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| Marlohe already knows what Craig is carrying in Skyfall |
««« Skyfall. Written by Neal Purvis, Robert
Wade & John Logan. Directed by Sam Mendes.
It’s been four years since the
last Bond movie, Quantum of Solace,
but it seems longer. This is because Solace
didn’t feel like the real thing. For whatever reason that possessed
them, its makers opted to make a “stealth” Bond movie, discarding many of the
elements we’ve come to expect from the franchise (e.g., no Q or his gadgets, no
Moneypenny, no “Bond, James Bond”, next to no use of the signature Monty Norman
theme). Maybe they mistook Bond for Jason Bourne with a Saville Row tailor. Or
maybe the works were hijacked by saboteurs from SPECTRE. Whatever the reason,
it was a disappointing follow-up to the brilliant relaunch accomplished by Casino Royale (2006).
The best thing about the new Skyfall is that it is wholly, unabashedly Bond. Not by accident
does the film open with a spectacular motorcycle chase across the rooftops of
Istanbul, last visited by the series in the classic From Russia, With Love (1963). The script by Neal Purvis, Robert
Wade and John Logan actually swings to the opposite extreme, ticking off all
the boxes as it hastily restores all those missing pieces. We get a sleek new
Eve Moneypenny in Naomie Harris; we are introduced to a new, whiz-kid Q (Ben
Whishaw), and the Monty Norman theme may be used this time more heavily than in
any Bond flick in years. Though Purvis and Wade wrote the “stealth” Bond
scripts for Quantum and Royale, they obviously got the memo to
return to the series’ roots.
And, of course, we still have Daniel Craig, who may
well be the best Bond since Connery but shows no sign of caring if you think he
isn’t. A few years on from getting his “double-oh” license to kill, this Bond
is already showing his age. Whishaw’s Q calls him a dinosaur of the analog
world, the outmoded “meat-verse” of human intelligence. “I can do more damage
sitting at my computer in my pajamas than you can do in the field,” the kid boasts.
Of course, Bond has been going obsolete at least since the 1970’s. His might be
the longest onscreen mid-life crisis in the history of movies. And yet he still
knows to straighten his French cuffs after jumping aboard a moving train, and
can still discern the make of the pistol tucked between a woman’s thighs—namely
the thighs of French ingénue Bérénice Marlohe, too quickly gone from these
proceedings.
But there’s something too schematic about Skyfall’s dabbling in the psychohistory
of Bond. As we learn more about 007’s roots on the wuthering moors, the whole
thing starts to sound too Bruce Wayne-ish, too much the typical superhero back-story.
Most preposterous is the not-so-subtle subtext of yearning for his lost mother
in his relationship with boss Judi Dench. (Not by chance, it seems, that
she’s called “M”, and his British inflection makes “ma’am” sound like “mom”.)
This preoccupation with what makes Bond tick is just too American. One of his enduring appeals, after all, is
that he is the least psychological of
heroes; he kills for a living simply for the sake of Queen and country and
because he’s good at it. Isn’t that enough?
What finally saves Skyfall is the most basic of its prerequisites: a good villain.
Javier Bardem (No Country for Old Men,
Vicki Christina Barcelona) is an ex-MI6
agent with a grudge against M (Judi Dench) that goes way beyond “disgruntled”. The
scene-chewing Bardem plays him as a corrupted voluptuary, all homoerotic menace
and fake bonhomie. “All this running
around is exhausting,” he sighs. For a
generation of older, pre-Bourne Bond fans, it is exhausting indeed. For our
money, Craig and Bardem make it worth another go—but only barely.
© 2012 Nicholas Nicastro
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