I bring that up because it seems somewhat odd to me that one man would work so hard to keep remaking and exploiting the one contribution he made to another person's success. James Bond 007 existed before McClory ever came into the picture, and was successful as a movie series before Thunderball was made into a movie. So it always struck me as kind of sad that he was constantly chasing the glory and success of Fleming's creation as if he had anything to do with it.
Exactly. McClory has always seemed to me like one of the characters from Dickens'
Bleak House--someone who wastes his adult life in never-ending litigation for an illusory prize he didn't really deserve. Had he been the artist Fleming and Bryce had mistaken him for, he might have done something else with his life and made other films, movies that demonstrated his gifts could extend beyond a character that wasn't even his. And in a final bit of irony, when he finally managed to make a Bond film, he got shut out of the production, and the direction was handed to a director who had more to show for himself than one early film and a lot of lawsuits. McClory was little more than a bad penny.
As for
Never Say Never Again, it's probably underrated at this point, but the film still has massive problems. As others have pointed out, the film dwindles away piece by piece after Fatima dies, and the final underwater climax is among the most pathetic of any Bond movie, lacking much of the tension and blood of Fleming's original. Beyond that, the picture doesn't hold together. Critic Dave Kehr wrote an interesting capsule review of the film--I don't agree with much of the premise but the central thesis is food for thought:
It must mean something that Irvin Kershner, the best director ever to make a James Bond movie, has not made the best James Bond movie—-probably that the Bond films are the par excellence products of the industrial cinema, and are irreparably compromised by any inflections of personal style. Not that Kershner has brought many to bear, apart from his usual balanced wide-screen compositions and gallery of eccentric supporting characters; it's his sense that he is superior to the series (which he certainly is) that introduces a fatal strain of campiness and condescension. And without absolute conviction, no action film can survive: if there's no belief, there's no danger.
The production itself was rough, so Kershner's lack of conviction might have had something to do with that as well. Still, it was strange for Kershner to blame the movie's weakness on being based on Fleming's (supposedly) "worst" book. A strange sentiment, since the novel is better than both of the films made from it (and its plot is far smoother and free of needless complication), and much of the heart of the book never made it to the screen. Domino in both films was a pallid figure compared to Fleming's tigress. Perhaps this was because all her fiery qualities were siphoned off into Fiona Volpe and Fatima Blush, but that meant that the emotional climax of the picture--Domino brutally slaying Largo--never came across onscreen. A pity too, because Brandauer's Largo was miles ahead of Celi's old bore.