Day: September 27, 2021

James Bond’s silver anniversary in 1987 marked a moment of uncertainty for the franchise. Roger Moore had departed after 12 years and seven films, and 007 was facing competition from a new wave of brawny American action heroes. It was time for the gentleman spy to shift gears. So when Timothy Dalton was handed his licence to kill, he insisted that he would abandon the fantasy of the Moore era and bring the character back down to earth. “First and foremost,” he said, “I wanted to make him human. He’s not a superman – you can’t identify with a superman.”

Dalton set about reading all of Ian Fleming’s original novels and immersing himself in the darkly conflicted character of the literary Bond. “What makes these movies work?” he later reflected. “You’ve got to go back to the beginning. Here was a hero who murdered in cold blood… The dirtiest, toughest, meanest, nastiest, brutalist hero we’ve ever seen. This is what started these movies. I wanted to bring people back to believing in this character, to bring my reality to it.”

This more cynical, pragmatic Bond was arguably the most radical departure for the series since its inception. It remains a thrillingly bold interpretation – perhaps, dare one say it, the best. Dalton’s time in the iconic dinner jacket may have been limited to just two films, but he created the template for Daniel Craig’s lauded 21st century Bond.

From the opening salvo of 1987’s The Living Daylights there is a singular intensity to Dalton’s presence. When Bond disobeys an order to shoot a beautiful female sniper, the distaste with which he regards his grim profession is palpable. “Go ahead, tell M if you want,” Bond spits to his officious colleague. “If he fires me, I’ll thank him for it.”

The plot is likewise stripped back from the outlandish schemes typically hatched by Bond villains, instead revolving around a complex arms-dealing conspiracy rooted in a Reaganite milieu. The third act, in which Bond journeys to Afghanistan and fights alongside the Mujahideen against Soviet occupiers, reflects an engagement with Cold War geopolitics rarely found in a series that has traditionally favoured apolitical supervillains.

The emotional stakes were heightened in 1989’s Licence to Kill, with Michael G Wilson and Richard Maibaum tailoring their caustic script to Dalton’s strengths. As Bond goes rogue on a shockingly violent quest for revenge, he is forced to rely largely on his wits to bring down drug lord Franz Sanchez (Robert Davi) – and he does so with viscous conviction. Amid this cycle of brutality, the line between Bond and his enemies becomes ever more blurred. As Dalton himself remarked during filming, “He’s just as bad [as the villains], he’s a murderer – a cold, cruel, ruthless killer. He just happens to be working for the side that’s called good.”

Dalton’s clear grasp of his character is a point of admiration for journalist, broadcaster and Bond fan Samira Ahmed. “I think Dalton’s strength is that he imbues Bond with the intensity of a Shakespearean actor and had a clear vision for his look – navy and neutral chinos – no Miami Vice pastels in Licence to Kill,” she tells LWLies. “His anger feels real, and consequently so does his surprise and his joy.”

Dalton’s Bond might be a mean bastard, but that’s not to say he is entirely dour. There’s a tenderness and a sense of refinement at his core that seems at odds with his penchant for violence. It’s a contradiction torn from the pages of Fleming, deepening Bond’s humanity and, crucially, adding credibility to his romances. The affection between Bond and Maryam D’Abo’s Kara Milovy in The Living Daylights feels almost uniquely genuine. As Ahmed notes, “He’s the only one who could say ‘it was exquisite’ when telling Kara about her musical performance, and it sounds convincing. This is a Bond who’s genuinely cultured, rather than wearing it as a badge.”

The realistic tone of the Dalton era didn’t come at the expense of spectacle. Indeed, both The Living Daylights and Licence to Kill contain some of the finest action set-pieces in the entire series. An aerial stunt in the latter’s pre-title sequence, in which one aircraft is suspended by another in mid-air, was notably borrowed by Christopher Nolan for the opening of his 2012 film The Dark Knight Rises. Dalton’s commitment to authenticity led him to perform many of his own stunts. “The audience should quite simply believe that the man, the character they’re watching, James Bond, does them,” he argued.

