What Was The Last Movie You Watched?

[Edward]

Edward, you should really make a point of checking out Dark City, it's a great little neo-noir SF flick. Suitably mysterious, beautifully production-designed and shot, and well acted by Rufus Sewell (in a rare lead role), Jennifer Connelly, William Hurt, Kiefer Sutherland...

I vastly prefer it to The Matrix, which came out a year later and shares a bunch of plot similarities with Dark City.

View attachment 747696 View attachment 747697 View attachment 747698

The Matrix was a funny one. I was entertained well enough by it when it came out, but the hype around it left me cold. I think at the time I felt an awful lot of people were really reaching to try and read far more into it than was really there. The growth of incel culture adopting it as an allegory in recent years hasn't really endeared it to me tbh, though I keep meaning to give it a rewatch since the Wachowski sisters have stated it to be an allegory for gender transition, out of curiosity to see how it plays with that in mind. What really snipped my interest in it originally, though, was the sequels. I vaguely remember them being promoted with a claim that it had always been intended to be part of a trilogy, but... The first one worked perfectly well as a standalone, and for me was only diminished by the sequels, which I found uninspiring and derivative. Yes, the original story wasn't massively original in its essence, but it was told in its own way. As they expanded the 'real' world in the second and third films, they just felt to me to be lazier and lazier, every Hollywood cliche of A Future Dystopia.

 

[Trenchfriend]

Ah, "Matrix"!
When "Matrix" came out in Germany in June 1999, I was 14 years old, near 15. And at this point I was already "too old" to fall for such stuff. Nice movie, but yeah, the hype left me totally cold, too.

 

[zebedee]

Ah, "Matrix"!
When "Matrix" came out in Germany in June 1999, I was 14 years old, near 15. And at this point I was already "too old" to fall for such stuff. Nice movie, but yeah, the hype left me totally cold, too.

The Matrix was heavily influenced by ‘The Invisibles’ graphic novel series by Grant Morrison (much better). It’s not bad as pulp sci-fi, but Baudrilliard (whose ‘Simulation and Simulacra’ sits on Neo’s bookshelf, and which the Wachowskis consulted [yeah, right] ) said of the film, hilariously: ‘The Matrix’ is the film that the matrix would have made’.

 

[Fading Fast]

Beat the Devil (1953) with Humphrey Bogart, Peter Lorre, Gina Lollobrigida, Jennifer Jones, Robert Morley, and Bernard Lee


There's a conceit among the Golden-era Hollywood "smart set" that the really talented actors broke out of the studio system to achieve artistic freedom and financial independence, but for every Cary Grant, there's a Humphrey Bogart with his production company, Santana Pictures.

Despite being talent rich – the cast includes Bogie, Peter Lorre, Gina Lollobrigida, Jennifer Jones, and Robert Morley, plus it has John Huston both directing and co-writing with Truman Capote – the Santana-produced Beat the Devil needed a major studio's discipline and resources.

The film is supposed to be a wry look at an international heist, but a disjointed script and character inconsistency – plus shoddy production values – turns it into an uninteresting tangle with only a few good scenes and only a few times when you truly care about the characters.

The high-level plot has a band of con men led by Morley attempting to get to Africa to "acquire" uranium rights through some sort of flimflam. On their way there, they get stranded in an Italian port where their respectable "front man," Bogie, is trying to lay the groundwork.

Bogart and his wife, played by Lollobrigida (a talented actress underused and over-clothed here), have fallen on hard times or they'd never have hooked up with Morley's low-rent crew, but the need for money makes people do all sorts of things.

The last piece of the puzzle is a pretentious Brit – he's nobody, but he assumes the airs of a gentleman – and his scheming, s*xy wife, played by Jennifer Jones. She starts an affair with Bogie for fun, s*x, adventure, and maybe a chance to leave her stuffy husband and get rich.

Lollobrigida doesn't even appear to care that Jones is trying to steal her husband, but she starts an affair with Jones' husband seemingly out of boredom – turning these two failing marriages into a 1950s movie version of the 1970s wife-swap game. Good grief.

That is the high-level look at the plot threads, but what really happens is a bunch of misadventures mainly in the Italian port – misadventures that are, overall, not funny. There's also one long and ridiculous side adventure to North Africa, but it's not funny or engaging either.

