Thursday, October 20, 2022

THE TIME TRAVELLER'S WIFE

Storyhouse, Chester

Review by Brian Gorman

Reviewed on 13 October 2022


 

Book written by Lauren Gunderson

Based on the novel by Audrey Niffenegger

Based on the screenplay by Bruce Joel Rubin

Music & Lyrics by Joss Stone & Dave Stewart

Directed by Bill Buckhurst

 

I don’t think I have ever seen a more spectacular, and visually stunning production as this outstanding adaptation of the novel (and film) ‘The Time Traveller’s Wife’. It’s a great title which promises a great deal, and this brand-new musical with music & lyrics by the mighty Dave Stewart (The Eurythmics) and Joss Stone, completely lives up to all expectations. This world premiere has delighted Chester audiences on its debut run, and is due to transfer to the West End.

Henry (David Hunter) has the power to spontaneously travel through time, disappearing at often inappropriate moments (including on his own wedding day), and reappearing moments later having visibly aged. His predicament is a pretty major hindrance to his relationship with the title character; his wife Clare (Joanna Woodward). The show opens with the wedding day preparations, and a huge invitation card projected onto the towering, monolithic screens that dominate the stage. Anna Fleischle’s design is comprised of several huge blank screens that skate around the stage to form a bewildering variety of backgrounds and locations. Effective use of front and back projection bring a multitude of time periods to life, including 1960s New York when Henry visits his youthful parents, and his infant self.

It's a risky story to tell, live on stage, as the narrative zips around time and space, and things can be a little difficult to keep track of. Fortunately, there is so much happening, so many memorable characters, and outstanding magical effects, that the audience are whisked along on an emotional rollercoaster. I can usually tell when I’m watching something good, as I haven’t the time to get bored. Even with the very best shows, there will be moments when my mind wanders to what pint I’m going to have in the bar, later, or what I’m going to eat when I get home. But, on this occasion, time literally flew by, and we were witnessing a raucous and appreciative full house rising to their feet at the finale.

I’ve never been a fan of musicals. I can admire the talent and effort that goes into them, but I find the often cheesy, camp, and cringingly melodramatic way that characters suddenly burst into song, pretty irritating and alienating. I thought things were heading in that direction when we had the opening, ensemble song ‘The Story Of Love’, and I was prepared for a barrage of schmaltz. However, my misgivings deteriorated immediately once we headed back a few years (onscreen captions were a great help, here), and witnessed Henry’s first meeting with Clare. However, and prepare for some metaphorical head-scratching, it isn’t Clare’s first meeting with Henry. Here, in this flirty, comic scene we are given the show in microcosm. Henry and Clare will meet again, at varying times in their lives, and one or the other will have the upper hand, experience-wise. It’s a wonderful template for romantic confusion, a little slapstick, and buckets of pathos. A stand-out scene involves Henry making a unilateral decision about their complex and problematic relationship, and Clare reacting with extreme anger and hurt. Woodward belts out probably the most effective and moving song (‘I’m In Control’) which had the audience applauding through their tears, and the actor visibly shaken.

As with all time travel stories, the possibilities for entertainment, enchantment, and ingenious solutions to painfully recognisable human problems are limitless. So, with ‘The Time Traveller’s Wife’, we get to enjoy every emotion possible, every hope, and every fear. Henry’s unique ability allows him to encounter his parents, friends, and partner at varying stages of their lives, and their character development. He sees the small moments, and the traumatic incidents that will impact them for years to come. Henry’s personal experience, character, and inner life are effectively communicated by David Hunter’s endearing everyman (part Jim Carrey, part Henry Fonda). He is bewildered, angry, tortured, playful, and often emotionally and physically lost. Every appearance finds him having to immediately adapt to the emotions of the moment, whilst processing equally demanding scenarios just seconds (to him) and years (to every other character) ago. It’s an incredibly demanding role that gives the actor a magnificent opportunity to communicate every facet of the character’s heart and mind, and Hunter succeeds admirably.



Chris Fisher’s illusions are used to enhance, but not overwhelm the narrative. Henry’s regular disappearances, prefaced by the character suddenly trembling and jerking with stress and pain, are simply astonishing at times. Ranging from simple distraction techniques, resulting in the actor exiting unseen, while his clothes fall in a crumpled heap to the floor, we are also treated to complex lighting, animation, and projections that show Henry travelling through time in the form of an epic ballet. Special mention must go to 12-year-old Phoebe Cheffings, who played the younger version of Clare (the role is shared, on different nights, with others) with great skill, tender vocals, and a maturity beyond her years.

Bill Buckhurst’s direction keeps things tight, and every character has a chance to shine. Short, impactful scenes play out cinematically, and the songs are effortlessly slipped in, contributing hugely to the inner life of the characters, and often segueing seamlessly into the action.

This is a show that is a true audience pleaser. There is romance, action, adventure, drama, comedy, and a triumphant soundtrack. The acting is top notch, the set is amazing, the effects outstanding. What is there not to like?

Well, I could have done without the entire cast reassembling for a grand finale, belting out ‘Love Wins The Day’, which only served to undermine the poignant and heart-rending scenes that would have made for a dramatically effective, and bittersweet, ending. Maybe that’s just me, though?

I still don’t like musicals, but this isn’t just a musical.

 

Tags: Storyhouse, Chester, The Time Traveller’s Wife, Lauren Gunderson, Joss Stone, Dave Stewart, Bill Buckhurst, Anna Fleischle, David Hunter, Joanna Woodward, Phoebe Cheffings,


BOOTLEG BLONDIE

Alexander’s, Chester

Reviewer: Brian Gorman

Reviewed on 10 September 2022



The classy, dynamic Alexander’s Bar, in Chester city centre has hosted a great many tribute bands of late, and aficionados of the 70s and 80s post-punk era are certainly being well catered for at the moment. Just recently, we had the fantastic U2 Experience, live on stage, recreating the sights and sounds of frontman Bono’s Irish rockers, and tonight we welcomed fellow iconic music royalty, Blondie. Here, being celebrated in the form of the mightily impressive Bootleg Blondie.

