Let me know if I’m wrong, but From Russia With Love is the first film I’m aware of that hypes its sequel in the closing credits.
“James Bond will return in the next Ian Fleming thriller, Goldfinger“, we see at the end here.
With this film, Cubby Broccoli and Harry Saltzman were confident that they had a hit on their hands. They were sure that this was going to be even bigger than Dr. No. They were betting a lot money that this secret agent junk wasn’t going to go stale over at least three movies. They didn’t see any reason why audiences wouldn’t want more Sean Connery in a suit and tie, grappling with foreign enemies in exotic locales and sexing up a luscious leading lady.
Can’t say that I blame ’em because this second Bond installment is the VERY DEFINITION of a slam-bang action flick, even today. It’s hellbent on bringing something sensational at every moment, no matter how shameless.
I’m talkin’ about the super-cool and beautifully shot main titles sequence in which the credits are projected onto the various physical regions of one shapely lady.
I’m talkin’ about how director Terence Young gratuitously throws the famous Bond theme music willy-nilly all over the place and it somehow manages to work, perfectly straddling the line between camp and cool.
I’m talkin’ about how when this film isn’t throwing danger and action at us, it gives us plenty of sex. With the exception of 65-year-old Lotte Lenya as an evil agent who’s about the size of a Pringles can, every woman here is a smokin’ sexpot and Sean Connery is either sleeping with her or has an implied open invitation.
I’m talkin’ about how Connery’s Bond is THE model of the kind of suave and swingin’ ladies man that lots of men can’t help but wish that they could be. Women are drawn to him like houseplants to sunlight. He’s drowning in women. They can’t keep their hands off him, despite his healthy pelt of back hair. Meanwhile, Connery plays the role with an undeniable smirk (in fact, it’s usually right there on his face in plain view). He’s in on the absurdity, but he also goes with it. Because male fantasy like this is a perfectly valid thing in entertainment. Or at least it was in 1963.
I’m also talkin’ about how the plot ain’t worth ten cents. Everybody’s after some MacGuffin suitcase machine that decodes secret messages from Russia. Also, the evil international villains of SPECTRE want Bond dead as revenge for defeating them in the previous movie. For that, they hire super-assassin Robert Shaw whose hobbies include murder and getting back rubs from busty blondes.
It’s a pile of some of the very best bullshit out there.