There is nothing like the anticipation of a new James Bond film. For 53 years and 24 films, Eon Productions has offered the only consistent cultural touchstone that has lasted throughout my lifetime. I’m only a few years younger than the franchise, and the promise has always been kept: “James Bond Will Return.”
As a five-year-old I stood in line with my dad for “Diamonds are Forever.” I saw “Live and Let Die” at a drive in (remember those?). And I’ll never forget the thrill of watching Roger Moore’s James Bond ski off that cliff in “The Spy Who Loved Me.” This franchise means more to me than just a couple hours of escapism in the dark.
I go back again to the word “touchstone.” The musical score, the “Bond, James Bond,” the cars, girls, and gadgets not only thrill but serve as a kind of photo album that regularly unlock one cherished memory of mine after another — not just memories of watching the movies, but who I was and where I was at the time.
The lights fade. The James Bond Theme swells. A gun barrel searches for its target. A man in a tuxedo holding a Walther PPK steps into view. Shoots in a crouch. Blood drips. The James Bond Theme explodes. Bliss.
Unfortunately, that blissful feeling faded pretty quick into numbness with “Spectre.” Is it as bad as “Quantum of Solace,” which is by far the worst of the franchise? No. But it’s close.
Ha ha ha...guy's a fag.