Billed as ‘The official Blondie tribute band’, the group were formed over twenty years ago, and have the distinction of being endorsed by Debbie Harry, and having played with Blondie’s original drummer Clem Burke, and guitarist Gary Valentine. Add to this the fact that they have been thanked on Blondie’s album ‘Pollinator’, and played at the legendary CBGB’s in New York (a favourite haunt for the original band, back in the 1970s), Bootleg Blondie have a lot to live up to, and had a sold-out crowd to impress. The band arrived a fashionably thirty minutes late on stage, but we were soon tapping our feet to the opening bars of the classic ‘Heart Of Glass,’ and doing double-takes when singer Debbie Harris (yes, that’s how she bills herself) appeared in the classic little black dress, with the single slender shoulder strap; diminutive, with the trademark shaggy blonde bob, scarlet lipstick, and perky confidence. “Once I had a love, and it was a gas …” rang out, and there was no mistaking that high pitched, crystal clear vocal. We could be seeing the real thing, here! Well, it’s about as close as you can get. It’s rare, indeed, to see a tribute band with this degree of constructed authenticity, combining looks, voice, attitude, and body language. The audience, of whom the great majority were female (of all ages), were in heaven, dancing along to all the hits (and, respectfully, nodding along to the rhythm of the lesser-known songs).



Next up was another all-time sing-along classic, ‘Dreaming,’ with its frenetic pace, frantic drumming, and primal punk energy, all iced over by those sheer, sparkling vocals. Ms Harris had it all, even the ‘Noo-Yawk’ accent, used to wonderful effect when she screamed out “Sing, you Mother-F**kers!” The hits kept coming, and the audience were with them all the way, with several fans scrambling up on to chairs to grab a few mobile snaps of the dynamic punk princess in full flow. The proto rap, and hip hop hit, ‘Rapture,’ was perfectly realised, but the biggest applause of the night came for the anthemic, mournful and melancholic disco-funk-new wave masterpiece ‘Atomic’, as Debbie donned stylish shades, and long white opera gloves. A life-sized cut-out of a red telephone box formed part of the stage backdrop, and our charismatic lead singer was soon brandishing an old-fashioned handset and receiver when launching into ‘Hanging On The Telephone,’ and now wearing the classic 70s Vultures t-shirt.

Reaching the half-hour mark, I assumed we were about to break for an interval when Debbie surprised us with a Marilyn Monroe style rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’. Apparently, this was for ‘Colin and Leslie’, and their large party of friends in attendance. However, this simply led straight into another flurry of timeless hits, including ‘One Way Or Another’, ‘Picture This’, ‘Maria’, and the ever popular ‘Denis’. A non-stop roller coaster ride through the Blondie songbook culminated in the ‘final’ song, ‘Sunday Girl’, with Debbie now sporting another mini outfit, this time in blood red. After a raucous reception, the expected rhetorical question “Do ya want another one?” rang out, and we were treated to the epic, Giorgio Moroder disco classic ‘Call Me’ (theme song from the film ‘American Gigolo’), followed by a scorching cover of T-rex’s ‘Get It On’, and a spine-tingling reprise of ‘Heart Of Glass’ for the climax.

Bootleg Blondie delivered exactly what any Debbie Harry fan could have possibly wished for. The uncanny resemblance, and vocals, of singer Debbie Harris, and the magnificent recreation of a stream of immortal classic tunes. The audience were bouncing, and singing along, all night. If the original band ever need a break, they know who to call. 


Tags: Chester, Alexander’s, Bootleg Blondie, Debbie Harry, Debbie Harris, Heart Of Glass, Call Me, New York, CBGBs, Giorgio Moroder

Star rating: 5

Dynamite Blondie Tribute

THE U2 EXPERIENCE

 – Alexander’s, Chester

Reviewer: Brian Gorman

20 August 2022


The popular Alexander’s bar in the heart of Chester city centre hosted a real treat for fans of 80s stadium rock, when The U2 Experience rattled the brickwork, shook the timbers, and threatened to blow the roof off. Billed as ‘The UK’s most authentic U2 Tribute Band,’ the reality certainly lived up to the hype. The Irish rock band have had decades of success, with multiple million selling albums, from their 1970s beginnings through their 1980s heyday, and beyond. Fronted by the almost messianic personality of Bono (these days a very ‘Marmite’ figure, often parodied, but nonetheless a formidable stage presence), this is a band that only the brave or the foolhardy would attempt to replicate, live on stage.

Sequenced lighting, onscreen visuals, video clips, and special effects combined to make this a truly spectacular experience, with the four band members uniting to faithfully recreate the U2 sound. Chris Field performing as Bono has a nigh impossible job, attempting to mimic one of the greatest stage performers of all time, but he does so magnificently. There’s the sheer power and studied arrogance, combined with vocals that soar impressively to the heights that the songs demand. Complete with ever present dark glasses, and black outfit, you could be forgiven for thinking this was the man himself. A full house was bouncing with unbridled excitement, and even the more elderly attendees were dancing and singing along with newly unleashed vigour. Opening with the pulse-pounding ‘Elevation’, the night got off to a flying start with the audience joining in from the opening lyrics. The pulsating lighting effects, and video screen showing the real U2 in action, added to the overall atmosphere. U2’s sound is very much rooted in the lead guitar of ‘The Edge’, with its glacial, almost angelic vibration, and is instantly recognisable and unique. John Brown has mastered this sound, with the equally superb Clive Witcomb as ‘Adam Clayton’ on bass guitar, and Mark Owen’s ‘Larry Mullen Jnr’ on drums.

Following the crowd-pleasing opener, ‘Elevation’, came one of U2’s best known stadium anthems, ‘Beautiful Day’. Though its charm had been tainted a little when appropriated by ITV’s football highlights programme ‘The Premiership’, it still retains its classic power and sheer joyfulness. Introducing the third song of the night, we now got to hear ‘Bono’ speak. This was another highlight of the evening, as Field delivered a pitch perfect impression, with the recognisable soft Irish lilt. It was time to head back to the very early days, with a fantastic recreation of U2’s first single from 1979, ‘Out Of Control’. A near two-hour set comprised of all-time classics, and rarely-performed album tracks, with stand-out songs being a superbly effective ‘Bullet The Blue Sky’ – which had The Edge moving through the delighted crowd, and a moving, barnstorming tribute to Martin Luther King with ‘Pride’. There was also time for a humorous dig at the Bryan Adams song ‘(Everything I Do) I Do It For You’, when Bono drolly mentioned that the song that knocked Adams off the top of the charts (after a record 16 weeks) was U2’s ‘The Fly’ (which they duly performed with gusto!). The first half of the show ended with another singalong to the epic, frantic ‘Vertigo’.

