Review – Octopussy

To date, this is the worst James Bond movie ever made, and in that sub-category of bad cinema it manages to best (or perhaps “worst” is the term) some stiff competition. The 13th entry in the Universal Studios Bond series, this outing combines all of the unpleasant elements of the set with some new nonsense stirred in for bad measure. For openers, it appears in points to actually try to be funny, a serious mistake in the oh-so-deadly-grim (or at the very least religiously tongue-in-cheek) realm of the espionage flick, especially when the jokes don’t work. The effects are cheap. The secret agent gizmos are dumb, and the action depends far too heavily upon them. The acting is bad, which isn’t much of a surprise in a Roger Moore movie. But the script takes the cake for sheer loathsomeness. In one scene our intrepid hero inquires “what’s that?” presumably about a small tattoo of an octopus sported by his latest conquest. “That’s my little octopussy,” the witless vixen replies. Honestly, how desperate does an actress have to be? Later we learn that the main love interest (Maud Adams, making her second appearance as a “Bond girl”) shares the movie’s awkward moniker, apparently bestowed upon her by her polypi-enthusiast father. Barfing becomes Electra. The sole ray of sunshine in this bottomless pit is that the producers decided to forego the tradition of featuring the movie’s title prominently in the theme song. The very thought of Rita Coolidge yodeling “Octopussy!” over and over is actually enough to make one almost grateful for “All Time High.” Wish I’d skipped it