From Russia With Love

If anyone in Harvard Square hasn't heard of James Bond, he must be the all-time champion Lamont hibernator or chem lab wonk. The Bond canon, ranging from the sublime (Live and Let Die) to the ridiculous (The Spy Who Loved Me), is a perennial paperback bestseller series, and on the merest hint the "sneak preview" of From Russia With Love at the Harvard Square Theater a fortnight ago proved to be the biggest sellout of the year.

Even a non-cultist, however, will enjoy this movie, the second in what promises to be an endless series. Whereas Doctor No, its undistinguished predecessor, tried to cover up a poorly adapted science fiction plot by wallowing in Grade C sex, Russia presents a cogent story line (better, in fact, than the original), and at least three spectacular scenes, each capable of drawing spontaneous applause from any audience. The sex has also been moved up a grade--you won't want to miss the Turkish mode of female competition in the second reel.

Sean Connery has grown in his part since the last effort. He seemed a mite too pleasant before, even while pushing Doctor No into the radioactive heavy water. Now that streak of sadistic cruelty which endeared the written Bond to all Harvard Walter Mittys appears in all its glory. We grin as the movie Bond slams the hood of a truck on one villain's hand. We snicker as he slaps luscious Daniela Bianchi around a compartment on the Orient Express. We cheer as he dumps a non-swimmer into the Adriatic with the valediction "This just isn't your day, is it?"

Ursula Andress (or Un-dress, as they called her on the Doctor No Set) may have been more decorative, but Miss Bianchi makes a far more appealing heroine. She even shows some acting talent in struggling against the ridiculous characterization cooked up for her by the adapters. But alas, even beauty and pluck cannot save her from looking silly at least half of her time on camera. One sample exchange:

Bianchi (After shooting Rosa Klebb, thereby saving Bond from being kicked by a poisoned spike on her shoe): Oh, she vas tarrible woman. I hate her.

Bond (Coolly): She had her kicks.

The great Lotte Lenya has lowered herself to appear as Rosa Klebb, the lesbian SPECTRE spymaster who starts the diabolical plan against Bond in motion. She's come a long way from Dreigroschenoper but still manages an effective performance. That Pedro Armendariz seems better as a Mexican revolutionary (his traditional role) than as Bond's Turkish sidekick is largely due to his limited versatility as an actor. Red Granitski, the homicidal fiend of the novel, has been tamed down to a cold war equivalent of a Murder, Inc., thug--the change makes him much more frightening. Unfortunately, the fellow selected to play Grant fails to capitalize on his good fortune, and so what could have been a near-monumental struggle between two men of Bond's stamp comes off as the usual cool hero versus ranting villain showdown. (The actual fight outdoes that famous karate scene in Manchurian Candidate for sheer brutality.)

Oliver's Lionel Bart helps the pacing with a haunting musical score, and the opening titles would win an Academy award, if Oscars were given in that category. The special effects department deserves particular credit, notably for the helicopter and motorboat sequences. All in all, you can't miss by seeing this picture. It's the closest thing to academic nirvana since Dark Passage.

Next in the series is the movie version of Goldfinger, now shooting in England, for which the publicity-conscious producers have tred to obtain debutante Fernanda Wetherill of Southampton infamy. After seeing Russia, any viewer can understand why: Bond might next start wrecking houses singlehanded, and he could use a willing and experienced assistant.