Chapter Two: From Russia With Love
By Brett Beach
September 16, 2009
BoxOfficeProphets.com
I believe that no story needs to go on forever. To cross over to the world of television for a moment, it would be perfectly fine with me if there were a five-season limit imposed on series. Make enough to hit the 100-episode plateau plus some change and wend their way into syndication when all is said and done. Am I happy to have eight seasons of Buffy? Absolutely. Do I marvel at the longevity of The Simpsons and King of the Hill and Law & Order? Certainly. But I also think there is a point where all the stories that need to be told for a particular character or group of characters have been reached and everything past that point is, if I may bastardize Raymond Carver, not gravy, but just broth. British shows that run for anywhere from 12 to 24 episodes spread out over several years seem to have the right idea. But I can be contrary as well, and regular readers already know that I have an affinity for the Final Destination series and a part of me is very curious to see where the parties involved plan to go with that. So having made all those claims, how do I feel about a franchise that has lasted 47 years, gone through six actorly incarnations of the lead character and given us femme fatales with monikers such as Pussy Galore? Not too terribly conflicted, as it turns out.
His name is Bond. Jam... Oh, hell; you and I know his name, his preferred drink, the type of car he likes, his taste in women, probably the inseam in his trousers as well. Ten presidents have come and gone in the interim, but the prospect of a new Bond picture every one to three years has been fervently kept alive. The only gaps larger than this since Bond's inception in 1962's Dr. No have been the six years (1989-1995) between the Timothy Dalton and Pierce Brosnan eras and the four years (2002-2006) between Brosnan and Daniel Craig. I have seen every film in the Bond oeuvre (including Never Say Never Again, which some don't count, but excluding the 1967 spoof Casino Royale, which some do. I think I have consciously avoided that out of some perverse desire to deny myself very early cinematic Woody Allen appearances.) I was a young child in the early 1980s so Roger Moore will always be my first, and yes, favorite Bond, although I heartily acknowledge that most of his films are campy and crappy in equal measures. My favorite individual Bond missions are On Her Majesty's Secret Service, For Your Eyes Only, and Goldfinger.
So yes, I have more than a passing affiliation and affection for the history of the enterprise and will most certainly be in line for all future Bond endeavors (if not first run, than with pizza and beer in hand at one of Portland's many fine second-run theater/brewpubs) but I have never been gaga over the Bond brand. I understand how the films represent a certain form of comfort food, but they aren't movies that I feel the need to return to over and over. In fact, the first and last time I saw many of the Bond films was during a self-programmed marathon of the series in 1990, after watching License to Kill upon its video release. I did my best to view them sequentially but had to wait a while on seeing You Only Live Twice and The Man With the Golden Gun, as neither of the two competing video stores in Sisters carried them. The only nearby establishment that did have them for rental was a KOA Campground convenience store about five miles out of the town. Such are the gentle vagaries and quiet absurdities of small-town life.
So, rewatching the first few Bond adventures for the first time in a couple of decades, including From Russia With Love, was a flooring experience to say the least. I truly did not have a grasp on how much Mike Myers pilfered from the iconography of 1960s-era Bond adventures for the Austin Powers series. I am not certain if this raises my love for what Myers and Jay Roach accomplished (at least with the first one) or lessens it, but it definitely forced me to keep my smirk-o-meter in check as I expected to see Robert Wagner or Will Ferrell pop out from behind a tall chair. Refraining from this was helped immeasurably by becoming reacquainted with Sean Connery's definitive portrayal of agent 007. From his first appearance on screen in Dr. No, eight minutes into the running time, the look on his face is eerily relaxed and composed, almost as if he had glimpsed into the future, seen just what a lucky bastard he turned out to be, and was aware that the days of small roles in films like Darby O'Gill and the Little People were firmly behind him forever. He owns the part and the screen from that instant onward.
From Russia With Love is a definitive example of a second chapter in a film series as it both ties into the plot of the first and continues on with it, bringing back elements from its predecessor while trying new ones on for size and manages to seem comfortable within its contained universe, all the while suggesting that there are new and unexplored avenues to pursue in future installments. Continuity in the director, producers and screenwriters adapting Ian Fleming's source material between the first two films certainly helped with this. The series was still two films away from reaching its commercial high watermark in terms of paying audience and gross adjusted for inflation (Thunderball) and at least one more (You Only Live Twice) away from slipping into the need for ever-increasing over-the-top spectacle and bizarre campy villains with colorful henchman eager to help them rule the world or the sea or outer space. True, these elements are on display in the first two films, particularly the jarring second half of Dr. No beginning with Ursula Andress' frolic out of the ocean, but Connery's grounded and wink-free performance brings something approaching dramatic realism to the proceedings.
