Octopussy

There is a moment in Octopussy where Roger Moore, dressed in full, tragicomic clown makeup, desperately tries to convince a room full of skeptical NATO officials that a nuclear bomb is about to level a circus in West Germany. It’s one of the most ridiculed images in the history of the James Bond franchise, but I’ll go to my grave defending it. Why? Because the tension is palpable. Underneath the greasepaint, Moore’s eyes are wide with genuine panic. It’s a perfect microcosm of his era: a film that shouldn’t work because it’s so inherently ridiculous, yet somehow succeeds because it commits to the bit with 110% enthusiasm.

I watched this recently while trying to assemble a flat-pack bookshelf, and I ended up with three extra screws and a lopsided shelf because I couldn't look away from the train sequence. Octopussy has that effect. It’s a sprawling, messy, globe-trotting adventure that captures the exact moment the 007 franchise realized it had to compete with the high-concept blockbusters of the 1980s.

The Great Stunt-Work Renaissance

If you want to talk about the peak of practical effects before CGI ruined our sense of wonder, you look at the work of John Glen. A former editor and second-unit director, Glen (who also directed For Your Eyes Only and The Living Daylights) brought a "how did they do that?" physicality to the action. The opening sequence featuring the "Acrostar" Bede Jet—the world’s smallest jet at the time—isn't a model or a green screen. That’s a real pilot, J.W. "Corkey" Fornof, flying a five-meter-long plane through an actual hangar at 150 mph.

The centerpiece for me, though, is the train sequence in the second act. This is old-school stunt work at its most terrifying. Martin Grace, Moore’s long-time stunt double, performed the harrowing work of hanging off the side of a moving train, and he actually suffered a serious leg injury during filming when he hit a concrete pylon. When you see Bond clambering around those carriages, there’s a weight and a danger to it that modern movies just can't replicate with a digital double. It’s the kind of sequence that makes you appreciate the era where "the safety of the crew was a secondary concern to the shot"—even if that’s a slightly horrifying thought today.

The Battle of the Bonds

1983 was a weird year for 007 fans. It was the "Battle of the Bonds," with Octopussy going head-to-head with Sean Connery’s unsanctioned return in Never Say Never Again. While the media tried to pit them against each other, Octopussy won the box office war decisively, raking in over $187 million against a $27.5 million budget. Looking back, it’s easy to see why. While Connery’s film felt like a nostalgic retread, Octopussy felt like a massive, colorful event.

The production value is staggering. Producer Albert R. Broccoli spared no expense on the Indian locations. The Lake Palace in Udaipur is a stunning backdrop, and the film leans into the exoticism of the setting with a zest that feels very "1983 travelogue." Maud Adams, playing the titular character, brings a regal, mature energy to the role. She’s one of the few Bond girls of the era who feels like an actual contemporary to Moore rather than a niece. In fact, Adams is the only actress to play two different lead Bond girls (having previously appeared in The Man with the Golden Gun), a bit of trivia I used to win a pub quiz back in 2012.

Cold War Chills and Circus Thrills

The plot—involving a fake Fabergé egg, a jewel-smuggling ring, and a rogue Russian general—is surprisingly dense. Steven Berkoff (whom you might remember as the villain in Beverly Hills Cop) plays General Orlov with the dial turned up to eleven. His performance is a Masterclass in scenery-chewing, shouting about Soviet world domination while his eyes bulge out of his head. He provides the perfect counterbalance to Louis Jourdan, who plays the villainous Kamal Khan with the smug energy of a man who just overcharged you for a rug.

This was also the era of the VHS revolution, and Octopussy was a staple of my local rental shop. I remember the big, chunky clamshell case with that iconic Dan Goozee artwork featuring the eight-armed woman. For a kid in the 80s, that cover was pure mystery. Watching it today, the film feels like a bridge between the gritty Cold War thrillers of the 70s and the gadget-heavy spectacle of the late 80s. Does it have dated moments? Absolutely. The "Tarzan yell" during the jungle chase is a creative choice that should have resulted in someone being fired immediately, but it’s part of the film’s weird, eclectic charm.

Cool Details

The Shell Game: The "Fabergé" eggs used in the film were made of lead and enamel; they were so well-crafted that they became collector's items themselves. The Octopus: The blue-ringed octopus used in the film was real, though fortunately, it was handled by professionals who knew how to avoid its lethal bite. * Budgetary Flex: The film’s budget of $27.5 million was massive for the time—roughly $85 million today—and you can see every cent of it in the massive circus sets and the location shooting in India and Germany.

Ultimately, Octopussy is a high-wire act. It balances campy humor with some of the best practical stunts ever committed to celluloid. It’s the quintessential Roger Moore film: effortless, slightly absurd, and deeply entertaining. While it may not have the prestige of From Russia with Love or the polish of Skyfall, it has a soul and a sense of fun that makes it a perfect Friday night watch.

If you haven’t seen it in a while, give it a spin. Ignore the clown suit mockery and focus on the incredible craftsmanship of the stunt team and the sheer charisma of a 55-year-old Roger Moore still managing to save the world with a raised eyebrow and a well-timed quip. It’s a relic of a time when movies felt big, physical, and just a little bit dangerous. It’s Bond at his most colorful, and honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.