SHAKEN AND STIRRED
23rd James Bond film Skyfall entertaining, fun to watch.
They always hit you like a stiff martini, beginning with the mental expectation of a blissful buzz, followed by the warm, forehead-melting sensation of an adrenalin-soaked escape.
In truth, James Bond continues to shake and stir us into entertainment abandon because the Ian Fleming character born from Cold War paranoia has now assumed the dimensions of a pop culture god, able to transcend all the petty politics of a given era — even the facial signature of a given actor — and emerge as a timeless force of westernized goodness.
The Albert R. (Cubby) Broccoli movie franchise has been aware of the collateral cultural value of its intellectual property ever since Sean Connery wrapped his sultry lips around a glass of claret, but now that Daniel Craig is carrying the Walther PPK in pocket, Bond is a blue chip commodity capable of selling everything from an unstoppable watch to a six-figure motor car.
At his worst moments, around the time of Octopussy, the Bond character felt like a cheap gimmick — an aging, sexist, gadget-carrying dinosaur who couldn’t utter a word of dialogue unless it was laced with sarcastic self references.
Craig’s possession of the part changed all that. The remake of Casino Royale stripped Bond down to his muscular core once more, reigniting the basic Bond romance by reasserting his darker side.
We believe Craig could kill people without hesitation. He reads as dangerous, unpredictable and most importantly “catlike” — which puts him back in direct contact with Fleming’s original, highly sexual, creation.
In Skyfall, Craig finally gets to have a bit of fun with his alter ego because this time around Bond gets to go rogue from beyond the grave.
Though Sony has requested that reviewers refrain from unveiling details of the new reel to readers, it’s hard not to discuss Skyfall without a brief synopsis of what actually happens.
As in every Bond film, the movie opens with a spectacular action sequence, but this time around, the brief encounter on a train doesn’t end the way we expect. It ends with M (Judi Dench) writing Commander Bond’s obituary.
Not to worry. Given this happens in the opening act, we can rest assured Bond isn’t really deceased.
Like Batman, he’s lying low in hiding, waiting for the right moment to spread his phoenix wings and rise from the crematory ashes because he believes his central nemesis is a bona fide member of MI6.
Taking another page from Christopher Nolan’s elegant rebirth of Batman, Sam Mendes shows us the old family mansion where the baby Bond grew up.
Beneath the dust covers and behind the hidden doors of the musty house, the spectral form of the human Bond slips across the frame, beckoning us to come just a little bit closer.
This is where the Oscar-winning Mendes (American Beauty, Revolutionary Road) is probably most comfortable because it’s where the drama gets knee-deep and the symbolism grows downright Freudian.
Bardem is fun for the film, but he’s not all that scary. The same could be said for the whole crazy endeavour: It’s highly entertaining and fun to watch, but for all the pricks of emotional ambition, it never punctures the skin to make us bleed.
Craig’s wonderfully cocky grin creates a latex barrier between the character and our gooey core. Despite the infiltration of MI6, the attack on their offices and a baddie worthy of his own flaxen-haired action figure, I was more worried about 007’s safety in Live and Let Die or On Her Majesty’s Secret Service.
Skyfall is highly aware of the earlier stuff, and even pays direct homage to the work of previous Bonds via props and plot, ensuring any true 007 fan will feel a tickle from every Aston Martin reference.
And for the most part, Skyfall tickles more than it moves — which is its only true disappointment: This is a fun one-night stand, not a committed connection. But if you’re going to hop into the cinematic sack with any pistol-packing protagonist, Bond is the only one who can guarantee a repeat performance — in addition to a spectacular climax.