Culpability

I guess you have to own up when things aren’t going quite to plan. I had every inten­tion of upping the level of pro­duc­tiv­ity going into the var­i­ous web prop­er­ties that I’ve got kick­ing around, and that’s hap­pened. Not exactly to the extent I’d hoped, but I’ll keep trying.

One thing that was a hasty, poorly con­sid­ered deci­sion with the ben­e­fit of hind­sight was attempt­ing to marry up post­ing an image with post­ing a screed of text, with nary a con­nec­tion between them. Baf­fling deci­sion, and com­pletely con­fus­ing to everyone.

Also, split­ting out the old stuff and leav­ing it in an old Word­Press install, with the new stuff in a new Word­Press setup was a very dumb idea. Not nec­es­sar­ily in the philo­soph­i­cal terms of a clean break, but in pure tech­ni­cal sense of main­tain­ing updates to pre­vent secu­rity holes, which is pure drudgery — less so these days, admit­tedly, but not exactly fun.

So, I’d bet­ter rem­edy this. From now on, words go here, the bulk of my pho­tos go on my Flickr, and I’ve put together what is, I guess, a port­fo­lio of my ‘best’ pho­tos over here — best being, of course, a rel­a­tive term.

The posts from the old blog are back on here, and I’ve futzed around with the theme, and cre­ated a mas­sively ego­tis­ti­cal front page. Booyah.

Alan Wake …to the end

I have acquired a hell of a lot of games over the past few years that I haven’t really given much atten­tion to. Before buy­ing any­thing else, it’s time to play them …to the end.

The fol­low­ing is a ram­bling log of thoughts, expe­ri­ences and opin­ions that might, if you squint a bit, loosely be termed a review.

As an aside, I wrote the bulk of this some time ago and promptly for­got about it. My memory’s not so good these days. As a con­se­quence this tidied up ver­sion may be a lit­tle light on details, but I think it gets the spirit of the game across quite well.

It wasn’t long after the com­ple­tion of Max Payne 2 that rumours sur­faced of a new game from Rem­edy, and if noth­ing else Alan Wake cut a mean trailer, back when you could call the Xbox 360 and PS3 ‘next-generation’ machines with a straight face. After it’s lengthy ges­ta­tion period it was unleashed upon a world that seemed largely to have for­got­ten about it. Now an Xbox 360 exclu­sive, it received almost uni­ver­sal acclaim in the press, although these days sadly this is more an indi­ca­tion of the quan­tity of adver­tis­ing placed with the press than of qual­ity of the game.

Regard­less, it’s the only game that will­ingly describes itself as, at least in part, a sur­vival hor­ror that I had the slight­est inter­est in play­ing over the last decade, so let’s plunge into the world of thriller writer Alan Wake as he inves­ti­gates the dis­ap­pear­ance of his wife dur­ing their hol­i­day in the remote town of Bright Falls.

Day One

So, a few hours in and I’ve com­pleted the first, half tuto­r­ial episode and most of Episode Two before my inter­est waned. My ini­tial thoughts are that someone’s been spend­ing a hell of a lot longer on the con­cept of the game rather than the mechanics.

While the con­cept of night­mares within night­mares seems inter­est­ing enough, the sec­tions of trudg­ing through for­est occa­sion­ally stop­ping to shine a light on some lum­ber­jacks before shoot­ing them isn’t exactly set­ting my world on fire.

Given the way the narrative’s going, I sup­pose there’s no point pick­ing up on any of the plot holes that occur fairly fre­quently, given that the “J.R. step­ping out of the shower” scene towards the end is pretty clearly signposted.

What sticks out like a sore thumb is the char­ac­ter mod­els, specif­i­cally the granite-like fiz­zogs on dis­play when char­ac­ters try des­per­ately to emote. For a game that’s been in devel­op­ment since, I believe, the begin­ning of recorded time, you’d think they’d have come up with some­thing bet­ter look­ing than a launch title. The ‘actors’ seem to be walk­ing around with a stick up their col­lec­tive ass, but on closer inspec­tion they’ve really got more in com­mon with the sticks.

Why am I try­ing to col­lect a hun­dred cof­fee pots, by the way?

Day Two

I find myself con­clud­ing Episode 2, and trudg­ing my way through Episode 3. So far, still an awful lot of traips­ing through woods, shin­ing flash­lights at lum­ber­jacks. For a game that took five years to cre­ate, I had fig­ured that there would be a touch more vari­ety shown in the mechan­ics. I sup­pose there’s not a vehi­cle to drive between the loca­tions for the bouts of flash­light wield­ing, and some pol­ter­geist thrown objects to shine a torch on, but this is hardly redefin­ing the bound­aries of video gaming.

I sup­pose I shall play on for the sake of con­tin­u­ing the story, but so far it’s doign very lit­tle to draw me in to the nar­ra­tive. I think I’m being put off by the con­tin­ued ref­er­ences and namecheck­ing of Steven King, a writer up with which I shall not put.

While we’re at it, if this game is sup­posed to be nar­ra­tive based, would it not have been a ster­ling idea to get a few decent writ­ers in? The dis­mal writ­ing is show­cased not only in some dread­ful, grat­ing voiceovers, but also in the ham­fisted, clunky man­u­script pages I have no inter­est in read­ing, let alone scour­ing the lev­els try­ing to find. I’m afraid the Cheevo points alone are not that strong of a draw for me to engage in arbi­trary game­play extension.

Day Three

A rad­i­cal depar­ture for the game in Episode 4, as we find our­selves traips­ing through a gar­den and a farm­yard, shin­ing flash­lights on lumberjacks.

I sure hope this game has some­thing unex­pected and spe­cial for its end­ing, as if it goes the way it’s been threat­en­ing to go for the first half of the game then the sto­ry­line as devel­oped in this chap­ter would com­pletely under­cut any build­ing of tension.

That said, I still strug­gle to work up any inter­est at all in the plot and find most of these day­light cutscenes to be an excel­lent oppor­tu­nity to play Slingo on my iPhone. I’m multi-tasking.

I’m grow­ing more than a lit­tle bored by the recur­ring con­trivance of strip­ping your weapons and flash­light at every avail­able oppor­tu­nity. Once might have been fun, but this grows tire­some quickly

I had won­dered why I was find­ing your occa­sional in-game com­pan­ion Barry so irri­tat­ing, given that his char­ac­ter­i­sa­tion is far less annoy­ing and pre­ten­tious than our nom­i­nal hero. Even­tu­ally I placed it as resid­ual hatred for Max Payne 2’s Vin­nie Gog­nitti, shar­ing as they do the same voice actor. You will remem­ber Vin­nie, of course, as the ‘star’ of the stu­pen­dously annoy­ing Cap­tain Base­ball Bat­boy suit sec­tion that was so obnox­ious I’m half-convinced it was a par­ody of all com­puter game escort missions.

