James R | On 19, Sep 2021

James Bond walks out of an Indian casino. He tips one of the waiters. “That will keep you in curry for a few weeks,” he says. Octopussy, it’s safe to say, isn’t a film that has aged well.

In between its casual racism, hollowed-out crocodile boats and island full of scantily clad women, there’s an almost-discernible plot. It moves from a fake Faberge egg in a nifty auction scene (taken from Ian Fleming’s short story The Property of a Lady) to a circus smuggling nuclear warheads at enough speed to trick you into thinking it’s an intelligent story (as opposed to one that’s merely incomprehensible). The problem is that it does this via casual racism, hollowed-out crocodile boats and an island full of scantily clad women. And, at one point, Roger Moore dressed up as a clown.

As always, the stunts are impressive, but when an ancient Roger Moore constantly sends himself up because even he realises it’s impossible to take him seriously, you’re still scraping the bottom of the franchise barrel – a sure sign that For Your Eyes Only’s back-to-basics approach soon lost its appeal, with the franchise instead lurching back into extravagant, tongue-in-cheek territory.

Steven Berkoff does his best to be memorable as a psychotic army general and Maud Adams as the titular villain does well – but her casting was also mired in controversy, as they rewrote her character to be white to fit Adams – but nothing can quite offset the sight of Roger Moore creaking his way through each double entendre. He’s increasingly looking like a vampire just about keeping himself in middle-age, and every scene involving him and a woman feels painfully awkward. As for the moment mid-set piece in which Roger Moore swings through the trees and emits a loud Tarzan yell, the less said the better.

The only things that vaguely work about the film are two of the franchise’s standard elements. The opening credits, designed by Maurice Binder and accompanied by Rita Coolidge’s All Time High, borrow from From Russia with Love by projecting words and icons onto silhouettes with lasers, and, in a particularly refreshing move, include Roger Moore’s 007 as much as the female dancers that have become the (outdated) mainstay of many old Bond movie titles – it wouldn’t be until Daniel Craig’s era that the sexism of Bond’s credits would finally be left behind. John Barry, meanwhile, makes his return to the franchise after not working on For Your Eyes Only, avoiding the cliche of a sitar to indicate the story is set in India and emphasising the Bond theme as much as possible in response to the unofficial rival Bond film Never Say Never Again, which saw Connery star in a remake of Thunderball that was released a few months later.

The result is more memorable than the bland For Your Eyes Only – but not for the right reasons.

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