Spectre
was Just Kind of Okay.
by
Kristin Battestella
I
was excited for Bond again after Skyfall, I
really was. Unfortunately, the phoned in nature of Bond's 2015
twenty-fourth outing Spectre feels
like a derivative, middle of the road, shadow of itself, indeed.
After
going on a personnel vendetta for an old friend, 007 James Bond
(Daniel Craig) earns a stand down from MI6 chief M (Ralph Fiennes). M
has enough to worry about as C (Andrew Scott) would see the seemingly
obsolete 00 program eliminated in favor of his new private
streamlining of the intelligence sector. Bond has no choice but to go
rogue – with the help of Q (Ben Whishaw) and Moneypenny (Naomie
Harris). Along with Dr. Madeleine Swann (Lea Seydoux) – the
daughter of former foe Mr. White (Jesper Christensen) – 007 follows
the trail of the mysterious Spectre organization led by the shadowy
Ernst Stavro Blofeld (Christoph Waltz), who is much closer to Bond
and the River House than anyone suspects.
From
the parade and the hotel room to helicopter peril, and you know,
explosions, the extended tracking shot trickery and
thirteen minute pre-credits sequence to start Spectre bode
well for returning director Sam Mendes. Touches from Skyfall
immediately address the changing
of the guard plot points, for British intelligence is consolidating
while Spectre is growing, and the parallel dossiers and secret
organization meetings warmly recall the SPECTRE of old for longtime
franchise fans. Underground lairs, secret passages, hiding veneers,
and nothing being what it seems layer potential statements on
surveillance intruding closer than we would like to believe. Are the
smoke and mirrors of government and crime organizations readily
interchangeable? In whom do we place our trust? Unfortunately,
Spectre follows a very
obvious textbook Bond pattern – the team meeting, a woman
with a tip, the first villainous encounter. There's a former foe with
info, a visit from Q, a helping Bond Girl, and a henchman fight or
two before casual villain infiltration. Torture, escape, repeat,
chases ensue. Mexico City to Tangier window dressings and thin clues
from writers Neal Purvis, Robert Wade, John Logan, and Jez
Butterworth proceed from A to B just because they should, and
dangerous ski lifts, airplanes, and more transportation perils can't
compensate for the awkward attempt to both connect Spectre to
Quantum of Solace yet retcon such ties. Clearly, they did not
have this interconnected plan all along, and viewers may feel angry
at such wool being pulled over our
eyes. There is no reason to backtrack toward the stagnant,
unsure, real world gritty compared to the fun floodgates opened after
Skyfall. While Spectre is
entertaining in individual scenes with some fine subplots and
characters, this ill-paced predictability and overlong longest Bond
movie ever gets redundant fast. Why cryptically beat around the bush
for an extra ninety minutes? Unnecessary girls, superfluous action
pieces, corruption plots, doubly weak villains – everything here
seems cutting room floor fair game,
even 007. Spectre's
ironic half hour finale serves as a self-fulling prophecy on the 00
irrelevancy in question. Why was Bond globe trotting around for two
hours if the MI6 team could take care of business at home without
him?
Fortunately,
James Bond still has slick banter for the MI6 staff, and that “Bond.
James Bond.” introduction comes with a well done seductive wink.
However, Bond's Kevlar attitude is about to change in Spectre.
Though his apartment looks just moved in empty, this 007 barren but
for a few choice mementos reveals more about the man behind the
illusion. He can get the facts with suave easy, but that doesn't mean
he won't mess up or let his emotions crack the surface. Reflective
mirrors and hidden themes pepper all Bond's scenes, layering his
duality as both the good and bad, for his country and rogue from it.
007 is an assassin just like the bad guys, why should anyone trust
his word? Bond can't even get his martini shaken not stirred, and
Craig has some wry quips this go around, telling a security guard he
just hit to stay down rather than hit him again. He's still up to
snuff and not phoning it in, but the going through the motions pace
in Spectre doesn't strive for stellar performances, either.
Whether the film is up to his par or not – and at times, it isn't –
Craig knows the role by now and plays it as he should. I've warmed up
to him as Bond since Skyfall, yet
that feeling of wanted more of Craig in another role lingers, and I
am more than ready for him to do something else. Not only does
007 not go back to the girl in the hotel room when he says he would –
gasp Roger Moore would never! – but Bond actually did answer my
wish and tossed his Dia de Muertos top hat onto the bed.
