By People Staff
Updated July 27, 1981 12:00 PM

First-time director John Glen has packed this, the twelfth 007 thriller and Roger Moore’s fifth, with all the familiar Bond tricks. There’s devilish gadgetry, a double-helix plot about salvaging a supersecret British computer, villains with a flair for spectacular mountain ski chalets and underwater hideaways, and a very high per capita rate of nearly nude females. In one electrifying chase, a stunt man speeds along the solid ice curl of a bobsled run—on skis—at what feels like 150 miles an hour. The dazzlingly dapper star, of course, is Moore of the same, wryly wrinkled eyebrow and all. “My nightie is slipping,” one conquest murmurs huskily. “So is your accent, Countess,” Oh-Oh-Seven replies, seeing through the slinky spy’s cover as easily as her lingerie. There are fine roles for bubbly ice skater Lynn Holly Johnson, as a sexy Olympic hopeful, and Topol, as a pistachio-popping Bond ally. Carole Bouquet, who deserved the role for her legs only, is an otherwise flat—well, almost—heroine next to predecessors like Barbara Bach, Britt Ekland and Ursula Andress. And the traditional foreplay finale, despite the shot of two facing pairs of bare feet (Moore’s and Bouquet’s), is less provocative than dumb. After 20 years, though, it’s comforting to have 007 still stylishly triumphant and making the theaters safe for entertainment. (PG)