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He slumps desolate onto the steering wheel of the car, just like his dead wife, murdered in front of him at the start of their honeymoon only months ago …. He grins, makes some quip about a tulip and speeds off. Moneypenny cheerily waves him on his way. The recasting of Bond and Blofeld stifles any emotional resonance from the previous film.
But still…. A vendetta story with genuine emotional heft. Both protagonists are established enemies. Even a substandard film, even a weak film, would be bolstered by that premise. Anything halfway decent immediately enters Top 5 territory. Another incongruity is the relentlessly cheery relationship between Bond and Blofeld.
Can diamonds cut it › Dr Karl's Great Moments In Science (ABC Science)
Rather than mortal enemies, the pair shoot the breeze like a couple of old muckers. Viewed through a frame of mutual dependence, the Bond-Blofeld battle actually starts making a lot more sense. Why else would Blofeld repeatedly refuse to eliminate Bond when the latter is at his mercy?
How else to explain Bond continually returning the favour? Initially the obvious comparison seems to be Batman and the Joker — but actually the cartoon violence, the perpetually frustrated schemes and the underlying fondness point in a softer direction.
A Diamond Is Forever Campaign - Critique by Krystal Chung on Prezi
Charles Grey is my favourite Blofeld. Playing Blofeld as a bored aristocrat only doing it for the kicks makes far more sense than Donald Pleasance being weird and evil in a volcano.
Tiffany Case has the unenviable task of following Tracy. At first she does a decent job, styling herself as a flinty, no bullshit smuggler with frequently changing hair. But either this is a massive act or nobody had the energy to write another quality female lead. Really I am" — or getting hysterical whenever somebody is offed.
The Tiffany of the first act would never do that. Also, note the bikini. Further evidence: Kissy Suzuki, Mary Goodnight. Honey Rider is the exception that proves the rule. Alarmingly, Tiffany has heard of James Bond. The films continually fluctuate between having Bond as an anonymous spy and being the espionage version of Harry Styles. Messrs Wint and Kidd are divisive.
I love them. Mr Wint is superbly sinister, highly camp but ruthlessly effective. Big, shambling Mr Kidd is even better: balding and bespectacled, he looks like a man who knows nothing of murder but a lot about Dungeons And Dragons.
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And what a moustache! This lethal pair glide through the film, bumping off pretty much every character they come into contact with — apart from Bond, naturally. Granted, Wint and Kidd are very detached from Blofeld, their supposed employer. The trio share no scenes and, once Blofeld reappears, Wint and Kidd basically vanish until the final boat showdown. They are hitmen, not henchmen, and this works in their favour. Wint and Kidd are the only explicitly gay characters in the Bond franchise.
I think… Crucially, their competence is never affected by their homosexuality — and in Bond, competence is the true measure of a character. Wint and Kidd are repeatedly deadly and never played for laughs in the manner of Moonraker Jaws or Sheriff Pepper. They are killers who happen to be gay rather than gay killers. Willard Whyte, the reclusive billionaire and a slightly less mental version of Howard Hughes.
The Incredible Story Of How De Beers Created And Lost The Most Powerful Monopoly Ever
Bambi and Thumper, the two Amazonians who kick the crap out of Bond before foolishly going aquatic. Shady Tree and Mrs Whistler, two smugglers old enough to know better. I find it hard to judge if the Las Vegas setting is a mistake or masterstroke. It certainly heightens, perhaps even creates, the jaded, slightly tawdry atmosphere of Diamonds Are Forever.
For once the location de-glamourises: rather than golden beaches or snowy peaks, Vegas is just a load of flashing lights. Much time is spent inside casinos; even Q is seen playing the slots. Rather than sunlight we get neon; hotels replace national landmarks as architectural eye-candy; and the Nevada desert takes the role of exotic climate. Yet strangely it sort of works.
But stick Sean amidst the craps tables of Sin City and suddenly he looks the part. His steadfast indifference is a fine counterpoint to the noise and junk of Vegas. Bond is an old dog, uninterested in learning new tricks but confident the ones he knows will suffice. In a town obsessed with new tricks, that bestows no small amount of integrity.
And where better than Vegas to send a star only doing it for the money? And downbeat is generous: in bed with Tiffany, he genuinely looks on the verge of falling asleep. But just as a virile location would have exposed Connery, so an energetic performance would rip apart the strand of gossamer that passes for the plot. Speaking of which… giant laser! Indeed Gustav Graves steals the idea completely, diamonds and all.
I have a fondness for the very ropey effects showing the destruction of various submarines, nukes, and such like. Everything glows a bright and unconvincing red before exploding in the distance. The peril, though, feels as real as Acme dynamite. Not even the slightest pretence is made that Bond might bite the bullet. The coffin enters the crematory, the flames light up, the music kicks in — and for thirty seconds we almost believe Bond will be barbecued alive.
Like the best Bond jeopardies — laser castration, tarantula — the horror of the threat, rather than the likelihood of death, is what chews down the fingernails. Connery looks almost discomforted. Then Shady Tree opens the coffin and a relaxed Bond hops out, not remotely discombobulated by what appeared the most horrific ordeal imaginable.
Two other scenes illustrate the lack of peril — or, conversely, the heightened sense of fun. Wint and Kidd drive to a construction site, dump an unconscious Bond in a spare piece of piping, and drive away chuckling. By some miracle, no builder spots Bond when fitting the pipe into the ground.
Bond awakes, talks to a rat, vandalises some kind of machine and resurfaces in his tuxedo in front of two bemused workers. Here, the result is exactly what Blofeld planned — Bond in pipeline — yet strolls free without the slightest effort. Reading Eagle: Margo Reed Youth league baseball team, Mifflin Militia, hosted a tournament to honor veterans and military service people at Mohnton Playground. A serviceman was invited to throw the first pitch at the game. Nate Cox, a catcher on the team, prepares to play the game in patriotic gear. Craig Sinnamon first saw the nickname several years ago, while coaching in an under baseball tournament, and it stuck with him.
Sinnamon got his wish. It turned into a cause; one that evolved into a history lesson, an opportunity to give back and a way for the Militia players to appreciate the service and sacrifice of our military. Mike Ordoyne, whose son, Tyler, plays for the Militia, was a sergeant in the Marines. He was twice deployed to Iraq and fought in Operation Phantom Fury, the second battle for Fallujah and one of the fiercest, most significant battles in the Iraq war.
Ordoyne retired from active duty in , but continues to "serve" through his ongoing support for the Wounded Warrior Project. Many of the players have become WWP Student Ambassadors, getting pledges for hits, stolen bases, runs scored, etc. Leftover food and drinks from the tournament were donated to Veterans Making a Difference, a local organization that helps veterans in need, with a special emphasis on homeless vets.
There was homework involved, too.