Spectre
This makes me feel sad for the rest.
Don’t hate me, but I went to see Spectre and it was shit. And that’s about all I feel like I should write regarding this movie, because it feels like the exact equal amount of effort that went into making it. Sorry. Oh, alright, I’ll elaborate. It wasn’t shit, but it was just OK. And as such, shit. Because this is Bond, and just OK is not good enough.
Turns out Spectre is indeed aptly named, as this film is not just littered with the ghosts of Bond’s past, but littered with the ghosts of Bonds past. There’s the ghost of Bawdy, boob-bothering Roger Moore Bond, who manages effortlessly to seduce a criminally dumbed-down Monica Bellucci (who’s playing the ‘loyal’ wife of a crime syndicate hitman) less than an hour after she’s just attended the funeral of her husband, who died after Bond threw him from a helicopter. Did he drug her off screen? This uber-masculine misogyny might have titillated in the ‘70s, but in Craig-era Bond, it feels lazy, dated and surplus to requirement. It was totally unnecessary next to the frothing-at-the-test-tube chemistry with the equally-hot but also well-rounded character of Madeline Swann (Lea Seydoux). I mean don’t get me wrong, he still shags her as well, but what the fuck was Bellucci’s character all about?
There’s also the ghost of Bold-as-brass-balls Sean Connery Bond, who just plain announces to the world that he’s a secret agent, gets invited to tea by the villain who spills all about his nefarious plans before strapping Bond into a sure-fire death machine until Bond uses his secret agent wrist watch to escape. Sorry – I should have said SPOILERS – because whilst you were reading the above statement thinking that I was talking about vintage Bond, that’s literally what happens in the new movie. As it did in Goldfinger. And Live and Let Die. And Moonraker. Again, this worked back in the day, but in the post Bourne age, I want more skill and tactics, and fewer lucky escapes. Regardless of how many lethal Omegas he has in his drawers.
Then there’s the ghost of Bullet-bouncing, ballistic-bender Pierce Brosnan Bond, who despite superior firepower and numbers, just waltzes through gun fights apparently untouchable and always just out of range, whilst simultaneously being able to blow up entire bases with one well-placed shot, and take down helicopters that don’t seem able to fly higher than buildings or outrun boats. It’s a shame he didn’t have these skills in Skyfall, Dame Judi might have made it to the end credits. Don’t worry though – she comes back in Spectre as Holly from Red Dwarf. Sorry: spoiler alert.
There are some good points as well; Ben Wishaw splits all the best lines between him and Naomie Harris, Christoph Waltz can’t camp it up enough as the villain (although god knows he tries) and Dave Bautista hits the mark as the appear-from-nowhere alter-assassin sent to rain on Bond’s parade. The car chase is exciting (it’s got an ejector seat and everything), as is the tension in the opening scene, as we follow Bond with a continuous shot through the Day of the Dead festival, up onto a roof top, and straight into sniper mode to kick off the action.
However, the plot is shoddy, the reveal is obvious, but as I’ve said, my main issue with this movie is this seemingly schizophrenic, multi-faceted version of JB who is trying to be all Bonds to all men - even Daniel Craig seemed to have had enough of this nonsense by the end of the movie, and as Bond walks off into the night seemingly leaving his licence to kill behind him, I half expected Craig to break the forth wall with a quick “Craig out!” <drops ppk> to camera, before driving off in a DB5 to hunt down the rest of his career. And the song was shit.
For future reference, Mr Mendes: a nod and a wink to previous incarnations of cinema’s best loved British agent is fine. But an elbow to the audience’s solar plexus is painful, unsophisticated and beneath you. Sorry Sam, but you’ve done it better, and this makes me feel sad for the rest.
5/10
