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Released: June 1979
Producer: Albert R. Broccoli
Director: Lewis Gilbert
Written by: Christopher Wood
Plot:
When the space shuttle Moonraker is hijacked off the back of a commercial jet mid transfer flight, James Bond is sent to discover more about the wealthy businessman behind the craft, Hugo Drax. Bond’s search for the truth takes him from California to Venice to Rio de Janeiro to the Amazon rainforest, and finally into space, a plot decision in no way influenced by the success of Star Wars.
Famous For:
The return of Jaws
A climactic space battle with lasers
Possibly the greatest Bond double entendre
THAT PIGEON DOUBLE-TAKE
You can try to hate Moonraker. You can try to convince yourself that you’re above the silly Bond film that sent the superspy into space. You can protest its over the top, tongue-in-cheek elements and pooh-pooh its impracticalities and absurdities, but deep in your cynical, flinty heart, you know you can’t resist it.
Moonraker is like gravity - it pulls you in.
The Spy Who Loved Me, released in summer 1977, tidily cleaned up with audiences in both the UK and USA. But in December 1977, seven months after its US release, a little film called Star Wars (now A New Hope) came out and choked box office records with aggressive force.
“But aren’t you … supposed to choke me… hands free?”
The next Bond film on the slate was For Your Eyes Only, but that would no longer be enough to meet the moment created by George Lucas, Industrial Light & Magic, and James Earl Jones breathing into a scuba tank.
Thankfully, Ian Fleming’s third novel, Moonraker, had a title that could take on the cultural cache generated by a camp robot, Bigfoot and Sir Alec Guinness in a hoodie.
It was probably a good thing Fleming was long dead, because even though he’d designed the plot to be film-ready, producer Albert R Broccoli decided the villain’s plan to launch a missile at London was nowhere near epic enough.
Bond had to be out of this world - literally.
This is reflected in the budget: The Spy Who Loved Me had come in at $13 million, but Broccoli allowed Moonraker to hit $34 million.
Ever a good reader of public opinion, he knew it wouldn’t matter in the end. On its release in summer ‘79 cinema-goers went nuts, and despite mixed critical reviews Moonraker became the highest-grossing Bond film until Goldeneye 16 years later, with receipts of over $200 million.
Moonraker was always one of the favourite Bond films of my childhood; its preposterousness only increases its appeal when you’re little and the concept of disco-era space battles seems legit.
What’s more startling watching it directly after The Spy Who Loved Me in this retrospective was realising just how much the filmmakers copied their previous instalment. The return of steel-toothed chomp champ Jaws is only the most obvious example.
But then the argument could be - why not?
If you’ve got a formula that worked, and you’re about to take the biggest risk with the franchise since the change of Bond in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, why not use it?
For starters, in the beginning of The Spy Who Loved Me, British and Russian submarines are hijacked at sea. At the start of Moonraker, the space shuttle owned by Drax is hijacked mid-air.
Always remember to fully fuel your space shuttle to give it that extra weight for transit.
Both turn out to be ploys by the criminal mastermind, a wealthy industrialist with a shipping/aeronautical empire.
Karl Stromberg hated humanity and wanted to start a new life under the sea. By contrast, Hugo Drax hates humanity and wants to start a new life… in space.
Screenwriter Christopher Wood dropped Drax’s backstory from the novel, in which he was actually a secret Nazi determined to have revenge on Great Britain for victory in WW2. Yet that original fascist flavour seeped through, with Drax aiming to start a master race of “perfect physical specimens” (although somewhat progressively, it’s not just white people. Small wins for diversity!)
Stromberg never really goes into the logistics of his aquatic ambitions, but Moonraker gives Drax a proper declaration of intent. French actor Michael Lonsdale, his vowels as perfectly clipped as his hair, delivers a literally stellar speech onboard his space base:
Of course, the idea that an eccentric billionaire industrialist could get so into space rockets is plainly silly.
Search for “Elon Musk Space GIFs” and the internet provides a confusing bounty.
