’s cab driver who allows the Russians to follow him and they exchange the same favor.

Bond’s mission isn’t noble. Unlike Dr. no, he doesn’t need to save the world, the British just need to get a leg up on the Soviets — a telling analogy for the Cold War, a competition with less ideology than a football game. 

We know Bond doesn’t have a developed political perspective yet because he willingly bribes his enemies. Bond kills to kill and does so shamelessly.

And yet, the Soviet’s aren’t the antagonist’s per-say. It is Spectre, the villainous cabal, hell bent on global domination (insert evil laughter) but willing to be distracted to pick off Bond. We’re introduced to the mysterious number one, only visible as a hand stroking a cat. Although we never see Number One, we get an idea of Spectre’s size and ambitions, well beyond Dr. No’s Caribbean lab made out of QVC kitchenware.

Although the plot is a bit complex — check the pronouns in the wiki-plot — the main gist is that Bond is lured by a beautiful blonde to Istanbul to pick up a decoding device believed to belong to the Soviets, when really it's Spector all along. 

No doubt helped by the larger budget, we get our first real action sequence of the franchise, a diving helicopter and a boat chase—in the last twenty minutes, no less.

We’re also shown the infamous gadgets, a running motif that picks up in the later films (supposedly). There’s the garrote wrist watch, a folding rifle, the previously mentioned exploding briefcase, and a knife shoe. Knife Shoe!

One of the highlights is Bond’s relationship with Tatiana Romanova, a ‘loyal to the state’ soviet honey trap for Bond, unknowingly working for Spectre. 

Except for a cringe worthy slap in the face, the filmmakers went out of their way to show a real relationship. They cuddle, joke, and quip even as Connery keeps up the icy-ish demeanor. 

Another is Bond’s turkish sidekick, played by Pedro Armendariz, who show’s more wisdom than Bond. 

Tragically, this was Armendariz’s last film as he was dying of cancer obtained while shooting The Conqueror, the movie where John Wayne played Gengis Khan. Yes, you read that right, the movie where John Wayne played Gengis Khan. That happened. They filmed it near a nuclear weapons test site somewhere in Utah and half the crew, including Wayne, got cancer. Oh yeah, and Howard Hughes produced it during his “milk bars and piss jars” phase. Gross.

The film isn’t without its...moments. This is now the second film where bond comes home to find a lady in his bed. There are still small editing gaffs and poor overdubbing, an excuse that won’t last much longer. 

There’s a walk through a Spectre ‘training facility’ that shows everything from flamethrowers to karate instructors. It looks like the set of a Weird Al music video. There’s also a weird bit where they try black mailing Bond with a sex tape? Given what we’re supposed to believe about the character, I’m sure the tape would be more educational for most than shameful?

We’re already two films in and I’m finding that Bond is an unlimited source for every parody film produced in the late 20th century, a testament to the franchise’s impact on popular culture, even if it's embarrassing. 

Even though it’s a direct sequel, From Russia stands alone as a whole entertaining film. It doesn’t dodge the ‘formula,’ but keeps the momentum up enough that Bond’s shtick doesn’t get in the way. Connery’s still the franchise player here and with a knife to his throat, the film takes advantage of his acting chops, even if he’s unwilling to keep up the accent. As the last film JFK screened at the White House, and supposedly the last film he watched before he died, here’s hoping he missed what’s to come.

Next Up:

Goldfinger (1964)

[ryanbarwick]

“I’m A Very Nervous Passenger”

#1 Dr. No (1962)

Bond: Sean Connery Location: Jamaica Villain: See title Silly names: Honey Ryder, Puss Feller

As the first real attempt to bring Ian Fleming’s international man of mystery to the screen, and my own introduction to Mr. Bond, Dr. No is about as straightforward as you’ll get. 

Made on a shoestring budget, it basically sets up the formula not just for future Bond films, but almost the entire 60’s Cold War genre.

The formula is as follows:

Bond receives a mission, gets a gadget, is sent to the beautiful land of ____, sleeps with ___, ___, and ___,  kills a foreigner and spoils the fun.

So, for the first bit of bedrock for the franchise, I found Dr. No to fulfill just about everything I’d want from something so simple. 

It was good! Dare, I say (ugh, *Bill Simmons voice*) rewatchable. 

