Bond Night Intermission pours out a martini for Sir Roger Moore with a tribute to the legendary actor’s style, skill and technique.
By Michael O’Connor // Welcome to Bond Night: Intermission! Occasionally, this column takes a break from the individual film coverage to focus on a topic central to the James Bond films and canon. With the recent tragic passing of Sir Roger Moore, it seemed only fitting to share a few personal thoughts about the legendary 007 actor and the long shadow he cast over the franchise… and this particular Bondian’s fandom.
Adoring Moore
I have a confession: I adore Roger Moore.
When I began watching his 007 films as an adolescent with my father, I’d already digested six Sean Connery entries and been thoroughly confused and upset by Lazenby’s one-off appearance in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (I’d eventually learn the error of my ways). I was more than ready to hate whomever came next.
Instead, the opposite happened. For a long while, Roger Moore became my favorite James Bond, and to this day it’s a neck-and-neck finish with Sean Connery. Moore was a breath of fresh air to the franchise; he was no carbon copy, no watered down 007; he was an entirely different interpretation. And rather than be upset by that revolutionary change, it actually reinvigorated my passion for the character and his world. There were now new layers and depths to explore with a James Bond who played things a little different; it was almost like the character himself was evolving.
Up until his recent unfortunate passing, I thought I was pretty much alone in holding such rosy sentiments. But then the floodgates opened and waves of Roger Moore fans spoke up and professed their mutual admiration, among them New York Times movie critic A.O. Scott, filmmaker Edgar Wright, and actor Russell Crowe. There were some fond remembrances and funny stories from people who had crossed paths with the famous actor. And the common theme was that Sir Roger was a gentleman both on and off screen, that the old adage “never meet your heroes” just didn’t apply to him.
Yet mentioning Roger Moore among certain 007 aficionados is still likely to elicit the same boisterous, venomous reactions as name-dropping Jar Jar Binks among a certain contingent of Star Wars diehards. These kinds of fans share something in common despite their different tastes in franchise fare: a fundamental belief that change of any sort in their favorite series is blasphemous and that lighter, humorous elements are a blight upon the serious, inherently dark tone of the source material.
To be fair, I can understand where these fans are coming from, and I can even empathize to a certain extent. But rather than judge purely on the surface, perhaps it’s worth treading down a rabbit hole-sized gun barrel to reflect on the entirety of the Moore era. You might be surprised what you find.
The Best Bad Bonds
Let’s face it: despite being absurd power fantasies, the earliest James Bond films were relatively grounded, occasionally brutal, and undoubtedly cool. Sean Connery had a mean swagger and a detached iciness beneath his charming facade. He lived in a world where betrayal, torture and death were around every corner. He was constantly being watched and followed; his room was bugged and ransacked; and he was victimized not just in villainous lairs but also in the perceived safety of a bedroom while sleeping. He was chased, assaulted, knocked out, and locked up. No matter where he was or what he was doing, his life was always in danger.
Or at least that’s the memory we fans have of those films, conveniently forgetting many of the campier elements in the latter half of Connery’s tenure. Conventional wisdom says that Roger Moore came along and mucked up the series with his hammy, clown act, but let’s be real: James Bond had already reached maximum camp before Moore ever donned the safari suit. And if you don’t believe that, revisit You Only Live Twice or Diamonds Are Forever.
Nevertheless, the Moore era certainly has an undeniable penchant for eye-rolling excesses, whether it’s imitation Tarzan yells in a jungle vine-swinging sequence, Wile E. Coyote and Road Runner hijinks with the villainous Jaws, or that damn double-taking pigeon. These cringe-inducing moments might have been forgivable or forgettable except that they were often couched in films that were hastily constructed and not particularly well shot, less the gourmet meal of earlier efforts and more a corporate fast food mentality to franchise filmmaking. Even the most loyal and ardent Roger Moore era fan will admit that some of these films represent the series at its nadir.
But honestly, how is that different from any other actor’s 007 filmography? No Bond besides Lazenby has a perfect shooting record, and that’s only because his participation in the series started and ended with the classic On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. Meanwhile, Connery had the aforementioned stinkers You Only Live Twice and Diamonds Are Forever. Dalton, a couple of admirable but ultimately clunky efforts that couldn’t quite stick the landing. Brosnan? A string of disappointments. And Daniel Craig has literally the least watchable entry in the franchise with Quantum of Solace (and yes, I do mean literally. Can anyone actually decipher what’s happening during any of the action sequences in that film?).