Day Four

The fifth chap­ter of the games sees a rad­i­cal depar­ture from the pre­vi­ous for­mula, con­sist­ing of a few arbi­trary equip­ment strip­pings fol­lowed by run­ning through woods shin­ing flash­lights on lum­ber­jacks. Oh, hang on, that’s not actu­ally a rad­i­cal depar­ture at all.

Per­haps I’m not being fair to Alan Wake. After all, there’s is a short sec­tion set in town where we have to take a need­lessly cir­cuitous route through build­ings because the quick way is ‘blocked’ by a three foot fence that has become unscal­able, some­how. That’s not at all annoy­ing, nor is Barry’s acces­soris­ing of his puffy jacket with Christ­mas lights.

I have to give this game some credit. For being com­posed entirely of lazy writ­ing, filler action sec­tions, point­less plat­form­ing puz­zles, unlik­able char­ac­ters and sub-standard act­ing I’m really only find­ing it a tri­fle dull rather than teeth-grindingly dreadful.

One odd­ity that occurs to me, see­ing as it shows up in this chap­ter more, per­haps, than any other. There’s what amounts to this games’ equiv­a­lent of land­mines scat­tered through­out, that are dealt with by — what else — shin­ing a torch on them. As I’ve yet to encounter them at the same time as being attacked by the Taken, they’ve reduced to the role of another very minor road­blocks on the nar­ra­tive path.

The most ques­tion­able aspect of their inclu­sion is really there visual design, as they look for all the world like piles of haunted horse manure. Ter­ror incar­nate, I’m sure you’ll agree.

Day Five

I take it all back. The thrilling final chap­ter rad­i­cally ups the ante of game mechan­ics with a exhil­a­rat­ing ‘push a cart out of the way by tap­ping the “A” but­ton’ seg­ment that really ties the game together. It’s repeated a few times, but that’s okay. It remains just as brain-meltingly non-awesome as it does on the first time.

Actu­ally I have been doing a grand dis-service to the vari­ety on dis­play in Alan Wake. There’s also the fre­quent stops to start up diesel pow­ered gen­er­a­tors by tap­ping the “A” but­ton a few times. Finally, video games have deliv­ered on the promise of the old ‘inter­ac­tive movies’ of the 1st gen CD-ROM games. It’s just like being in a movie!

Other than these, the bulk of the level con­sists of dodg­ing poltergeist-inhabited oil drums and run­ning through woods shin­ing flash­lights on lum­ber­jacks. The final boss, such as it is, at least pre­sented an inter­est­ing visu­ally break from the norm, but mechan­i­cally isn’t much more than another object dodg­ing session.

I sup­pose I was a lit­tle dis­ap­pointed, if not overly sur­prised, to see that the game did not end with a sat­is­fy­ing, neat con­clu­sion. I sup­pose at best I can credit it for not overtly flash­ing up a bill­board telling me that “THE NOT-AT-ALL DREARY TALE OF ALAN WAKE WILL CONTINUE THROUGH AN INTERMINABLE SERIES OF DLC FLEECINGS”. Hey, at least the first one’s free, right kids? Well, free to folks that bought the game, but see­ing as I’ve only bor­rowed Alan Wake from my good friend Baron Sir Lord Craig of East­man I’d bet­ter not redeem that token, so it’s really all over bar the fin­ger pointing.

Fin­ger Pointing

I think by this point I’ve made myself clear that I didn’t enjoy this game. It’s very far from being the worst thing I’ve played on the Xbox, and if I’m being fair there’s not really any one aspect of the game that falls below competent.

How­ever, basic com­pe­tency is the bare min­i­mum that we’re demand­ing of a game, and Alan Wake doesn’t go a hell of a lot past this. The game­play mechan­ics, and for the most part the entire game­play engine might well have been lifted whole­sale from Max Payne 2. Or per­haps Max Payne 1. Amongst its peers it feels clunky and stodgy, and I’m not buy­ing the excuse that you wouldn’t expect a writer to dive around like an action hero either.

Per­haps I would, had this been more immer­sive. It’s try­ing to be, I’ll grant it, but if your lead char­ac­ter (and by exten­sion, you) are rep­re­sented by a whiny, spoiled brat of a char­ac­ter suf­fer­ing inor­di­nately from first world dilem­mas then it’s not going to be remotely effective.

If you don’t care about the char­ac­ter, you’re unlike to get into the nar­ra­tive, so its short­com­ings become all the more obvi­ous. I sup­pose spoil­ers are less of a con­cern this far from the game’s release, but nonethe­less I’ll leave it at say­ing the story, like all of the Steven King works it charm­lessly apes, is as stu­pid, annoy­ing and obnox­ious as the game’s lead character.

The best I can say about this game is that I played it all the way to com­ple­tion, and it didn’t feel too much like I was only doing it for the sake of this arti­cle. With­out the dan­gling car­rot of another few thou­sand eas­ily ignored words of con­tent for my cor­ner of the inter­net, I’d still have fin­ished this game hav­ing started it — which is rare for some­one with lim­ited time for gaming.

That’s hardly the best rec­om­men­da­tion for the game, and it does rather make me won­der if I’ve played a dif­fer­ent ver­sion to the game so glow­ing reviewed in the glossy mag­a­zines and major web­sites. It was hailed as a leap for­ward in sto­ry­telling for games, and for it’s pac­ing. This is straight-up men­tal. It’s a games that screeches to a halt and throws cut scenes at you, with the barest of attempts at link­ing or enhanc­ing any nar­ra­tive rev­e­la­tions in the game­play sections.

There’s very lit­tle atmos­phere built, and the attempts at scares fall very flat. Had this game appeared a year or two after Max Payne 2, it would have been a rev­e­la­tion. As it stands, it’s a very real dis­ap­point­ment and barely worth play­ing, and cer­tainly not some­thing I’m going to recommend.

Requiem for a Lenscap

Farewell, then, Lens Cap for a 12-60mm Olym­pus lens. You leave behind a qual­ity lens shorn of your pro­tec­tion, falling in the line of duty some­where on the Paris metro system.

It is unkind to speak ill of the departed, but in this time of despair we must be hon­est with our­selves and each other. The only sur­pris­ing thing about this tragedy is that it took so long to occur, given your predilec­tion for leap­ing from the lens at the slight­est brush.

