Roger Moore (2) (1927–2017)

Rating: 3.5* of five

It's the 1973 first outing by Simon Templar...I mean Roger Moore!...that I review here.

Holy pimpmobile! I'd forgotten this was the blaxploitation Bond flick. Appallingly racist. Horrifyingly insultingly so. And may I just say, "INTRODUCING JANE SEYMOUR" is the most chilling phrase I've ever in all my life seen on a movie screen?

Introducing. Jane. Seymour. As in, "not seen on the big screen before?" She was in some other stuff...but nothing as big as Bond. And the show more horrible thing is that Jane Seymour's character is only able to tell the future as a tarot reader while she's a virgin. Does that clue you in on what Bond's gonna do?

But all that comes after Bond's first African-American love interest. He sleeps with her while in a pale-blue loser suit. With a white belt. Wearing a wife-beater under it. Oh gawd, the seventies.

Then Bond condescends to pop Jane's cherry and takes away he rpowers, which the sexist sociopath clearly doesn't believe in; things go further and further downhill as Geoffrey Holder does a horrifying turn as a voodoo priest in the most ridiculous half-white makeup...well.

So of course Bond solves the identity puzzle, rescues now-slutty Jane from her life of luxury, and brings down the (black, of course) drug dealer. Then Geoffrey Holder laughs his unique laugh as we head for the credits.

Wow. Forty years really makes a lot of difference in how things look. I never liked Simon Templar...I mean Roger Moore!...as Bond. From the get-go, I found him too TV for the role of the big screen's biggest baddest spy. What was charming and roguish in other performances was slippery and oleaginous in Moore's performances. But I had no memory of how revoltingly racist this film was. I shudder to say it, but I was probably blind to it because it was...ulp...the way I saw the lily-white privileged Republican world I lived in.

*gaaak*

Well, that's enough of that. The dumbest car chase ever put on film takes place in an alternate New York where there are only Chevrolet Caprices, Chevrolet Impalas, and Cadillac Eldorados on the roads. Except one elderly Ford truck, which the lone Chevrolet Biscayne in New York, carrying Bond, hits head-on and somehow Bond isn't even scratched despite not wearing a seat belt. Yeah! Now that's the Bond we all love!

And the title tune. Oh my goodness, the title tune. It's one of the indelible memories of 1973, along with the Rayburn Committee hearings and the Energy Crisis. Pretty good tune. But earwormy as all hell! Once in your mind, it ain't a-comin' out easy.

"Enjoy." show less

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The 007 Diaries: Filming Live and Let Die by Roger Moore is a day-to-day diary of the filming of the James Bond movie. Mr. Moore, the third actor to portray 007, is writing about his experience in making his debut is Ian Fleming’s famous secret agent.

This book, for James Bond and film fans alike, is a window into the mind of a relatively unknown actor about to be thrust into stardom. Roger Moore, a TV star, suddenly finds show more himself center stage as the world’s most famous spy. Juggling his newfound fame, his family, and public commitments is a challenge. And the movie didn’t even open yet.

Mr. Moore, knowing his world is about to change, chronicles the making of Live and Let Die every day he was on the set. He knows that what he’s doing isn’t serious, but he takes his job seriously battling anxiety, health issues, publicity commitments, and more.

When reading The 007 Diaries several things become plain as Bond’s villain’s plan. Roger Moore is still finding his voice as a writer, making movies is boring, every meal in the 70s included drinks, and it’s still relevant.

Mr. Moore’s charm, self-deprecating humor, and wit are present on every page. At the same time, he keeps most of the sexist comments to a minimum but does not mince words when it comes to his distaste for racism. He even criticizes Bond producer Harry Saltzman for his treatment of restaurant staff. And that takes some guts.

The book is surprisingly honest. Moore loses his temper at the productions, argues with his wife but appreciates his hand in life. He loves acting, loves the people he works with, mingles with the rich and famous, and takes a lot of pride in the charity work he does. I especially enjoyed how he was star-struck sitting at a restaurant next to Deborah Kerr.

This book is funny and entertaining, but it’s best read in Moore’s voice. My understanding was that the plan was to write one for every Bond movie he made, it is a loss to us all that it never happened. show less

This is an amusingly told memoir, lots of good stories and names. There are a few rather naughty stories in places, but for the most part it is as light and playful as you would expect from the witty lover Bond. This was especially fun to read after Love and Let Die, by John Higgs, which compares and contrasts the Beatles’ and James Bond’s respective influences on British and global pop culture. Some stories overlap and are consistent as far as I can tell. With regard to non-Bond show more stories, I learned a fair bit about The Saint and found the appendix interestingly structured: it contains a bunch of anecdotes from Moore’s travels with UNICEF, sorted by country. The book contains two sets of photos, with everyone labelled, which I always appreciate. show less

Nach dieser Lektüre mag ich olle Roger Moore noch mehr, als das eh schon der Fall war. Gentleman durch und durch, selbst beim (selten vorkommenden) Verteilen kleiner Spitzen gegen Hollywoodpersonal, das bei ihm auf Lebenszeit verschissen hat. Statt reichlich schmutziger Wäsche aus der Filmwelt und drei gescheiterten Ehen bekommt man eine Fülle an Anekdoten aus einem langen und erfolgreichen Schauspielerleben, amüsant erzählt und den dringenden Wunsch weckend, mit Roger mal auf ein show more Gläschen Wein in einer Skihütte zu sitzen und einfach über FSM und die Welt zu plaudern :) show less