Ian Fleming, Bond’s creator who had already turned Bond into a hit series with more than ten books by the time the film was released, didn’t share the same opinion, calling the film, ”dreadful, simply dreadful.”

Connery’s portrayal of Bond and his Adam West like POWS! carry the film through its tropical climate and have ultimately aged much better than the plot and its politics. 

We don’t know much about MI6 and we know even less about SPECTRE—the T is for terrorism, not so subtle these villains—but at only an hour and a half, our hero saves the day and looks good doing it. 

With only so much time, we barely even see James (Jim?)  stop and have a drink. 

His only vice in the film is women and the misogyny is at, well Bond levels. 

(If you google misogyny in films, like, all of the examples are Bond films. This is the weight I bear, I guess?) 

From the jump, it’s clear that director Terence Young wanted Bond to be bulletproof. Everyone but the titular villain is helpless to the Scottish thistles of Connery’s voice and his wool eyebrows. Of the five women with speaking lines in the film, Bond sleeps with three of them and almost has the fourth’s arm broken. Nice guy! At one point he sleeps with an informant then has her arrested. At no point is there an interrogation.

That aside, Connery plays the hell out of the part, doing the impossible; the first Scot to develop a tan. 

He’s a good looking son of a bitch, and there’s just no getting around it. Far more than the “stupid policeman” quip that Dr. No levies at him, Bond play’s it cool even when he’s captured, never breaking a sweat (pretty unbelievable considering everyone’s wearing expensive suits and karate chopping in the hot Jamaican sun). The way Connery guide’s his captors through an interrogation, even asking for a cigarette is a bit of a masterclass in masculinity, toxic or not. You can already imagine the poor bastards that tried this after leaving the theater. Bond’s clearly cut from pulp protagonists and for a movie like this, that’s all he needs to be. See the formula, paragraph 2. 

For the life of me, I would have never guessed that one of the most prolific and stodgily British franchises of all time kicks off with….a reggae version of the three blind mice? 

It’s the introduction of secret assassins and it’s their dirty work that pulls 007 from England to Jamaica to investigate the death of an agent and eventually to the villain Dr. No, who’s called ‘a Chinese’ but is in fact played by the Jewish Canadian Joseph Wiseman. Like I said, doesn’t age well.

There’s a car chase, and then there’s another. There’s something about American Rockets being knocked off course by ‘radio beams” and Cape Canaveral throwing a fit. There’s cyanide hidden in a cigarette. There’s a romp through what looks like the Magic Kingdom’s Jungle Cruise. There’s scientists and a lab that looks like it was built with kitchen utensils.

Stitched together, these tropes don’t make for a work of art, but it is hell of a lot of fun, especially since we’re not left in one scene too long. Everything’s lush and an orchestral arrangement introduces every scene and sets the (sexy) mood.

As a first time viewer, I wasn’t prepared for the sheer amount of cultural touchstones I’m familiar with, if only through parody (most of the first Austin Power’s is a spoof of Dr. No). 

There’s a line where Bond, who’s literally been sent to solve a murder, asks the victim’s friend/double crosser what happened and the guy goes “He was killed, but never mind how.” Try that the next time you’re investigated by a foreign agent. Mike Meyer’s work was finished before he got started.

Bond escapes capture by climbing through an air conditioning vent, a’la John McClain. I was gonna riff about great moments in HVAC Film history, but some air conditioning company in Northern California already beat me to the punch. 

Also, that thing where there’s a car accident and the camera shows the vehicle careening off a cliff onto a fiery explosion, and you can see they replaced the stunt driver with a crash test dummy? That’s from Bond! 

Of the more minor things, there’s a good amount of dubbing, mostly from actress Urusla Anderess who played Honey Ryder in the damsel in distress role. It isn’t seamless, but most of the time you’re distracted by Connery and uh, Urusla.

How cheaply was the film made, you ask? Well, during the movie there’s mention of a dragon protecting Dr. No hidden lair.

Reader, here is that dragon.

(It’s supposed to be a tank with a flamethrower. Bond could have avoided it with a slow jog. But I digress.)

Ultimately, Dr. No creates the formula for Bond’s whole spy game, although the film mostly avoids politics as the villain's been banished from both the East and the West. 