‘City Of Blinding Lights’ opens the second act, and we’re up and running again with another great track. It’s a more low-key, gentle, romantic, and melancholic U2, here, but with that same soaring, stadium friendly quality. An early 1980s fan favourite ‘Bad’ showcases the epic U2 sound, with the song building and building, and demanding more and more from the Bono vocals. Written about a heroin addicted friend, it’s a real emotional rollercoaster, ending with a wailing, heart-rending lyric “I’m wide awake; I’m not sleeping”, echoed by the mesmerised audience. The song fades away, and the audience are now primed, as the band segue into the haunting, dream-like opening notes of the immortal ‘Where The Streets Have No Name’. A rattling, steamrollering, chugging juggernaut of a song, The U2 Experience showed just what they could do, and had the audience cheering like crazy at their masterful rendition of the 1980s classic. Closing the evening with the truly inspiring and uplifting ‘With Or Without You’, there were more than a few tears rolling down the smiling faces of the audience. The vocals, guitars and drums fused together into one almighty, spiritual force of nature, and blew every lurking demon away. This was truly U2, in spirit, and an awesome – in every sense of the word - experience.

This review was first published by  https://www.thereviewshub.com/


Tags: Chester, Alexander’s, U2, The U2 Experience, Chris Field, John Brown, Clive Witcomb, Mark Owen, Bono, The Edge, Adam Clayton, Larry Mullen Jnr

Star rating: 5

Spectacular Rock Recreation

Monday, August 15, 2022

THE WEIR



The Live Rooms, Chester

Reviewed on 10th August 2022


Writer: Conor McPherson

Director: Marian Newman

 

This really isn’t the most audience friendly play. All dialogue, a single set, little movement, and relying totally on the cast’s ability to hold the attention of the audience. Thankfully, Chester-based theatre company Against The Grain pulled it off.

The setting is the cosy bar of a small pub, in a rural southern Irish town that time forgot. In a smart move, the company decided to use the actual small bar at Chester’s Live Rooms, which automatically lent a realistic and atmospheric feel to the evening. There was little that could have been done about the heat, on such a hot summer’s night, and with a lesser quality production this could have seriously distracted the audience. However, our attention was held throughout, the ensemble cast were uniformly strong, and The Weir cast its spell superbly well.

Jim (Stuart Evans), Finbar (Dhugal Fulton), and Laura Smith (Valerie). Photo: Steve Cain.


The Weir is deceptive, initially suggesting that we are simply witnessing a collection of supernatural tales, told by a motley group of characters who each have quite a sad, unfulfilled life, and the theme being that the human understanding of the immediate ‘real’ world is no more comforting or complete than the ‘other worlds’ - the non-tangible, the ethereal. However, it is far cleverer and much more terrifying than that.

Director Marian Newman allows the humanity of the writing to shine through, and completely trusts her cast to deliver the magic. There is no reliance on lighting or mood music to create the ‘spooky’ atmosphere, and no shock tactics. Credit to Steve Lincoln’s subtle and controlled use of sound and lighting. When the chill wind begins to swirl around the pub, the sound is almost imperceptible, and at times I wondered whether it was actually coming from outside the venue. A fellow audience member stated, later, that they could actually feel the cooling effect of the wind at times (this is pretty remarkable, as the oppressive heat was constant in the room).

Jack (Mark Newman), Brendan (Simon Phillips), Jim (Stuart Evans), Valerie (Laura Smith), and Finbar (Dhugal Fulton). Photo: Steve Cain.

Amiable barman Brendan (a subtle, low-key performance from Simon Phillips) arrives to open up for the evening, and is obviously none too concerned with security, as he soon leaves the bar unattended, with the front door unlocked. In strolls the evening’s oldest regular, garage owner Jack (Mark Newman) who proceeds to casually serve himself a drink (popping the money into the old-fashioned till). The scene is set. This is a pub that is also a home, and a refuge, to the inhabitants of this remote rural backwater. Brendan and Jack chat amiably about everyday matters, and are soon joined by young gambler Jim (Stuart Evans); we soon discover that they are all quite lonely at heart, and this unassuming little alehouse is their refuge. There are rumours about the relationship between their well-to-do friend Finbar (Dhugal Fulton) and Valerie, a young woman who is looking to move into the area. When all our characters are assembled, Jack kicks off the storytelling with a local myth about a ‘faery road’ that was rumoured to pass through a local house. Newman’s comical, disgruntled, slightly naïve character modestly relates an unnerving warning about interfering with the unknown, and the actor subtly shifts from gentle comedy to undulating shades of deepening anxiety and deep-rooted fear. Probably the most disturbing tale is related by Jim; a chilling real-life experience involving the spectre of a paedophile and their attempts to continue their activities beyond the grave. Serious and unnerving as the various tales are, they are never allowed to seduce the audience into a melancholic, unsettled mood. McPherson’s characters are beautifully well-rounded, and the talented ensemble cast remind us of their humanity and flawed nature, as they regularly pull the rug out from under each other, and good-naturedly prick the bubbles of pomposity. Laura Smith’s Valerie is the alien newcomer. The men buzz around her, each seeking to impress, whilst cheekily undermining the flash, but thin-skinned Finbar. Quietly observing her comically eager suitors, and their almost desperate desire to cater to her every need, Valerie eventually delivers her own disturbing tale, of a tragic untimely death, and a terrifying aftermath. Her story hits hard. Smith has a wonderful voice for the stage, and held the audience spellbound with a heartfelt, quietly emotional delivery of intensity and gut-wrenching sorrow.

Brendan (Simon Phillips), Jim (Stuart Evans), Jack (Mark Newman), Finbar (Dhugal Fulton), and Valerie (Laura Smith). Photo: Steve Cain.

This was an excellent production, and deserves to be seen in a larger venue. A brave venture for an amateur company (although, you’d be hard-pressed to consider this show as anything less than 100% professional).

Wednesday, August 03, 2022

PETER HOOK & THE LIGHT - JOY DIVISION: A CELEBRATION

 

O2 Apollo, Manchester

Reviewed on 29th July 2022

First published for The Reviews Hub

Peter Hook, legendary ex bass guitarist with New Order, made a triumphant return to Manchester with a storming, emotional, and thrilling celebration of his previous band Joy Division. Performing, in full, the classic albums Unknown Pleasures and Closer, with an opening selection of New Order tracks. The faded glory of Manchester’s cavernous and ornate Apollo theatre provided a superb atmosphere for this almost religious musical experience. Joy Division made only two albums before their charismatic lead singer & lyricist Ian Curtis killed himself in 1980, and this celebration was initially scheduled for 2020, the 40th anniversary of his death. Hook has spoken often of how traumatic his band mate’s death was, and how it was a miracle that the surviving members carried on under a new name, and became one of the biggest bands of the 80s, New Order. Peter Hook & The Light had been scheduled for 8pm, with ‘no support’, but Manchester DJ Mike Sweeney’s band, The Salford Jets, had actually been on stage from 7pm. Unfortunately, many of the audience missed them, as the auditorium only began to fill up in time for the main act.