We must reflect upon your cre­ator, the good Lord Olym­pus, and ask him why He can­not cre­ate a lens cap across His entire range of oth­er­wise bril­liant lenses that does not suck wholeheartedly.

Lo then, for the great cir­cle of life must con­tinue, and we can only hope that your generic 99p replace­ment that, I note, comes with a lan­yard which recent expe­ri­ence sug­gests will be use­ful, will be at least as good as you were.

Which isn’t say­ing much. Until then, I’m patent­ing my tem­po­rary pro­tec­tion method as the rev­o­lu­tion­ary LenSock™ — It’s Bet­ter Than Noth­ing. Pur­chase your LenSock at any rep­utable pho­to­graphic or under­wear stockist.

Octopussy

The Alai Minar, from my increas­ingly dis­tant trip to Delhi.

So, Octo­pussy.

Octo­pussy.

Octo. Pussy.

Octo­pussy.

The name says enough about it that there seems to be lit­tle point elab­o­rat­ing on it. But, I knew this day would come when I started on the project, so bet­ter to take my pun­ish­ment and live with it. On the plus side, things can only get bet­ter from here on in.

The thir­teenth Bond film, then. John Gru­ber of the Talk Show pod­cast reminds me of a salient point that, if not excuses Octo­pussy, goes some way to explain it. The thir­teenth Bond film. Con­sider that for a moment. The thir­teenth entry in a series. How many fran­chises have we seen that run out of ideas and qual­ity halfway through the sec­ond entry? The answer, of course, being “most of them”. Thir­teenth. Thir­teen films.

It’s unprece­dented and impres­sive. I sup­pose after hav­ing to make twelve Bond adven­tures, it’s nat­ural to get a lit­tle sick of him, which I can only assume to be the rea­son to put the man known for his suave sophis­ti­ca­tion and put him in a clown outfit.

I sup­pose after find­ing twelve at worst com­pe­tent actors to play Bond vil­lains, you’d have to get to Steven Berkoff even­tu­ally. I’m sure no-one was look­ing for­ward to it, or wanted it, or thought he’d be any­thing bet­ter than the dread­ful screech­ing annoy­ance that he is. There just wasn’t any­where else to go.

After twelve plots, even by the vari­able stan­dards to which Bond films are judged, you’d have to cob­ble together some loosely con­nected bull­shit with jew­ellery smug­gling and a cor­rupt Soviet gen­eral attempt­ing to arrange a nuclear ‘acci­dent’ at a U.S. Air Force base using a Tro­jan cir­cus. I’m sure no-one thought it was a good idea. There just wasn’t any­thing else for Bond to do.

I’m sure after film­ing a scene where Bond swings from vine to vine, no-one wanted to over­dub Tarzan yelling on to it. Nobody would want that. There just wasn’t any other option.

I sure after twelve films, there just wasn’t any other option than to replace the series’ trade­marked car chases with a motorised rick­shaw chase.

I’m sure there wasn’t any other way to make this thir­teenth Bond film with­out the god-awful, more stop than start stop-start pac­ing, and ham-fisted action scenes, and struc­tur­ing it to go on for another half hour after the obvi­ous dra­matic con­clu­sion, and to baf­flingly turn Q into a field operative.

There just couldn’t have been another way to do this film. Surely. The alter­na­tive is patently ridicu­lous. The alter­na­tive is that some­one thought that all of the above was fine, and that Octo­pussy would make for a good Bond film.

I’m not pre­pared to believe so unbe­liev­able a sce­nario. I’d find it more believ­able to find out that this had been planted by David Icke’s rep­tile peo­ple to pre­pare us for their unveil­ing, as told in the holy text V. I’d find it more believ­able that the script had been sab­o­taged by the mak­ers of Never Say Never Again to give them an advan­tage in the War of the Bonds.

In fact, I think I shall reject this real­ity where Octo­pussy exists, because log­i­cally some­thing like it can­not exist, so I must be delusional.

Yes, that’s it.

This isn’t a worse film than On Her Majesties’ Secret Ser­vice, because this film doesn’t exist.

Yes, that’s it.

Yes.

For Your Eyes Only

I have been caught slack­ing on the Bond front for a cou­ple of weeks. I shall try to rec­tify this as best as pos­si­ble before the loom­ing duelling respon­si­bil­i­ties of a hol­i­day and cov­er­ing the Edin­burgh Inter­na­tional Film Fes­ti­val get the bet­ter of me.

How­ever, I’m going to be put at an imme­di­ate dis­ad­van­tage by For Your Eyes Only, the twelfth Bond out­ing, hav­ing appar­ently been so for­get­table it has already faded in my mem­o­ries. Over the course of this ill-advised exper­i­ment I’ve made ref­er­ence to all of the Moore era Bonds merg­ing together in my mind. I’d assumed this was just a func­tion of the time since I’d last seen them, but it appears that the root cause is sim­ply that few of them are memorable.

So, Wikipedia assures me that the main through line of this piece is the need for the British gov­ern­ment to recover a mis­sile com­mand sys­tem from an acci­den­tally destroyed spy ves­sel. This is also exactly the sort of thing the Rus­sians would like to get their hands on, so the race is on to retrieve the dohickey. This leads, after what’s close enough to an inves­ti­ga­tion, to Bond being placed in the mid­dle of duelling Greek crime bosses, one still sym­pa­thetic to British inter­ests from wartime resis­tance efforts, the other hav­ing made a career of betray­ing his compatriots.

I guess the first thing you’ll note from the above pot­ted recap is that no por­tion of it requires Space Marines, or a plot to kill every­one in the world, or such­like. Why, if you squint a lit­tle, it’s almost plau­si­ble! It’s said that ex-Bond edi­tor John “not an astro­naut” Glen’s direc­to­r­ial stint for this and the next four “offi­cial” Bond films was part of a move back to real­ity from the fan­ci­ful plots and pitched bat­tles of prior films. It’s par­tially suc­cess­ful, with a rel­a­tively sen­si­ble plot and char­ac­ters that, from some angles, approach at least 2.5D rather than the card­board cut out char­ac­ter­i­sa­tion we’ve been treated to over the past few films. Some of these guys even seem to have motive for their actions! Wild con­cept for a Bond film, I know.

For Your Eyes Only’s prob­lem in this regard is that for every step for­ward it takes, it walks into a lamp-post, stag­gers back, falls over, hits it head and soils itself. It’s not start­ing from a posi­tion of strength either, with hands-down the dumb­est and least explic­a­ble pre-credits mis­sion yet, as Bond foils another attempt by a wheel­chair bound Blofeld to kill him in a remote con­trol heli­copter, turn­ing the tables and drop­ping him down a chim­ney (!) while Blofeld bar­gains for his life by offer­ing to buy Bond a del­i­catessen in stain­less steel (!!).

