Eye on the Empire

AMID THE death motorcycles, the cross-bow slayings, the killer umbrellas and helicopter spearings in this, the latest chronicle of Her Majesty's most potent secret agent, there is a strange poignancy. Bond films have been appearing regularly for about two decades now, and almost because of the hyperthyroid nature of the adventures, they have increasingly begun to seem like parodies--gimpy versions of the real thing. Roger Moore, the man with the cement face, is getting on in years; and the idea that his homeland, leading candidate as successor to Turkey as the sick man of Europe, could muster the resources for a typical Bond outing seems, well, a little sad.

This pathos, however, doesn't have much effect on the pace of the proceedings, and things are predictably busy in For Your Eyes Only. But even the premise of Bond's latest fling shows the mustiness of the whole 007 concept. The British, see, have lost the transmitter that controls deployment of the missiles in Her Majesty's submarine fleet. Now, the idea that Britain still has any military secrets worth protecting from the Big Bad Russian Bear seens like the premise to a comedy, not a thriller. Given the pathetic state of British intelligence services--where the big news is when someone is not a double agent for the Russkees--and British industry--where the only thing they make better than anywhere else is Charles and Lady Di memerobilia--and British government--where the loonies of the far right and far left clash in semi-comic fury--the presumption of British omnipotence at the heart of all Bond pictures seems a little flaccid. But Bond goes after that transmitter with his usual gusto; and you can guess if he gets it.

The manner and methods of Bond villains usually reveal to a considerable degree the tenor of the times in which the films are made. Consider: The last three Bonds--The Spy Who Loved Me. Moonraker and For Your Eyes Only--have centered on weapons and the control thereof. There is usually a swarthy middleman--in the case of Eyes, a Greek smuggler--who tries the sell the technology to the Soviets. Thus, the growth in international military tension in recent years. In contrast, The Man With the Golden Gun, made in the mid-70s, was concerned with energy technology. Perhaps in the next Bond, Octopussy [sic.] some dastardly villain will hold the supply side of the United States hostage. Stick with 007 for the latest in global politics.

So, too, you can stay with Bond for news in the battle of the sexes, though he tends to lag a bit farther behind the times on this score. His partner in Eyes is (natch) a great beauty, but also (surprise) an archaeologist. Though Melinda (Carol Bouquet) has the annoying habit of never moving her lips when she speaks, she does contribute handsomely to the doings in of the evilsowers. And I even detected--though this may be a mistaken impression--a certain cooling of Bond's ardour for romantic digression. This may be a concession to Moore's advancing years, though he may come back robustly in Octupussy. With the Reagan era upon the world, Bond may soon return to the damsel-in-distress mode.

One reason For Your Eyes Only seems a little less brawny than recent arrivals in the Bond series was an inadequately evil set of villains. "Jaws," the goon of recent Bonds, has mercifully departed, but he has not been replaced by anyone of commensurate ghoulishness. One hit man, in fact, bears an uncanny resemblance to Rob Reiner, Archie Bunker's meat-head son-in-law and a decidedly unterrifying figure.

BUT FOR ALL this Bond still manages to limp along, devoid of any real earth-threatening terror, but still--like almost all of its brethren Bond bonanzas--managing to be a satisfying entertainment. It's not the best, lying somewhere above the dreadful Moonraker, yet not as good as the hot-stuff Spy Who Loved Me. It's more in about The Man with the Golden Gun or Live and Let Die range. Perhaps one shouldn't complain too much about the frailty of the assumption of British hegemony that supports Bond. The nation of William Shakespeare, George Bernard Shaw, Rex Harrison and Arthur Treacher will never have to defend its reputation as a citadel of culture. Bond should probably be seen as an example of that culture and--damn the flatulence of the rest of the land--a noble example he remains. From the North Sea to the seats, rule Britannia.