‘Spectre’ Film Review: It’s the End of Bond as We Know It and We Feel Fine

James Bond goes after SPECTRE in a high-gloss, low-substantive-impact-having, fashion-forward Bond flick. Daniel Craig’s on his way out of the franchise.

James Bond movies were highly anticipated events in the 1970s; a British fantasy that frolicked in the shallow end of the male American Dream pool.

We thrilled to the Bondgredients; opening sequence: dashing spy, seen through a rifled gun-barrel, ignoring you, until he swivels, and “blam!” goes the Walther PPK, blood runs down the screen—“dum-dada-dumdum, dum-dum-dum-dum dada-dumdum …” followed by naked-lady silhouettes swimming around the psychedelic screen, to the big-band, kitschy, horn-heavy strains of the classic Bond score.

Bond girls with their outrageously outré triple-x double-entendre names. The perfectly timed, totally predictable stating of the Bond name (and there was much hooting and applause). “Shaken, not stirred” (more hooting). The schooling in the art of Q’s cool spy toys.

Bond must further be chastised by M, platonically flirt with Miss Moneypenny, stunt drive a sexy car.

Bond is chased through the streets of Rome in his Aston Martin DB10 in the action adventure "Spectre." Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc./Columbia Pictures/EON Productions/Danjaq, LLC and Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc.