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Title: Goldfinger Got His Wish
Review: "No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die." Well, he has. I detected serious illness in Casino Royale, and now he is gone. His replacement is a grim, humorless, unsophisticated thug who should be armed not with a PPK but with a spiked club. He shows no dedication to Queen, country, or right. He is quite repulsive. He goes, not to beautiful, exciting places, but to squalid collections of shacks and featureless deserts (which is a good place for him, I admit). His adversary is about as interesting as a bowl of porridge. Ah, well. We have The Twenty (or 21, if you, like me, rather like NSNA). Farewell, James. A pity that the tiny hands of Cubby's successors could not hold your greatness, nor their tiny minds appreciate what made you great.
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