Best Bond film

A Bond to die for – despite the miscasting

ON HER MAJESTY'S SECRET SERVICE

007's sixth outing has long been maligned as the weakest link in the series, primarily because of the miscasting of the boyish George Lazenby in the lead role, but its meticulously orchestrated plot and faithfulness to Fleming shines through the Australian's wooden performance.

The film sees Bond pursue Blofeld, played by Telly Savalas, who plans to unleash a plague through a group of brainwashed "angels of death" – among them a young Joanna Lumley – and slowly builds towards a tumultuous climax atop an alpine base.

The stilted Lazenby, until then a male model and "star" of the Big Fry television commercials, had no acting experience when Cubby Broccoli asked him to replace Sean Connery, and could offer only a smug, if exceptionally well-heeled, interpretation of Bond on the big screen which alas left audiences neither shaken nor stirred. His off-screen behaviour won him few fans in the crew, either – "I'm just here for the broads and the bread," he is said to have scoffed.

Nevertheless, the film is saved by former Bond editor Peter Hunt's first turn in the director's chair, overseeing breakneck, devastating action scenes, most notably the skiing sequences, which bring out the best of 007's brutal, ruthless tendencies.

The characterisation, too, soars above all of the films of Connery and Roger Moore, with Bond marrying his love interest, played by Diana Rigg, before seeing her killed just as they are about to leave on their honeymoon. For those aficionados keen to see Bond's backstory explored further on the big screen, On Her Majesty's Secret Service does not disappoint.

GOLDFINGER The Bond film that set the standards for all that followed, and which alone cemented some of the franchise's most memorable iconography in the public consciousness – that Aston Martin, that aborted laser beam vasectomy, that corpse slathered with gold paint, that soaring, operatic theme song by Shirley Bassey.

Goldfinger is, though, more than the sum of its parts. It is the film that established Bond as a genre in its own right.

Though brash and action-packed, the plot is more grounded in reality than the outlandish fantasies that were too follow (Moonraker, anyone?), focusing on Bond's battle of wits with Auric Goldfinger, a German tycoon intent on raising the commercial value of his bullion by contaminating Fort Knox with radiation.

While Connery is at his brusque best (a certain blue swimsuit aside), 007 himself is arguably relegated to a member of an ensemble, such is the quality of the supporting characters, such as Oddjob and Pussy Galore.

FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE The Bond with no flab, From Russia With Love is a gritty, plot-driven spy thriller the like of which has only recently found favour again courtesy of Daniel Craig's 007.

There are no invisible cars here. This is the quintessential Cold War spy thriller, in which the drama and excitement comes from simple, but perfectly executed scenes, especially Connery's unrelenting brawl with Robert Shaw on board the Orient Express. Even today, those fisticuffs still fall foul of the censor's knife when the film is broadcast on terrestrial television.

The absence of gadgetry and gimmickry means the second Bond film is one that has dated particularly well. No wonder Connery cites this as his personal favourite.

CASINO ROYALE For a generation, people seemed to forget that not only was Bond charming, but also a cruel, blunt instrument. Thanks to Daniel Craig, we have all been reminded of Ian Fleming's original flawed character. Only Connery can match Craig's effortless presence, but the English actor is without peer in conveying insouciant menace.

The film is a treat for long-standing Bond fans, playing as it does with the story and the character's background. The canon is pared back to bone and sinew, and the sadomasochistic undertones hark back to early Connery.

It is playful when it needs to be, too: "Shaken or stirred," a bartender asks Bond at one point. "Do I look like I give a damn?" is the cutting reply.

THE SPY WHO LOVED ME If it is rated as Bond's finest hour by none other than Alan Partridge, who can argue? The Spy Who Loved Me marks Moore's third turn in the tuxedo, and though it maintains the playful tone of his other films, carries sufficient weight to stand out from the crowd.

The plot involved Bond's attempts to curb the wild ambitions of shipping magnate, Karl Stromberg, who is intent on eradicating mankind and establishing a new world order underwater.

It is an outlandish notion, but one that allowed Ken Adam to build a wonderful set that has become fondly remembered in the Bond pantheon.

Moore is restrained for the most part, delivering his caustic wit only sparingly. But the pace rarely lets up, with exotic locales and superb set-pieces – the opening scene, with Bond and his Union Jack parachute, has seldom been bettered.