#2: From Russia with Love (1963)
directed by Terence Young
written by Richard Maibaum and Johanna Harwood
starring Sean Connery, Pedro Armendáriz and Robert Shaw
I heard a lot about James Bond growing up. How could I not? Long before we had the Marvel Cinematic Universe or Disney live-action remakes, a Bond film was the cinematic event everyone looked forward to. Months or even years before his next adventure came out, I would already be hearing his name on everybody’s lips, seeing the chiselled features of Pierce Brosnan or Daniel Craig on posters and DVDs. The man’s reputation preceded him by miles, to the point where you realise he would never make it as a spy in today’s world — how could he stick his nose out in the street without being mobbed by adoring fans and envious assassins?
Sadly, my first Bond film was Quantum of Solace: I watched it on my neighbour’s screen on a flight to London, the summer after it came out. It was alright but nothing special: I struggled to make sense of the character’s logic, of how someone could covertly shoot someone in an Austrian opera house one moment, and shag Gemma Arterton the next — the weirdness was there, but its exact source was not something I could pinpoint. Next came Skyfall, which for me was — and still is — the quintessential Bond film, with its delicate balance of rip-roaring thriller and tender moments. 007 was defined for me in that movie: suave, dutiful, cheeky, determined; but above all a gentleman, someone who was good with the ladies and a decent bloke to boot.
So to dial back the clock almost five decades and revisit the version of James Bond played by Sean Connery was always going to jar: everything was different back then, fashion styles, Britain’s global outlook, attitudes towards the other sex, you name it. But good Lord, I was not prepared for how disgusted I would be towards From Russia with Love.
Sean Connery’s second outing as Bond is frequently acclaimed as one of the best Bond films — not just of his tenure, but of the franchise as a whole. It’s not hard to see why: the plot is complex, a dense web of international intrigue that keeps us guessing and biting our nails; the action scenes are really well-shot and don’t feel at all dated even from the vantage point of 2025; and Pedro Armendáriz’s character is an impossible delight every time he’s on screen. (“I have led a particularly interesting life. Perhaps you’d like to hear about it?” sent me into helpless giggles, it’s just so good.)
But pitted against all of this is just how unpleasant James Bond is as a character in this film. He might be presenting himself as a gentleman spy in this movie, but there’s honestly so little to support that, and I honestly do not see what women would like about this guy. From his first moment on screen to his last, this is a guy who screams “manchild”, and I wince at almost every single thing he does.
I could go on for ages about what I do not like about the James Bond in From Russia with Love — and since this is not supposed to be a review, I shall do exactly that. To start with, for someone who calls himself a spy, he’s not actually that good at spying: he shows up late to meetings, believes any random shit that’s thrown his way, and doesn’t even think twice about the naked lady that has suddenly appeared, with no introduction whatsoever, in his hotel room. I don’t care if you’re a super spy or not, anybody who appears with no prior notice in your bedroom should ring alarm bells immediately. Maybe he’s used to different things, but the whole vibe I’m getting from him is “sloppy”.
But then there’s the misogyny — my God, is this James Bond filled to the brim with misogyny. The character simply radiates it from head to toe: every interaction he has with women feels like he takes them for granted, or to be more precise takes their sexual presence for granted. Just witness the way he treats Sylvia Trench, for instance, and then there’s the two women at the Romani camp — the less said about any scene they appear in, the better; that, and not the fight scene on the Orient Express, was the scene I watched with my hands shielding my eyes.
But all this is crowned by the absolutely heinous way with which he treats Tatiana: not only is he rudely dismissive to her at all times, but he leers at her quite openly at work and even allows Red Grant to drug her despite being in a position to stop it, and all I could shout at the screen at that moment was “DO YOU HAVE NO DECENCY MAN”. There is a moment at the end of the movie where Bond drops a gun while struggling with Rosa Klebb, and Tatiana picks it up — and she pauses for a few seconds before shooting her Russian superior. Anyone in that situation, with the level of knowledge that she has, would not have hesitated before pumping a SMERSH operative full of lead, and yet I can fully understand how she might have the desire to do something else.
Look. Like I said earlier, I get that this was a completely different time. In a sense this portrayal isn’t straying too far from the James Bond that Ian Fleming described: his was a “healthy, violent, noncerebral man” who had streaks of wanton cruelty and who cast off women the same way you and I might cast off an old sock. And this is not even the most egregious example of the film Bond’s misogyny: in the next movie, he will somehow turn a lesbian into a heterosexual by sexually assaulting her. But that doesn’t make it any easier to watch: this is a guy who’s supposed to be the best that Britain can offer, yet so much of what he does is entitled, sleazy, and unapologetically moronic. I understand that the concept of treating your female characters as something more than an accessory had not been invented by 1963, but the character as we see him here is basically defined by how badly he treats women. Watching the film, I could not help but be distracted by it all. (Incidentally, this is the first of many instances where an unlikable character prevented me from enjoying a movie — strap in, cause that’s gonna be THE most common refrain in this blog series.)
I am reminded, at this point, of a scene from Skyfall. It comes as Daniel Craig meets Ben Whishaw’s Q for the very first time; they argue for a while the very necessity of sending broken, beaten James Bond out into the field when technology can do the job for them. Then Q, with a shrug of the shoulders, says “well, sometimes a switch needs to be flipped”. For him, 007 is just a pair of fists, something that facilitates in the completion of a mission — a very erroneous view, of course, but one that made me think. Obviously Bond is NOT just an enforcer — but people only concentrate on that when talking about the character and nothing else; as long as he gets things done, nothing he does need concern the viewer. But he DOES have a life outside his job, and what we see IS concerning: how does he get away with doing all of this? How DARE he get away with doing all of this?
It pains me a lot, because this is what some people think about when they think about 007. I’ve genuinely had friends dismiss the Bond franchise as a chauvinistic, imperialistic relic of the past that’s not even worth engaging with, and more often than not this version (or perhaps the slightly less cheesy but no less entitled version with Roger Moore) is the one they have in mind. Conversely, there are also people who think that Bond as interpreted by Connery is admirable or even infallible; people who refuse to move on from this version and who think the later alterations — the tenderness, the vulnerability, the settling down — represent a weakening of the character.
Yet as we’ve seen in the past forty years (more than two-thirds of the franchise’s existence!), Eon Productions have moved on from that. Sure the character still has his nasty moments, still philanders and disregards protocol, but at least you don’t feel like you’re rooting for someone simply because the plot has designated him one of the good guys. James Bond these days is, thanks to so many different screenwriters and meticulous actors, a much more nuanced and interesting character. To be against the current version of Bond is, for me, like being against any action hero: defensible only if you happen to be a complete pacifist — and even if you’re not a huge fan of action movies, there’s plenty to like about his sense of honour, or his balancing of family and country. (I don’t mean to say there’s nothing salvageable about the Connery Bond, though — the rawness of his performance can sometimes be wonderful to behold, and his form of suaveness is in a class of its own.)
But this is the reality: in one of the best Bond films of all time, we are faced with a figure who’s not the model of the British secret service so much as a cold, heartless arsehole; someone who ploughs through adventure after adventure without considering what — or who — he’s left in his wake. In that respect, I honestly can’t blame my friends for disliking this version of 007: even if he was adept at getting out of tight situations, or a master at the chess game of international espionage, there’s just something about him that’s better left forgotten. When all they do is hit you in the face, you can be forgiven for not liking a pair of deadly fists.
Next time: What if the person sitting beside you was a murderer?
Inkpot Shuffles in the Twilight 