The apogee of 007 mania produces a long snoozefest.
We linger in an all-white Bahamas, on a lovely new aspect ratio. Bond kills a cross-dressing assassin, then flies a real jetpack. A masseuse, a villain, and a gamine, each function as a sex prop for Bond. An eyepatch features. Connery actually narrowly avoids predation by a plexiglass fugitive. Happily, a minion 'tortures' Bond by rapturously shaking him on a rack in a massage parlour.
My pleasure surged only when it ended, after 30 minutes of plodding underwater footage. The boat-based climax sucks less. All the other scenes? Lost at sea.