Less than two minutes in and Bond is already smirkingly strangling a woman with her own bikini top. I AM BEGINNING TO SUSPECT THE HERO OF THESE FILMS MIGHT BE A DICKHOLE.
Blofeld shares a thoughtful moment with Spare Head One.
The Gunk Tank turns out to be far more lethal than previously suspected. The fate of all those celebrities who were humiliated on Comic Relief Night is beginning to look rather more sinister…
Hahahah no really your “dying of thrown scalpels” face is super dramatic, sir. Totally not hilarious. Oscar moment.
VAJIAMONDS! Sorry, it’s a reflex.
“Hold it up and then caress it, touch it, stroke it and undress it”…Ms Bassey, I’m pretty sure you’re actually using “diamonds” as a metaphor for something. Probably the artificial inflation of perceived value in essentially valueless commodity goods through the cultivation of an illusion of scarcity in order to maintain our empty consumerist lifestyle.
“I was referring to the original vintage, sir, on which the sherry was based. 1851.” James Bond: Action hero, killing machine, seducer of women, punchably smug sherry-vintage knowitall.
Ah, the old “Distract the dentist by asking him for an impromptu wisdom tooth examination in the middle of the desert at night while your colleague drops a scorpion down his shirt” ploy. Who says Bond villain plans are convoluted?
Even the world’s greatest secret agent is not immune from the pleasure of peeling PVA glue off his fingers.
You know, I’d never really registered just how mental these films got around the early seventies. For example, here we see 007 attempting to blend in with Ringo Starr’s Mafia Barbershop Quartet.
It is our most…modestly priced receptacle.
This scene also features prominently in the video “AIG Presents: Top Ten Nightmarish Fire Hazards”
Ah, Circus Circus. Never not the tackiest, skankiest experience on the Strip. Including the ones underemployed Latino men hand out cards for at the corner of Flamingo.
I so badly want this to be a surreptitious seduction attempt on the part of some well-endowed woman across the card table.
It makes me so happy that one of the things going on at Evil Headquarters, NV is just “Faking Moon Landings”. You know, just because…evil.
Well the cocktails are tasty and the movie is silly but I am cream crackered and have to work tomorrow, so I shall leave the rest of Diamonds Are Forever for next time. Consider yourselves to have gotten off lightly. Sleep well <3 xx
Time to put this one to bed 😉
5 seconds into the second half of Diamonds are Forever and everything has already gone crazytown bananapants. Excellent.
Will Evil Security (TM) Inc. catch Bond in his wildly flailing moon rover? Does anyone know what the fuck is going on any more? So many mysteries!
Aaaand now it’s a Dukes of Hazzard episode. Excellent. The suave sophistication of the legendary British secret agent is all up there on the screen.
Fortunately his pursuers drove off a small hillock and their vehicle fell to pieces like a clown car. Next: Blofeld and the Chuckle Brothers bar 007’s path with a big sheet of glass! What will our hero do now?
Now Bond has stolen a man’s tiny bike and is riding off with his knees up round his ears I AM RUNNING OUT OF WAYS TO DEAL WITH THIS SILLINESS.
Ah, the golden age of Las Vegas. When you could pick up a cheap loan, a drunk housewife and 11 different venereal diseases all on the same corner.
Back in the day, casinos had to display clear signs reading “GAMBLING”. People just weren’t used to the idea yet, and many flocked inside expecting pie or windsurfing and were severely disappointed.
A worrying number of Bond’s all-action escapes seem to rely on *nobody else knowing how cars or physics work*
Goes beyond the limits of “kipper tie”, might actually be a “plaice tie”. #jokesforfishnerds Sidenote: The 70s must have been much like living inside a bar of Galaxy dark chocolate :/
SPECTRE training includes advanced courses in “Remaining sensuously seductive while a giant albino Tribble is devouring you from the feet up.”
Blofeld projects an almost Arnold-Rimmer-esque level of constipated smugness.
It’s a face that says “I control the criminal underworld, and I haven’t pooped since 1967”
Oh gods, the Rimmer/Blofeld connection is starting to seem worryingly plausible…
“Let me assure you Mr Bond, when I do finally poop they will find bits of my executive washroom in the furthest reaches of the Amazon rainforest.” (Fun fact: I have a Bachelor’s Degree in Psychology and Art History. Money well spent, I think you’ll agree.)
Hahahaha. Hahahahahaha. Haha. No.
In a confusing mess of a movie, it is nice to know that some things never change. Like Q wearing his waistband somewhere around his armpits.
“Well hi there. I was just relaxing on this giant orange foam sculpture of the Elephant Man’s forehead.”
Bond comes under attack from Blofeld’s elite Modern Dance Attack Squad
“An electromagnetic RPM controller. Been ACHING to try it out!” Q is the perfect example of how single-sex education has produced many of our finest deranged geniuses.
There is literally nothing I can add to this image. I’m just going to let you enjoy it.
Please tell me they at least wash the handset afterwards O_o
“The great powers flexing their military muscle like so many impotent beach boys.” That imagery seems oddly specific, Mr Blofeld…
“Oh Christ Tiffany, next door’s Pomeranian has crapped on the veranda again.”
“But if we destroy Kansas, the world may not hear about it for years! Hahahah.” “What? That line had them rolling in the aisles in Omaha!
I have nothing tasteful to add to these images.
“FFS Le Chiffre, if you don’t stop feeding their Lancer it’ll be rax in five minutes!”
…and after a brief outbreak of sanity we end on flaming-kebab-death, exploding meringue, Bond being strangled with a giant Flavour Flav medallion and picking a man up by his testicles. Thank you, Diamonds are Forever. Bonding Complete