Well, to be more specific, the idea that an eccentric billionaire industrialist could have constructed a complete space base in secret, is absurd. Sure, he has a radar jammer, but also, dozens of shuttles would have taken off and returned with material and astro-labourers. That would have pinged on even the dodgiest monitoring devices of international military forces.
So I do not deny that Moonraker is silly, but I will defend it by saying its silliness is at least internally consistent. In that way, it tends to still rank as one of my higher-rated Bonds, because it knows what it is, and decides to relish in its silliness.
For instance, that infamous double-taking pigeon.
If you’re going to have your “secret” agent be chased through the canals of Venice in a tricked-out gondola that transforms into a hovercraft for an escape through St Mark’s Square, then it’s not that far of a leap to throw in one of the site’s famous pigeons reacting in comic shock.
Side note: The pigeon double take may be much reviled by “serious” cinephiles, but the editing trick resulted in a promotion for its creator, John Glen, who became director for all five Bond films of the 1980s. So take that, haters.
Meanwhile let’s not forget the bemused dog, the painter whose canvas is swept away by the vehicle, and the return of the drunk chap from The Spy Who Loved Me who keeps looking in disbelief at his wine.
Before that, there are other endearing moments, such as the first assassin’s hiding spot casket turned actual casket being pushed off the top of its boat by a bridge; and a kissing couple so into each other they fail to notice when a villain’s boat tears their gondola in half.
These are the hallmarks of a tongue-in-cheek comedy. I mean, for goodness’ sake, the classical music that accompanies Bond as he regally hovers his way through throngs of tourists is Johann Strauss’s Tritsch-Tratsch-Polka, named after the Viennese term for “chit chat” or gossip. It’s supposed to get you talking.
There are other musical jokes in Moonraker: a hunting horn at Drax’s French-chateau-rebuilt-in-California sounds out the distinctive first three notes of Richard Strauss’ Also sprach Zarathustra, most famously used in 2001: A Space Odyssey and in countless parodies since; and in another call back to Spy and its use of the Lawrence of Arabia theme, The Magnificent Seven plays as Bond in gaucho gear rides to a remote MI6 base outside Rio.
The most egregious - or charming, depending on your mood - example is the use of the five-note sound scientists use to make contact with aliens in Close Encounters of the Third Kind as the key code on a secret lab in Venice. Producer Broccoli hit up his friend, director Steven Spielberg, to allow him to use the distinct riff.
Another (probably unintentionally) hysterical part of this film is its utterly shameless product placement.
When Bond confronts Dr Holly Goodhead in Venice and realise she’s a CIA agent as well as a NASA scientist, placed with Drax Industries to figure out what ol’ Hugo is up to, there are very deliberate shots of Christian Dior perfume, an Air France plane ticket (Bond flies into Rio on the Concord) and a packet of Marlboro cigarettes (despite the fact we never see Dr Goodhead smoke).
The ambulance sequence, in which Bond manages to escape capture while the vehicle circles up a steep incline, not only manages to be a great advertisement for travelling to Rio de Janeiro itself, but also an exercise in ticking off commercial sponsorships requirements:
No doubt that contra was sold so that Eon could use its cash budget to create some of the truly brilliant stunts of the film.
The pre-credit sequence had a lot to live up to after the Union flag parachute drop of The Spy Who Loved Me, but the standard was certainly met by the stunt team and second unit director John Glen (OK, fair enough, maybe that’s what helped him get the director’s gig).
Bond is pushed out of a private jet by - surprise! - Jaws. The result is a mid-air battle, as Bond free falls towards the escaped pilot and steals his parachute, before fending off Jaws. The sequence was filmed over 88 jumps, using a special head-rigged Panavision camera. It’s a genuinely thrilling few minutes, and sets the balls to the wall ethos of the movie.
Bond’s fight with Drax’s kendo expert henchmen Chang holds the record for the most amount of sugar glass used in a single scene. It is a brilliantly destructive piece of choreography, and the duel (and Bond fencing with a glass sword) is one of the key Bond historical references in Madonna’s Die Another Day film clip.
In Rio di Janeiro, Bond battles with Jaws atop a cable car descending from Sugarloaf Mountain. As Jaws bears down (or rather, UP) on their carriage, Bond describes him to Goodhead in one of the best, most succinct lines in the franchise’s history: “His name is Jaws. He kills people.”
