Consider that you don’t really need more than the first three James Bond films. No, my reviews of From Russia with Love and Goldfinger were posted last year), it really strikes me that it’s Thunderball, not George Lazenby, that marked Chapter Two for the Bond series. As I’ve been working my way through the films for the umpteenth time (in case you’re wondering why I skipped ahead from Dr. What those imitations could not match was the execution: the style, the quality, the sly humor, the scale. The series was now a brand, so appealing in the formula that copycats and parodies emerged from all sides.
Although Bond was getting bigger all the time, and Thunderball (1965) was the natural evolution, there passed a point where the films were not merely high-profile adaptations of Ian Fleming bestsellers.
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