An Italian ship captain who is almost always drunk and yelling in Italian is not funny to start and doesn't get funnier by going on for too long. An older and clearly ill Bogie seducing Jones is cringe-worthy. Lorre, half parodying his own screen brand, is, more than anything, boring.

The climax, too, which thankfully brings in the talented actor Bernard Lee – best known for portraying M in the original Bond movies – is just another reason to shrug. Its half serious and half facetious wrap-up echoes the lack of focus the entire movie suffers from.

Even the MacGuffin – the uranium deposits in Africa – never marginally captures your attention. A MacGuffin isn't supposed to matter to you, but when you come to mock it, the screenwriters have a problem.

It also all looks shoddy. The scenes aren't well set up, the camera work is uneven, and the wardrobes are second-rate – the quality you expect from a movie of this stature isn't here. That post-war Italy looks boring and dirty, not gritty yet appealing, is more of the same.

There's too much talent here for there not to be a few good scenes, some sharp barbs, and even a little humanity sneaking in, but mainly the effort feels like a slapdash attempt at a smart farce – the kind that Alec Guinness did with aplomb in this era – that never finds its center.

The studios put out their share of clunkers, but watching this level of acting and directing talent wallow in a sloppy production with an often incoherent script is a cry for help from a small production company.

Eventually, Bogart's Santana Pictures – after losing Bogie a lot of money – was sold to Columbia Pictures. The Greeks called it pride before a fall; in Hollywood, it was often called "breaking free of the studio system –" here it's called Beat the Devil.

Sometimes large companies with large resources and, yes, large bureaucracies and large profit motives also do things in a large and very good way.

 

[EngProf]

The Matrix was a funny one. I was entertained well enough by it when it came out, but the hype around it left me cold. I think at the time I felt an awful lot of people were really reaching to try and read far more into it than was really there. The growth of incel culture adopting it as an allegory in recent years hasn't really endeared it to me tbh, though I keep meaning to give it a rewatch since the Wachowski sisters have stated it to be an allegory for gender transition, out of curiosity to see how it plays with that in mind. What really snipped my interest in it originally, though, was the sequels. I vaguely remember them being promoted with a claim that it had always been intended to be part of a trilogy, but... The first one worked perfectly well as a standalone, and for me was only diminished by the sequels, which I found uninspiring and derivative. Yes, the original story wasn't massively original in its essence, but it was told in its own way. As they expanded the 'real' world in the second and third films, they just felt to me to be lazier and lazier, every Hollywood cliche of A Future Dystopia.

Your review was exactly on target, as usual. I watched that monstrosity once a long time ago, but never again.
(It's so bad it's unpleasant to watch.)

 

[Zoro]

The Matrix was a funny one. I was entertained well enough by it when it came out, but the hype around it left me cold. I think at the time I felt an awful lot of people were really reaching to try and read far more into it than was really there. The growth of incel culture adopting it as an allegory in recent years hasn't really endeared it to me tbh, though I keep meaning to give it a rewatch since the Wachowski sisters have stated it to be an allegory for gender transition, out of curiosity to see how it plays with that in mind. What really snipped my interest in it originally, though, was the sequels. I vaguely remember them being promoted with a claim that it had always been intended to be part of a trilogy, but... The first one worked perfectly well as a standalone, and for me was only diminished by the sequels, which I found uninspiring and derivative. Yes, the original story wasn't massively original in its essence, but it was told in its own way. As they expanded the 'real' world in the second and third films, they just felt to me to be lazier and lazier, every Hollywood cliche of A Future Dystopia.

Interesting to read, as I had a very different perception due to being younger.

I watched it as a very impressionable (pre)teen and my read was OMG WHAT A COOL MOVIE. I watched it a million times on DVD back then. My favorite movie back then, it couldn't get better than that. Action packed, gu.ns, martial arts, badass quotes, slomo, bul.let dodging, edgy outfits, running on walls, gravity defying jumps, explosions... It couldn't be topped!

I watched it again in my early 20s and then all I could think was how bad is Keanu's acting. Still a fun movie, mostly good memories, but I couldn't get over Keanu, it truly overshadowed everything else for me. I recall how I thought the "I know kung fu" quote was badass (same as all the other kids in my class) and how that memory shattered as I realized how cringy Keanu delivered it. Again, a fun movie, nothing great but if I catch on TV I would still watch it to this day. I cannot see how this is an allegory for gender transition, though, unless holy revisionism and mental gymnastics are applied.