The fight scene is extraordinarily well done, even if it doesn’t quite make sense how a 2.18 metre tall, 140 kilogram heavy man can jump like this:
Despite the more comedic tone taken with Jaws in this film (a way to make his eventual switch to being a “goodie” instead of a “baddie” more palatable), it’s kudos to the filmmakers that he is the key feature in a scene that frankly remains one of the most terrifying for me in the entire franchise.
Bond meets up with a local contact Manuela in Rio, who of course is drop dead gorgeous and perfect company for the five hours you’ve got to kill before breaking into a Drax warehouse under cover of Carnival.
Bond leaves her in the dark alley while he searches the building, but she is stalked by a giant-headed clown character which of course turns out to be a munch-happy Jaws. The juxtaposition of Jaws’ Terminator-like menace with the happy, bouncy Carnival music freaked me out as a kid, and it retains its creepy power.
Despite seeing this film many times, I always think Manuela gets the chomp in this scene. My own fear of Clown Jaws seems to block out the fact that Manuela, and subsequently Bond, is saved by a dancing conga line that sweeps Jaws out of the alley.
Another haunting sequence is the death of Corinne Dufour, Drax’s helicopter pilot who made the deadly mistake of being seduced by James Bond and his Magical Penis™, and allowing him entry (wahay) into Drax’s safe.
After Drax and Bond have a pissing contest about who’s a better shot (with Bond dropping a Drax hitman out of a tree), Bond takes off, leaving Corinne behind to face the music. It’s strange, because he had told her during their tryst to “look after herself”. But surely experience would have taught him by now someone would be watching them, and she would pay for their sexy times. Ah well, Bond is nothing if not consistent.
Drax turns his hunting dogs on Corinne, which chase her down through his forested estate. Her flowing cream dress, with its delicate lace neckline, givs her a Kate Bush-Wuthering Heights sort of feel, the babe in the woods. The accompanying music is beautiful, starting with a sound reminiscent of a ticking clock, becoming more urgent as the montage picks up pace.
At the very end Gilbert slows the footage down, allowing actor Corinne Cléry to not run as much as glide to her doom, the innocent sacrificed. As the camera pans up, the clock motif repeats with the sound of a bell tolling. A victim of Drax, sure, but also to Bond’s single-minded pursuit of villains.
You see, you can find deep and meaningful context in Moonraker if you’re prepared to look.
The Iguazu Falls on the Brazilian/Argentinian border also features, with a boat chase followed by yet another Roger Moore hang-glider moment.
The above clip also leads into another round of glorious sets by genius designer Ken Adam - Drax’s temple lair featuring a futuristic space launch centre plus a luxurious “lobby”, complete with beautiful maidens and a killer python.
Primary filming for Moonraker took place in France, due to high taxation in the UK at the time. Adam’s massive sets were the largest ever built across the Channel, with the two Earth lairs taking a studio each, and the third, Epinay Studios, hosting the interior of the space base itself. It was constructed by 220 technicians using 100 tonnes of metal, two tonnes of nails and 10,000 board feet of wood, which surely would sound impressive even to NASA. The interior also holds the record of having the most zero gravity wires used in a single scene.
However the exterior of the space set, while designed by Ken Adam, was built in miniature at Pinewood Studios, as only the special effects were filmed in England.
It is revealed in one of my favourite shots in the film, which starts at 30 seconds into this clip.
The silence as the sun slowly falls across the rotating ball-and-spoke gives you goosebumps, which break into a full body shake by the blast of John Barry’s majestic fanfare.
Derek Meddings was nominated for an Oscar for his visual effects, and this shot alone would have been enough to nail it for me.
But the clever clogs also pioneered inventive techniques to create the effects of the space shuttle liftoffs (including using salt to simulate smoke trailing away from the engines), as well as winding back the film to layer effects over the top of each other, most particularly with the space laser battles.
Because of course, that’s what ends up happening. Bond and Goodhead sneak aboard a Moonraker shuttle, which allows them to sneak aboard Drax’s Space Base and blend in thanks to their fabulous yellow jumpsuits.
