Never Say Never Again -james Bond 007- May 2026

Never Say Never Again does not hide its DNA. It is a modernized (for 1983) retelling of Thunderball. SPECTRA (spelled with an ‘A’ in this version for legal reasons) steals two nuclear warheads. Bond, pulled from a dull retirement spent at a health farm, must track down the villainous Maximillian Largo and the deadly femme fatale Domino Petachi.

The film relocates the action from the Bahamas to the French Riviera and the fictional North African city of “Palmyra.” Key differences from Thunderball include:

The climax features a legendary underwater battle with the villain’s shark-infested pool, and a fistfight aboard a missile-laden ship, ending with Bond literally steering a cruise missile with a rope.

Never Say Never Again exists as a direct result of a protracted legal battle spanning over two decades. In 1961, Ian Fleming sold the original film rights to Thunderball to producer Kevin McClory after Fleming had incorporated McClory’s screenplay contributions (from an unmade film project called Longitude 78 West) into the novel. Never Say Never Again -James Bond 007-

For years, Never Say Never Again was a footnote. Eon Productions ignored it. Home video releases were sporadic. But in the 2010s, a strange reappraisal began. With Daniel Craig’s gritty, aging Bond in Skyfall and No Time to Die, audiences saw the blueprint Connery had laid down in 1983.

The film’s themes—obsolescence, physical decline, the loneliness of state-sanctioned violence—predicted the Craig era by nearly three decades. Moreover, the legal battle that spawned it prevented Eon from ever taking the franchise for granted again. After 1983, they doubled down on their own brand, leading to the unified continuity we know today.

When Never Say Never Again finally opened in October 1983 (a month after Octopussy), the press went into a frenzy. It was Bond vs. Bond. Roger Moore vs. Sean Connery. The official franchise vs. the outlaw. Never Say Never Again does not hide its DNA

The results were a statistical draw. Octopussy grossed $187.5 million worldwide. Never Say Never Again grossed $160 million. Given that the renegade film cost less to make and Connery took a massive upfront salary, it was considered a financial success. Critically, reception was mixed. Critics loved Connery’s charisma and the novel “aging hero” theme but decried the sluggish pacing and cheap-looking production design (the film feels more like a 70s TV movie than a lavish Bond epic).

However, culturally, Sean Connery won. The image of Connery in a dinner jacket, raising an eyebrow, was so potent that it reminded audiences what the character used to be. Roger Moore, seeing the writing on the wall, retired from the role two years later after A View to a Kill.

Never Say Never Again opened on October 7, 1983, to mixed reviews but strong box office, grossing $160 million worldwide (equivalent to over $450 million today). Octopussy, released in June 1983, earned $187 million. In the Battle of the Bonds, Roger Moore won by a narrow margin, but Connery proved the demand for a mature, alternative 007 was very real. The climax features a legendary underwater battle with

Critics were split. Roger Ebert praised it as “a superior Bond film, less reliant on gimmicks.” Others, like Variety, called it “a rich man’s television movie.” Today, the film holds a 70% rating on Rotten Tomatoes—respectable, but not classic.

Connery’s Bond in Never Say Never Again is a revelation. He is not the cocksure, invincible Viking of Goldfinger or the smug caricature he became in Diamonds Are Forever. This Bond is weathered, tired, and visibly out of shape. The film opens not with a stunt sequence, but with Bond at a health clinic in Shrublands, sweating on a treadmill, taking questionable vitamin injections, and failing a psychological evaluation. M, played with magnificent irritation by Edward Fox, tells him bluntly: “You’re a relic of the Cold War, 007. Your methods are obsolete.”

This is the film’s central thesis. In an era of sleek, polished assassins (like the film’s rival, the chauvinistic Jack Petachi, or the suave but sterile Maximillian Largo), Bond is a blunt instrument. He drinks too much, he smokes, he relies on cunning and brute force rather than Q Branch wizardry. Speaking of which, the "Q" of this film—a Bermudan armorer named Algernon (Alec McCowen)—gives him nothing but a cheap fountain pen that leaks. “This is a pen,” Bond deadpans. “I know,” Q replies. “It’s also a pen.”

The absence of the traditional Aston Martin, the laser watch, or the exploding briefcase is intentional. Bond is stripped of his armor. He must win through wit, seduction, and sheer stubbornness. When he rides a horse through a Spanish castle or beats Largo at a surreal, digitized video game (a hilariously dated yet prophetic moment), he is proving that analog charm can defeat digital efficiency.