Sean Connery is in all likelihood the ‘best’ ever James Bond. But Roger Moore is unquestionably my generation’s defining Bond. I watched A View To A Kill just the other day, and was astounded by how stupid it was, especially the beginning, where 007 is skiing along alpine mountain ranges in snow gear to recover something called a ‘microchip’, gets chased by Russian soldiers on skis, skis on one leg, then jacks a snowmobile, crashes it, then uses one of the skis from the bottom of it to snowboard on (while the Beach Boys’ Sufin USA plays), then escapes to an iceberg which is really a British two man submarine with a fully stocked bar. I couldn’t get over how atrociously unbelievable it was, until I remembered being riveted to my seat in the movie theater in 1985. And when the iceberg submarine chugs off and James (a leathery, overtanned, Consort hairsprayed Roger Moore) is about to smash up some British tart, Duran Duran drops and you’re just like whoooooooooooooa. Throw in Grace Jones on horse steroids, Christopher Walken at his most Walkenesque, and it’s a classic. These were the salad days – it’s no wonder the 80s are all en vogue today.
And this was the Golden Age of the movie poster. Airbrush artists actually had jobs. Type was handset. Photoshop was just a glimmer in someone’s spermatozoan’s eye. I especially love the water stains, and fold lines on the paper.
Roger Moore – stay nasty.
