For legal reasons so tangled and tortured, they could make a book out of the copyright fight (and did, with Robert Sellers’ The Battle for Bond, recommended), Never Say Never Again is not considered part of the 007 canon, despite marking the return of Sean Connery to his iconic role after a 12-year absence.

Last seen doing Vegas in Diamonds Are Forever, James Bond is no longer the glistening gem that Britain’s MI6 requires of its secret agents, so he is shuttered off to a health club to adhere to a strict regimen of calories, chiropractic and colonics. I’d say this is the first sign that something about this adventure is a bit “off,” but it’s actually the third; first is the franchise’s signature gun-barrel POV sequence being MIA, while the second is Lani Hall’s rightly forgotten theme song, thoroughly unmemorable except for the cloying presence of cowbell.

Back in shape enough, Bond is thrown into a new mission as SPECTRE — headed by pussy-petting Blofeld (Max von Sydow, Flash Gordon) — hatches a scheme to steal two thermonuclear warheads from the U.S. Air Force, which it achieves by getting a USAF captain (Gavan O’Herlihy, Superman III) hooked on smack and then replacing his right eye with a replica of the American president’s. The plan is so crazy, it just … might … work …

In cahoots with Blofeld are the exotic and explosive Fatima Blush (Barbara Carrera, Condorman), who at one point wears what looks like an ensemble of Hefty bags and the see-through plastic tarp you put down before painting, and Largo (Klaus Maria Brandauer, Oscar nominee for Out of Africa), who is as slimy as he his wealthy. His girlfriend, Domino (Kim Basinger, in only her third film), is the sister of the USAF patsy, but really she’s around so Bond can have a fourth woman to fuck within two hours’ time.

Irvin Kershner’s follow-up to directing The Empire Strikes Back, this “unofficial” Bond entry is — again with the pesky laws! — technically a remake of 1965’s Thunderball, but doesn’t quite feel like it until the underwater sequences come into play. Then, shark excepted, Never Say Never Again becomes every bit of a plodding slog as that official fourth 007 film. Because this is the ’80s, Kershner’s take includes a scene built entirely on a video-game challenge between Bond and Largo, as well as a rather uncomfortable bit that more or less sees Domino being butt-molested for laughs, as our suave spy poses as a masseur. For pure action of a nonsexual nature, only the gadgetry-enhanced motorcycle chase wrings the kind of thrills we expect from 007 set pieces.

As if to acknowledge to the audience that Never Say Never Again is an overstuffed and undercooked turkey, Connery closes his reign in Her Majesty’s secret service by breaking the fourth wall to wink directly at us. Its meaning is unmistakable: “You’ve been had, but I made some serious bank.” At the time, nobody did Bond better, but never had Connery done it so flaccidly. —Rod Lott

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What I remember most about seeing Octopussy in the summer of 1983 is that my overprotective mother actually took me, then 12, and my 9-year-old brother to see a movie titled Octopussy. This was, after all, a woman who forbade us from rewatching Grease 2 because it was “too racy,” and yet here was a film more or less bearing the name Eight Vaginas. I guess because it was a 007 adventure, it was deemed okay.

The only other things I remember about it was that James Bond snuck through a lagoon in a tiny submersible disguised as a crocodile, which is pretty cool, and that James Bond dressed up as a goddamn circus clown, which is not. So how in the hell did I forget the most cringeworthy part: James Bond swinging on jungle vines as Johnny Weissmuller’s famous Tarzan yell yodel-ay-hee-hooed on the soundtrack?

I have a theory: Because Octopussy makes for a dreadfully dull picture. If it isn’t quite the single-worst entry of the franchise, it can take a quantum of solace that its Rita Coolidge theme song is.

Officially the 13th 007 installment — and the penultimate go-round for Roger Moore — the pic gets off to a good start as our secret-agent hero pilots a one-man plane out of a horse’s ass, but in this series, those pre-credit sequences — all part of the tried-and-true formula — have zip to do with the story that follows. That to-do involves Fabergé eggs, nuclear weapons and Maud Adams’ nether regions — a full seven uteri short than what’s promised.

The only Bond Girl to play two leads, having brightened The Man with the Golden Gun, Adams fills the role of villainess and, of course, but one of Bond’s conquests; every woman with whom he comes in contact wants to bed him — even the menopausal ones. (Yes, you, Miss Moneypenny.) How did 007 not contract the AIDS virus?

Because he’s a master of escape, duh. Those chase scenes are when John Glen (in his second of five turns as 007 director, from For Your Eyes Only to A View to a Kill) seems to wake up and rouse the film along with him. Standing out is the sequence in which Bond, in a three-wheeled taxi, is pursued through a crowded marketplace in India and utilizes the stereotypical sword swallowers and fire walkers to best his enemies. Those bits are intentionally amusing, but shoved among them is a supremely silly sight gag on tennis that has no business being here; I suspect producer Albert “Cubby” Broccoli stuck it in just to nudge and wink at his buddies back at the club. —Rod Lott

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