Happy people—don’t you just hate them?

I don’t know if the latest James Bond movie is the worst of this remarkably hardy franchise; I’ve only ever watched four, maybe five, in my life, and to no memorable effect. I was taken to my first—I think it was From Russia With Love—by the father of one of my friends, along with much of their family, on New Year’s Eve. I do remember Kurt Weill’s widow Lotte Lenya as a Russian agent with a lethally dangerous kick thanks to some kind of weaponized footwear. I’ve never cottoned to the whole enterprise, from Ian Fleming’s smugly superior, consumerist Bond novels onward.