Beginning in sombre, subdued mood (the delicate lighting reflecting this) with New Order’s supremely emotional and beautiful instrumental ‘Elegia’, the scene was set in fine, respectful style. In English literature, an elegy is a lament for the dead, and this haunting, minimal, and sparse piece of pure atmosphere, not unlike Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells, was a perfect fit for Hook’s sublime guitar skills. Written in memory of Ian Curtis, this performance of ‘Elegia’ was hugely effective in successfully conjuring up the spectre of his lost friend, and reminding us all of why we were here, and what we were celebrating. Hook had the audience in the palm of his hand from this point on. What a beginning!

The band then powered on through a short selection of New Order favourites, performed with gusto and sheer rockstar aggression. One suspects this was a desire to give the audience some (relatively) upbeat numbers, in preparation for the more doom-laden presentation of Joy Division’s 1979 debut album, Unknown Pleasures, with its more enigmatic, sorrowful, and often deeply distressing lyrics. The New Order opening section culminated in the jaunty, The Perfect Kiss. With its classic dancefloor energy, an ode to youthful, carefree romance, surreal chirpy croaking frog chorus, and memorable lyric ‘let’s go out and have some fun’, this was perhaps a cheeky ironic nod to the distinct lack of ‘fun’ on the Unknown Pleasures album.

For a man who has been at the top of his profession for nearly five decades, Hook looked in great shape, and his voice was on top form. Doing full justice to Joy Division’s enduring tracks, particularly the audience favourites ‘Shadowplay’ (a real barnstormer), and ‘New Dawn Fades’ with its searing, sorrowful, suicidal lyrics (‘a loaded gun won’t set you free, so they say’), the song rises and rises with painful, almost unbearable intensity. Curtis’ voice, and inner life, had been so much at the heart of this blistering epic, but Hook channelled his friend’s heart and soul into every line, and every guitar stroke. The pain was palpable, as the memories of forty two years ago could surely never be purged. Peter Hook always comes across as thick-skinned, and more than able to handle the pressures of life, but being forever symbiotically connected to such an abyss of despair must take its toll. Happily, ‘Hooky’ (as he is affectionately known by fans and friends alike) has channelled this primordial energy of chaos into his performance, and the result is sheer elation. Yes, Joy Division’s music (written by Hook, and his ex-bandmates Bernard Sumner and Stephen Morris) is certainly dark, and perhaps excavates the very depths of the collective human soul, but it is also inspiring, life-affirming, and can transmute tears into joy. Hook’s energy alone fired every song into the spiritual stratosphere, ably backed by his talented son Jack Bates (taking on bass guitar duties, on certain songs, allowing his father to concentrate on the vocals), and guitarist David Potts creating a tight knit unit.

‘She’s Lost Control’, a quirky, popular track about a girl that Curtis saw suffering a violent epileptic fit (which he often endured himself, sometimes on stage during a performance) got an almighty roar from the crowd, as the staccato opening bars blasted out.  Unfortunately, a good few people headed for the bar as the final, lesser-known tracks were performed. A great pity, as it was a rare opportunity to hear them live, and were given just as much care and attention as the hits.


‘Closer’, the album released just two months after Curtis’ untimely death, contains ever more doom-laden lyrics, and saw the band reaching new heights of creativity. Curtis, though, was struggling, and confessed that he felt he was in ‘a whirlpool, being pulled down, drowning’. Once again, Hook’s energy and exemplary guitar skills brought the album to majestic life, with every song feeling fresh and contemporary. Despite the searing jet-black emotional honesty of the lyrics, and the memory of where they led Ian Curtis to, Hooky’s rendition transforms them into something more triumphant and inspiring. Closer’s final track, ‘Decades’, is as dark as it gets. Curtis’ lyrics seem to be imagining a future after his death, perhaps attempting to foresee how his band members would carry on. How this must feel for Hook to sing and play, forty years later, is difficult to guess at. Yet he delivers it with power, and reclaims the song’s sepulchral energy.

Following the albums, it was time to cheer everybody up a little, and give the audience something to thrill, inspire, and get them up on their feet. The awe-inspiring, transitional epic ‘Ceremony’ was greeted with screams and cheers, while Joy Division’s only hit song, ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ ended the evening on a spectacular high. Again, Curtis’ lyrics (about his failing marriage) aren’t particularly uplifting, but the music is truly joyful, and Hooky belted it out with heartfelt passion. Stripping to the waist for the standing ovation, we had primal, human, animalistic purity. Peter Hook & The Light shone brighter than an exploding star, and celebrated their lost friend with love. This was an experience.

Touring.

Reviewed on 29 July 2022


https://www.thereviewshub.com/peter-hook-the-light-joy-division-a-celebration-o2-apollo-manchester/

Sunday, July 31, 2022

LITTLE WOMEN

Amy (Joelle Brabban) and  Laurie (Samuel Awoyo)


Grosvenor Park Open Air Theatre,

Chester 

(This review was originally written for The Reviews Hub)


Following last week’s opening production of ‘Romeo & Juliet’ in Chester’s majestic Grosvenor Park, the annual Storyhouse Open Air summer season continues with the perennial coming-of-age classic ‘Little Women’ by Louisa May Alcott. But what a contrast! Last weekend we were baking in temperatures rarely seen before. Tonight, it was rain, rain, rain. The cast continued, however, and valiantly defied the elements to deliver a first-rate show, despite the many empty seats and the constant downpour. Departing from the novel’s original American Civil War setting, this brand-new version occurs during the first world war, and takes place in Chester itself.

The Marchs are a close-knit family, the father has gone off to fight in the war, and the quartet of energetic teen-age sisters simply want to love life. Jo is the feisty intellectual one, desiring to be a writer, and railing against the subjugation of women in society. Opening with a suffragette rally, the theme is set – Live Your Dream!

Meg (Haylie Jones) and Jo (Paislie Reid)

Paislie Reid’s Jo is a whirlwind of energy, striding about in often ‘manly’ attire, and refusing to conform. Slight of stature, but fierce and bold; a match for any man. She is complimented perfectly by Haylie Jones’ Meg, who gives as equally strong a performance as she did playing Mercutio a week ago. Molly Madigan (with one arm in a sling) breaks the audience’s heart as the tragic Beth, and gives a simply beautiful speech at one point, with the actor soaked to the skin by the downpour. She also excelled in a gentle, delicately emotional scene where she is taught to play piano by the repressed and melancholic Mr Lawrence. Unfortunately, in a different scene, she slipped heavily on the rain-sodden set, causing the audience to gasp in horror. Such are the risks of open-air theatre. Completing the foursome was the excellent Joelle Brabban as the temperamental Amy.