Unfortunately, I had to rewind it to be sure, as this tiny piece of
franchise fun was just kind of empty with no emphasis on what could
have been a real winking fan moment. I'm not even sure they meant the
action as a true 007 hat toss, so like most of Spectre, I'm
left wondering if it really even counts. Boo.
The
unevenness littering Spectre also
hampers what could have been a meaty new rival for Bond. Christoph
Waltz's (Inglourious Basterds) shadowed, ominous introduction
as Blofeld is Voldemort heavy with fear – anyone out of line is
going to get it in the eyes, ouch! Unfortunately, from
the friendly tour of his ho-hum desert lair to the final forty-five
minutes where Blofeld conveniently tells all his secrets, it is tough
to believe this evil plan has been orchestrated through these
latest, sometimes longest Bond movies. And all this Spectre puppetry
has to be resolved in half a picture now, too? I dare say that Eon
finally settled the Thunderball copyright
case and felt obligated to use these trademark names, and this rush
has reduced what was once a fun love to hate character into an Austin
Powers “Daddy Wasn't There”
parody. I kid you not, Spectre really
goes there! At least Blofeld does earn that Dr. Evil scar, and
there is a brief but cute cat. Poor pussy! Also in banal imitation of
From Russia with Love, Dave
Bautista (Guardians of the Galaxy)
as Mr. Hinx is a silent thug henchman who survives every
chase, crash, and explosion to inexplicably keep following Bond. If
not for some cool action scenes, this character is another
unnecessary element, and Spectre is
already crowded with two bigger villains vying for worst
finale in a confusing Blofield versus MI6 takedown. Andrew Scott
(Sherlock) may have been
miscast as the obvious behind the desk, power hungry River House
enemy C. His mirrored building, the Big Brother hub – are we not
supposed to see through this guy like a two-way mirror? The at home
SIS plots add a parallel who watches the watcher battle to Spectre,
and although such twists prove why espionage series with tight
ensembles like The Night Manager garner
critical acclaim, the weak villainous subterfuge compromises
what's trying to be done here.
And hell, if your going to make your 007 movie kind of sort of
not about Bond versus Blofeld, then give us a M, Q, and Moneypenny
Netflix series between Bond films.
Thankfully,
the returning Ralph Fiennes as M is fittingly cranky and angry at
Bond. In Spectre, he toes
the line with changes to Her Majesty's Service while trying to save
his program against government and bureaucratic intrusion. He's right
that technology and instant information can't replace a human on the
line making the espionage call. This is a fine storyline with Fiennes
entertaining as always, and it is fun to see M do things himself
without Bond. However, that doesn't make this element of Spectre
any less uneven and ultimately contrary to 007's supposed main plot.
Rory Kinnear also has a lot of exposition as Chief of Staff Bill
Tanner – but he chauffeurs Bond around and then disappears until
late in the game when we are reminded that he is indeed there. Hell,
I hoped and almost half expected for Colin Salmon to join in the
heroics as Deputy Charles Robinson, too! Ironic and quippy as ever,
Ben Whishaw's Q wisely doesn't trust his branch's new intelligence
measures either, and he has a cool waterside underground technology
lair complete with creepy nanochips injected into Bond's bloodstream
as a biological tracking device – a gadget plot point that perhaps
rightfully exits the narrative. Like Q, Naomie Harris as M's new
assistant Eve Moneypenny is caught in the middle of the MI6 power
struggle. Initially, she is stuck merely opening doors in the office
and chasing after Bond as he leaves. Though seemingly demeaning after
her strong role in Skyfall, this
Moneypenny isn't stuck in the office behind a desk and helps 007 on
the sly. She meets Bond at his apartment, and hers is complete with a
man in her bed to make Bond jealous. While this at home, Bond movie
without Bond storyline both overuses and under cooks the charming
ensemble, Spectre does
have a surprise moment from departed M Judi Dench and a fun to hear
but don't see him disappointing mention of CIA pal Felix Leiter. But
my gosh, can we meet 009 already, please? Come on and let's
see him – or her!