The sequels? Utter garbage. Not even worth a mention. At least the first Matrix works as a standalone movie, because it seems to be a standalone movie that someone decided it had be milked with 3 additional movies (let's not forget the trash launched in 2021).

On Dark City, I recall watching it like 12-15 years ago, which is the time of my life in which I've watched most films. I had read it was a cult film and that it had inspired Matrix, so I had to give it a try. As it's been so long ago, I only recall that I enjoyed it and spent almost the whole movie thinking it was nothing alike Matrix. It was not until the last few minutes that I finally saw glimpses that could had very well inspired Matrix.

PS: Wow, even bul.let and g.un are censored!

 

[Mister Cairo]

Cairo Cavalcade of Christmas films has begun, in part because I'll be away on temporary duty the first week in December.

Christmas with the Kranks and Jingle All the Way are out of the way! My wife and I enjoy the silliness of them. Both daughters hate JATW, and one likes the Kranks.

 

[Fading Fast]

Appointment with Crime (1946) with William Hartnell, Joyce Howard, Raymond Lovell, Herbert Lom, and Robert Beatty


Noir is bleak in general – that's kind of its point – but Appointment with Crime, a low-budget British noir, yields nothing to other noirs in its sheer everyday bleakness. Its protagonist is such an angry, bitter man that even when he's trying to act nice, bile still oozes from his pores.

William Hartnell plays the angry, bitter "smash and grab" burglar (smash the jewelry store's window and grab the gems) who gets caught when his wrists get stuck and broken in the store's window security gate.

His partners in the waiting car, who had sworn to stick by him, drive off, but had they stayed, they couldn't have helped Hartnell and would just have been caught themselves. Hartnell never rats on them, does his time, but comes out of prison like Caesar's ghost raging for revenge.

Probably never having heard the aphorism "before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves," Hartnell immediately starts looking for his old partners. The first one, played by Raymond Lovell, owns a dancehall. Hartnell half threatens Lovell and half asks for a job.

Soon you realize that Hartnell is mentally disturbed. The legal experts can argue over responsibility, but he's clearly off the beam. As part of his revenge scheme, Hartnell starts dating one of Lovell's dancehall girls, played by Joyce Howard (think of a blonde, British Evelyn Keyes.)

Eventually, Hartnell's revenge plan will include a taxicab driver – the getaway driver for the failed "smash and grab" – and Lovell's boss, a polished art dealer, played by Herbert Lom. Lom uses these thugs to "acquire" extra pieces to supplement his legitimate business' income.

Things get complicated as Hartnell plans an intricate murder and frame-up of the taxicab driver and Lovell that kind of works, but then things get more tangled when the g*n he uses to frame Lovell turns out to belong to the big boss – Lom.

Lom, as an aside, is clearly living with his g*y lover – it's never explicitly said, but for the time, it couldn't be made more obvious, with every "g*y" flag for the era being waved. Back in the story, with his g*n now a liability, Lom has to play his own game of cover-up, which he's good at.

For these purposes, Lom has his own hitman, played by Ivor Barnard, who steals every scene he's in as a "nebbishy-looking," calm, psychotic killer. A separate movie could have been made about Lom and Barnard as you know these two have done plenty of noir business in the past.

Stalking all these seedy underworld happenings, especially when the bodies start showing up, is Robert Beatty playing a thoughtful police inspector who tries to do the right thing. Yet, you can't help a guy like Hartnell as he always knows he's right and you're wrong.

Eventually, all these murders, disparate threads, and passions climax as Hartnell, now playing on Howard's sympathies, tries to win by fleeing England. But noir – British or American – in the 1950s wasn't going to let that happen, especially to a psychopath with weak wrists.

Hartnell is excellent as that psychopath in part because he never breaks character by showing real emotion – the man is damaged right down to his core. Unfortunately, he also damages Howard, who's had a tough life and will only come away from this experience more bitter.

British and American noir are close cousins, but even here you can see the cultural difference, as American noir says "the world is bleak," but British noir says, "some people in the world are bleak." It's a surprisingly important nuance that makes British noir less overwhelmingly sad.

Shot on a small budget but with some on-location scenes – the combination of a tiny purse but beautiful B&W cinematography gives the movie a fitting "down market" noir vibe. The dancehall is seedy; the streets, crowded and loud; and even Lom's "nice" house feels crass, not posh.