Mr Bahaer (Eddy Payne)

Samuel Awoyo was sweet-natured, and comically awkward as the shy Laurie Lawrence, with Robert Maskell giving a beautifully understated performance as the grief-stricken Mr Lawrence. Eddy Payne, who easily stole the show last week as Benvolio, threatened to do so again as the put-upon German schoolteacher Mr Bahaer. Payne seemed on fire, and revelled in additional smaller roles, including a supremely nervous and terrified soldier, and a horrendous spoilt rich brat; he even played the part of a giant bumble bee, whilst making surreal buzzing sounds with the help of a kazoo! Nicola Blackman, so hugely impressive and hilarious as Juliet’s nurse last week, was equally outstanding as the monstrous Aunt March, and a karate-chopping nun! Alice Keedwell was an understated, loving Mrs March. Oliver Nazareth Aston as the sensitive and loveable post man, John Brooke, and Samantha McIlwaine as the snooty and awful Sally completed the cast.

This adaptation by Anne Odeke may upset a few purists, but works well in making the characters and settings more relatable to a modern audience. Women are still suffering under a patriarchal society, teen-agers are still battling with the emotional and physical turmoil of becoming young adults, and we still try to shut out the never-ending news of far-off wars whilst living our lives as well as we can. Director Natasha Rickman addressed all these issues, whilst keeping the pace buoyant and entertaining, and allowed the inner lives of the characters to break through. Following the cast ‘curtain call’, the sight of a giant teddy bear sitting sadly, in the heavy rain, seemed to sum up the all too melancholic nature of life.

 Runs until 28 August


https://www.thereviewshub.com/little-women-grosvenor-park-open-air-theatre-chester/

Photographs: Mark McNulty

Wednesday, July 20, 2022

BOND @ 50

 As we are in the 60th year of Bond movies, I thought I'd take a look back at my thoughts from 10 years ago. Originally published in Starburst Magazine, here we are:

THE SWINGING SIXTIES!

Sean Connery and Ian Fleming on the Dr No set.


Fifty years of James Bond films. Wow! In this celebratory year I thought I’d take the opportunity to reflect on five decades of the EON produced 007 movies (not to mention the several oddities churned out by rival companies during those years). Rather than write a straight-forward account of the familiar facts and figures,  I’d like to share with you my personal experience of the Bond movies, as I have been very fortunate indeed to have seen them all in order of production.

I was born in 1964 in Wigan; as far removed from the glamorous world of Ian Fleming and his creation as it’s possible to get. Coming from a very poor family, I never got to see the earliest Bonds on the big screen, and so my first encounter with an EON epic came when ITV purchased the rights to screen every 007 movie way back in the mid 1970s. The closest I came to Bond was when my mum took the kids to the cinema on my birthday around 1970 to see Dean Martin as secret agent Matt Helm in ‘The Silencers’. I loved it. The colour! The exotic locations! The funky 60s music! The trouble was that my mum, Gawd bless her, had got the screening times wrong, and we actually walked in around halfway through the film! We then proceeded to watch the first part of the next screening (you were allowed to do that in 1970), and so my first cinematic experience was a pretty confusing and bizarre one. Nevertheless, I was blinded by the glamour, and it would be a few decades before I saw the film again and realised just how awful it was when compared to the Bonds.

I was a big fan of the original Fleming novels, which were passed around school along with the dog-eared dirty magazines that puzzled many a pubescent youth with their explicit depictions of the female anatomy. I remember well being totally confused by a full page photo of a lady’s undercarriage. My friends and I thought it was a malformed gentleman, and would only discover the truth many years later. But I digress. Back to the Bond books. I loved them. Probably as much for the naughty bits as the salivating descriptions of scrambled egg breakfasts and Beluga Caviar (whatever the heck THAT was!). Fleming wrote fast-paced, gritty and imaginative novels about a man with the outward charm of George Sanders, and the ice cold heart of a born assassin. We all wanted to be Bond; suave, tough, ruthless, and with an insatiable sexual appetite. So, by the time I saw my first Bond movie, I was well steeped in the character’s literary origins.



I was always aware of the films, as they were constantly in the newspapers, and there were the odd clips on 70s tv shows such as ‘Screen Test’ and ‘Clapperboard’. Everybody knew the Bond theme, and the songs were always on the radio. I remember my more affluent school chums excitedly recounting their excursions to see Diamonds Are Forever in the cinema; the closest I came was jealously pawing a toy Moon Buggy a mate brought in to class one day. The films were like a forbidden fruit to me, and I began to think I would never see one. Then ITV came to the rescue. With ‘The Man With The Golden Gun’ in cinemas at the time, I couldn’t believe it when I read the films were going to be shown on the telly. The telly!!

Riding on the bus to school on a damp morning in October 1975, I remember thinking that the streets would be empty that night when ‘Dr No’ (1962) was on. I was excited beyond belief, and it was all anybody was talking about at school. A James Bond film on the telly! Remember kids, those were dark days without the internet, Facebook, mobiles, etc. If you were living in a small Northern town back then you may as well be on a desert island. I’d read the novel, and I couldn’t wait to see it brought to life. Even though we only had a black and white tv, into which we had to put 10p in the slot at the back every couple of hours, I was entranced. Following the announcer’s introduction, the screen went black. 



Several small white dots paraded across, until one widened to become what appeared to be the view down the barrel of a gun. A man wearing a trilby hat and wearing a dark suit and tie walked into shot, he spun around and fired his own gun at us. Blood seemed to drip down the screen as our sight of the man wobbled. Blimey! I’d been shot dead by James Bond! The ‘gunbarrel sequence’ would become a classic Bond movie trademark, and here was I seeing it for the very first time. The opening credits with Maurice Binder’s dancing dots, enhanced by John Barry’s fabulous rendition of  Monty Norman’s theme, blew me away. I’d seen nothing like it before. Brought up on a diet of the ITC action tv shows, and my personal favourite ‘The Saint’, this was a dream come true for me. 

Connery and his unruly eyebrows.

