Live And Let Die
Many times when making sequels to a popular franchise, it is necessary to reinvent and bring new elements to the table in order to keep said franchise feeling fresh and of high quality. Thus is the case with the 8th film in the Bond Series, which retains Guy Hamilton as director but successfully changes several things up in the process, starting with Roger Moore as Bond: Whereas Connery had started to go through the motions playing the taciturn secret agent, Moore (who had been Ian Fleming’s original choice back in 1961) brings a whole new definition to the character that suits it well. Bond now possesses a supremely confident, almost arrogant attitude for much of the film, cocky yet likable, and Moore delivers the one-liners and quips with a wry humor that Connery had lacked, while still possessing the positive qualities that Bond was known for. Also different too, was the overall premise and style: Gone are the endless battles of wits between Bond and Blofeld, replaced instead with Bond battling a Harlem gangster and Caribbean island diplomat who are indeed one and the same, and infusing the series with the then-current hip blaxploitation movie craze (which includes using several actors who had made their name in the genre) along with a smattering of supernatural and psychological horror that makes it one of the darkest and most unique of the series. Starting with a rather haunting pre-titles sequence showing the murders of three agents, before rocking out into Paul McCartney’s legendary theme song which remains a standard-bearer of the series to this day, this is a Bond unlike any other, as seen when Moore’s very proper 007 waltzes into a Harlem nightclub and (being the only white guy in the place) is quickly denigrated by being called a “honky” and being taken out back to be killed (and Moore’s genuine indignation at such treatment makes it all the more entertaining). Some viewers have been concerned at the racial overtones of the piece (namely that almost all the black characters are “in on it”), but it should also be said that the black villains turn out to be among the most clever and resourceful of the series, always staying one step ahead of 007 and keeping him guessing. This is epitomized by Yaphet Kotto as the lead bad guy, Kananga a.k.a. Mr. Big: Possessing a brilliant plan to distribute a billion dollars of high quality heroin FOR FREE, so that he may monopolize the drug trade when millions of hooked junkie Americans come crawling back for more, Kotto brings the right measure of intelligence and dignity to the role, outside of the corny “dual identity” gimmick which has Kotto wearing cheap-looking latex that fails to disguise his face (though Bond seems to fall for it). Backing Kotto up are Julius Harris as the always-smiling Tee Hee, an underrated henchmen known for his prosthetic hook hand, Earl Jolly Brown as the overweight Whisper, thus named for his inability to raise his voice, and Geoffrey Holder as the frightening and other-worldly Baron Samedi, ostensibly just another henchmen even as it is implied that he is possibly a voodoo god of some sort guiding Kananga. Then there is Jane Seymour (in the absolute prime of her beauty) as probably the most gorgeous Bond Girl yet, the tarot card reader named Solitaire who uses her abilities to advise Kananga but who risks losing her powers should she lose her virginity (which Bond is only too happy to oblige). Seymour is so incredible looking that literally the viewer cannot look at anything or anyone else when she’s onscreen, even as this is offset by one of the lamer Bond Girls (and the first African American to fill this role), Gloria Hendry as the bumbling and incompetent CIA double agent Rosie, who comes off as giving the impression that Bond has sex with her mostly because he just feels sorry for her. Hamilton in the director’s chair still has the crisp pacing that marked his earlier work, and the soundtrack (produced by George Martin who also worked with the Beatles) zips things along beautifully giving the feeling of a franchise reborn, topped off with some great action scenes that still hold up to this day, most notably a speedboat chase through the Louisiana bayous between Bond and some of Kananga’s henchmen. The only area in which the film goes all wrong is with the character of redneck sheriff J.W. Pepper. As played by Clifton James (who seemingly could only play this one character in his entire acting oeuvre, judging from his career), we get one of the most offensive backwoods stereotypes imaginable, as James huffs and puffs and spits tobacco juice and overacts to the extreme, made even worse since the director seems so enamored with his mugging that they linger on the character much longer than they should. Regardless, this ten minute role fails to sink the film, which leads up to a wild climax involving sharks, an air pellet, and Bond having to take care of one last bit of business at the end. Overall, one of the best of the Bonds that showed Roger Moore starting off with a bang…
8/10