After the space extravagance of Moonraker, this installment tried to bring Bond back to a more realistic ground. You can tell we’re in the 80s: the action looks sharper, the effects are more polished, and the pace—though uneven—feels more grounded. John Glen makes his directorial debut in the series, and his intention to recover some of the early seriousness is noticeable. The helicopter sequence provides a strong opening, although its resolution borders on the ridiculous. Even so, scenes like the chase with the Citroën 2CV or the climax in Meteora deliver great tension and landscapes that remain impressive. There’s also an attempt to portray a more restrained Bond, less prone to excesses, perhaps because Roger Moore was already in his fifties and the character had to adapt to his age. Carole Bouquet does her job as the Bond girl, though the chemistry with Moore never really sparks. Julian Glover brings sobriety to the villain, but he doesn’t reach the level of the saga’s more memorable antagonists. Bill Conti’s score, with its disco flavor very much of its time, is probably the element that clashes most in a film that otherwise aimed for sobriety. In the end, For Your Eyes Only is an entertaining film, with solid action sequences and a sincere attempt to return to a more classic Bond. It doesn’t reach the heights of its strongest predecessors, but it’s watchable and represented a necessary course correction for the saga.

I had always heard this film was weak, that George Lazenby lacked charisma and that it was little more than a mistake in the saga. But watching it in full, the impression changes: it is far from the disaster people claim, and actually has a special value that perhaps wasn’t appreciated back in 1969. The first surprise is how much it connects with the Daniel Craig era. Beyond the action —which here is more physical and less dependent on gadgets— there’s the portrayal of a vulnerable Bond, marked by tragic loss. That human angle, so unusual at the time, is precisely what makes the film more appreciated today. Lazenby is not Connery, of course, but he’s not as bad as his reputation suggests. He lacks polish, but he holds his own in the action scenes and shares genuine chemistry with Diana Rigg, who truly elevates the film. Her Tracy is a strong character, and their relationship gives the story an emotional weight rarely seen in the franchise. The movie has memorable sequences: ski chases, a charismatic (if over-the-top) Blofeld played by Telly Savalas, and an ending that remains one of the most shocking in the series. It may have seemed odd or out of place back then, but with time it has gained recognition and is now seen as a key step in Bond’s evolution. It’s not perfect —some excesses and awkward moments remain— but it’s far more valuable than it was once thought to be. Today, it can be appreciated as a bridge between the classic and the modern Bond, one that dared to show that even 007 could lose.

Thunderball carries the classic James Bond stamp, with Sean Connery further consolidating his style as a confident, ironic, and always impeccable agent. The film has rhythm, action, and a visual display that stands out especially in its underwater scenes, which were quite spectacular for the time. However, despite all its shine, it remains a step below titles like From Russia with Love. The exotic setting of the Bahamas brings freshness and color, becoming one of the film’s strongest points. At the same time, though, the plot feels a bit scattered and with less narrative tension. Connery is still magnetic, but you can sense some routine in his performance, as if the character were starting to repeat itself. The underwater action sequences are ambitious, although they also slow down the pace compared to other installments. The final impression is that of an entertaining experience, with everything one expects from the saga, but without the special spark that makes the very best Bond films stand out.

The idea of turning the Demeter chapter into a horror movie sounded brilliant: a ship voyage turned into a floating trap, with the shadow of Dracula lurking in every corner. Yet what seemed on paper like a suffocating, anxiety-filled experience ends up being a rather flat exercise. The atmosphere works at times, with a detailed recreation of the ship and that nineteenth-century feel that adds some charm, but the script never fully exploits the potential of its premise. The biggest issue is that the fear fades away too soon. The monster is revealed without much mystery, which drains tension and leaves scenes that, while bloody, rarely become truly unsettling. A greater sense of subtlety and a steady build of suspense could have trapped the viewer in the ship’s darkness alongside the crew. On the plus side, the cast does what it can, and André Øvredal’s direction delivers some striking images, especially when focusing on the oppressive atmosphere of the sea and the claustrophobia of confined spaces. Still, the characters are so thinly developed that it’s hard to care about their fate, which lessens the impact of the finale. The Last Voyage of the Demeter is a decent film—occasionally entertaining, with flashes of good old-fashioned horror. But it leaves the feeling that, with more ambition in its storytelling and better use of tension, it could have been something far more memorable within the genre.

Quentin Tarantino once again proves in The Hateful Eight that dialogue can be just as lethal as a gunshot. The film begins at a slow pace, with characters that feel like they’ve stepped out of a mystery play, gradually revealing their cards through conversations filled with venom, dark humor, and that unmistakable Tarantino flair. From the outset, it’s clear that what matters is not just what’s said, but how it’s delivered. What’s most striking is that much of the story takes place in a single setting: a cabin lost in the snow. This makes the experience feel almost like a stage play, where every gesture and every word weigh as heavily as bullets. Tarantino here recalls the essence of Reservoir Dogs: trapping a group of suspicious characters, letting the atmosphere grow thick with tension, and waiting for everything to explode. The cast is fully committed. Samuel L. Jackson and Kurt Russell dominate the screen with charisma and authority, but it’s Jennifer Jason Leigh who steals the show, turning each of her appearances into something both disturbing and magnetic. The script gives her room to shine, and she makes the most of it. Ennio Morricone’s music deserves its own mention. His Oscar-winning score adds both an epic and sinister tone, lifting the film above any recent western. Every note seems to foreshadow the violence to come, reminding us that we’re in the hands of a master capable of creating tension even in silence. It’s true that the running time might feel excessive for some, and Tarantino indulges in his own trademarks: endless dialogue, insults, and bursts of gore that flirt with self-parody. Yet this is exactly his essence: a filmmaker who never apologizes for his excesses and turns chaos into spectacle. The Hateful Eight is not just a western, but an exercise in style where words carry as much power as gunpowder. It may be uneven at times, but when it all comes together — dialogue, characters, music, and violence — it reminds us why Tarantino remains a unique voice in today’s cinema.