The point is, there are more bad Bond films than good ones, and I say that not from my armchair atop my throne looking down on a film series that I’m too good for; quite the opposite. Bad Bond movies can be just as much fun to watch as the good ones, as my Bond Night series has hopefully communicated. But the best “bad” Bond movies are unquestionably the Roger Moore ones. And the reason for that is simple: Roger Moore himself.
The Moore Method
No matter the quality of the film, Roger Moore is always both present and prescient in his acting. His manner is delightfully engaged to the context of the scene, his reactions charming and often surprising, and his sense of comedic timing is second to none. Connery and Craig sleepwalk through their lesser entries, Brosnan goes into overacting overdrive and Dalton just gets visibly angrier. But Roger Moore makes the worst Bond film better simply by being game to raise an eyebrow at the exact right moment or offer a playful, mischievous smirk when the audience needs it the most.
There are scenes in The Man with the Golden Gun, Moonraker and A View to a Kill that are some of my absolute favorite moments in the franchise’s history, despite the fact that the films themselves otherwise exist only to establish the bottom of the gun barrel. So what do all those excellent scenes stranded in terrible movies have in common? Just one thing: Roger Moore.
The difference with Moore is that he was already an old pro at playing to the audience when he joined the 007 franchise. He’d been doing it for years as TV’s The Saint, kicking off each episode by staring directly into the camera as character Simon Templar and confiding his latest observation, usually with a sly witticism added for good measure. That was a remarkably effective way to begin the show, but it would have fallen apart without someone of Moore’s grace and personality to pull it off.
The secret to the success lies in Moore’s inherent affability and charisma. There’s always a touch of vulnerability to Moore’s performance, a bit of self-deprecating humility that he manages to evoke even as he’s portraying a man who’s cosmopolitan, sophisticated and undoubtedly in charge. His James Bond is confident without being arrogant, intelligent without being smug and aristocratic without being a snob. And to top it all off, he can shift between serious and snarky at the drop of Oddjob’s hat.
That combination builds an empathetic bond between him and his audience. There’s no question that he’s the good guy, because the way he plays James Bond is not as amoral anti-hero or blunt weapon searching for a soul. He plays James Bond like a guy who honestly believes he’s doing the right thing and enjoys the life he’s chosen. There are traces of darkness and traces of regret that you see in his Bond, especially when he turns cold on someone who has tried to kill him. But otherwise, you expect that his 007 doesn’t spend a lot of time haunted by the horrors he’s witnessed. He’s remarkably unfazed by even the most depraved villainy, because he knows something they don’t, and he’s willing to let the audience in on the secret too: he’s going to win and everything is going to be okay.
The Spy Who Friended Me
If you could be friends with any of the James Bonds, who would it be?
This was the question posed at a recent Bond Night screening between friends. After a brief back and forth, a verdict and consensus was reached quite quickly.
Roger Moore, obviously.
Let’s face it. You never know where you stand with Connery. He might slip a knife into your back or drug your cocktail when you weren’t looking. Dalton would always be in a sour mood, yelling at you to get the hell out of his way. Craig would sulk quietly into his drink. Brosnan would be a smarmy prick. Lazenby would just cry a lot. They’d all be cool to know and some of them would kick way more ass than old Roger, but you’d never confuse awe with affection when it came to those Bonds.
But Roger Moore’s James Bond you could imagine meeting up for a couple martinis. He’d probably take you under his wing and tell you all about his latest adventure, confidentiality be damned. And then casually, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he’d hold up a set of car keys and suggest tearing up the streets with the latest loan from Q Branch. Who wouldn’t want to hang out with that guy? Who wouldn’t want to live that life?
Ultimately, that’s the lingering appeal of his portrayal to this day and the absence felt in more recent, decidedly more dour entries of the franchise. When you get right down to it, the James Bond franchise is all about wish-fulfillment. It’s about imagining yourself traveling the world, getting into insane adventures, and being gifted with the latest technology, the finest meals and drinks and the loveliest companions. The goal of the series was never to explore the psychological underpinnings of a real world spy; it was to share an intoxicating fantasy to a world of people who live mostly ordinary, mundane existences.
While the campy excesses of the Moore era (and the Brosnan one as well) are haunting reminders of where the franchise can spiral when the storytellers become more invested in visual gags, puns and double entendres than in crafting a compelling, moving, riveting thrill ride of a film, there’s something to be said for at least a slightly lighter touch in the vein of some of Sir Roger’s better efforts, ala Live and Let Die, The Spy Who Loved Me, and For Your Eyes Only.