For Dr Lisa Funnel, Associate Professor at the University of Oklahoma and author of ‘Geographies, Genders, and Geopolitics of James Bond’, the blend of emotional authenticity and visual excitement within the Dalton films makes them an ideal starting point. “He offers the best fusion of the core qualities that define other James Bond actors. This is one of the reasons why The Living Daylights serves as a great gateway film into the franchise.”

Although Dalton’s 007 may have delighted Fleming purists, he did not set the box office alight, particularly in the US where the sharply-dressed Bond had been eclipsed by the bulging torsos of Schwarzenegger and Stallone. Fresh legal wrangling over Bond’s cinematic rights further scuppered Dalton’s tenure, forcing the franchise into an unprecedented hiatus. When a new Bond finally emerged six years later in the form of Pierce Brosnan, the series charted a course back to larger-than-life escapism.

It was only with the introduction of Craig’s harder-edged Bond in 2006 that Dalton’s brief stint began to feel ahead of its time. As John Rain, host of the James Bond podcast ‘Smersh Pod’ and author of ‘Thunderbook: The World of Bond According to Smersh Pod’, observes, “While Dalton handed out headbutts in 1987, you can’t help but be reminded of the wise words of Marty McFly: ‘I guess you guys aren’t ready for that yet. But your kids are gonna love it.’”

Bringing the ‘blunt instrument’ of Fleming’s novels to the screen for the first time, Dalton reinvented what a Bond film could be. As Craig holsters his Walther PPK for the final time in No Time to Die, it’s worth remembering that he stands on the shoulders of a giant.

James Bond’s silver anniversary in 1987 marked a moment of uncertainty for the franchise. Roger Moore had departed after 12 years and seven films, and 007 was facing competition from a new wave of brawny American action heroes. It was time for the gentleman spy to shift gears. So when Timothy Dalton was handed his licence to kill, he insisted that he would abandon the fantasy of the Moore era and bring the character back down to earth. “First and foremost,” he said, “I wanted to make him human. He’s not a superman – you can’t identify with a superman.”

Dalton set about reading all of Ian Fleming’s original novels and immersing himself in the darkly conflicted character of the literary Bond. “What makes these movies work?” he later reflected. “You’ve got to go back to the beginning. Here was a hero who murdered in cold blood… The dirtiest, toughest, meanest, nastiest, brutalist hero we’ve ever seen. This is what started these movies. I wanted to bring people back to believing in this character, to bring my reality to it.”

This more cynical, pragmatic Bond was arguably the most radical departure for the series since its inception. It remains a thrillingly bold interpretation – perhaps, dare one say it, the best. Dalton’s time in the iconic dinner jacket may have been limited to just two films, but he created the template for Daniel Craig’s lauded 21st century Bond.

From the opening salvo of 1987’s The Living Daylights there is a singular intensity to Dalton’s presence. When Bond disobeys an order to shoot a beautiful female sniper, the distaste with which he regards his grim profession is palpable. “Go ahead, tell M if you want,” Bond spits to his officious colleague. “If he fires me, I’ll thank him for it.”

The plot is likewise stripped back from the outlandish schemes typically hatched by Bond villains, instead revolving around a complex arms-dealing conspiracy rooted in a Reaganite milieu. The third act, in which Bond journeys to Afghanistan and fights alongside the Mujahideen against Soviet occupiers, reflects an engagement with Cold War geopolitics rarely found in a series that has traditionally favoured apolitical supervillains.

The emotional stakes were heightened in 1989’s Licence to Kill, with Michael G Wilson and Richard Maibaum tailoring their caustic script to Dalton’s strengths. As Bond goes rogue on a shockingly violent quest for revenge, he is forced to rely largely on his wits to bring down drug lord Franz Sanchez (Robert Davi) – and he does so with viscous conviction. Amid this cycle of brutality, the line between Bond and his enemies becomes ever more blurred. As Dalton himself remarked during filming, “He’s just as bad [as the villains], he’s a murderer – a cold, cruel, ruthless killer. He just happens to be working for the side that’s called good.”