There are also a lot more closeups that require less background and extras. It gives the film a fittingly claustrophobic feel in spots, but also is done to save money. You might not specifically notice each detail, but you'll "feel" that the picture is not a major studio production.

Appointment with Crime – the name is a marketing ploy as it's not organic to the movie – is an excellent pilot-fish noir. It won't make any "best of" lists, but it touches many elements of the genre while delivering an engaging story with characters who will stay with you.

It's bleak, depressing, and real life for some (hopefully not you). It's so honest and gritty, it's like raw film noir.

 

[olskool]

Two Dollar Bettor (1951) a decent movie,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,​

 

[Touchofevil]

Sweet Smell of Success (1957)
Always an entertaining watch. The cinematography, the city visuals, and the score stand out the most for me. Tony Curtis is a top notch weasel and Burt Lancaster is a pretty good jerk. All around great cast. I never tire of watching this movie.

 

[Touchofevil]

Beginning this Thanksgiving Day morning with a marathon of Bond on Ovation. Currently finishing up a cup of coffee and Thunderball. Next up Octo*****. Watching the older Bond flicks makes me remember the old Mad magazine parodies of Bond from when I was a kid. A nice way to start my day.

 

[Touchofevil]

Beginning this Thanksgiving Day morning with a marathon of Bond on Ovation. Currently finishing up a cup of coffee and Thunderball. Next up Octo*****. Watching the older Bond flicks makes me remember the old Mad magazine parodies of Bond from when I was a kid. A nice way to start my day.

Interesting how Octo***** was censored. Was not expected.

 

[Fading Fast]

Blind Spot (1947) with Chester Morris, Constance Dowling, Steven Geray, and William Forrest


If a noir B-movie murder mystery can be somewhat fun, Blind Spot is the one. It is a serious murder mystery from Columbia's B unit, but watching Chester Morris and Constance Dowling genuinely fight and genuinely flirt as they try to solve the mystery is somewhat lighthearted.

What they are really trying to do is clear Morris, a down-and-out writer, of the crime of killing his publisher, who had Morris locked into an onerous contract. The wrinkle is that Morris was just pitching the publisher on an idea for a murder mystery that centered on just such a killing.

The hook in Morris' story, which he drunkenly blabbed to a few people, has the victim found dead in a room bolted from the inside – the exact same way his publisher, played by William Forrest, is found dead. Worse for Morris, the onerous contract is found in his apartment the next day.

As far as the police are concerned, with some additional circumstantial evidence they have, Morris is their man. So in that great movie tradition, it's up to Morris to find the real killer, as he "thinks" he didn't do it – but he's not sure, as he was very drunk when Forrest was murdered.

The dead publisher's MeToo-harassed secretary, played by Dowling – think: taller, thinner, colder Veronica Lake – believes Morris isn't guilty either, unless maybe he is. Dowling's motives – s*x, love, gratitude, self-serving, or nefarious – are up for grabs for most of the movie.

The last piece of the puzzle is Steven Geray playing a successful author and frenemy of the now dead publisher. Forrest had Geray locked into an unfavorable contract too, but as an author of popular mysteries, Geray still makes a lot of money.

Morris' challenge is that he writes highbrow literature that doesn't sell, so Forrest is dismissive of him. What could not have been lost on the main co-screenwriter, Martin Goldsmith, is the irony of writing a B-movie murder mystery that laments the low esteem of the genre.

Fans of the commonly used plot device, where the accused has to find the real killer, will recognize the basic strategy as Morris stumbles along trying to recount his steps when he was drunk – all the while looking for exonerating evidence.

It becomes a tangle of clues – earrings everywhere, another dead body, a few g*ns, nighttime elevator operators, and even a second missing contract – that is hard to unravel. Yet if you notice whose actions don't quite make sense, you'll solve it ahead of time.

Some Los Angeles on-location shooting and some excellent noir camera work – look for the scene when Morris and Dowling are in his rundown basement apartment for a smart use of light and dark (light on Ms. Dowling's ankles) – give this low-budget B some real noir punch.

Morris doesn't have the greatest range, and he overplays the drunkard part of this character, but he slips nicely into the role of the wrongly accused man fighting for his life. Dowling is so good as the maybe femme fatale, you'll wonder why she didn't have a bigger career.

It's Geray, though, who adds the extra spice in this one as the somewhat effete successful author. He enjoys mixing it up with the police on Morris' behalf. Geray was designed by God or Darwin to play a character actor.

