After jilted director Kevin McClory won his suit to make an independent Bond movie, he sat on his hands for twenty years before deciding to do anything with it. However, it's pretty hard to make a Bond movie when all you're allowed to work with is an aging Sean Connery and the half-written script that inspired Thunderball, so the movie sort of feels like a 13-year-old boy trying to explain the plot of Thunderball to someone who has just awoken from a 60-year coma and has no idea who James Bond is. Franchise regular characters like Blofeld, M, Q, and Moneypenny are all played by new actors, the iconic score and introduction are gone, and Connery acts like he's just killing time until he can sneak into the alley for a smoke. It's as if Connery's hosting an episode of SNL with only one really long sketch, a feeling that only intensifies when Mr. Bean shows up as a comedic relief bureaucrat who talks like he's constantly trying to swallow his own tongue.
His character is Nigel Small-Fawcett. Get it? Small Faucet? He has a small dick!
Also, while typically Bond is a cold, quippy killer, this Bond takes down a thug with a sample of his own urine. Granted, when you have as many STDs as 007 it's a wonder your pee doesn't melt right through the container.
Originally he burned the bad guy's eyes by making him read the script for A View To A Kill.