‘This is splendidly written fare from the reliable Poulson, written with keen psychological insight.’ [Invisible]



Posted on Nov 6, 2015 in Daniel Craig, James Bond, Spectre | 2 Comments

imagesOne thing about having children later in life: no danger of settling into a comfortable middle-age (or even old age, come to that). I find myself doing things I otherwise wouldn’t dream of doing. Thus it was last Saturday that I found myself settling into my seat at the Odeon Sheffield next to my teenage daughter waiting for the credits for the new James Bond movie to come up.

When they did, the years fell away. I was Blackpool in – well, when? – sometime in the early sixties – and my mother and my brother and I were watching Goldfinger. We are having a few days in Blackpool to see the illuminations, have a cheeseburger in a Wimpy Bar, and put pennies in the automata at Blackpool Tower. I suspect that was the only time I have seen a Bond movie at the cinema and now here I was all these years later, watching  one again with my own daughter.

And this was definitely one for the big screen. The opening sequence took place in Mexico city during the carnival for the Day of the Dead and was stunning. There was everything you expect in a Bond movie: lots of explosions, collapsing buildings, helicopters, chase scene in the Alps, flying cars, damsels in distress and I lost count of how many people Bond had shot. Ben Wishaw was excellent as Q and had some of the best lines. There was a softer side to Bond this time and Daniel Craig looked gorgeous. I didn’t worry too much about the plot, such as it was, just sat back and let it all wash over me. An excellent half-term treat as well as a trip down memory lane.


  1. moira @ClothesInBooks
    November 19, 2015

    NIce memories Chrissie – I haven’t seen one in the cinema for 40 years I think, but did start thinking kindly of Bond after reading Ian Fleming’s letters recently.

    • Christine Poulson
      November 20, 2015

      The letters do sound good. Don’t know if I’ll get round to them, though. So many books, so little time . . .


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