The entire effort manages to be both noir and, often, pleasant. You'll like Morris because he's a decent sort caught in a ridiculous trap, but he gets to work his way through it with Dowling, who is femme-fatale adjacent, but darn it, likable too. Together they almost feel "romcom-y."

You don't watch Blind Spot to be wowed; you watch it to be mildly entertained in a quirky postwar B-noir way. On that scale, you get a good plot, good-to-really-good actors (Dowling and Geray), and some classic noir camera work, all in just over an hour. It's a quick, fun noir snack.

 

[Touchofevil]

View attachment 750563
Blind Spot (1947) with Chester Morris, Constance Dowling, Steven Geray, and William Forrest


If a noir B-movie murder mystery can be somewhat fun, Blind Spot is the one. It is a serious murder mystery from Columbia's B unit, but watching Chester Morris and Constance Dowling genuinely fight and genuinely flirt as they try to solve the mystery is somewhat lighthearted.

What they are really trying to do is clear Morris, a down-and-out writer, of the crime of killing his publisher, who had Morris locked into an onerous contract. The wrinkle is that Morris was just pitching the publisher on an idea for a murder mystery that centered on just such a killing.

The hook in Morris' story, which he drunkenly blabbed to a few people, has the victim found dead in a room bolted from the inside – the exact same way his publisher, played by William Forrest, is found dead. Worse for Morris, the onerous contract is found in his apartment the next day.

As far as the police are concerned, with some additional circumstantial evidence they have, Morris is their man. So in that great movie tradition, it's up to Morris to find the real killer, as he "thinks" he didn't do it – but he's not sure, as he was very drunk when Forrest was murdered.

The dead publisher's MeToo-harassed secretary, played by Dowling – think: taller, thinner, colder Veronica Lake – believes Morris isn't guilty either, unless maybe he is. Dowling's motives – s*x, love, gratitude, self-serving, or nefarious – are up for grabs for most of the movie.

The last piece of the puzzle is Steven Geray playing a successful author and frenemy of the now dead publisher. Forrest had Geray locked into an unfavorable contract too, but as an author of popular mysteries, Geray still makes a lot of money.

Morris' challenge is that he writes highbrow literature that doesn't sell, so Forrest is dismissive of him. What could not have been lost on the main co-screenwriter, Martin Goldsmith, is the irony of writing a B-movie murder mystery that laments the low esteem of the genre.

Fans of the commonly used plot device, where the accused has to find the real killer, will recognize the basic strategy as Morris stumbles along trying to recount his steps when he was drunk – all the while looking for exonerating evidence.

It becomes a tangle of clues – earrings everywhere, another dead body, a few g*ns, nighttime elevator operators, and even a second missing contract – that is hard to unravel. Yet if you notice whose actions don't quite make sense, you'll solve it ahead of time.

Some Los Angeles on-location shooting and some excellent noir camera work – look for the scene when Morris and Dowling are in his rundown basement apartment for a smart use of light and dark (light on Ms. Dowling's ankles) – give this low-budget B some real noir punch.

Morris doesn't have the greatest range, and he overplays the drunkard part of this character, but he slips nicely into the role of the wrongly accused man fighting for his life. Dowling is so good as the maybe femme fatale, you'll wonder why she didn't have a bigger career.

It's Geray, though, who adds the extra spice in this one as the somewhat effete successful author. He enjoys mixing it up with the police on Morris' behalf. Geray was designed by God or Darwin to play a character actor.

The entire effort manages to be both noir and, often, pleasant. You'll like Morris because he's a decent sort caught in a ridiculous trap, but he gets to work his way through it with Dowling, who is femme-fatale adjacent, but darn it, likable too. Together they almost feel "romcom-y."

You don't watch Blind Spot to be wowed; you watch it to be mildly entertained in a quirky postwar B-noir way. On that scale, you get a good plot, good-to-really-good actors (Dowling and Geray), and some classic noir camera work, all in just over an hour. It's a quick, fun noir snack.

Nice summary of an entertaining flick. Stumbled upon it about a month ago on Starz or some other channel. Reading your summary and comments, I think that I would like to watch it again.

 

[Touchofevil]

Another early morning of Bond and coffee. Dr. No to start off another lazy day.

 

[Fading Fast]

Another early morning of Bond and coffee. Dr. No to start off another lazy day.

