ON HER MAJESTY'S SECRET SERVICE: RIPPLES IN A REFLECTING POOL

By 1967, the James Bond films had stamped a distinct cinematic experience, with a structural formula for the agent’s missions, the recurrence of characters and their portrayers, and visual and musical motifs, among other elements. Encompassing these bonding elements and the franchise they were representing had been Sean Connery’s embodiment of the titular spy. Yet, when James Bond came back to theaters in Peter R. Hunt’s directorial effort, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969), a new face was incarnating the character: George Lazenby. The new actor’s entry succeeded five films with Connery as Bond, and in retrospect, ended up sandwiched in its predecessors’ tenure, with the original actor returning to the role for the film that followed. 

Recasting was not entirely uncommon during the earlier Bond films: Desmond Lewellyn’s Q turned out to be armorer Boothroyd from Terence Young’s Dr. No (1962), and by 1965, Felix Leiter, portrayed by Jack Lord, Cec Linder and Rik Van Nutter, became someone identified to spectators only through Bond first calling him by name. But experiencing a different actor in the lead was the first challenge of how to get away with keeping the pact with audiences of delivering what going to a 007 movie promised. Lazenby’s venture ultimately kept Bond’s cinematic life going with a film that made use of its unprecedented circumstances to develop previously planted story seeds into an all new one. Doing so while drawing as much of the established elements as possible translates into a viewing experience akin to looking into a reflecting pool, facing images one can assume to distinguish, even with rippling distortions.

To begin with, the filmmaking of On Her Majesty’s Secret Service made use of the editorial elements to both ensure viewers this is as Bond a movie as the previous ones, while lightly acknowledging a change in the star. The filmmakers ask the audience for their complicity with the new developments if they want to see where the character and story continue. The picture (Hunt, 1969) opens with the traditional gunbarrel and Monty Norman’s Bond theme, the series’ regular composer John Barry playing the main melody on synthesizers rather than electric guitar. For the first time since the series’ inaugural film, Dr. No, the dots preceding the gunbarrel are broken by a title card stating “Harry Saltzman and Albert Broccoli present”. This creates a vote of confidence, the producers having their names and signaling their backing before the movie just as they did the first time around, even without their go-to lead actor on this occasion. 

The gunbarrel finishes by revealing an exterior shot of MI6 façade Universal Exports, which reflects the street view and, in the distance, the Big Ben, symbol of the British realm. This shot establishes a scene featuring Bernard Lee’s M, Desmond Lewellyn’s Q and Lois Maxwell’s Moneypenny as they attempt to find out Bond’s whereabouts (Hunt, 1969). Using series regulars as a hook and introducing their search for 007 sets up our being progressively, but surely, reintroduced to him too. The film cuts to a wide shot tracking an Aston Martin on the move, with Bond’s theme once again on the score. Alternating with similar coverage of the majestic vehicle on the road, we are provided with over-the-shoulder shots, point-of-view shots, and an extreme-close up of 007’s hands taking out a cigarette that is quickly reframed to a shot of his mouth.

The delay in revealing Bond in full form, aided by the dimly colored scene that is motivated by the early time of day, allows the spectator to ease in, get comfortable and settle with simply following the character. The move, observing James Bond beyond watching Sean Connery or George Lazenby as him, smoothens a transition that could have otherwise brought unnecessary attention to itself because of a chief disruption in the series’ continuity. As the vehicle makes a stop, it becomes clear that Bond may be in pursuit of a woman, as he finds a car that had just ran past him, driven by one, parked next to a beach (Hunt, 1969). Further confirmation that this is the 007 seen in previous films is his attraction for women, as he follows and rescues her from drowning. As we hear his first words and introduction to the woman in a close-up favoring her, we do not see Bond’s face until the next shot, four minutes into the film. 

Bond and the woman we come to know as Tracy Draco are then circled by armed men at the beach. A fight ensues (Hunt, 1969), showcased in the fast cutting style from previous entries that was developed by Peter R. Hunt, the editor of the first five films and then director of this picture. The sequence’s presentation recalls the opener of the Terence Young-helmed Thunderball (1965), when Bond faces Colonel Jacques Bouvar in his chateau, though Lazenby’s film pushes the approach towards more clashes with a traditional editing. In its quick cuts, the latter picture more frequently shifts between close and open shots, and between static and handheld tracking of the characters’ movements – a fragmentation of the action that emphasizes feel over spatial orientation. As Lazenby’s Bond finishes fighting, Tracy escapes the scene, prompting him to recall the character’s past avatar: “This never happened to the other fella”. 

The plot that follows for the film further promotes the case of more Bond stories beyond the major casting transition by paying off a mission set up by previous movies, even if it presents conflicts to its prior development. The narrative finds Bond trailing Ernst Stavro Blofeld, head of SPECTRE, the criminal organization he had encountered and faced in four of the previous five films. The villain’s appearance is not gratuitous, as the film is adapting Ian Fleming’s homonymous novel. In it, Blofeld is hiding in the Swiss Alps, posing as Balthazar de Bleuchamp, the head of a clinic who is looking for the recognition of his title as a Count of that descendance (Hunt, 1969). With the help of the College of Arms, Bond travels there, impersonating herald Hilary Bray. A face-off between the characters seems inevitable.

The film series’ events up to that point pose a significant consideration coming into Lazenby’s story: Bond and Blofeld have met before, in Connery’s incarnation of 007, during the previous film, Lewis Gilbert’s You Only Live Twice (1967). However, when Lazenby’s Bond introduces himself as Hillary Bray to Blofeld, the criminal mastermind does not appear to identify the agent he would have already met, one who had been repeatedly foiling his organization. The film chooses to not mention a previous encounter, while not entirely discarding it either, as implausible as it may seem. Once Blofeld finds out it is Bond later in the story, their conversation could very well be read as people with a past acquaintance. Facilitated by the change in actors (Blofeld is also recast here and played by Telly Savalas), the film offers a continuously unpredictable hunt between two characters with an unresolved history.

To counter Bond’s most daring quest in cinema at the time was a deeper exploration and development of his character, through his sentimental relationship with Tracy. 007 initially appears to have an interest in Tracy, first as a casual encounter and later as a business transaction to get to Blofeld through her father (Hunt, 1969). Nonetheless, Bond clears this up with her, and a montage then shows the two, spending time together, riding a horse, walking in a park, the beach and the city streets, even eyeing a wedding ring. The editorial device collecting these events, not used in previous films as a character piece, reinforces the idea that a profound attachment has grown between them, sustained over time. This contrasts with Bond’s past affairs, often forced, spontaneous and instrumental, and raises the question of whether this one, real commitment, will be an experience as happy as the others appeared to be.

Just as the film offers a divergence of the formula in that it shows James Bond and a woman falling in love, it too challenges the conventional ending (traditionally involving Bond’s love riding away with him) through a variation. Up to the last minutes, the narrative follows its expected route, with Bond enjoying the successful end of his mission with Tracy. But in a matter of seconds, Blofeld drives by with his assistant, Irma Bunt, and the latter shoots the couple’s car, killing Tracy. Women close to Bond had already faced death: the Masterson sisters in Guy Hamilton’s Goldfinger (1964), Paula Kaplan in Thunderball (Young, 1965), and Aki in You Only Live Twice (Gilbert, 1967). But this is the first film where the end of his journey, a meaningful one, ends tragically. The story closes with the still of Bond and a woman in his arms, but one that is a warped reminder of the more fortunate romances the agent typically came across. The sight and its twisted image become then a precedent for any further adventures.