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Remember back to 1987! The review I thoughtI had with The Living Daylights
Remeber those old reviews. The one smoked in fresh vinegar and chip rappings. Heres one I was for TLD. For some reason I read the Daily Telegraph first. This is one where I have remembered for nearly thirty years..
“Morning OO7. How’s the sciatica?”
M’s solitude was double edged. He never let Bond down - it was 34 years since the introduction of ‘Casino Royale’. He pressed a switch. A panel in the wall behind revealed. “See if you recognise anyone?” A title appeared. It was ‘The living Daylights’
Bond gripped the arms of his chair. It was uncanny. He had seen the ‘Bond pictures before’. There was that blue chinned fella with the cow-lick, the portable scarecrow, and the genial giant with his laundered deep voice – Old Moore, they would call him the records. None of them had rung true. KGB misinformation, Bond suspected.
But this man was extraordinary. The hairs on Bonds scalp stiffen. The face onscreen was he’s own 30 years ago: lean, hard with tight smile-lines and narrowed serious eyes. There was humour in them but pain and sensitivity too. The man knew alot, was adroit and tough, and the dinner jacket was probably his own. He even sounds like me.
“Timothy Dalton,” said M:”You must have seen him at the barbican. One of the most powerful hotspurs in the world” He tapped the publicity folder. “You will find more about him here Rada trained of course and, er, of us”
“I would like to see more of him..”
“So you shall. Let’s see the rest”
It was a corker.
A gibraltar parachute exercise goes wrong, following a fight on a careening landrover then sailing down to the motor yacht. A Russian defector smuggled west in a energy pipeline like a old fashioned drapers bill. A beautiful cellist and sniper (Maryam D’abo). A Hitchcock style milkman with more then pintas and deadly balloon sellar at the Vienna Prater. An Aston Martin that runs rings around the opposition and a terrific finale with Afghan resistance bearded Art Malik.
Twice Bond groaned at the film. Miss Moneypenny (Caroline Bliss) was simply a Sloane in specs. And Felix Leiter was mopheaded as well as recovered his arm. But for most of the time Bond wallowed in the movie. Its climax, a fight on a string bag streaming from the fuselage a C130 Hercules, made the muscles tense like steel mesh. Each time he relaxed the writer and director (John Glen) had a fresh shock in store. They were as inventive as SMERSH but much kinder. The film was sadistic and salacious. Even the snobbery had virtually gone. But Desmond Llewelly was still there producing ingenious as Q as gadgets and the girl was edible. It made Bond feel young again.
“I was stirred as well as shaken”said Bond
“I am not surprised” says M, “you always were a boy at heart”
“Morning OO7. How’s the sciatica?”
M’s solitude was double edged. He never let Bond down - it was 34 years since the introduction of ‘Casino Royale’. He pressed a switch. A panel in the wall behind revealed. “See if you recognise anyone?” A title appeared. It was ‘The living Daylights’
Bond gripped the arms of his chair. It was uncanny. He had seen the ‘Bond pictures before’. There was that blue chinned fella with the cow-lick, the portable scarecrow, and the genial giant with his laundered deep voice – Old Moore, they would call him the records. None of them had rung true. KGB misinformation, Bond suspected.
But this man was extraordinary. The hairs on Bonds scalp stiffen. The face onscreen was he’s own 30 years ago: lean, hard with tight smile-lines and narrowed serious eyes. There was humour in them but pain and sensitivity too. The man knew alot, was adroit and tough, and the dinner jacket was probably his own. He even sounds like me.
“Timothy Dalton,” said M:”You must have seen him at the barbican. One of the most powerful hotspurs in the world” He tapped the publicity folder. “You will find more about him here Rada trained of course and, er, of us”
“I would like to see more of him..”
“So you shall. Let’s see the rest”
It was a corker.
A gibraltar parachute exercise goes wrong, following a fight on a careening landrover then sailing down to the motor yacht. A Russian defector smuggled west in a energy pipeline like a old fashioned drapers bill. A beautiful cellist and sniper (Maryam D’abo). A Hitchcock style milkman with more then pintas and deadly balloon sellar at the Vienna Prater. An Aston Martin that runs rings around the opposition and a terrific finale with Afghan resistance bearded Art Malik.
Twice Bond groaned at the film. Miss Moneypenny (Caroline Bliss) was simply a Sloane in specs. And Felix Leiter was mopheaded as well as recovered his arm. But for most of the time Bond wallowed in the movie. Its climax, a fight on a string bag streaming from the fuselage a C130 Hercules, made the muscles tense like steel mesh. Each time he relaxed the writer and director (John Glen) had a fresh shock in store. They were as inventive as SMERSH but much kinder. The film was sadistic and salacious. Even the snobbery had virtually gone. But Desmond Llewelly was still there producing ingenious as Q as gadgets and the girl was edible. It made Bond feel young again.
“I was stirred as well as shaken”said Bond
“I am not surprised” says M, “you always were a boy at heart”
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Comments
I love The Living Daylights. This was fun, having Bond watch it. I especially like your very last line. :)