I could probably watch a continuous loop of the first three Bond films (five it you want to stretch it) plus the first Craig one (and maybe that one where he's on the moors with M) and be reasonably happy.

 

[Touchofevil]

I could probably watch a continuous loop of the first three Bond films (five it you want to stretch it) plus the first Craig one (and maybe that one where he's on the moors with M) and be reasonably happy.

I have somewhat done that on my Thanksgiving break during the past week. At the least, they have been in the background for the past two days, three overall the past week. Entertaining atmosphere and visuals.

 

[Fading Fast]

Bird of Paradise from 1932 with Dolores del Rio, Joel McCrea and John Halliday


"East is East and West is West and never the twain shall meet" – Rudyard Kipling


In precode Hollywood, love and marriage between races could not only happen, but it could be treated thoughtfully and respectfully, as in Bird of Paradise.

The movie won't please modern scolds whose moral flyspecking finds offense in every crevice of history – even in modern times – but for the adults in the room, director King Vidor treats this East-meets-West love story seriously and thoughtfully.

An American yacht sails into a secluded Pacific island. One of the Americans, played by Joel McCrea, falls overboard and is rescued by a lithe native girl, played by Dolores del Rio.

Later, after a nearly naked swimming scene – del Rio wears a flesh-colored G-string and McCrea a pair of trunks – and some other preliminaries, McCrea and del Rio begin an affair. The swimming scene is only a bit tamer than the famous one from Tarzan and His Mate.

The Americans on the yacht treat the affair as a lark – a fling – but the islanders are offended because, and this gets a bit confusing, del Rio has been promised to a native prince. Plus later on, she is supposed to be sacrificed to appease the active volcano, which the natives believe is a god.

McCrea "escapes" with del Rio to a nearby island where they "play house" for a few weeks, while McCrea's friends sail on with plans to return and pick him up. Meanwhile, the natives come for del Rio when the volcano gets more active.

The climax, no spoilers following, comes down to del Rio's decision whether to go away with McCrea or stay with her people and, apparently, get dropped in the active volcano.

Pause on that for a moment: it's 1932 and McCrea wants to return to America and marry her – and most of the Americans are fine with that. It is the natives who are opposed to her leaving and it's del Rio who is torn.

There are moments of Western triumphalism and it's hard to not recognize the technological superiority of the West, but the natives are not shown to be savages or infidels. In one powerful scene, McCrea and del Rio are simultaneously praying to their respective gods.

If the movie has a weakness for modern audiences, it's that there's no translation of the native's language on screen, so the movie often feels like a silent film. However, only a few years into the talkie era, this was probably not a big problem for 1932 audiences.

Del Rio, who is Hispanic – not a Pacific islander – is wonderful as the supple, s*xy island girl who proves to be intelligent and kind. Until she learns a few words of English later on, she conveys a range of complex emotions using only facial expressions and body language.

McCrea is perfect for the role as he looks like Superman, but doesn't dominate a scene. He's full-on American in appearance, but he has a sensitivity that makes his love affair with del Rio feel genuine and well intentioned.

John Halliday, playing a member of the yacht party, deserves mention, as this professional – sadly all but forgotten today – delivers another low-key but impactful performance as McCrea’s philosophical mentor. Halliday also delivers the key Kipling quote noted at the top.

For classic movie fans, the film is an opportunity to see, in the native dances, some early Busby Berkeley choreography. It is also an opportunity to hear an early complete score by Max Steiner.

Bird of Paradise drags a bit in spots, and the language issue is challenging, but it’s also another precode surprise that shows a thoughtful, open, and nuanced view of the Pacific islanders and of mixed-race marriages.

Sadly, that open-minded, modern and sensitive approach would rarely again be seen on screen for decades once the Motion Picture Production Code was fully enforced after 1934.

 

[Jon Crow]

Another early morning of Bond and coffee. Dr. No to start off another lazy day.

Nice, I like Christopher Lee as Francisco Scaramanga in the man with the golden ***, more Roger Moore

 

[Touchofevil]

What? Another day of Bond? Yes, more Bond in the background. The Spy Who Loved Me starring Roger Moore. The cheesiness, the quality, the silliness of post Connery Bond is so much more obvious when watching days of a Bond Marathon. For me, the funkiness of the seventies music does not compare favorably with that of the sixties. It’s just one more reason Sixties Bond is my favorite.