The Game's Bond: Ranking 007 Films, Part 1 (The '60s)

After a thrilling romp through the Steven Spielberg filmography over much of last year, I'd thought about what movie series, perhaps one near and dear to my heart, could be next to rank for your reading pleasure. Ultimately, I turned to one of cinema's longest-running and most treasured properties—the one that unites old-timers, people with stodgy ideas of what's "cool," and intensely neurodivergent film geeks: the long-running series of films based on Ian Fleming's literary British super spy, James Bond (007).

Bond has been a cinematic concern for more than 60 years, and his filmic comings and goings are big business at the box office as well as behind-the-scenes. I hit on the idea to cover the series not long after the controversial news that EON Productions, the family-owned British company that produced all 25 films in the official series canon, were ceding operations to longtime distributor MGM, now owned by Amazon. (Rumors persisted that producers Barbara Broccoli and Michael G. Wilson, who took over the reins from their father Albert R. "Cubby" Broccoli, were perturbed by Amazon's wish for a more modern, cinematic universe-style take on the series instead of the deliberate, if not always sensible, decisions they made with their stories.)

Despite the production consistency, I had a working theory that Bond gets by on the momentum of tradition and familiarity, not necessarily filmic quality. I had only seen 17 of these films at least once before setting out on a series rewatch (bolstered by the fact that I own them all on Blu-ray), and I had a working theory that very few of them could be considered great films. They're archetypal blockbuster entertainment, meant to entice young men (or stunted, older British and British-sympathetic men) with visions of fast cars, bodacious babes, weird gadgetry and PG-13 bust-ups.

Ranking the six Bond films released in the '60s—almost the full tenure of Scottish actor Sean Connery's time in the tux—didn't fully prove my assessment wrong, per se. But I feel strongly about the three of these I'd seen, and only one of the three I've caught for the first time are anything I would call near "bad." It remains to be seen, though, if I'll unlock anything but some fun nights in front of my TV.

6. You Only Live Twice (dir. Lewis Gilbert, 1967) ⭐️⭐️ 1/2 out of 5

The dossier: While investigating a spacecraft hijacking on an assignment to Japan, 007 finally comes face to face with the mysterious head of the terrorism cell SPECTRE: the cat-petting Ernst Stavro Blofeld.

Mission report: After four breakneck Bond films in four years, taking a break seems to have cursed the franchise. Sean Connery was already looking toward the exits and seems tired here, surrounded by mildly interesting if roundabout set pieces, shockingly bad process shots and more Eastern fetishism than a Mortal Kombat konvention. (That HAIRPIECE, my God.) The final act's trappings, including Blofeld's look, were interesting enough to get aped considerably in Austin Powers, though Donald Pleasence as Blofeld seems brutally unsure of what the character is supposed to represent in the series. (For a figure ostensibly set up as Bond's ultimate archenemy, this is a shockingly common problem!) Even the brilliant John Barry score staples the Dr. No recording of Monty Norman’s Bond theme in the middle of the Little Nellie sequence. You Only Live Twice is what we came to expect from Bond films for a time: the first big, archetypal mess of the series, half-remembered on cable some Saturday afternoon. (Fun trivia: Charles Gray, who plays a quickly-dispatched early contact of 007’s, would not only play Blofeld in a future film, but also, most recognizably, the Criminologist in The Rocky Horror Picture Show.)

The song: If "Goldfinger" and "Thunderball" matched the maximalist hit parade styles of their performers, "You Only Live Twice" might be the first real attempt at matching a Bond song to its performer. The swirling strings and light psychedelia of the track were arranged as such once Nancy Sinatra agreed to sing it. It's one of those songs that kind of creeps up on you, going from good to great at intervals. (It's also a rare case of a song that was re-recorded for its single, with Sinatra's frequent collaborators, producer Lee Hazlewood and arranger/conductor Billy Strange.)

5. Dr. No (dir. Terence Young, 1962) ⭐️⭐️⭐️ 1/2

The dossier: In his first adventure on the big screen, James Bond is called to Jamaica to investigate the disappearance of one of his fellow agents. His mission will take him to the first of several mysterious underground bases run by non-English terrorists (usually played discomfortingly by European guys who don't match the stated heritage of the character) with convoluted plots to cause some sort of global chaos.

Mission report: It’s funny how many things are in place with this nascent franchise from the get-go. Dr. No is certainly not as gadget heavy, and the humor is sparser and drier than future installments, but Connery knows what he wants to do here and walks the walk. The pacing is off—Ursula Andress, the series' first "Bond girl," doesn’t show up until halfway through, and Joseph Wiseman (uncomfortably if subtly made up as the titular Asian villain) appears maybe three-quarters in—but you can see the marks the series will soon hit. (Case in point: Monty Norman’s unique score is partially steamrolled by the haphazard placement of his iconic theme throughout the picture; John Barry will nail it one film later with little score editing necessary.) An intriguing beginning to a cinematic institution.

The song: There's no title song, just one theme. Borrowed from a strange, never-completed musical that Monty Norman had shelved, toplined by the biting twang of session guitarist Vic Flick, and given its uncredited arrangement by John Barry (who'd go on to be the series' most stalwart composer but was multiply, legally denied a writing credit alongside Norman), "The James Bond Theme" has become one of the most recognizable cues in film history—one my wife jokingly hummed at me every time I declared my intent to sit in the living room and watch these movies.

