For Your Eyes Only

Bond is back! This time, the film makers mine the depths of Fleming's short stories and cobble something together that is... pretty dang good, actually. There are no gadgets, the girls are not great, and there are no fantastic Ken Adam sets, but there's also nothing much to really hate—except the idiotic Blofeld appearance at the beginning. I examine the construction of the plot, defend it against those who say it's too much like From Russia with Love, and complain that Locque isn't much of a villain. I lament the birth defect that left Carole Bouquet with a non-functioning forehead and a mustache nearly as luxurious as Topol's, as well as whatever it is that makes Lynn-Holley Johnson so annoying and seven years too old to be to young for James Bond. And I lament the fact the Roger Moore is just too old to run up all those steps.