Dalton’s clear grasp of his character is a point of admiration for journalist, broadcaster and Bond fan Samira Ahmed. “I think Dalton’s strength is that he imbues Bond with the intensity of a Shakespearean actor and had a clear vision for his look – navy and neutral chinos – no Miami Vice pastels in Licence to Kill,” she tells LWLies. “His anger feels real, and consequently so does his surprise and his joy.”

Dalton’s Bond might be a mean bastard, but that’s not to say he is entirely dour. There’s a tenderness and a sense of refinement at his core that seems at odds with his penchant for violence. It’s a contradiction torn from the pages of Fleming, deepening Bond’s humanity and, crucially, adding credibility to his romances. The affection between Bond and Maryam D’Abo’s Kara Milovy in The Living Daylights feels almost uniquely genuine. As Ahmed notes, “He’s the only one who could say ‘it was exquisite’ when telling Kara about her musical performance, and it sounds convincing. This is a Bond who’s genuinely cultured, rather than wearing it as a badge.”

The realistic tone of the Dalton era didn’t come at the expense of spectacle. Indeed, both The Living Daylights and Licence to Kill contain some of the finest action set-pieces in the entire series. An aerial stunt in the latter’s pre-title sequence, in which one aircraft is suspended by another in mid-air, was notably borrowed by Christopher Nolan for the opening of his 2012 film The Dark Knight Rises. Dalton’s commitment to authenticity led him to perform many of his own stunts. “The audience should quite simply believe that the man, the character they’re watching, James Bond, does them,” he argued.

For Dr Lisa Funnel, Associate Professor at the University of Oklahoma and author of ‘Geographies, Genders, and Geopolitics of James Bond’, the blend of emotional authenticity and visual excitement within the Dalton films makes them an ideal starting point. “He offers the best fusion of the core qualities that define other James Bond actors. This is one of the reasons why The Living Daylights serves as a great gateway film into the franchise.”

Although Dalton’s 007 may have delighted Fleming purists, he did not set the box office alight, particularly in the US where the sharply-dressed Bond had been eclipsed by the bulging torsos of Schwarzenegger and Stallone. Fresh legal wrangling over Bond’s cinematic rights further scuppered Dalton’s tenure, forcing the franchise into an unprecedented hiatus. When a new Bond finally emerged six years later in the form of Pierce Brosnan, the series charted a course back to larger-than-life escapism.

It was only with the introduction of Craig’s harder-edged Bond in 2006 that Dalton’s brief stint began to feel ahead of its time. As John Rain, host of the James Bond podcast ‘Smersh Pod’ and author of ‘Thunderbook: The World of Bond According to Smersh Pod’, observes, “While Dalton handed out headbutts in 1987, you can’t help but be reminded of the wise words of Marty McFly: ‘I guess you guys aren’t ready for that yet. But your kids are gonna love it.’”

Bringing the ‘blunt instrument’ of Fleming’s novels to the screen for the first time, Dalton reinvented what a Bond film could be. As Craig holsters his Walther PPK for the final time in No Time to Die, it’s worth remembering that he stands on the shoulders of a giant.

James Bond’s silver anniversary in 1987 marked a moment of uncertainty for the franchise. Roger Moore had departed after 12 years and seven films, and 007 was facing competition from a new wave of brawny American action heroes. It was time for the gentleman spy to shift gears. So when Timothy Dalton was handed his licence to kill, he insisted that he would abandon the fantasy of the Moore era and bring the character back down to earth. “First and foremost,” he said, “I wanted to make him human. He’s not a superman – you can’t identify with a superman.”

Dalton set about reading all of Ian Fleming’s original novels and immersing himself in the darkly conflicted character of the literary Bond. “What makes these movies work?” he later reflected. “You’ve got to go back to the beginning. Here was a hero who murdered in cold blood… The dirtiest, toughest, meanest, nastiest, brutalist hero we’ve ever seen. This is what started these movies. I wanted to bring people back to believing in this character, to bring my reality to it.”