I don’t think I’d ever seen Sean Connery before, but he was everything Bond should be. His introductory scene was a masterclass of Hitchcockian style and suspense. We see only the back of his head as he plays a card game in a smokey casino. A beautiful lady sits opposite him, as he beats her effortlessly. Obviously losing heavily, she orders another small fortune in chips. Then we hear the voice: “I admire your courage, Miss...?”. Close up on actress Eunice Gayson , who gives the icy retort “Trench, Sylvia Trench. I admire your luck, Mr...”. and here we go. Lift off!! We cut to the man opposite as he slowly raises a lighter to the cigarette dangling from the lips of his cruel mouth, and purrs “Bond, James Bond”. What an introduction! Connery had it all. He looked like a man who would break your face if you looked at him the wrong way. He had the confidence of someone in possession of the world’s biggest and most powerful tool (I’m talking confidence here, so stop sniggering at the back there!), and in the words of Tony Christie, he walked like a panther. James Bond had arrived on the telly, and I’m guessing the viewing figures must have been around 20 million. 007 had stepped down from the rarefied atmosphere of the big screen and was now crashing into our front rooms. ‘Dr No’ was a cracking start, and a hugely successful adaptation of the Fleming novel. It was also pretty sadistic stuff with Bond shooting an unarmed man several times in the back, date raping an enemy agent, and ordering a colleague to break a young woman’s arm. And of course we had Ursula Andress as the first and most iconic of Bond girls, Honeychile Rider. 

Ursula Andress and Sean Connery

When she emerged from the sea in that white bikini, the entire male population must have given out a collective sigh (as well as readjusting their trousers). She looked stunning. Statuesque, dripping with feral sensuality, and ready to knife any man in the heart if he tried getting his hands on her cockles and mussels (and she carried a hell of a big knife!). And there I was. A mere 10 years old, watching the first ever Bond movie on the telly in a miserably cold maisonette in Wigan. We had no central heating, and there was only the coal fire in the living room for warmth. But that night, gathered on a winter’s evening in front of a flickering black and white tv set, I was in heaven. In the years before video recorders, you had to pay close attention. If you missed anything, you wouldn’t get a chance to see it again for a very long time. In those days we focussed intently on every moment, even to the extent of reading through the end credits while savouring that wonderful theme music. And there, right at the end, was the teaser announcement – ‘The end of ‘Dr No’, but James Bond will return in ‘From Russia With Love’. Wow!!!

From that point on I was obsessed with the Bond films, and safe in the knowledge that I would get to see each and every one of them over the coming years, in order (which IS a big deal!), kept me going as a shy, poverty-stricken kid who was always next to last to be picked for the football team during games lessons. I attended St Thomas More High School from 1975 to 1980, and believe me it was rough. We had the most sadistic P.E. teacher imaginable in the form of short-arsed Mr McGuiness. A man who told everybody, and with a straight face, that he been in the army, navy, air force, and the SAS (whatever that was!). Wigan in the 1970s was pretty grim. I remember loving ‘The Persuaders’ on tv, and saving up for the annual I’d seen in the local newsagents. I saved up a whole 15p, but when I took it to the shop I was told that the price sticker said £1.50. I was devastated. I would eventually find the book again a decade later in a second hand shop in Manchester, but it was rubbish. Most annuals were back then. All they seemed to consist of were terrible comic strips and dubious text stories, with vaguely connected articles on associated subjects such as ‘crime over the centuries’, ‘fashion in the 70s’, and sparse ‘Fact Files’ on Roger Moore and Tony Curtis. My weekly pocket money of 5p(FIVE PENCE!) enabled me to buy a Wagon Wheel and a small bottle of Coke from the mobile shop, and I was lucky if I got the occasional Whizzer and Chips comic book. Those were the days, eh?!



Around six months later I sat down to watch ‘From Russia With Love’. I’d been impressed by how closely ‘Dr No’ had stuck to the original novel, and I was to be delighted again by EON’s faithful adaptation of President John F Kennedy’s favourite 007 book. Once again we got the fantastic gunbarrel opening, and the first pre-credits ‘teaser’ sequence featuring Bond being stalked by night through the grounds of  an impressive mansion (in reality the gardens of Pinewood Studios). Actor Robert Shaw played the psychotic agent of S.P.E.C.T.R.E. Donovan ‘Red’ Grant with an icy efficiency that would be the benchmark for all Bond henchmen to come. He strangles Bond quite graphically with what looked like a cheese wire drawn from his wristwatch, but the rug is pulled from under us when a mask is peeled from the dead man’s face to reveal an imposter. It was all a test, and a great teasing opening for the movie. John Barry had so impressed with his rendition of the James Bond theme that he was brought back to score the whole movie, replacing ‘Dr No’ composer Monty Norman. In the previous film, Barry had taken a few written notes for Norman’s intended Bond theme, and produced a barnstorming piece of music that would become famous the world over, and used repeatedly in every Bond movie to come. When one listens to Norman’s theme played during ‘Dr No’ it is pretty feeble when compared to Barry’s interpretation. The fact that Norman gets a credit (and royalties) on every 007 movie has always annoyed the heck out of me. That Norman disappeared into relative obscurity, while Barry became a 5 time Oscar-winning success with eleven Bond scores in total says everything.

FRWL (1963) was another thrilling espionage adventure, with Connery cementing the role of the globe-hopping, ruthless, womanising British agent. This was an intricately plotted tale with Bond the target of  the international crime organisation known as the Special Executive for Crime, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion, headed by the mysterious figure referred to only as ‘Number One’. We only see this character’s hands as he sits stroking a white cat whilst giving out orders to kill Bond and ruin his reputation. This was all good stuff! Daniela Bianchi was a bit of a letdown as Bond’s leading lady, the Russian double agent Tanya Romanova though. Following the Amazonian goddess that was Ursula Andress was always going to be a tall order, and Ms Bianchi turned out to be a bit of a wet lettuce. Thankfully we had the exotic Martine Beswick as a fiery gypsy girl snarling and scratching her way into Bond’s affections.

Bond meets Grant on The Orient Express.

 In one of the best fist fights ever seen on screen, Connery and Shaw battle it out aboard The Orient Express in a brutal and bone-shattering encounter, the likes of which would only be seen again decades later during Daniel Craig’s era. Interestingly, Connery and Shaw would meet again on screen in 1976’s ‘Robin and Marian (scored by John Barry), and indulge in an even more violent encounter on the battlefield. Once again, I loved every minute. I was a little puzzled by Lotte Lenya’s character as the evil SPECTRE agent, Rosa Klebb, who has obvious designs on the innocent Tanya. I had no idea what a lesbian was back then, and the usually attractive Lenya’s appearance as an ugly, military uniform attired hag wearing huge black-rimmed glasses was certainly an unsavoury and highly prejudiced depiction. Never mind, at least she got shot in the back at the end!



