George Lazenby was the sucker Bond -- even lamer than Timothy Dalton, if you can believe that -- and On Her Majesty’s Secret Service is a movie even more uninteresting than Licence to Kill. Outside of the unintentionally funny camp, a couple of thrilling ski-chase sequences, songs by schmaltz wizard Hal David, and Diana Rigg, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service has little going for it. As a matter of fact, if it wasn’t a Bond film, it would be just another movie about an international superagent spy cavorting with beautiful women as he battles evil geniuses who threaten to take over the world.
Bond, James Bond, falls in love with Countess Tracy Draco (Diana Rigg), the daughter of a wealthy industrialist (Gabriele Ferzetti) who moonlights as the head of Europe’s biggest crime family. Bond and daddy Draco become allies, Draco aiding the secret agent man in bringing down insane criminal savant Blofeld (Telly Savalas) who has recruited an army to carry out his devious plot by hypnotizing beautiful allergenic women from around the world.
An avalanche, a high-speed bobsled chase, and the tragic ending to Bond’s honeymoon later, George Lazenby has the dubious honor of being the only James Bond ever to cry on camera. Lazenby also happens to be the only Bond who doesn’t look good in a suit, the only Bond who sounds stupid uttering offhanded remarks and the only Bond who fights like a girl.
I can’t say On Her Majesty’s Secret Service isn’t entertaining. Diana Rigg is imminently watchable and who doesn’t love Telly Savalas? But in the history of the long-running Bond franchise, this is by far the lowest moment.