In this landmark, Kung Fu goes Hollywood and the 32-year-old Bruce Lee takes his final onscreen bow before he died from a brain condition mere days before the film’s release. It’s not the best martial arts movie ever made (though there are plenty of writers who disagree with me on that). Personally, it’s not even in my top 10, but it is a good film that applies a kind of James Bond aesthetic to chopsocky. While Lee is a very different hero from Bond—Lee’s philosophical martial arts master doesn’t partake in gadgets, drinks or women (his co-stars John Saxon and Jim Kelly, meanwhile, are another story)—director Robert Clouse is all about as much spectacle as he can cram into the budget. Clouse is wide-eyed around the exotic Chinese setting, enjoys the villain with the Dr. No-like prosthetic iron hand and gives proper respect to Lee’s monster charisma. Then there’s Lalo Schifrin’s score, which is the kind of old school heart-pumper for which he helped write the book in his work on the likes of the Mission: Impossible series, Bullitt and Dirty Harry and that would sound like parody if someone tried it today. It’s a film that’s a little nasty, but not nasty enough for those of us out there who really want the blood to smack us in the face. Still, Bruce Lee, man. He’s great here, lean and sinewed, intense, looking like he’s going to live forever. You’ve got to tip your hat.