Goldfinger (1964) was next up, and here was the one we’d been waiting for. Shirley Bassey’s lung-busting performance of the theme song had been a huge hit, and everybody knew the tune. Then there was the gadget-filled Aston Martin, the gold-painted Shirley Eaton (seen virtually naked; hubba hubba!), and the wonderful bowler-hatted huge oriental henchman, ‘OddJob’. Plus of course the outrageously named ‘Pussy Galore’ (Honor Blackman)! This was the Bond movie I felt I’d already seen, such was the power of its iconic imagery. 




A change in director – Guy Hamilton replacing Terence Young – ushered in a more tongue-in-cheek approach which set the template for future Bond movies (reaching its farcical nadir during the Roger Moore era, and only being completely eradicated with the appearance of Daniel Craig’s ruthless 007 in 2006). Goldfinger was huge. The massive Fort Knox set, the car chase around Goldfinger’s factory (in reality the alleyways of Pinewood Studios) with Bond’s Aston Martin firing machine guns, emitting clouds of smoke, and spewing nails and oil slicks at its pursuers, and the climactic hand-to-hand battle with OddJob culminating in the man mountain’s electrocution by Bond. Hugely entertaining, and leaving one thinking “Well, where do we go from here?”



Thunderball (1965) threw in everything but the kitchen sink, and was the first Bond movie to be co-produced by the infamous Kevin McClory. Back in the late 50s, Ian Fleming had written a script with McClory and Jack Whittingham for a pilot episode of a proposed tv series to be called ‘James Bond Of The Secret Service’. The series never materialised, and Fleming went on to adapt the script into a novel, renaming it ‘Thunderball’. McClory and Whittingham were a little upset when Fleming refused to acknowledge their contribution, but they eventually received recognition when credited on the new film. McClory demanded to be onboard as co-producer, alongside EON’s Albert ‘Cubby’ Broccoli and Harry Saltzman, and was allowed the rights to produce his own film version after EON’s rights elapsed in ten years time. In hindsight, this can be seen as rather short-sighted by EON, but nobody ever expected the Bond movies to last more than a decade. A great pre-title sequence saw Bond duking it out with a SPECTRE agent at a funeral. The agent, dressed as the dead man’s widow battles furiously with Connery, throwing tables, chairs, and a plant pot at him before being strangled with a poker. The sight of Bond punching what appeared to be a woman in the face was a great shock, and the fight sequence borders on parody as agent 007 trades punches with a man in a frock. The brutal nature of the fight stifles any potential sniggering at stuntman Bob Simmons (who had also doubled as Bond in the opening gunbarrels) wearing a black skirt, heavy make-up, and high heels. Unfortunately we had another drippy leading lady in the shapely form of model Claudine Auger, but us schoolboys were amply compensated once again by the sultry Martine Beswick returning in a different guise as a fellow M.I.6 agent; in a bikini. We were doubly delighted by the kinky bad girl Fiona Volpe (played by Luciana Paluzzi) who nibbled at Connery’s ears in their bedroom scenes, and tried to kill him several times (once whilst riding a motorbike and dressed all in leather). 

It's a man's world!

Adolfo Celi as Largo was a suitably sadistic, eye-patch wearing bad guy – yet another employee of SPECTRE, and we got another glimpse of  ‘Number One’ (face in shadow, seen stroking his white cat once again). A long underwater battle had Bond flying through the water wearing a huge jet pack, and the action was aided enormously by John Barry’s atmospheric score. Tom Jones belted out the theme song, and was even reported to have fainted during recording, whilst screaming out the final lengthy note. Bond was massive now, and this movie was the biggest yet. 

Winding up the bad guy (again).

In the shadow of Goldfinger, the film was an even bigger box office success but there was a noticeable dip in quality. The pace was a little sluggish at times, and Connery was beginning to look a little tired. In real life, Connery was growing bored with the role, and despised the intrusions on his private life by an insatiable world press. He was also getting pretty fed up with the larger than life stories, and the increasing reliance on gadgetry and gimmicks to get Bond out of trouble. Thunderball, like its predecessors, was a pretty faithful adaptation of the source novel, but everything was about to change on the next EON film.

 

I bloody loved the Bond films! I taped them all on to audio cassette, and would be outraged if any of the family so much as coughed or even breathed too loudly while recording was in progress. At nights, I’d lay in bed listening to them through a single earphone, and remembering the images I’d seen on tv. Only this time, I imagined them in full colour – particularly Ursula’s blonde hair, Martine’s olive-skinned thighs, and Luciana’s luscious red lipstick. What were these movies doing to me? I was only twelve! Apart from the lovely ladies, exotic locations (I’d only ever left Wigan twice; to visit Southport and Rhyl), fantastic villains, and marvellous fist fights, the thing I was starting to love most about the films was the music. John Barry’s music. Monty Norman’s score for ‘Dr No’ was the weakest of the series, and that man was bloody lucky to have the hugely talented Mr Barry totally rip apart and rebuild his James Bond theme into something beautiful, ageless, and totally awe-inspiring. FRWL, Goldfinger, and Thunderball had superb theme songs, atmospheric melodies, and nerve-jangling action cues. Apart from the sheer energy, there was always an underlying melancholy that contrasted perfectly with the epic sweep of the individual scores. Fleming’s Bond, despite his expensive suits, exotic excursions, rich food, and devastatingly attractive women, was actually a pretty sad individual at heart. His job had him putting his life on the line regularly, killing people in cold blood, and enduring hideous torture (In ‘Casino Royale’, the debut novel, Bond has his meat and two veg pummelled by a sadistic Benzedrine-sniffing dwarf). In the novels, Fleming had Bond regularly musing on the shallowness of his existence, and the pursuit of instant gratification between his life-threatening missions. Barry seemed to totally understand this, and his music gave Bond an inner life that was rarely alluded to in the script (until, of course, Daniel Craig’s tenure). Rival film companies had begun to jump on the ‘Bondwagon’, and the sixties saw a huge increase in spy movies, most of which failed miserably to replicate the Bond formula. James Coburn’s ‘Derek Flint’ was a hit, but was an obvious parody of Bond. Flint was virtually superhuman, and ultimately cartoonish. Tom Adams’ Charles Vine in ‘Licensed To Kill’ tried to be 007 on a micro budget, and wasn’t a bad try. But Connery was head and shoulders above them all. Sean Connery’s Bond, EON’s production values, Fleming’s original stories, and John Barry’s music were a winning formula not easily copied.