If you were look­ing for your take on the series to have a patina of believ­abil­ity, why on earth go to the bother of res­ur­rect­ing a hap­pily dead vil­lain to kill him in such a daffy way? Per­haps it’s an attempt to sym­bol­i­cally bury the excesses of the SPECTRE-esque grand designs on the world, but if so it’s under­cut by the both the rest of the film and the means of dis­patch­ing Blofeld. Walk­ing up to him and shoot­ing him, point blank, would send a mes­sage that there’s a new Sher­iff in Bondsville. Pick­ing up his wheel­chair from a heli­copter and drop­ping him down a chim­ney — that’s sort of busi­ness as usual, but much worse than usual.

Of course, we can’t be sure he’s Blofeld and not just some other cat-stroking psy­chopath with a grudge, thanks to the ongo­ing legal wran­glings over film rights that resulted in Never Say Never Again, but we’ll deal with that when we get to it.

The rest of the film is a curi­ous mix that’s not alto­gether unpleas­ant to watch, although all of the mem­o­rable ele­ments in the film are mem­o­rable for entirely the wrong rea­sons. Why is this mas­sively annoy­ing, largely super­flu­ous teenage skater given any screen­time? Why are there ice-hockey play­ing assas­sins? Why must we have the a sup­posed KGB spy/assassin break cover by leav­ing dur­ing a cross-country ski­ing race to take a shot at Bond? Did we really need that bob­bins bob­sleigh bit, espe­cially con­sid­er­ing the human cost? Why film cliff climb­ing scenes with an actor who’s afraid of heights, and have to fake “under­wa­ter” scenes because the actress can’t go in the water? Assas­sins in beach buggies?

Now, while per­haps it’s damn­ing it with faint praise, this is my sec­ond favourite Moore era Bond thus far, after The Spy Who Loved Me. Despite the uneven mix of striv­ing for sen­si­bil­ity at the same time as embrac­ing the ridicu­lous, For Your Eyes Only is an enjoy­able watch. Just don’t expect to remem­ber any of the rea­sons you found it enjoy­able a few weeks down the line.

Moonraker

When our civil­i­sa­tion is called to account for itself by some deity or other, or per­haps a suf­fi­ciently advanced alien civil­i­sa­tion, some­where on the list we will even­tu­ally get around to Moon­raker, the fourth out­ing for Roger Moore’s iter­a­tion of Bond. It will, of course, be fairly low on the list of crimes Humankind has com­mit­ted, but there’s at least one def­i­nite charge­able offence com­mit­ted here. Sure, Dia­monds Are For­ever had its excesses, but at least it could say that it stopped short of hav­ing a HoverGondola.

Baf­flingly, that’s not even the sil­li­est ele­ment of this film. It’s the reac­tions to the Hov­er­Gon­dola. I’ll accept the bemused denizens of Venice tak­ing a dou­ble take at this breath­tak­ingly stu­pid mode of trans­port. I have a some­what lower tol­er­ance for the very obvi­ous loop­ing a short sec­tion of film to sug­gest that a pigeon is also giv­ing a dou­ble take.

It’s a minor thing to get hung up on, I sup­pose, although it does seem to be the point at which any hope of return­ing to any­thing approach­ing an espi­onage drama was extin­guished for­ever. How, exactly, am I going to tak­ing any­thing that hap­pens to this ludi­crous clown of a spy seri­ously in any future endeav­our? Is this now a com­edy franchise?

So, we’ve men­tioned before the ten­dency of Bond to unashamedly lift any ele­ments of pop­u­lar cul­ture that are kick­ing around at the time, such as Live and Let Die’s Blax­ploita­tionisms. There wasn’t much more pop­u­lar a slice of cul­ture at the time of Moon­raker’s cre­ation than Star Wars, which unex­pect­edly took the world by storm and prompted a slew of me-too cash-ins, and it seems that Bond wasn’t above attempt­ing to hitch a ride on the gravy train. Eagle eyed view­ers of the cred­its of The Spy Who Loved Me will have per­haps been expect­ing the sched­uled For Your Eyes Only, which was swiftly side­lined in favour of this… thing.

I claim no insider knowl­edge of the gen­e­sis of Moon­raker, but if this wasn’t hastily assem­bled from the script­ing equiv­a­lent of scraps and left­overs I’ll eat my hat. Essen­tially, this lifts the plot almost whole­sale from The Spy Who Loved Me, itself an expe­di­tion in min­ing Bond films past, and swaps out Stromberg’s under­sea utopia for Hugo Drax’s spaces­ta­tion utopia. So much so, I’m not alto­gether sure what to say about this film, other than it man­ages to avoid lift­ing any of the worth­while ele­ments from its pre­de­ces­sor, and mixes it with copi­ous buck­ets o’stupid.

Called in to inves­ti­gate a hijacked space shut­tle, Bond quickly tracks it back to the multi-billionaire Hugo Drax, builder of said shut­tle under sub-contract to NASA. He’s also secretly built a few for him­self, along with a space sta­tion, and a toxin designed to wipe out human­ity. You might have thought some of these activ­i­ties, like, say, shut­tle launches or con­struct­ing an orbital death plat­form would have come to the atten­tion of some­one before now, but appar­ently not. Jimmy’s pok­ing around is the first anyone’s heard of it. I think the CIA and MI6 ought to hire a few foren­sic accountants.

Also return­ing from The Spy Who Loved Me is Jaws, for what­ever rea­son, which I sup­pose is under­stand­able from a cer­tain point of view. Return­ing, recur­rent vil­lains, even if they are hench­men rather than the Big Bad, aren’t a bad idea. In a film that wasn’t so iden­ti­cally struc­tured, this would be a plus point, but here it feels even more like some­one reprinted the pre­vi­ous script, scratch­ing out “Stromberg” and “ocean” for “Drax” and “space”.

Hugo Drax him­self is rather too under­stated and for­get­table, espe­cially for a sup­posed mega­lo­ma­niac try­ing to reshape human­ity in his own image. He seems more like David Brent from The Office rather than a proper nut­ter. If I’m going to have some­one attempt to wipe out mankind, there ought to be a lit­tle more emo­tion and snarling, oth­er­wise I feel like I’m get­ting my annual per­for­mance review rather than watch­ing a drama-laden Bond film. In com­mon with Stromberg, I’d have appre­ci­ated even the vaguest, handwaving-laden expla­na­tion as to why Drax has embarked on this course of plan­e­tary geno­cide, but none is given. This might mat­ter more, were it in a film that had any hope what­so­ever of being enjoyable.