4. Thunderball (dir. Terence Young, 1965) ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The dossier: In The Bahamas, Bond searches for a pair of missing nuclear warheads that he'll find in the possession of one of the high-ranking operatives of SPECTRE—which, after plenty of hinting in two of the previous pictures, is established as MI6's purest foil. (SPECTRE was created for the Thunderball novel—a point of legal controversy—and retroactively suggested in the previous three films, whose books were published before this one.)

Mission report: Attempting to cross-pollinate the sleekness of From Russia with Love with the franchise-defining grandiosity of Goldfinger is a surprisingly shrewd move for Thunderball. It's got great location shooting, some thrilling underwater sequences (directed by Ricou Browning, The Creature from The Black Lagoon himself!) and terrific performances from Connery (less loutish, invigorated by new toupee) and Claudine Auger as Domino (a Bond girl with things to do). Thunderball can be offset at times by some dragging sequences (the underwater Saving Private Ryan could be speedier), but it’s a deeply entertaining romp that further codifies what Bond is, as entertainment and film story. (It's a testament to the sturdiness of the 007 foundation that one of the series' most iconic occurrences—a jet pack flight—occurs before the opening credits and lasts for less than 30 seconds.)

The song: John Barry seemingly struggled to come up with a workable song or score. The original pick was “Mr. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang,” recorded by both a returning Shirley Bassey and a rising Dionne Warwick. Tom Jones’ brassy title theme was a hasty replacement that doesn't make it too far into the orchestral cues, but it's a killer. (Barry ultimately made scoring look easy by reprising one of From Russia with Love’s best contributions to the series: the rousing action theme “007.”)

3. On Her Majesty's Secret Service (dir. Peter R. Hunt, 1969) ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The dossier: In one of the character's first major flagrant disregards for upper management directives, Bond—played for the first and only time by Australian model George Lazenby—disobeys orders to stop chasing after Blofeld. He tracks the mad genius down in Switzerland, and in the process has one of the most fateful meetings of his life with a mysterious countess (Diana Rigg).

Mission profile: Hampered by an overlong running time and a slightly choppy narrative that's lighter on the gadgets that were becoming a series staple, OHMSS is nonetheless buoyed toward the top of the heap for the series’ first decade, thanks to solid performances from 007 oner Lazenby and the enrapturing Rigg, who both—and thankfully, not for the last time in this series—imbue the proceedings with a fine representation of the surprising emotional core that runs through Fleming's original novel.

The song: A high watermark for not only the series but film scores of the '60s in general, Barry delivered the goods twice: the title sequence features a killer corollary to Norman's Bond theme, and an early montage of Bond and Tracy's love story is scored to "We Have All the Time in the World," a tender ballad Barry wrote with lyricist Hal David that served as one of the final vocal performances by Louis Armstrong.

2. Goldfinger (dir. Guy Hamilton, 1964) ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The dossier: It's steely Bond against a gold magnate with a whacked-out plan to depress the global economy by irradiating Fort Knox.

Mission profile: And here’s where the Bond series became the Bond series: the hottest gals, the coolest cars (complete with the first key use of Desmond Llewelyn, who cameoed in From Russia with Love, as the beleaguered gadget man Q) and the most verbose (ironically dubbed) supervillains, with lasers pointed at 007's double-Os. Connery brings the goods the third time around, although there’s a rough hand on a lover too many for my taste (and the “listening to The Beatles without earmuffs” line is drawing a line on Bond as a small-c conservative cool guy for grown-ups). Gert Fröbe and Harold Sakata deliver as the titular villain and his mute factotum Oddjob (who's not as diminutive as video games would have you believe). The quickly abandoned revenge subplot with Tania Mallet makes the middle sag a bit, but Goldfinger’s got zip and pizzazz to really establish a decades-long goodwill, ensuring and assuring audiences what Bond films would try to do for decades.

The song: John Barry’s brilliant score offers solid integration of the series’ first proper title theme, sung with absolute brio by Dame Shirley Bassey. It's a sign of how prevalent Bond-mania was by this time, as "Goldfinger" remains the only Bond theme of the '60s to reach the Top 10 in any territory (scaling to No. 8 in America).

1. From Russia with Love (dir. Terence Young, 1963) ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ 1/2

The dossier: A Soviet cryptography device, a defector agent, a haunting assassin sent to dispatch our hero...From Russia with Love raises the stakes for 007 considerably in his second outing.

Mission report: While the Bond formula was surprisingly more in place for Dr. No than expected, its follow-up really nails what makes these movies special. (It’s hard to believe postproduction was apparently so rushed, so well does it come together.) Bond’s globetrotting sophistication and repartee with heroes and villains alike is on greater display, there’s no shortage of action (with a little bit of fantastical tech, introduced by Desmond Llewelyn in his first appearance as Q), There’s a terrific, formidable foe for 007 (the always terrific Robert Shaw as the merciless Donald Grant, who also is the first great Bond villain to lose from talking too much before that was such a trope). Like so many films in the series, you wish for a slightly shorter running time, particularly the repetitive set pieces after Bond gets off the train with his MacGuffin. But it’s a minor quibble. From Russia with Love sets up the Bond franchise for big things—and is handily the best of the first wave of films in the series.

The song: A title song would not become tradition here; instead, a Lionel Bart-penned, Matt Monro-sung croon closes the film, and a very upbeat instrumental version by John Barry—his first official composer gig on the series, one of 12 Bond films he'd score—opens the picture.