In 2017, we have about 297 James Bond movies, but not nearly enough James Bond III movies. This is the ONLY film that Bond has directed (as of this writing). He also wrote, acted, produced, had a hand in some of the music and probably did a ton of other jobs for this low-budget production that the credits list doesn’t cover. This is one of those movies that has that feverish “auteur” vibe. As in all great first films, Bond shoots it like he’ll never get the chance to make another one. It’s his cinematic suicide bomb. Every shot is bloodstained—even the ones that don’t have actual bloodstains. Yes, it’s a silly vampire story. Sexy lady bloodsucker hangs out at a New York City bar and feeds off the easy-pickin’ guys who approach her, but what she really lusts for is a perfectly chaste soul. Got it. But it might also be the first all-black horror movie. (Is it really? I honestly don’t know. Ganja & Hess comes close, but its intended version was difficult to see when this film was made.) Bond carries the weight with good humor and an eye toward putting on screen the world of black clubs and churches that you otherwise never saw on film at the time.
In the end though, Bond here is merely another soldier in the grand B-movie tradition. Make your film with modest means. Provide the sex and violence that every Regular Joe wants when they take a chance on a movie. Express yourself within those limitations. Make your mark. Sing your song. Give us something to talk about decades later. Joseph H. Lewis did it. Edgar G. Ulmer and Anthony Mann, too. See James Bond III do it in this day-glo, R&B-filled, rude and joyous little claw mark on movie history.
Watch for a pre-fame Samuel L. Jackson in a small, but pivotal, part, along with several cameos from the boom mic.