Yellow. It’s what all the cool spies are wearing.
Drax reveals his masterplan, and Bond and Goodhead realise they must jam his radar-jammer to alert the authorities on Earth the base exists. Immediately, the Americans send up their own shuttle chock-a-block with laser-armed astro-fighters, because of course they do.
The laser effects of the battle hold up surprisingly well, and the destruction of the base is even cooler when you realise to get the effect of it being ripped apart silently, Meddings and his team just blasted it with shotguns.
For his part, Drax has a suitably ridiculous death, shot by Bond’s wrist-flicky-gun-thingy and then pushed out into deep space. Still, it’s not before he gets a final zinger line, threatening Bond with a laser “At least I shall have the pleasure of putting you out of my misery.”
Of course, Drax’s comeuppance may never have come had he not been SO fixated on eugenics - something dictators never seem to learn. Bond is able to use his obsession with physical perfection to convince Jaws that he and his gorgeous Polly-Pocket girlfriend Dolly (whom he met after crashing the cable car in Rio) will not survive long in Drax’s hermitically-sealed Ubermensch factory.
As Bond and Holly make their escape in a Moonraker shuttle, needing to go after the three globes of poison Drax has already released towards Earth, it’s Jaws who helps release the docking mechanism.
He and Dolly then seem to face their fate with dignity, popping a champagne bottle that just happened to be lying around, and prompting a toast from Jaws, the only line he ever says, “Well, here’s to us.”
The pair is later acknowledged to have survived the plunge back to earth, as opposed to the two dozen toned breeding machines Drax brought with him, so while their survival may be ridiculous, it at least has a nice message about who really is the fittest.
Now, what of Dr Holly Goodhead herself?
Lois Chiles had decided to take a break from acting when she got seated next to Lewis Gilbert on a plane and wound up with the role. You could argue she’s got one foot out of the door, as watching her performance as part of this retrospective does seem to show her as more detached than other Bond women.
However, she’s also a rocket scientist and CIA agent. She’s ice-cool, and never loses her composure. She has a death stare to reckon with, as evidenced by Bond’s patronising surprise when he discovers the expert “Dr Goodhead” is not the bloke he imagined.
It’s Holly who knows her way around the Moonraker shuttle, and figures out where to find the radar jammer on the space base. Bond simply wouldn’t have been able to succeed without her. This is particularly demonstrated as they take the Moonraker 6 back towards Earth to use its laser cannon to destroy the poison globes.
Sure, Bond fires the gun, but that’s what Bond does. It’s Goodhead who keeps the shuttle steady, skipping across the atmosphere and trying to avoid burning up. She remains calm, warning 007 they’re running out of time, but not doing anything to unsettle his aim.
This may be ridiculous movie, but the concept of a highly-trained professional woman did not seem in any way over the top to me as a kid. I mean, her name is “Goodhead” for crying out loud - and she’s still the most sensible part of this film.
Finally, no essay about Moonraker would be complete without its infamous double entendre, delivered by Q as M, the Minister of Defence and a bunch of other dignitaries (The US President! The Queen!) get patched into cameras aboard the shuttle, only to find Bond and Goodhead in-final-frontier-delicto.
It’s a tone-perfect gag, followed up by Bond’s cheeky nod to camera, and Goodhead’s plea for him to take her around the world one more time.
We’ve always known Bond makes the earth move, but Moonraker proves the superspy can also find the Zero-G spot.
Thank you for reading this instalment of the James Bond Retrospective! If you enjoyed it, you can sign up to support the series and my other writing/podcasting efforts via my Patreon page. Thanks to all of you who are already members; your support is truly invaluable.
You can listen to the companion Raven Bond Moonraker podcast here:
Stu and I have are also ranking the Bond films as we watch and podcast about them. Here’s how we stand:
And a final treat… I discovered this great behind-the-scenes Super-8 footage of some of the gondola scenes being filmed in Venice. It’s worth a watch, particularly if you enjoy watching Roger Moore toking on cigars like a champion.
See you next time for For Your Eyes Only!