It's well know that Stephen King doesn't like Stanley Kubrick's version of The Shining (so much so that he scripted an abysmal TV movie version). According to him, Kubrick didn't understand the horror genre. Well, I think Kubrick did. I think he understood it only too well. He knew that it was a genre full of conventions, cheap tricks and tired clichés. Therefore Kubrick decided to throw all that nonsense out of the window and make a film based on atmosphere rather than predictable thrills. You don't get people here jumping out of the dark time after time. You don't get worthless shocks. Kubrick's version of The Shining is an insidious film. It gets under your skin. In other words, it isn't for Pavlovian dogs that have spent a lifetime being conditioned by cretinous nonsense.

What runs deepest through The Shining is a contempt for family. Right from the beginning it's obvious that Jack isn't happy with his lot – as he's being shown around the hotel he can't help but take a sneaky look at the backsides of a couple of women. Well, can you blame him? The poor man is married to a bug-eyed, bucktoothed Olive Oil look-a-like.

Then there's Jack's quiet frustration with his son Danny. As he's driving to the hotel, he's bothered by requests for food. And then his son makes out that he's knowledgeable because he saw a programme on TV. Already he's slightly irked - he's got to spend months alone with these people; one who resembles Popeye's missus and one who talks to his finger.

So really the hotel brings out nothing that isn't already there. It merely brings everything to the surface – Jack's resentment as regards his wife, his frustration as regards his lack of writing talent and his annoyance at having a troubled son. It's kind of like he's testing his family. Are they strong enough as a unit to survive being cooped up together?

One of the underlying themes in the film seems to be television. What happens in The Shining is what happens when someone stops watching the idiot box. With it, a person can find solace in mindless programming and retreat from the strictures of family life. Without it they're faced with all their problems and all the failings of their loved ones. Even the strongest family can be brought to its knees when there's no escape from each other's company. Therefore it's quite telling, when Jack loses the plot completely, that he spouts lines from TV: "Honey, I'm home" and "Here's Johnny." Jack just needs some sweet, sweet TV.

But it's also the pain of writing that contributes to Jack's insanity. There's nothing quite as harrowing as an empty page. Plus there's nothing more annoying than being interrupted mid-flow. One of the best scenes in the film is when Jack tells his wife to get lost when she interrupts him. It's extremely violent in how cold Jack is towards Wendy. And because it's grounded in a reality, it's all the more effective.

Also rather unsettling is the scene where Jack talks to his son. He makes Danny sit on his lap and he proceeds to tell him how much he loves him and how he'd never hurt him. It works so well because it's so cold and because there's such an obvious lack of affection. The words are just empty platitudes. They mean absolutely nothing.

Jack's true feelings are only revealed when he gets to talk to Lloyd. It's in this scene that you realise the marriage isn't all it's cracked up to be – Wendy has never forgiven him for accidentally hurting his son. And it's also in this scene that you realise (as if you hadn't noticed earlier) that Jack is absolutely batshit crazy. He's talking to ghosts. But they could also be figments of his imagination, for there are mirrors behind most of the ghosts he talks to. Effectively he's talking to himself. And I love this matter of fact way of dealing with the supernatural. There are no fancy tricks. Everything just seems unnaturally natural.

In fact, everything to do with the ghosts is superbly handled. The twins are spooky, Lloyd is amiable and Grady is out of his mind. And it's Grady who's probably the most chilling presence in the film. He starts off as a bumbling waiter but then quickly becomes a stone cold killer. Just the way he says 'corrected' conveys more terror than a million slasher films. And Philip Stone's performance is a million times more subtle than Nicholson's. I mean, as much as I like Jack in the film, he does chew the scenery. But Kubrick likes his over the top performances, so that's the way he wanted it.

And undoubtedly it's Kubrick's movie. He's the real star. And I love everything he brings to the film. I love his command of lighting – just look at The Gold Room scenes. I love his use of music. I love the way that he turns the Room 237 scene, one that could have been a standard 'jump' scene, into a comment on Jack's marriage – his willingness to be unfaithful. I love the way that he leaves lots of unanswered questions (how the fuck does Jack get out of the store room?). I love the shots of the blood coming out of the lift. I love the helicopter shots at the start. I love the way that pages and pages of typed words are the most frightening visual in the film. I love the maze. I love the fact that you see a ghost getting a blow-job from a ghost in a bear suit... Man, I love absolutely everything about this film. It's horror for people who know that true horror isn't being stalked by a man in a mask, but being trapped alone with your family.

Looking at it coldly and objectively, A View to a Kill is a lousy Bond film. After all, it features a geriatric 007, a vapid heroine, a dull plot and it's full of lame attempts at humour. But perhaps because of this, it ends up being absurdly entertaining – it's certainly a million times more fun than shitfests like Die Another Day, Diamonds Are Forever and Moonraker.

