James Bond: Diamonds Are Forever (1971)

James reckons he’s killed Blofeld, and to be frank, he gets quite cocky about the whole thing, pissing M right off. He gets sent off to investigate a diamond smuggling operation, much to his disgust. Things perk up a little when he thinks he’s going to South Africa, but he ends up in Amsterdam instead – in your fashe Mishter Bond.


Everyone who’s touched the diamonds seems to end up dead – maybe they have some kind of poison on them? Oh, no. That’ll be the two possibly-gay probably-retards following them around. They’ve even knocked off the kindly diamond smuggling nana!

Of course, Blofeld isn’t actually dead. He’s just got a bunch of doubles hanging around. Bond cleverly/meanly kicks Blofeld’s cat so he boots it off to his real owner, but easy-B has cloned his cat as well, and James just kills the clone. I would dispute the accuracy of this – if you kick my cat, he’s not going to be running in any specific direction. He might not run at all if you have any food in your hands.

The plot gets a little confusing at some point and it’s very early in the morning and I can’t remember the order things happen in. Bond definitely stumbles across what appeared to be the faking of the moon landing, steals their moon buggy and had the slowest chase in history across the desert.

He heads off to set free the billionaire, who’s life Blofeld has confusingly managed to take over, and gets into a fight with the billionaire’s bikini clad bodyguards. Strange that they’ve made no effort to free their employer from the small apartment downstairs, where he is being stored. Presumably, they’ve been too busy backflipping around the sitting room.

It all ends as you’d expect, with Blofeld in a tiny submarine being smashed repeatedly against a wall by Bond in a crane. No mention is made of his dead wife, and Bond takes a cruise back to Blighty with Jill St. John in tow. How she avoided going to prison for her role in the whole diamond operation remains a mystery.

Better than the last film, not as good as that one in Japan.
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James Bond: On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969)

I had a feeling this would be bad from the moment I saw the poster. Why is 007 standing like that while skiing? Is the girl behind him meant to be Dame Diana Rigg? Why is her hair red?
 
I thought that Irma Bunt (the German baddy lady) was in fact Rosa Klebb (the Russian baddy lady in From Russia with Love) for the duration. She was my favourite character in both films I think. Blofeld seemed to have cut off his earlobes in an attempt to be a c(o)unt, and although I admired his tenacity, it didn’t endear him to me.
 
This film saw James meet and fall in love with the daughter of a crime lord count, pretend to be the genealogist Sir Hilary Bray, and head to Blofeld’s winter retreat in the mountains, where he’s curing allergies.
 
At the clinic, Bond finds himself in the company of a group of girls who have overcome their dislike of what appears to be the national dishes of their countries, in a fine piece of racial profiling by the makers: the Chinese girl had issues with rice, the Indian girl with chapattis, the Irish girl with potatoes.
 
Despite being in love with Tracy (as all classy contessas are called), Bond still found time to shag at least two of the allergy sufferers – apparently they weren’t allergic to a little lovin’.
 
Two interminable hours later, Bond had saved the day, quit his job and was marrying Our Trace. Moneypenny looked on with tears in her eyes. Poor Moneypenny; always the bridesmaid, never the bride. It’s alright though – Our Trace promptly dies, the franchise can continue… back to Sean Connery sadly.

James Bond: You Only Live Twice (1967)

Finally! After this film we get a mini-break from Sean Connery’s reign of terror!

This time 007 heads off to Japan and feels a bit tall and silly, I imagine. On the plus side, he gets to hang out with the Japanese secret service’s special ninja force, which must have been pretty cool.

He’s not just there to have fun though, oh no! He’s there to investigate some spacejackings before the US and the USSR get themselves so worked up they nuke each other.

Directed by Roald Dahl, Bond gets killed off, becomes Japanese and gets married. But then it’s down to work and time to get all up inside Blofeld’s volcano.

While I’m getting a little tired of S.P.E.C.T.R.E, I think this is the best Bond yet. Setting it in Japan gave it quite a fresh and interesting feel.

James Bond: Thunderball (1965)

Bloody hell! Old Thunder Balls has only gone and got himself a flipping JET PACK! 
To help him recover from his Jetpack Joyride, M sends him off to a clinic where he (I think this is the only way I can describe this) rapes his physiotherapist. I mean, she eventually wants to, repeatedly, but she definitely says no beforehand. Jesus wept, James, this is the kind of shit I’d except from Felix Leiter, not you. 
Anyway, glossing over that unfortunate incident, he goes off looking for some nuclear warheads in the top half of a wetsuit, has some (consensual) underwater sex, and does his usual James Bond thing.
Most people don’t seem to like this film so much, but I found it the best of the four I’ve now watched. There was enough going on to keep me interested, and it moved along quickly. 
The only negative would be that I didn’t really like the Tom Jones theme song – this Johnny Cash offering is way better in my eyes.
 

James Bond: Goldfinger (1964)

Everything he touches turns to excitement, eh? Want to place bets on what he’s touching in that first picture?

James gets some cool gadgets, boots it off somewhere exotic, steals Goldfinger’s girlfriend, has sex with someone (the famous Pussy Galore, no less) until they agree to help him, then tries to stop Goldfinger from stealing all the gold in Fort Knox. 
This film is probably worth watching for the amazingly poor quality green screen work in the Florida* section of this film. Although I also love the section with the most stupid gangsters in the whole of America getting all freaked out and confused every time anything happens.
‘Hey, what’s happenin’ here?’
‘Whatcha doin’ now?’
Idiots… 
*As an aside, did you know that the rapper Flo Rida is pronounced as Florida on French-Belgian radio stations.