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Rating: For a whole range of reasons that I won't bother to explain (and which I strongly doubt you care even a tiny bit about), in the coming weeks, I'll have to watch all the James Bond films in chronological order.
All of them.
In chronological order.
Since I've known myself for more than 35 years, I know that, without the right incentives, I'd risk not even making it to the end of the trailer for the second episode of the saga.
So I've decided to review all the James Bond movies as I watch them.
All of them.
As I watch them.
And every time I see a film, I'll add it to the "Best Boom Bond Movie," that is, the ranking of the best James Bond films according to Bartleboom.
Keep in mind that the only James Bond films I've seen until now are the first three with Daniel Craig.
Of course, I've also happened to see a few with Connery, but I was very young and, in all honesty, beyond the prudence that the Bond Girls aroused in my still hairless pubes and some particularly iconic scenes, I confess I don't remember much about them.
Essentially, the idea is to review not only the movies but also the sensations that the evolution of the character "James Bond" elicits in a viewer from the '10s.
To avoid making an already, I realize, more boring than ambitious project even more didactic, I'll try to propose quick, light, and unscholarly reviews, obviously focusing on the aspect that interests me most about 00bucket's adventures: the chicks.
In this regard, with each review, the "Best Boom Bond Pussies," or the ranking of the best Bond girls according to Bartleboom, will also be updated.
Ready.
Set.
Bang!
"Dr. No" (Terence Young, 1962)
Oh well, Sean Connery is a cool guy.
After 8 and a half minutes of film, he's already won like 6 zillion paper dollars at chamin de fer and has secured himself a weekend hookup for the next 64 weekends in Pietra Ligure.
He wears a tuxedo with the kind of ease that I don't even have while wearing my dog-shaped slippers when I'm home alone on a Sunday morning, and he smokes with impunity since the last time he had a cough or heartburn was in elementary school.
Moreover, Wikipedia tells me that the Scotsman was only 32 years old at the time.
Perhaps...
He already seems like my uncle to me.
The film itself isn't exactly a masterpiece.
Probably, the Jamaican setting played a significant role in the film's success at the time of its release, but today the surprise effect has mostly given way to orchitis from those damn calypso-type songs that talk about monkeys and exotic fruit and are all based on the rhyme "Mambo/Mango/Jambo."
The pace, especially in the first part, is a bit sluggish, there are a few script blunders, and the ending seems almost hastily written.
On several occasions, the limits of the budget are evident: the villain's thermonuclear plant smells of plasterboard more than the disabled toilet in a budget pizzeria, and the whole fire-breathing dragon story is a rarity of blatant cheapness.
On the other hand, Dr. No is a great villain!
The story of the evil scientist who becomes disfigured/maimed while experimenting for world domination is a classic that always has its charm. And Joseph Wiseman has that crazy rubber doll-like expression, which, in my opinion, suits him perfectly.
In short, an ingenuous and imperfect film, but one that deserves recognition for its undeniable historical importance and its merit in laying the foundation for the Bond canon.
And now let's get to the real highlight of the film.
Honey Rider – Ursula Andress.
Wow.
Of course, I'd heard of her, and equally obviously, over the years, I've seen the scene of the Swiss Madonna's bikini appearance a couple of million times, but it never made much of an impression on me.
Yet, I must say, contextualized within the film and considering that for various reasons lately, there's not much action happening here, Ursulona generated a tension in me that I simply wasn't expecting.
She emerges from the water like a Valkyrie inadvertently set in a Botticelli painting, with an apparently statuesque physique (also due to a Bulgarian shot putter's solar plexus), yet she's much shorter than Connery and has a very sweet, almost childlike voice (in the original version, of course).
Her facial features are strangely harsh, almost severe. Yet, while she recounts her childhood full of sadness and hardship to a very cheeky 00semolino, she cannot help but evoke an enormous desire for protection, as well as penetration.
Her character is overall well-developed, showing from the start a great fragility, besides those great thighs.
And given that she spends (a verb as appropriate as ever...) much of the film clad only in a bikini and a drenched shirt, it's easy to see why I'm typing with one hand while amusing myself with the other.
Until the next episode, with "From Russia with Love."
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