As the Bond producers continue to churn out new installments, they’ll need to ask themselves: when the audience no longer wants to be James Bond (or be friends with him), what’s the point?
What Would Ian Think?
I have an enormous respect and admiration for the creator of the James Bond franchise, Ian Fleming. Not only did he create one of the greatest characters in pop culture; he also crafted one of the best series of adventure novels of all time. Most people have never read an Ian Fleming James Bond novel, and that’s a shame, because they are largely exceptional works of fiction and often quite different from the films that share their titles.
Of course, conventional wisdom says that Ian Fleming’s James Bond is about as far as you can get from Moore’s portrayal. Most people just assume, having never actually read the books, that Fleming’s Bond was a ruthless, amoral killer, and that the novels were far darker than the films. In some ways, this is true; the literary Bond could be a bastard, a lonely, emotionally unavailable spy who fought bouts of depression and alcoholism between dangerous, violent missions. But what often gets lost by fans lauding Fleming’s darker approach, is that the literary Bond was actually a far more heroic character than the majority of the film iterations.
The biggest commonality with Roger Moore’s Bond is the literary Bond’s code of honor.
In the short story, “The Living Daylights,” 007 is repulsed by the idea of shooting an unwitting and unknown enemy agent through a sniper rifle, reasoning that if a man is to die it should be face-to-face and the killer should have justifiable reason for ending that life. Like Moore’s Bond, the literary Bond shows no remorse in avenging himself on an enemy who has tried to kill him or threaten the lives of his friends or lovers; in fact, the scene in the film For Your Eyes Only, where Moore’s Bond kicks an assassin and his car off a cliff after the murder of a fellow agent is as Fleming-esque as anything from Daniel Craig’s Casino Royale or Connery’s From Russia with Love. But murder for the sake of murder, or standing idly by while someone is killed, as Daniel Craig’s Bond does twice in Skyfall, is in clear violation of the literary Bond’s moral code.
In fact, there is something downright chivalrous and slightly paternalistic about the literary Bond in how he reacts to friends or partners being in danger. And this lines up nicely with how Roger Moore approaches the character, especially in his later entries. He risks his life to save others, often for no discernible self-gain, but simply because it’s the right thing to do. In The Spy Who Loved Me, he assaults Karl Stromberg’s fortress and faces off against Jaws to rescue a Russian spy who has threatened to kill him; and in For Your Eyes Only in one of Roger Moore’s best acted scenes of the series, he warns a woman seeking revenge from treading the same vengeful path he has walked.
While anti-heroes are all the rage and James Bond is likely responsible for that trend’s enduring popularity, there is something inherently satisfying about Moore’s subversively heroic anti-hero. While some Bond fans decry Moore for making 007 look “weak,” I’d argue the opposite; defeating the bad guy without compromising one’s moral code is the mark of someone who is truly strong. And by that criteria, Roger Moore’s James Bond may just be the most powerful 007 of them all.
Moore, Please
With seven Bond films under his belt, Roger Moore is still the actor with the most official appearances as 007, and yet I’m always sad to reach the end of A View to a Kill and realize… that’s it. There aren’t any more Roger Moore James Bond films. That may seem like an odd reaction, especially when I’ll admit that A View to a Kill is easily the most forgettable entry in the James Bond series and Roger Moore looks practically ancient in the role.
And yet I’ll still watch it from time to time to see Sir Roger doing his thing. It feels less like a part of the series and more like a B-side or a special feature of unused footage, serving as little more than a victory lap for an actor who did the impossible in unseating Sean Connery’s dominance in the hearts and minds of Bondians of the 70s and 80s.
Of course, there would be great Bond films after Moore’s run and excellent performances by the likes of Dalton, Brosnan and especially Daniel Craig. But for me, the Bond series would never quite regain what it lost when Moore retired from the role: 007 at its most escapist, charming fun. Under those criteria at least, nobody did it better than Roger Moore.
Bond Night is a tradition started by myself, a bonafide Bondian, and friends whose exposure to the James Bond film franchise was limited. One film a month is paired with a region-appropriate cuisine and cocktail, and spirited discourse about each film’s merits and shortcomings. The goal of this column is to translate that experience here, walking newbies and Bond-experts alike through fifty years of the British superspy’s cinematic history (from Dr. No through today) and declassifying all the secret intel necessary for you to host your own Bond Night with friends and family.