The coolest car, the greatest score, the quintessential exchange ("Do you expect me to talk?" "No, Mister Bond, I expect you to die!")… However you look at it, the third 007 film glitters in just about every department. Was Sean Connery ever more assured in his signature role? Has any Bond director since Guy Hamilton so nailed the balance between Boy's Own adventure, sniggery Playboy sexism (Pussy Galore – fnarr!) and outlandish fantasy (Ken Adam's Fort Knox, Oddjob's bowler)? Okay, so it's shaky in places (dodgy dubbing, crappy back projection), while James' dig at the Fab Four dates it more than any '70s safari suit. You know what, though? We couldn't care less. This was where Bond hit his stride and made his bones; everything after has merely been a facsimile.
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