At last, after a period of stasis that has lasted since the Covid-delayed release of No Time to Die in 2021, events are finally moving in the right direction when it comes to the next 007 adventure. After the all-powerful franchise owners Barbara Broccoli and Michael G Wilson agreed to relinquish creative rights to Amazon, in exchange for a rumoured $1bn, the tech firm—which acquired MGM Studios in 2022 for $8.45bn, primarily to have the lucrative IP rights for the James Bond series—has recruited former Sony chief Amy Pascal and Paddington and Harry Potter supremo David Heyman as producers. And it is strongly rumoured that the next, rebooted picture will be directed by double Oscar-winner (and regular Heyman collaborator) Alfonso Cuarón. There is, as yet, no word as to who will play Bond himself, but that has not stopped the usual rampant speculation.
However exciting a Cuarón-directed 007 adventure would be—imagine the long takes!—the main reason for the extra billion dollars, a Blofeld-esque ransom if ever there was one, is surely for Amazon to begin developing the extended Bond universe that Broccoli and Wilson refused to countenance. There have been occasional, failed attempts to create spinoffs before—the Halle Berry character Jinx in 2002’s Die Another Day was to have had a Stephen Frears-directed film about her, until it was pointed out that audiences could barely remember the character immediately after leaving the cinema—but there are countless opportunities, once the next Bond film proper has come out, to begin exploiting the brand in earnest. Want television series revolving around Blofeld, M, Felix Leiter or even the redoubtable Miss Moneypenny? They are surely only a few years away.
Problem is, many have wearied of endless origin stories—and point to Amazon’s own Lord of the Rings prequel, The Rings of Power, which has cost a huge amount for remarkably little reward, and the Game of Thrones precursor House of the Dragon, which has failed to quite recapture the goodwill squandered by the earlier show’s failed final season. And, of course, many would look to Star Wars as an example of how not to exploit IP. After George Lucas sold Lucasfilm to Disney in 2012 for $4bn, the House of Mouse immediately set about creating a ho-hum sequel trilogy of sequel pictures and endless television series. After the initial success of one of these series, The Mandalorian, tedium has set in, mostly due to an absence of risk-taking. Ask any but the most committed what goes on in The Acolyte, Skeleton Crew or Ahsoka, and you will probably be met with an indifferent shrug.
There is one shining exception to the dross, and Pascal and Heyman would be well advised to learn from its success. Andor, which returns for its keenly anticipated second series next Tuesday, is that rarest of shows: a Star Wars prequel (or, strictly speaking, a prequel to a prequel, given that it precedes the 2016 picture Rogue One) that is aimed at adults, rather than children or excitable fanboys, and that can deal with complex themes and ideas. It may be of the Star Wars universe, but perhaps because of its showrunner Tony Gilroy’s self-professed irreverence towards the wider source material, it offers an identity and atmosphere entirely of its own. Andor is that rare show that dares to delve into the marginalia and apocrypha of a much-loved series, and does so with grit and originality.
The first series premiered in 2022, and followed the exploits of Diego Luna’s disillusioned small-time crook Cassian Andor as he gradually gets drawn into the fight against the all-powerful Empire. It is typical of the character, and the show, that his initial motivation is financial, rather than ideological. He encounters Stellan Skarsgård’s rebel mastermind Luthen Rael—who, rather brilliantly, poses as a flamboyant antiques dealer when he isn’t masterminding the insurgency—and the show’s universe duly expands to include everything from political chicanery (led by Genevieve O’Reilly’s principled, fearful senator Mon Mothma) to a 2001-influenced prison saga, featuring none other than Andy Serkis as the toughest inmate on the block. They are opposed by the bureaucratic but genocidal forces of the Empire, with the great Denise Gough in a thoroughly three-dimensional role as the ambitious Imperial strategist Dedra Meero.
Andor is tremendously watchable and consistently surprising; it comes as no surprise that one of Gilroy’s co-writers is Beau Willimon, creator of House of Cards. Most major characters get at least one show-stopping monologue, but (unlike the Star Wars prequel pictures) this is no wordy exercise in faux-Shakespearean grandeur. Instead, its characters bleed, fall in love, act rashly and are driven by all-too-human impulses, heroes and villains alike. The first season featured perhaps the most disturbing torture scene you’ll ever see without any overt violence displayed, and Gilroy and his fellow writers and directors delight in creating moral conundrums for the protagonists to wrestle with. It is no spoiler to reveal that they do not always overcome them.
The Bond films certainly hit some highs during the Daniel Craig era—most notably with Casino Royale and Skyfall—and their gritty, realistic ethos surely influenced Andor. But if Pascal and Heyman are committed to developing origin stories for other Bond characters, which seems all but inevitable, then Andor has shown, in turn, how a spinoff can be executed without cynicism or fan-service; it has added new value and genuine intrigue to the otherwise-weary Star Wars universe. As we eagerly await the second instalment of this principled rebellion, with our small band of heroes sticking it to the man, there is an implicit note to producers: that is the way to do it.