In the­ory, this ought to be a rea­son­able enough film, if mas­sively famil­iar. After all, I did rather enjoy The Spy Who Loved Me. Sadly, Moon­raker has dated abom­inably. The effects, even for the time, are mas­sively shonky and look embar­rass­ing in hind­sight, in a way that’s not afflicted the other Moore Bonds. The story, admit­tedly rarely the strong suite of any Bond film, is a thinly veiled rehash of the last film which feels at best lazy, and at worst down­right insulting.

I’m going to give this a pass on the sci­ence or lack thereof, as it’s pretty much the least of this film’s prob­lems, but suf­fice to say that accu­racy is not a friend to this script. There’s no chem­istry between any of the char­ac­ters, with per­for­mances that are per­func­tory even by the franchise’s occa­sion­ally lax stan­dards. There’s very lit­tle in here that would pass muster back in ’79, and noth­ing that does in Space Year 2011. Skip­ping this entry in the series is rec­om­mended for all but the most masochis­tic of fans.

That pigeon. Christ.

The Spy Who Loved Me

It’s a gob­let of fire! Sort of. Okay, it’s more of a tum­bler with a can­dle, but it’s very nearly a Harry Pot­ter prop.

I am per­haps going to do The Spy Who Loved Me a dis­ser­vice, espe­cially because it is one of the rarest of beasts, one which I per­haps thought was myth­i­cal — a Roger Moore Bond film that I like, with­out any caveats. How­ever, I am quite ruinously exhausted for a vari­ety of rea­sons not suf­fi­ciently inter­est­ing to exam­ine, so this may per­haps sound a lit­tle more per­func­tory and less enthu­si­as­tic than it deserves. My apologies.

The British and Russ­ian secret ser­vices must swing into action when each coun­try has a nuclear sub­ma­rine go miss­ing, no doubt related to the sud­den black mar­ket auc­tion of a sys­tem that tracks the move­ment of said subs. Bond (Moore) is ini­tially in a mildly antag­o­nis­tic rela­tion­ship with his oppo­site num­ber Major Anya Amasova (Bar­bara Bach), code­named Triple X long before the ill-advised Vin Diesel attempt at estab­lish­ing a mod­ernised Bond fran­chise, but before long they’re on the same page try­ing to fig­ure out who’s behind this plot. Per­haps some­one who has seen You Only Live Twice, from which the plot bor­rows heavily.

The main force work­ing against our AngloSov Alliance come in the hulk­ing, brutish shape of Jaws (Richard Kiel), the metallically-beteethed mon­ster who can rip cars apart with his bare hands, and for whom the movie of the same name was more of a serv­ing sug­ges­tion than a tense, ter­ri­fy­ing thriller. He cer­tainly pro­vides a mem­o­rable and iconic wall of mus­cle for Bond to bounce off of, although he’s not going to be stun­ning you with his rapier wit. He’s more of the very strong, very silent type.

Throw­ing in an essen­tially invul­ner­a­ble, at least as far as this film presents him, vil­lain to square off against the essen­tially invul­ner­a­ble Bond is an inter­est­ing idea, although in prac­tise it just means that in the sit­u­a­tions that would have dis­patched lesser hench­men for good merely causes Jaws some slight incon­ve­nience, and requir­ing the dust­ing off of his hor­ren­dous power blue sports jacket.

This, to my mind, is the first of the Moor­eian Bonds that has its own char­ac­ter, rather than des­per­ately try­ing to co-opt oth­ers. The fran­chise has never been above bor­row­ing ele­ments from con­tem­po­rary pop­u­lar cul­ture, but the prior blax­ploita­tion and kung-fu fever influ­ences of Live and Let Die and The Man With The Golden Gun felt like des­per­ate, needy attempts at rel­e­vance. By focussing on some­thing more akin to the Great Game of From Rus­sia With Love, com­bined with the more bom­bas­tic supervil­lain schemes, we get some­thing close to the best of both worlds in The Spy Who Loved Me.

There’s not much I like about On Her Majesty’s Secret Ser­vice, but The Spy Who Loved Me at least pinches the most remark­able ele­ment by intro­duc­ing a Bond Girl that’s por­trayed as being as com­pe­tent as Jimmy him­self, although it can’t resist falling back to last act damsel-in-distress-isms which tar­nishes its fem­i­nist cred­i­bil­ity somewhat.

My only prob­lem with The Spy Who Loved Me is the ulti­mate vil­lain of the piece, Curd Jürgens’s Stromberg. Cer­tainly, he’s think­ing big. Destroy­ing civil­i­sa­tion and restart­ing under the sea is a fit­tingly over-the-top scheme, although I would per­haps have had more invested in the char­ac­ter if I was given any inkling as to why ol’ Stromberg’s so peeved with the world that he wants to blow it up. Blofeld might have only been look­ing for money, but as The Way Of The Gun teaches us, at least money rep­re­sents motive with a uni­ver­sal adapter. Regard­less of genre, it’s always less sat­is­fy­ing when we know who­dun­nit with­out know­ing whytheydunnit.

I shouldn’t dwell on the only real neg­a­tive, as there’s a num­ber of nice touches and details through­out the film, to the extent of even car­ing about some of the dis­pos­able red­shirts assault­ing Stromberg’s con­trol rooms. The (very) junior offi­cer of the British sub, hav­ing just been informed of the death of his cap­tain, vol­un­teers to take on a head-on assault that looks exactly like the sui­cide mis­sion it turns out to be, but for per­haps the first time in the fran­chise I felt sorry for the can­non fod­der pseudo-sidekicks rather than find­ing some amuse­ment in the act.

The script­ing appears to finally have got to grips with Moore’s take on Bond, and plays to the strengths of his incar­na­tion. The loca­tions used are suit­ably exotic, and give a globe-trotting feel that’s been a lit­tle lack­ing over the pre­vi­ous few flicks. While by today’s stan­dards the com­posit­ing effects are a shade shonky, I’m prob­a­bly see­ing some worse effects work in cin­e­mas today. What this may lack in exe­cu­tion it at least makes up for in scope, and in that sense at least com­pares favourably with more recent, shinier, com­pletely soul­less exer­cises in pixel-pushing. I refer you to, well, any of the godaw­ful retro­fit­ted 3D brigade we’ve seen of late.

Per­haps the odd thing about The Spy Who Loves me is that when coldly analysing the con­stituent ele­ments of the film, it reads like a wholly deriv­a­tive mix of ele­ments of prior art. That’s not the way the film comes across at all, and would do it a grand dis­ser­vice. It’s a wholly enjoy­able movie, and while it’s not close to reach­ing the giddy heights of ‘Best Bond Ever’, it’s cer­tainly in the upper­most base­camp. Well worth a look.