Bond was massive in Japan, which led to EON’s choice of the next film to be Fleming’s melancholic and death-obsessed novel ‘You Only Live Twice’. 



A sombre story finds 007 seeking vengeance for the death of his wife in the previous novel (On Her Majesty’s Secret Service), and tracking down his nemesis Ernst Stavro Blofeld – previously referred to only as ‘Number One’- to Japan. Fleming wanted to kill Bond off  by this point, and the novel ends with Bond presumed killed in action, and an obituary published in The Times. Much of the novel could not be used in the film script for various reasons (the most obvious being the fact that Bond is a widower at the start), and so a completely new story was concocted by none other than Roald Dahl. Yes, ROALD DAHL. The author of Charlie and The Chocolate Factory, Matilda, The Witches, The BFG. Yes, THAT Roald Dahl. There was also another new director onboard in the shape of Lewis Gilbert, and a reluctant Connery back for a fifth time as Bond, and now completely and utterly pissed off with playing second fiddle to increasingly preposterous plots and, more importantly, long shooting schedules and endless publicity jaunts. Filming in Japan would be the final straw for Connery, with Japanese photographers even reportedly following him into toilets. No surprise that the actor looks surly throughout, appears to be carrying a few extra pounds, and is mightily unconvincing when disguised as a Japanese fisherman. Thankfully, John Barry gave us another memorable theme song performed by Nancy Sinatra, who got the gig thanks to her recent hit ‘These boots were made for walking’. YOLT had a weak story which had 007 faking his own death in order to work more easily undercover in Japan (this is a ludicrous plot device, as when we first see him, post death, 007 is walking casually around the neon-lit streets of Tokyo, and attending public events such as a sumo wrestling match). We finally see ‘Number One’s face when he is revealed to be the aforementioned Blofeld, but it’s a little disappointing to see him played by the distinctly unthreatening Donald Pleasence (more usually cast as weasly, pathetic characters such as the short-sighted P.O.W. in ‘The Great Escape’). 

Bond finally meets Blofeld. And his cat.

It was the end (for now) of Sean Connery as 007, but ‘James Bond will return in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service’. Yep, the novel they SHOULD have filmed before YOLT. Thanks to the bright idea of exploiting the Japanese market, EON had made a rare miscalculation resulting in a missed opportunity of dovetailing OHMSS and YOLT, and instead had managed to give us the first lacklustre Bond film, and annoy their star actor into quitting. Was this the end for Bond? Did EON assume they’d be able to lure Connery back for OHMSS? It was 1967. The Summer Of Love. Was Bond now out of step with the times?

 


Some time around 1977 I sat down to watch ‘On Her Majesty’s Secret Service’ (1969), the first non-Connery Bond movie. All I knew about this one was that it starred “That George Lazenby bloke. Bloody idiot!” Well, that was what my Dad used to say about it. Apparently they’d replaced the irreplaceable Connery with a young Australian model who’d been ridiculed for years as the guy who failed as Bond. Yikes! Had EON done it again? Misjudged their audience and carried on the same crazy mistakes they’d made on YOLT? This was going to be interesting.

Top actor George Lazenby.

The trailers on tv looked great. Diana Rigg, best known as the sexy-as-hell Mrs Peel in another of my favourite tv series, The Avengers was playing Countess Teresa, the girl who marries Bond. Then there was Telly Savalas as Blofeld, who certainly looked far more threatening than Donald Pleasence. Plus the fantastic theme music (the first Bond movie without an opening title song), and the awesome looking ski chase sequences. It was a shock to see Lazenby in action as 007, but I’d already seen lots of photos of him as Bond and he looked a pretty good substitute for Connery. Well, I sat down to watch OHMSS (in black and white, as usual), and was absolutely thrilled by the pre-titles scene. Here we had Bond driving his Aston Martin along a narrow road in the middle of the night, when he’s suddenly overtaken at speed by an attractive young woman in a sportscar. We see Bond’s hands on the wheel, his face in shadow, and the fact that he’s wearing a trilby. He’s wearing a hat while driving? Weird! Some superb fast-paced editing accompanies Bond as he rescues the girl from an attempted suicide by drowning, then battles a couple of thugs in a fabulously choreographed fight sequence , with an ace orchestral track by the ever-present and increasingly brilliant John Barry. This was fantastic! Then we came to the first shot of Mr Lazenby, and his first line to a groggy Diana Rigg; “Good morning, my name’s Bond. James Bond”. Well, this was different. Lazenby had a bright and breezy attitude, totally lacking Connery’s ruthless persona. Oh, dear. But he was good in a fight, and was obviously keen to be seen doing his own stunts. When Diana then leaves him alone on the beach, we have the first and only instance of the actor playing Bond breaking the ‘fourth wall’ as Lazenby looks out at us with a cheeky grin and utters the immortal words “This never happened to the other fella”. What? I’m sure I must have spluttered out my Horlicks at that moment. What did he just say? Even my dad laughed, and he only ever laughed at Benny Hill. The Bond movies were continuing to evolve, and OHMSS was the best yet, in my 13 year old opinion. I loved the whole atmosphere of the film, and with the only downbeat ending in a Bond movie (up until ‘Casino Royale’ in 2006, once again), it was certainly unique. Peter Hunt had been the brilliant editor on all the previous Bonds, and here he was promoted to full directing duties, and boy did he make a cracking job of it. Tightly choreographed fight scenes, stunning Alpine chase sequences, and a superb battle between Bond and Blofeld flying at (literally) breakneck speed down a treacherous bob sleigh run. 

Bond meets Blofeld (again). They are changed men!

This one had it all, and has remained my all-time favourite 007 movie. It also happened to be the longest Bond film, but such was the frantic pace, that I hardly noticed the time. And as for Lazenby? Well, I didn’t mind him at all; in fact it made the film all the more realistic to have someone playing Bond who wasn’t the all conquering Connery. Because I’d never seen Lazenby before (or much since), I found it quite involving to watch an unknown play Bond. I was appalled to discover, several years later, that it had been a relative failure at the box office (compared to the previous five films), and that Peter Hunt never got to direct another. So that was it for the 1960s. We’d had six Bond movies culminating in Bond sobbing at the untimely death of his new bride on their wedding day. A bleak ending to a fabulous decade of movies that redefined the action genre, gave us an immortal screen hero, and created one Scottish superstar. But OHMSS was to see the end of the (semi) serious Bond thriller. It was now the 1970s, and the world was in need of a few laughs.

Erm ...

“James Bond will return...”