The Living Daylights (1987)
Dir. John Glen
I digress; I'm here to talk about Timothy Dalton. I mean no disrespect when I say that Dalton's Bond doesn't have the same level of sex appeal as Sean Connery's. Very few men do. On the plus side he doesn't have the same kind of 'charm' as Moore's. No, instead Dalton brings a moodiness to the role, and a sense of daring that the others had less of.
There's a feeling that he's worked hard to earn his 007 Licence, whereas for the others it came easy.
Unfortunately, his first outing plays like it was written with a Moore-esque hero in mind but had Dalton ill-fittingly squeezed into it. They make him fit the template instead of writing to suit his style. The dumb opening and ridiculous sledding moment are prime examples of what I mean.
It works best when it resembles an old-fashioned Cold War thriller. At those times, when people aren't throwing exploding milk bottles (don't even go there), when it's Bond in the field using his wits and edge to make things happen, it's reasonably entertaining. I still got bored by the 40 minute mark, but that I made it that far happily enough was in itself an achievement.
A doe-eyed Miss Moneypenny (Caroline Bliss) seems like she was included simply to make HQ seem familiar. Speaking of HQ and familiarity, Q (Desmond Llewelyn) is Q.
The second lady, the one that gets more screen time but whose primary function is still to make James look good, is sophisticated but dull. It's the writers' fault more than the actress' (Maryam d'Abo). They gave her no memorable traits whatsoever. She's blankness with a cello in tow.
I have in my notes the words, 'the horse's ass scene was woeful,' but I can't now remember anything about a horse's ass. Whatever I was referring to must've been as bad as described because I've totally expunged it from memory. Well done me, for a change?
What I learned from The Living Daylights: attaching a fake silencer to a fake firearm causes it to cease making an imaginary click sound when handled or raised. My life is now complete.
The second lady, the one that gets more screen time but whose primary function is still to make James look good, is sophisticated but dull. It's the writers' fault more than the actress' (Maryam d'Abo). They gave her no memorable traits whatsoever. She's blankness with a cello in tow.
I have in my notes the words, 'the horse's ass scene was woeful,' but I can't now remember anything about a horse's ass. Whatever I was referring to must've been as bad as described because I've totally expunged it from memory. Well done me, for a change?
What I learned from The Living Daylights: attaching a fake silencer to a fake firearm causes it to cease making an imaginary click sound when handled or raised. My life is now complete.
Licence to Kill (1989)
Dir. John Glen
NOTE: SPOILERS AHOY!
Dalton's second film feels more like it was written with him in mind, but that doesn't make it good. The shit cover art is the least of its problems. And while a scenario that sees the Commander's 'licence to kill' be revoked might sound suitably dramatic in theory, doesn't it mean that every kill thereafter is technically murder? That's not a good way to inspire sympathy for your leading man.
But prior to all that there's the small matter of a wedding to attend, namely that of Bond's CIA buddy Felix Leiter (David Hedison). When I say 'small matter' I mean eventful clusterfuck of action and stupidity that sets a rubbish precedent - least of all because of crap acting by certain parties.
On the plus side, the wedding and what follows it provide an emotional connection that adds a little depth to what's set in motion, provided you've seen the sixth movie in the franchise, the George Lazenby fronted On Her Majesty's Secret Service (1969, Dir. Peter R. Hunt). The relatedness I refer to is worked into the plot of Licence to Kill in a very basic way, allowing it to remain semi-standalone, if that's how you choose to view each film, but it's better than nothing.
The main villain is a drugs lord named Franz Sanchez (Robert Davi), who, like Ernst Blofeld, has a pet, albeit one that's more coldblooded than furry because that's the kind of guy he is. The Sanchez character is neither charismatic nor intriguing. His primary function is to be a target of Bond's personal vendetta, which is connected to some of what I've previously mentioned.
Its being more personal should've made it more engaging than usual, but the film is flat with bland characters. It even has an exploding bad-guy lair. Yawn. Dalton's Bond is less of a chauvinistic prick than his predecessors were, which is perhaps its most noteworthy element.
Or maybe the fact that it was Dalton's last is more significant. I don't know why he didn't come back for thirds. I only know that his potential was wasted.
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