Eternal Legacy

At some point I’ll get through all of these pho­tos from China. This is a statue in Tianan­men Square, ded­i­cated to the People’s Army, if mem­ory serves. While there’s a num­ber of folks who will insist that there’s no point tak­ing pho­tographs in the harsh mid-day sun this was taken in when there’s per­fectly good light com­ing, maybe, in the golden hours, that’s pretty rub­bish advice if you’re not going to get an oppor­tu­nity to go back wher­ever you are in a hurry. It’ll be a while until I’m back in China, and if I have to go under my own dol­lar, per­haps I never will. This was taken with the sun directly behind the statue in an attempt to do some­thing inter­est­ing with the hand dealt to me, with lim­ited suc­cess as you can judge from the above.

Read­ers of a cer­tain age and pre­dis­po­si­tion may remem­ber the infancy of videogam­ing in the home, with unsus­pect­ing “seri­ous com­put­ers” such as the ZX Spec­trum and Com­modore VIC-20 being abused into dis­play­ing some prim­i­tive ances­tors of the mod­ern gam­ing mul­ti­me­dia extrav­a­gan­zas we take for granted on our Xboxes and Playsta­tions. While Atari might have been a lit­tle more strict about intel­lec­tual prop­erty rights, given that they owned a good chunk of the good arcade games at the time, other for­mats were the rip-off equiv­a­lent of the Wild West.

Cue a mas­sive num­ber of barely, if at all, dis­guised ver­sions of Pac-man and Space Invaders and the like, often of wildly vary­ing qual­ity. A sim­pler, more inno­cent time, where peo­ple shared and shared alike, or at least when game com­pa­nies didn’t have legal teams larger than their devel­op­ment teams.

I’m appar­ently not the only one nos­tal­gic about this era, or reck­less enough to base a company’s release sched­ule entirely around quite bla­tant idea theft. Gameloft have been mak­ing games for mobile phones for as long as they’ve been capa­ble of run­ning the rudi­men­tary Java-based games that seemed fab­u­lous at the time, and as bar­barous as Speccy games in ret­ro­spect. The release of the iPhone, how­ever, seems to have turned them into full time rip-off merchants.

You’d have to be incred­i­bly char­i­ta­ble or com­pletely dis­hon­est not to feel that there’s a mas­sive degree of sim­i­lar­ity between N.O.V.A and HALO, or the Mod­ern Com­bat and COD: Mod­ern War­fare games, or Star­front and Star­craft, or as we’re inter­ested in here, between Eter­nal Legacy and Final Fan­tasy. In par­tic­u­lar, Eter­nal Legacy draws on the graph­i­cal styles of Final Fan­tasy VIII and the plot of Final Fan­tasy VII, so I sup­pose if you’re being aston­ish­ingly gen­er­ous that counts as innovation.

I’d get a lit­tle more shirty about Gameloft’s out­right clon­ery were it not for the gen­er­ally high qual­ity of all of these cover ver­sions. While N.O.V.A and Mod­ern Com­bat are shad­ows of their inspi­ra­tions on the mas­sively more pow­er­ful con­soles, they’re still very com­pe­tent, fluid games and arguably as close as anyone’s come to mak­ing great FPS’s on the Apple iThingys. Eter­nal Legacy in some respects one ups the oth­ers men­tioned, by being a bet­ter game than the Final Fan­tasies it apes.

Of course, this is com­ing from some­one with a very low tol­er­ance for Final Fan­tasy games, so fac­tor that in your cal­cu­la­tions of what­ever that’s worth. Astrian, a spiky haired fel­low car­ry­ing a ridicu­lously over­sized sword in no was resem­bling FF8’s Squall and his buddy, in no way rem­i­nis­cent of Zell, are rebels attempt­ing to steal an oppres­sive government’s shiny crys­tal trin­kets, Varsh Stones, the source of power in this world, which is the first hint that you’re play­ing a game heav­ily indebted plot­wise to FF7. In fact, I’m going to stop point­ing out char­ac­ter sim­i­lar­i­ties to FF8 and plot sim­i­lar­i­ties to FF8, as oth­er­wise we’ll be here all day. Please just assume that any char­ac­ter you play is a barely dis­guised ver­sion of some­one from FF8 and most of the plot’s a homage, shall we say, to FF7.

Mechan­i­cally, the game also shares ele­ments with the FF series, although by exten­sion it shares ele­ments with pretty much every RPG with turn based com­bat. There’s the usual com­bi­na­tions of phys­i­cal attacks, ele­ment based attack magic, stat alter­ing buff/debuffs and assorted heal­ing items and spells, which dif­fer­ent char­ac­ters will use to dif­fer­ing lev­els of effect depend­ing on their abil­i­ties. There’s also a rough ana­logue of Limit Breaks, and a stat/effect boost­ing sys­tem thank­fully far less tedious than FF8’s Junc­tion­ing, as Varsh Frag­ments found through­out the game can be attached to the weapons and armour you use, grant­ing either access to spells that could not nor­mally be utilised by the char­ac­ter, extra defence or attack, and so forth.

So far, so famil­iar, and the over­world sec­tions aren’t going to blow your mind with their orig­i­nal­ity either. It’s the usual RPG deal of wan­der­ing around a town talk­ing to peo­ple, either get­ting a quest or receiv­ing infor­ma­tion that involves head­ing some­where else and fight­ing your way their through a vari­ety of whacky ene­mies and beast that seem to have no par­tic­u­lar sto­ry­line rea­son to be get­ting up in your grill. At least, thank­fully, there’s no ran­dom encoun­ters, as the ene­mies are clearly seen wan­der­ing around and thus can occa­sion­ally be avoided com­pletely, and you can per­haps sneak up on them. Why this isn’t the way all RPGs deal with this is beyond me. I can almost accept it as a lim­i­ta­tion on ear­lier machines, but there’s no excuse for it in the mod­ern age.

So, there’s a brownie point for it, but there’s a num­ber of less suc­cess­ful deci­sions made in the game. The com­bat and cus­tomi­sa­tion sys­tems are far sim­pler than in the games it apes, which to my mind is entirely appro­pri­ate and laud­able for a game designed to be played on the move. As the iDe­vice for­mat is more con­duc­tive to play­ing for short bursts as a time filler rather than full-on gam­ing ses­sions, short­en­ing the nor­mally inter­minable 40 hour RPG grind to a more com­pact 8 or 9 hours fits quite well.