This more cynical, pragmatic Bond was arguably the most radical departure for the series since its inception. It remains a thrillingly bold interpretation – perhaps, dare one say it, the best. Dalton’s time in the iconic dinner jacket may have been limited to just two films, but he created the template for Daniel Craig’s lauded 21st century Bond.

From the opening salvo of 1987’s The Living Daylights there is a singular intensity to Dalton’s presence. When Bond disobeys an order to shoot a beautiful female sniper, the distaste with which he regards his grim profession is palpable. “Go ahead, tell M if you want,” Bond spits to his officious colleague. “If he fires me, I’ll thank him for it.”

The plot is likewise stripped back from the outlandish schemes typically hatched by Bond villains, instead revolving around a complex arms-dealing conspiracy rooted in a Reaganite milieu. The third act, in which Bond journeys to Afghanistan and fights alongside the Mujahideen against Soviet occupiers, reflects an engagement with Cold War geopolitics rarely found in a series that has traditionally favoured apolitical supervillains.

The emotional stakes were heightened in 1989’s Licence to Kill, with Michael G Wilson and Richard Maibaum tailoring their caustic script to Dalton’s strengths. As Bond goes rogue on a shockingly violent quest for revenge, he is forced to rely largely on his wits to bring down drug lord Franz Sanchez (Robert Davi) – and he does so with viscous conviction. Amid this cycle of brutality, the line between Bond and his enemies becomes ever more blurred. As Dalton himself remarked during filming, “He’s just as bad [as the villains], he’s a murderer – a cold, cruel, ruthless killer. He just happens to be working for the side that’s called good.”

Dalton’s clear grasp of his character is a point of admiration for journalist, broadcaster and Bond fan Samira Ahmed. “I think Dalton’s strength is that he imbues Bond with the intensity of a Shakespearean actor and had a clear vision for his look – navy and neutral chinos – no Miami Vice pastels in Licence to Kill,” she tells LWLies. “His anger feels real, and consequently so does his surprise and his joy.”

Dalton’s Bond might be a mean bastard, but that’s not to say he is entirely dour. There’s a tenderness and a sense of refinement at his core that seems at odds with his penchant for violence. It’s a contradiction torn from the pages of Fleming, deepening Bond’s humanity and, crucially, adding credibility to his romances. The affection between Bond and Maryam D’Abo’s Kara Milovy in The Living Daylights feels almost uniquely genuine. As Ahmed notes, “He’s the only one who could say ‘it was exquisite’ when telling Kara about her musical performance, and it sounds convincing. This is a Bond who’s genuinely cultured, rather than wearing it as a badge.”

The realistic tone of the Dalton era didn’t come at the expense of spectacle. Indeed, both The Living Daylights and Licence to Kill contain some of the finest action set-pieces in the entire series. An aerial stunt in the latter’s pre-title sequence, in which one aircraft is suspended by another in mid-air, was notably borrowed by Christopher Nolan for the opening of his 2012 film The Dark Knight Rises. Dalton’s commitment to authenticity led him to perform many of his own stunts. “The audience should quite simply believe that the man, the character they’re watching, James Bond, does them,” he argued.

For Dr Lisa Funnel, Associate Professor at the University of Oklahoma and author of ‘Geographies, Genders, and Geopolitics of James Bond’, the blend of emotional authenticity and visual excitement within the Dalton films makes them an ideal starting point. “He offers the best fusion of the core qualities that define other James Bond actors. This is one of the reasons why The Living Daylights serves as a great gateway film into the franchise.”

Although Dalton’s 007 may have delighted Fleming purists, he did not set the box office alight, particularly in the US where the sharply-dressed Bond had been eclipsed by the bulging torsos of Schwarzenegger and Stallone. Fresh legal wrangling over Bond’s cinematic rights further scuppered Dalton’s tenure, forcing the franchise into an unprecedented hiatus. When a new Bond finally emerged six years later in the form of Pierce Brosnan, the series charted a course back to larger-than-life escapism.