The first hint that A View to a Kill is going to be a rather unique entry in the Bond series, is in the opening ski chase. Not only do you have an old geezer performing outrageous snowbound acrobatics via poorly disguised stunt doubles, but The Beach Boys begins playing when Bond starts snowboarding. It has you shaking your head in disgust at how jokey everything has become, but then something even stranger happens – Bond escapes the damn Commies by floating off in an aquatic, iceberg-shaped loveshack with a blonde bimbo stationed inside. Suddenly you can't help but grin – the idea of an aged Roger Moore boning his way back to civilisation is just too wonderful to resist.

Another glorious moment of insane weirdness is when Bond sleeps with May Day. Trying to cover the fact that he's been snooping around, he appears naked in her bed. And then in a bizarre attempt to look casually alluring he leans on his elbow and asks May Day where she's been. It's a pulling technique your dad might use – if I get naked and horny, poontang is a cert. But of course, this being Bond, it works. And I love the way that Moore rolls his eyes like May Day is sucking out his brains as she feasts on his dentures. Oh and there's a wonderful line of dialogue between Walken and Moore the following morning. "You sleep well?" "A little restless, but I got off eventually." God bless you Roger Moore.

And god bless Christopher Walken, too, for is there a more fun Bond villain than Max Zorin? Well, maybe there are a few that are more fun, but it's undeniable that Walken is a joy to watch. Just take the scene where he shoots and drowns hundreds of miners while cackling like Hank Scorpio on crack. This is how insane Bond villains should be. And I also love the kinky relationship he has with May Day. There's one scene where they're practising martial arts. It starts off serious, but then things take a turn for the pervy – Zorin tries to kiss May Day, and she tries to resist, but pretty quickly they're gearing up to a do a sweaty, bi-racial, psychotic variation of the horizontal bone dance. It's a pet theory of mine, but I stand by it – all the best Bond villains are sexual deviants.

But although the villains in A View to a Kill are good value, its heroine Stacey is fucking hopeless. All she does is get in trouble and scream "James!" in a very annoying breathless squawk of a voice. And she doesn't bring out the best in Bond either. There's even one scene where Bond cooks her quiche. Quiche! A man who kills and shags with reckless abandon cooks some empty-headed bimbo the most gay meal a man can cook. And then later he tucks her in for bed! What is this? Bond shouldn't be tucking her in for beddie-byes; he should be fucking the bejesus out of her.

One of Stacey's worst scenes is in the fire sequence. All she does is squeal and scream and dangle helplessly. Plus she even cries, "James, don't leave me." Darling, I wish he would. I wish he'd let you burn to a crisp. But because Bond is Bond (and smells an easy lay) he rescues the vapid wench, much to the delight of a crowd of onlookers - James descending with an unconscious woman is played like a cinematic riff on the song 'So Macho'; Moore, with his leather jacket and ironed out wrinkles, is an 80s, geriatric personification of the brave but caring alpha male; a man who will rescue his damsel in distress and then put on some Bryan Ferry while having sex with her.

To further exemplify what a rotten human being Stacey is, there's a scene where the bland blonde bimbo gets captured by the villains in the speedy and highly agile vehicle that is a large blimp. Seriously, what kind of person would get captured by a blimp? Someone who was deaf and blind perhaps. And even someone who was wheelchair bound. But anyone who can run left or right shouldn't get captured by one of the noisiest and slowest vehicles there is.

But although the ridiculous Stacey gets him into it, the final Golden Gate bridge fight is good fun. I mean, how could you not enjoy it? It has an old man with Margaret Thatcher-style helmet hair and poorly disguised wrinkles fighting with a blonde mentalist. It's one of the oddest showdowns in cinema. But while the fight itself ends on a high with Walken cackling like a madman as he plunges from the bridge, it descends into head-shaking banality as Stacey screams "James!" and Zorin's mad scientist 'father' shouts "Max!" Seriously, half of the dialogue must consist of the characters shouting each other's names.

But while I'm talking about the Golden Gate bridge fight, I feel obliged to point out that Zorin's blimp is disguised as a Portakabin. How brilliant is that? The villain's getaway vehicle disguises itself as the depressing spectre of a million building sites.

Another subject for mirth for me was a fight in Stacey's house between Bond and a bunch of Zorin's heavies. All it really consists of is unspectacular punches and kicks, but in every other shot you can see Moore's stunt double – some of whom look nothing like him. The best example is in a shot where all Bond has to do is punch someone and protect a vase – I swear the stunt double has a 'tache.

Yet another example of amusing stunt work is in the poor Paris car chase. All the long shots feature stunt doubles who look nothing like our glorious Rog. And all of them have to wear Shredded Wheat hairpieces.

But then again, Moore's Bond has always been less about the action and more about shagging. That and raised eyebrows. Just watch the fire engine chase for the best raised eyebrow in cinematic history. It's so good I can finally understand why blond tarts aplenty drop their knickers when a geriatric Bond comes-a-calling.