The phone call should have been a triumph. Instead, I remember Cubby Broccoli’s single-word refusal—a sound like a flat door closing on a dream. You can still feel the odd mixture of insult and resolve that follows a moment like that.
On a summer night in 1975, I watched Jaws and felt the world tilt.
I was not alone: Steven Spielberg had just delivered a blockbuster and decided to raise his hand for James Bond. I know that because he told the story on The Rest Is Entertainment podcast and in interviews reported by The Guardian. He phoned Albert R. “Cubby” Broccoli after Jaws and volunteered to direct a Bond film. Broccoli said, “No.”
Spielberg tried again when Broccoli asked permission to use five notes from Close Encounters of the Third Kind in Moonraker. Spielberg offered a trade—use the notes, let me direct Bond—and got another “Nope.” He still sent the notes. He told the story with a grin, and you can hear both the wounded pride and the generosity.
Did Spielberg ever try to direct a James Bond film?
Yes. He asked, and he asked again. He offered a deal and he accepted a refusal. That string of rejections is the origin story you haven’t been told: it’s not that he wasn’t talented—Broccoli knew his work—but that Broccoli kept the franchise tightly held. Spielberg’s next act was to tell George Lucas what happened; Lucas handed him Indiana Jones like a compass after a map was burned, and cinema history changed.
In living rooms and trade pages, the Broccoli family was the Bond franchise for generations.
From Dr. No (1962) onward, Cubby Broccoli set the tone; Barbara Broccoli and Michael G. Wilson inherited that stewardship. Their decisions shaped casting, tone, and which directors got through the door. You could call it a dynasty; I call it a brand guardianship that kept the movie’s DNA intact.
That control changed in 2021 when Amazon agreed to buy MGM for about $8.45 billion (€7.1 billion). Barbara Broccoli later stepped away and relinquished operational control to Amazon in early 2025, a shake-up reported by The Hollywood Reporter. The handoff sent ripples through studios, investors, and filmmakers who had once been told “no.”
Why didn’t Spielberg get a shot at Bond back then?
There’s no single villain in that story. Broccoli valued a certain continuity and a feel for the franchise; Spielberg was, at the time, an auteur exploding into mainstream power. You can parse ego, timing, and brand protectionism, but the simple fact is: Broccoli said no, and the franchise stuck to its roster. The refusal was an exercise in gatekeeping—effective, if restrictive.
On a newsroom bench, I often watch how rejections create new paths.
Spielberg’s refusal became a pivot. He didn’t brood; he built something else. The career that followed—Raiders of the Lost Ark, the Indiana Jones series, decades of work with Lucasfilm, DreamWorks, Netflix conversations, and more—proved that being turned away from one franchise isn’t a professional death sentence.
He told reporters and podcasters the line that closes the loop: “If they ever asked me to make a Bond film now, my answer would be: ‘You can’t afford me.’” That answer reads as swagger, a market-rate appraisal, and a tiny revenge.
At the intersection of studios and streaming, power has shifted.
I follow platforms—Amazon, Netflix, Apple Podcasts—and talent deals differently now. Amazon owns a significant stake in Bond’s future. Barbara Broccoli’s exit removed the oldest guardian of the franchise, and that changes the negotiation table for directors of Spielberg’s stature.
If you are counting reputational capital, Spielberg has enough. If you are counting leverage, his price is a market problem for any studio—he knows his value and he says so on record. The story is no longer about Spielberg begging; it’s about Spielberg choosing where his name matters most.
Want more io9 news? Check out when to expect the latest Marvel, Star Wars, and Star Trek releases, what’s next for the DC Universe on film and TV, and everything you need to know about the future of Doctor Who.
I’ve told you the moments—the phone call, the five-note bargain, the Lucas detour, and the Amazon takeover—because they map the moral: being refused by one gatekeeper can become leverage for the next chapter. You, as a reader and a fan, have to decide whether the franchise lost out or Spielberg simply grew past the asking.
So here’s the provocation: with the Broccolis mostly out and Amazon in, is the James Bond franchise better off chasing Spielberg, or is Spielberg already living in a world that no longer needs their permission?