Fits well for me, at least. Given that JRPGs these days seem to make their hay based entirely on how ludi­crously com­plex and padded they are, what’s fine for me may not be so good for the intended core audi­ence. The plot’s suf­fered a lit­tle under the baton of time com­pres­sion, tak­ing a few sharp right turns that could leave you flat­footed if you were hop­ing to actu­ally care about the sto­ry­line or char­ac­ters. It also presents a novel twist on the ‘early doors unwinnable bat­tle with even­tual boss’ trope, as you face off against the game’s main antag­o­nist, kill him with ease, and are imme­di­ately taken to a cutscene show­ing you on prone, defeated and at said antagonist’s mercy. Some­how. Buh?

There’s a few mechan­i­cal annoy­ances that should really have been fixed remain­ing in the ver­sion avail­able as I write. When you equip a new weapon, the Varsh frag­ments do not auto­mat­i­cally trans­fer over to the new weapon from the old, which means another fid­dly trip to the menu sys­tem. That I can deal with, but the menu sys­tem in com­bat is a com­plete pain in the ass when try­ing to nav­i­gate the lengthy item menu. Or at least, it’s lengthy by the end of the game which is about the only time you’ll ever need to use heal­ing items.

You see, the main prob­lem I have with Eter­nal Legacy is that it presents no chal­lenge what­so­ever to any­one with the slight­est expe­ri­ence of these sorts of games. I had won­dered if there was some sort of bug in the game, as my char­ac­ters were very quickly lev­el­ling up to silly degrees. Turns out that’s a func­tion of the shorter game length, but between the stats boost gained and the free heal­ing gained from lev­el­ling up there’s prac­ti­cally no dan­ger of dying, at least until the game pulls one of it’s some­what fre­quent dick moves, split­ting the party and leav­ing you with­out any­one that has a heal­ing spell. At which point we’re often rely­ing on heal­ing items, and the cum­ber­some menu for select­ing them that can take so long to get at that you might be in dan­ger of dying more through menu inef­fi­ciency than through lack of tac­ti­cal nous.

It’s not game-cripplingly unus­able, and to be fair I strug­gle to see how else the menus can be organ­ised. How­ever, even this prob­lem stems from the core prob­lem — a lack of chal­lenge. The menu becomes unwieldy because the game is mas­sively gen­er­ous with dis­patched ene­mies drop­ping heal­ing potions. Apart from this mean­ing you’ve no excuse no to go into each bat­tle in top shape, it also leaves you with a ridicu­lous num­ber of items in your inven­tory, mak­ing find­ing par­tic­u­lar things more dif­fi­cult. By the time the game ended, I had some­thing like four hun­dred spare heal­ing thingys. I could sell most of them to a trader, but in the absence of a “sell all” but­ton that meant tap­ping ‘sell’ some­thing like four hun­dred times, and, well, screw that noise. It’s not as if I needed the money for any­thing, as the few items that the mer­chants sell were eas­ily afford­able from the money dropped dur­ing the nor­mal course of the game.

Dis­ap­point­ingly, for a rel­a­tively short RPG there’s still a bit of arbi­trary game­play padding as you return to pre­vi­ous loca­tions for pretty poorly laid out rea­sons. Thank­fully, it’s pretty rare, and there’s no need to spend hours in one loca­tions grind­ing out either level gains or draw spells, mechan­ics from FF8 that still give me night­mares to this day.

Okay, per­haps it’s a lit­tle slap­dash in places, and I’m not sure if it’s going to com­pletely sat­isfy the JRPG / Final Fan­tasy lov­ing crowd that it’s aimed at. But it’s a rea­son­able mobile fac­sim­ile of famil­iar con­cepts, and it cer­tainly kept me com­ing back to it for those eight to nine-ish hours with only rel­a­tively minor com­plaints. Look at it this way — if you had told the younger ver­sion of myself play­ing that there Pac­man rip-off on the Speccy all those years ago that they could play some­thing of this qual­ity and scope on a mobile phone, he’d have been blown away, at least once you had fur­ther explained the con­cept of a mobile phone to him. I am very old, remember.

And all this for a price less, in absolute terms, less than the bud­get game releases of the day, even before you take infla­tion into account? Lunacy. How­ever, we’re not judg­ing Eter­nal Legacy in com­par­i­son with Chuckie Egg, we’re judg­ing it amongst its App Store com­padres. There are a few more pol­ished RPGs that I’ve seen, but most are either opt­ing for a SNES-y, car­toony, Zelda-y look, or have more in com­mon with the West­ern, Oblivion-style RPGs. Noth­ing wrong with either approach, but it’s left a gap in the mar­ket for some­thing a lit­tle more mod­ern and JRPG-influenced to exist, and Eter­nal Legacy is a very cred­i­ble game to fill that gap.

It’s cur­rently £2.99 in the App Store, a triv­ial amount of cash for such a game on any con­sole, but thanks to the unusual met­rics of the sys­tem it’s in a more expen­sive tier than most games. It’s cer­tainly worth that much, but per­haps you may want to wait (as I did) for one of Gameloft’s fre­quent sales to knock that down a lit­tle before tak­ing the plunge. At fifty nine pence, it’s damn near as good value for money for a game as I’ve ever had. There’s also a free demo ver­sion, should the prospect of part­ing with less than the price of a mediocre cup of cof­fee con­cern you greatly.



The Man With The Golden Gun

One day, I hope to have processed the shots from China and India from the start of the year. This is from the Red Fort, if mem­ory serves.

We should start at the start of The Man With The Golden Gun, or at the very least close to the start of it, with a few words about the theme tune that the poor, unsus­pect­ing Lulu was lured into singing. If there’s a worse theme tune, or one with more asi­nine lyrics, I have yet to expe­ri­ence it. It sounds some­thing like an alien might imag­ine a Bond theme would sound like, were you only able to com­mu­ni­cate the con­cept of music through a series of rudi­men­tary clicks and whis­tles, but the lyrics are more akin to a plot recap for the hard of think­ing. It’s only very mar­gin­ally bet­ter writ­ten than “There’s a man with a gun, and it’s golden, and he kills peo­ple, lala la lala”. Now, Bond themes might not tra­di­tion­ally be the deep­est, soul-rending explo­rations of the human con­di­tion, but they often have a lit­tle more mys­tery and soul than just describ­ing, in broad terms, that this is a film about a man who shoots people.

