Goldfinger (1964)

1964’s Goldfinger, the third outing in the James Bond franchise, is almost unanimously regarded as the greatest of the series, the (unavoidable pun alert) gold standard against which all other entries have been measured.  If you’re looking for an alternate take on the film, I suggest you look elsewhere, because this film is so good that I watched it two nights in a row – only because I didn’t have time for two immediately consecutive viewings.  (And I might watch it a third time before I get to Thunderball!)

What is it that works so well about Goldfinger?  Most notably, the film is incredibly tight, with no scene wasted; everything either builds up to or pays off on another element, and the film is so well crafted that even scenes that don’t appear to matter are engaging.  Opening sequence aside – in which Bond marvelously busts up a heroin ring, woos a second-rate femme fatale, and stops a would-be assassin, while still finding time to sneak in a droll one-liner – the film offers a series of disconnected encounters between James Bond (Sean Connery, better than ever) and Auric Goldfinger (a perfectly brutish Gert Fröbe) before we realize that Goldfinger is involved in an international plot to attack Fort Knox.

Connery and Fröbe play beautifully off each other, particularly in the famous “laser” scene where their repartee shines brightest (“Do you expect me to talk?”  “No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!”).  In fact, the dubbing of Fröbe by Michael Collins augments the performance by giving Goldfinger a gregarious, larger-than-already-large presence that smartly mixes showy dialogue with stoic body language.  It is in some respects a shame that Goldfinger never reappeared in the franchise, since he makes a perfect adversary for Bond – disdainful of the super spy (yet competitive with the punch lines), relentlessly avaricious, and controlling the mute giant Oddjob (Harold Sakata).

Goldfinger improves upon my critique of From Russia with Love, which is that Bond didn’t do very much.  Here, though, Bond returns to his sleuthing roots and tracks Goldfinger to find out just what his game is.  Consequently, we’re put more fully in his shoes, piecing the clues together in between rousing action sequences, ably directed by Guy Hamilton (arguably his finest hour).  Additionally, the film even improves upon the Ian Fleming novel by tweaking Goldfinger’s end game to make it more plausible; this change is subtle but self-conscious, revealed in a clever scene where Bond muses that Goldfinger’s robbery would take twelve years just to move the gold.

And let us not underestimate the value of a good soundtrack.  Shirley Bassey’s bombastic opening number has deservedly entered the hall of fame for title tracks, its melody unforgettable and its words so catchy you’ll be singing them throughout the film.  From then on, though John Barry delivers an amazing score that plays off the two motifs – Bond’s and Goldfinger’s – with brass and percussion so spot-on that it is difficult to imagine the movie registering the same success without Barry at the conductor’s podium.

Simply put, there is nothing about this film that does not work.  From Honor Blackman as the quintessential Bond girl Pussy Galore to the unforgettable Aston Martin Bond drives in the Alps, Goldfinger is filled with memorable moments (which have been frequently been repeated, by admirers and satirists alike) and an infectious enthusiasm that leaves one smiling throughout.

This, friends, is how you do a Bond movie.  Ten out of ten – highest marks all around.

Goldfinger is rated PG.  This film is quite tame by today’s standards; Bond romances a girl in a bikini, as well as several others who show less skin.  Several deaths occur, though all are bloodless, and most occur off-screen.  There is little if any objectionable language present, though we do have “Pussy Galore” named several times with all the innuendo you’d expect.

James Bond and The Cinema King will return in a review of Thunderball (1965) on April 7, 2013!