Connery’s doing all the work here and it’s a joy, but I seriously underestimated how horny Bond is. The movie literally ends with Bond having sex on a boat as the American Navy watches, towing him to safety. Bond lets the rope go and the credits roll. I imagine it’s a shorter film if he isn’t thinking with his genitals, but maybe a better one?

I’d like to take this moment to point out that Amazon’s streaming platform is a piece of absolute dogshit. How hard is it to fuck up rewinding?

Next Up:

From Russia With Love (1963)

[ryanbarwick]

[ryanbarwick]

This Is Thunderblog

And on the second day of the fourth fifth week of the national pandemic, Ryan made a blog...

My friends,

I share this message humbly. We’re roughly five weeks into a pandemic that’s brought the funeral home below my apartment the best business it’s seen in years. 

As of now, everyone I know and love is safe, but that’s not the case for everyone. Despite the hum of social media and the unbroken sirens of emergency vehicles, it wasn’t until last week when I realized we’d run out of coffee grounds that my anxiety came to a full, rolling boil.

I don’t know yet how all of this’ll change us, but I’m sure tiny flecks of trauma will show itself when, in a decade, our children ask why we’ve got a gallon drum of hand sanitizer in the garage or shelves of dry pasta in the basement.

That is to say we’re (obviously) all in this together and the sea will (hopefully) get calmer the closer we get to the shore.

Outside of daily job as a #brands reporter, I, like everyone else, have filled most of my lockdown hours wading through youtube, cookbooks, pornography, twitter, pornography, and deciding whether I’m going to write that great American novel. 

While not that far from my typical weekday groove, the weekends and their same-ness have become a bit more of a chore. 

So, as a wannabe writer with a propensity towards hovering above Google docs, it was starting to get to me that I’d be leaving the craters of our own apocalypse with only a few Civil War textbooks under my belt.

And yes, I subscribe to the theory that the need to feel productive (during a plague, no less) is one of the more milder cancers chewing through our country. I don’t believe I have to create something so much as I think it’d be a fun thing to share with you.

 So, this is Thunderblog. I’m going to watch every James Bond movie, for the first time, and write an essay for each. The plan, as of now, is to watch everything in chronological order. Some of these essays will be reviewed, but hopefully some more stuff will pop-up along the way.

Why Bond? Well, why the hell not? 

As much as I’d like to be, I don’t consider myself a movie guy. I’ve seen most of the classics but there are glaring blindspots. 

Big Trouble in Litle China? Nope. Heat? Slept through it. Casablanca? Please.  Granted, instead of just landing on a specific franchise, I could have just ran down the Criterion collection, but what's the fun in that? Those are all (supposedly) bangers and writing 100 fawning essays isn’t fun for anyone. 

So, Bond it is. 

Outside of a viewing of Casino Royale when I was 12, I know nothing about the series. They’re supposed to be good! Worldwide, they’ve made billions. They also span more than 58 years of cultural history, six actors, and everything between Wings and (old) Madonna. 

The 25th film was set to premiere this month before the release date was scrapped because of the shit you read about in the first couple of paragraphs.

He’s also the proto-male archetype, shooting and fucking his way across the globe, foiling communists and *checks notes* reinforcing the shadowy aspects of neoliberal foreign policy and government sponsored killing that has, um, soured over the last decade.

On paper, while I’m sure he’s a pleasure to drink with, James ain’t a great guy. I expect to chart this agro-male evolution, how the character has changed and evolved through the years.

So, some things. 

Excluding the first three that I binged about a week ago, kicking off this whole thing, I’ll be viewing each with fresh eyes. No phone, with only the google doc open on my laptop. I’ll be properly bored, the way a film is supposed to be viewed.

For now, I’m going to focus on the 24 Bond movies, an essay for each. Will I veer outside of Bond, occasionally? Sure, I’ve never seen the Blues Brothers or Purple Rain. Seems like I should though, right? In those instances, I’ll be writing two essays that week.

I’d also like to clarify, this is not a newsletter. It’s a blog. I don’t want to promote this too much not that anyone would go out of their way to read. Hopefully, I won’t lose my job. You’ll be able to find this on my social stuff where I’ll be posting. And maybe occasionally emailing. 

Godspeed, Ryan

First up, Dr. No. Essay to Come Sunday.