Or indeed two peo­ple who shoot peo­ple. Roger Moore’s Bond may be offi­cially licensed by Her Majesties’ Gov­ern­ment to go about bust­ing caps in evil’s col­lec­tive ass, but this film is con­cerned with the world’s most pres­ti­gious and expen­sive assas­sin, “San” Fran­cisco Scara­manga (Christo­pher Lee). In ret­ro­spect the only sur­prise about peren­nial vil­lain Lee appear­ing in the Bond series is that it took so long. It is brought to the atten­tion of HMSS that a con­tract is out on Bond, a not-so-subtle warn­ing being sent in the form of a golden bul­let with 007 engraved on it. Pulling Bond off his cur­rent mis­sion, track­ing down a miss­ing solar power expert and his rev­o­lu­tion­ary effi­ciency enhanc­ing McGuf­fin, M gives Bond tacit per­mis­sion to go off and get shot of Scara­manga before Scara­manga shoots him.

It’s funny how intel­li­gence gath­er­ing works. Although, as M says, nobody knows where Scara­manga is, or what he looks like, but some­how we do know he has a third, super­flu­ous nip­ple. Although one could argue that all the nip­ples on a man are super­flu­ous. The point being that there’s no solid leads on how to get hold of Scara­manga, which must make hir­ing him dif­fi­cult, let alone killing him. How­ever, Bond has a solid lead on the maker of the hand crafted cus­tom ammo that Scara­manga uses, and from there on it’s just a mat­ter of shak­ing the right trees until Scaramanga’s island base drops out. Not lit­er­ally, obvi­ously. In accor­dance with Chekhov’s gun, Scara­manga is tied up with a firm of Thai engi­neers who are, I sup­pose, evil, although in no par­tic­u­larly well described fash­ion, other than try­ing to get their mitts on that there solar power gizmo.

I had remem­bered The Man With The Golden Gun quite fondly, which rather goes to show how tricky this whole mem­ory thing can be. This really isn’t a good film, although as I believe some peo­ple do with On Her Majesty’s Secret Ser­vice, if you cherry pick the more suc­cess­ful and inter­est­ing ele­ments from the movie and fill in the remain­der with some­thing a shade less ridicu­lous you can imag­ine a very good film. Sadly, in the bor­ing old con­ven­tional real­ity my doc­tors tell me I’m sup­posed to be deal­ing with, this film kinda sucks.

Gen­er­ally, a Bond film is only as good as the bad guy Bond’s fac­ing. You could argue that The Man With The Golden Gun has as good a chance as any to be one of the best Bonds. The idea of Scara­manga, mys­te­ri­ous hit­man, and Bond’s nom­i­nal equal sounds like a far surer recipe for suc­cess than, say, a jive-talkin’ voodoo-backed island Pres­i­dent. Taken in iso­la­tion, Scara­manga has all the hall­marks of a great Bond char­ac­ter and Lee deliv­ers his role con­vinc­ingly, with the self-assurance of some­one who knows he’s at the top of his game.

The prob­lem is, we’ve only really got his word for it. Scara­manga says he’s the best. Every­one agrees that he’s the best. We are con­tin­u­ally told that Scara­manga is a very cred­i­ble threat. How­ever, we’re never at any point shown why he’s the best hit­man around. We’ve only got one straight shot from across a deserted road, some ridicu­lous tom­fool­ery in Scaramanga’s pri­vate house of mir­rors and an expen­sive taste in muni­tions to back it up, none of which really passes muster. Show, don’t tell, is as old a canard as you could care to bust out, but it’s no less appro­pri­ate in this instance.

Moore looks com­fort­able in his sec­ond out­ing as Bond. It seems I don’t loathe Moore’s inter­pre­ta­tion of Bond as much as my addled mem­ory would have had me believe at the start of this endeav­our, I just find him remark­ably bland. Still, at least this sto­ry­line plays more to the smooth, sophis­ti­cated side of this new Bond, which works rea­son­ably well. While I don’t find Moore as con­vinc­ing as Con­nery in action sequences, We should all be thank­ful he’s not flail­ing around like Lazenby’s drunken mar­i­onette impersonation.

So, it’s not that there aren’t some good ele­ments in The Man With The Golden Gun. Sadly, they are weighed down by some dread­ful deci­sions to arbi­trar­ily play for laughs, which under­mines any dra­matic ten­sion it could be build­ing. This should be a tense cat and mouse game with a leg­endary assas­sin, not a bor­der­line sex­ist dou­ble act with Britt Ekland’s bum­bling, incom­pe­tent secret agent whose only plot func­tion appears to be enabling a damsel in dis­tress act for the last half hour, and indeed giv­ing an excuse for the last half hour to exist at all. Had she dis­played even a bor­der­line level of com­pe­tency, Bond would back in the hotel with tea and crum­pets just after first meet­ing Scaramanga.

There’s just too much stu­pid on dis­play to take the film seri­ously. Scara­manga ought to be an impos­ing fig­ure by sheer dint of his rep­u­ta­tion, but it’s dif­fi­cult to take him all that seri­ously when he’s cart­ing around a com­edy dwarf manser­vant called Nick Nack (Hervé Vil­lechaize). There’s a few chases that ought to be excit­ing, but thanks to the entirely unwel­come, inex­plic­a­bly coin­ci­den­tal return of Clifton James as walk­ing Deep South U.S.A. stereo­type Sher­iff J.W. Pep­per, they instead become teeth-grindingly irritating.

Still, if The Man With The Golden Gun has taught me any­thing, it’s that the most time effec­tive way to become CEO of a large multi-national com­pany is to shoot the pre­vi­ous chair­man. I assumed there would be more paper­work to fill in, per­haps some Board approval or reg­u­la­tory over­sight. No, here at least, pro­mo­tion is by dead man’s boots.

I’ve seen it men­tioned some­where that Scara­manga is the best Bond vil­lain stuck in the worst Bond movie. That’s wrong on both counts, but I can see where they’re com­ing from. I still can’t bring myself to out­right dis­like The Man With The Golden Gun, but there’s cer­tainly a num­ber of things to hate in there. Idi­otic side­kicks, idi­otic return­ing char­ac­ters and the sin­gle most idi­otic sound effect in Bond car stunt his­tory as they exe­cute the oth­er­wise impres­sive corkscrew river jump.

There’s cer­tainly far worse movies that The Man With The Golden Gun, and there’s cer­tainly far worse Bond movies than The Man With The Golden Gun. In the cold light of day, it’s just such a frus­trat­ing film to watch. There’s very nearly some­thing great hid­ing under­neath the lay­ers of obfus­ti­cated idiocy. Ulti­mately, it’s not a entry in the fran­chise I can rec­om­mend as any­thing other than home­work for those who like con­struct­ing a bet­ter film in their heads than is actu­ally played on screen.