It was only with the introduction of Craig’s harder-edged Bond in 2006 that Dalton’s brief stint began to feel ahead of its time. As John Rain, host of the James Bond podcast ‘Smersh Pod’ and author of ‘Thunderbook: The World of Bond According to Smersh Pod’, observes, “While Dalton handed out headbutts in 1987, you can’t help but be reminded of the wise words of Marty McFly: ‘I guess you guys aren’t ready for that yet. But your kids are gonna love it.’”

Bringing the ‘blunt instrument’ of Fleming’s novels to the screen for the first time, Dalton reinvented what a Bond film could be. As Craig holsters his Walther PPK for the final time in No Time to Die, it’s worth remembering that he stands on the shoulders of a giant.

Ah, sweet Romania: land of weatherbeaten fences and faces, of bureaucratic gridlock and governmental corruption. In the films collected under the informal umbrella of its New Wave, the country comes off looking malnourished and developmentally stunted, its broken state infrastructure and widespread reactionary attitudes making even the simplest task into a drawn-out, pessimistically absurd ordeal with shades of Franz Kafka.

In the case of the latest film from Radu Muntean – a key New Waver, though he lacks the name recognition and awards hardware of his compatriots Cristian Mungiu, Cristi Puiu and Corneliu Porumboiu – the objective at hand is a short yet treacherous drive through the muddiest tracts of rural Transylvania. A group of humanitarian workers have loaded up on sacks of provisions and set a course for a remote village that could really use the aid, but they’ll soon find that affecting positive change doesn’t come easy in a region where even the ground beneath your feet conspires against you.

The age demographics provide the first hint at an allegorical subtext, the volunteers all in a thirtysomething bracket making them de facto representatives of the modern Romania. On their way through the network of unpaved dirt paths, they encounter a relic of the older generation, a shrivelled-up man named Kente (Luca Sabin) hoping for a ride to a nearby mill. They pick him up and venture into a foreboding forest, where their tires lose traction and aggravation mounts as quickly as night falls.

In essence, the stranded car is an immovable object suggesting today’s wayward Romania, stagnating in its effort to build and improve by a populace at odds with itself. Though their motives may not be purest altruism, Maria (Maria Popistașu) and Dan (Alex Bogdan) want to bring welfare programs to isolated communes like the one supplying the title, suffering in their seclusion. Census information indicates that the age of the average Întregalde resident is around 60, explaining the precipitous decrease in their numbers over the past few decades. One village within the subdivision has but a single inhabitant.

Kente’s fixation on the mill gestures to a signifier of national industry long since rusted out, a read affirmed once everyone gets there only to find it abandoned. Muntean plays this scene in a gently mournful tone, never scornful of the senile wanderer distressed to watch the world he knows disappearing. He and his peers have grown unable to care for themselves, and as the tender sponge bath he’s given near the close of the film makes clear, it’s our responsibility to look after our elders.

But the younger element hardly provides a moral exemplar, starting from Dan’s constant denigration of Kente’s homosexuality. (As evident in the work of Muntean’s countryman Radu Jude, a strong undercurrent of social conservatism is alive and well in the area.) When a pair of Romani travellers pass by and offer their assistance, the racism still festering against this marginalised ethnic group doesn’t take long to jump out. For all their ideas about progress, the adults soon to dictate the direction of Romania remain stuck in the past on some crucial matters.

In a film with more going on beneath the surface than in terms of concrete action, the end product can sometimes be less stimulating to watch than to think about. Though his leisurely pacing may require some getting used to, Muntean largely avoids this with liberal dollops of dry humour, from the inherent slapstick of dislodging a stalled vehicle to Kente’s proclivity for non sequiturs.

The occasional mood-lightener helps along a film pitched from a dreary sociological vantage, its prevailing assertion being that internecine conflicts will leave Romania spinning its wheels. The forgiving final moments clarify that Muntean’s not totally without hope, but as dynamics currently stand, everyone’s lost.