From Russia With Love does have a number of firsts, including the first appearance of Desmond Llewelyn as Q, the first pre-credit action sequence, the first physically formidable foe/ assassin to take on Bond (Robert Shaw, very effective and imposing, as Red Grant) and the first to feature a main title theme song (crooned by Matt Monro, best known for singing the Oscar-winning theme song to Born Free). Most enjoyably, it is also the first to reassure its audience, at the very end of the credits, that "James Bond will return." The second Bond also benefits from a revenge plot to drive the action. True, the shadowy (even in the credits where the character of arch villain Blofeld is listed as being played by ?) agency of SPECTRE is once again behind this, but their plans for wreaking havoc on the global populace take a back seat to a desire to see Bond eliminated. This appears to be a successful venture in the opening moments before it is revealed that we have been witnessing a training exercise conducted by SPECTRE with some unfortunate schmuck in a Bond mask as the unlucky recipient of a garroting by Grant. The scene also provides some (un?)intentional commentary on the burgeoning Bond phenomenon, as well as an indication of the filmmakers' willingness to have a little fun with the audience.
In fact, it is a full 20 minutes into the proceedings before Connery as Bond appears on screen in Russia, providing a textbook case of "deferral of pleasure." This deferral extends to the storyline also (alas) as the film draws out its plot much longer than necessary before culminating in 40-odd minutes of near continuous action sequences that take place aboard a train, in an open field, at sea, and in a hotel room. In a reversal of Dr. No, the second half of Russia is much more effective than its first, which is true for very specific reasons. The violence is a lot grittier, beginning with the hand-to-hand combat between Grant and Bond. Shot in near dark and infrequently lit by the colored lights within the train compartment where Bond and Russian defector Tatiana (Daniela Bianchi, more interesting and relevant to the plot than Andress) have been hiding out, the two minutes of on-screen action took several weeks to shoot, nearly all of it involving Connery and Shaw themselves instead of stuntmen. With visual style but also a keen sense of understatement, director Terence Young creates a significant amount of tension, considering it's a foregone conclusion that the victor will be Bond. A later attack on Bond by helicopter effectively pays tribute to North by Northwest (which was only four years hence at that point). The final mano y mano between Bond and a Russian agent with a lethal switchblade in her shoe does a feature a plot zag I didn't foresee (ending with Tatiana still alive and not sacrificing herself to save Bond) but does help steer the proceedings towards another element soon to become a Bond cliché: that of our hero locked in amour with a hottie and tuning out the attempts of HQ to steer him towards his next mission.
As mentioned, there is that spotty first hour with which to contend, particularly an extended sequence where Bond is taken to a Gypsy camp (local flavor, I presume) by his host/contact where two women are set to perform a public catfight over their love for one man. You may not guess that this switches gears into an action sequence (and not a particularly memorable one) when local rebels attack, but if you don't foresee him hooking up with both of the comely lasses, then you don't know Bond!
For most of its various incarnations, "James Bond" has survived by not seeking, or perhaps more accurately, not choosing, to reinvent itself. Roger Moore, George Lazenby, Dalton and Brosnan, as different as they are, were at the center of a particular bandwidth that the creators and maintainers of the Bond film series stuck to rather scrupulously (a large part of this dictated by producer Cubby Broccoli, then his family and heirs after his death.) With Craig's two adventures thus far taking the series back to year zero from a plot standpoint but featuring a much colder, yet more "modern" take on the character, it should be interesting to chart where the series progresses from this point and if future inhabitants of the 007 identity will stay this course or be allowed to "upload" a different copy.
From Russia With Love wears its age well, especially when considering that so many other installments (I'm looking at you, Moonraker) seem made to cash in on pop culture fads and trends of the moment. Even if it is a flawed film, it is superlative in fulfilling the requirements of a great sequel. Although I hold on to my misgivings about any series, of any stripe, lasting this long (Dr. Who fans, prepare to take aim and fire), I give 007 the benefit of the doubt that I may still care what the old chap is up to half a century from now.
Next time: A second film, made in haste months later to cash in on the wild and unexpected popularity of the first, is then followed by a decade-plus hiatus between chapters. All par for the course in one of the more convoluted ongoing franchises in Hollywood history.