Yes,
there should have been more of Monica Bellucci (Under Suspicion)
as Lucia Sciarra in Spectre. She could have been a villainess
in on the game, a henchwoman rather than a literal wham bam but still
classy widow with damsel in distress flair. Ever lovely – did you
see that corset? – it seems unfair to just pin Bellucci at 50 as
the Oldest Bond Girl. However, it is pleasing to have someone match
Craig's age. If Bond is going to be older, banged up, and rugged but
not always wiser, then his women should rightfully compliment his
potential maturity. Bellucci does just that – gracefully if briefly
resisting Bond. Of course, if we keep to Bond formula as Spectre
does, the first girl who
gives anything up to 007 is always on borrowed time. Whether her exit
is due to death or a bedroom finished depends not so much on the
throwaway nature of the character herself, but the strength of the
movie – and Spectre needed
Lucia to stick around a lot longer. Fortunately, Lea Seyduox
(Blue is the Warmest Colour) as psychologist Dr. Madeleine
Swann pegs Bond with today's aware perspective and asks some very
realistic questions regarding his extracurricular activity, alcohol
consumption, traumatic past, and why he leaves his occupation blank
on the medical form. She doesn't ask for his heroics and remains
reluctant to have his protection because, as if she has seen all the
other Bond movies, Madeleine knows 007 will lead the bads right to
her. She sees through his tricks and vows she won't fall into his
arms – but all that intelligent character potential feels more like
a bluff, and Madeleine changes her tune on Spectre's whims.
She wants nothing to do with her father, she wants to know what
happened to her father, Bond is twenty years older than her and old
enough to be her father. Superficial angst is what goes for female
character development in this franchise, and the once smart
enough to know when to leave Madeleine still ends up in need of
rescue.
While
there are subtitles on the Spectre
rental blu-ray, the
features have been removed, and the disc skipped – although I doubt
I missed much in the jumped minutes. Fine balladry though it is with
swift high notes, Sam Smith's “Writing's on the Wall” is too
quiet, a swansong rather than full embodied memorable. It was a weak
year and I'm surprised it won the Best Original Song Oscar. Truly,
this weighed and found wanting as the scripture says is indicative of
how Spectre feels.
However, the flames and dames caressing Bond with kinky tentacles in
the title sequence make use of the song's past lyrics with flashes of
Skyfall
and Casino Royale
matching the hazy smoke and ice design. Unfortunately, the frenetic
set piece scoring is uneven alongside underutilized Bond themes. 007
notes appear briefly before the title sequence then go unheard until
the finale. What's the point of having theme music if you won't use
it to punctuate something cool? Without these familiar cues even the
well-actioned spectacles fall flat.
Likewise
annoying blue car lights contribute to an overly CGI, digitally
graded, and omnipresent cyan scheme. Though suave,
the skeleton disguises and Day of the Dead pomp feel too advantageous
as well as New Orleans borrowing from Live
and Let Die. Thankfully,
the opening photography, building disasters, and dusty costumes add
grit while sunset
interiors and golden patinas make Spectre
Old World colorful. Austrian Snowscapes and mountaintop clinics
recall On Her Majesty's
Secret Service while
outdoor Thames boat
rides and Londonscapes invoke the best of The
World is Not Enough along
with Italian, Spanish,
and operatic flavors. The sweet DB10 tricked out for 009 instead of
007 provides for some dry jokes, and intense, nighttime chases on
congested Roman roads yield fiery, wild exits. Train violence
recalling From Russia with
Love, countdowns
and lairs ala Dr. No
and
Goldfinger – while
not as copycat as Die
Another Day, some
Bond homages peppering Spectre
aren't
as subtle as they should be. Octopus motifs invoke the blasé of
Octopussy, and
the newspapers are dated right out of Tomorrow
Never Dies. While
less clunky and not as intrusive, the technology
screens, phones, and laptops in Spectre
will be dated soon, too.
Besides, it is much cooler to see old equipment be useful. Imagine, a
watch that almost does nothing but tell the time in hopes of making
Our Man James punctual!
Is
Spectre making
winks on Craig's tenure?
Certainly
we would rather have him
depart with a better picture, but Spectre
both
doesn't know when to end yet feels absolutely intended to wrap up
this leg. Heck, they've
tossed the grenade on what was left behind, blew up the River House,
and burned every bridge upon leaving. Is the door now open for a race
change for 007 with Idris Elba or Chiwetel Ejiofor? Maybe a retro
abstract or sixties set Michael Fassbender? What of a lighthearted
Moore-styled Tom Hiddleston? We shall see, for if nothing else
Spectre spends
all its gritty waiting for
something else that never happens in a long, empty ciao.
Spectre has
action, but isn't an action movie. This is a thriller that isn't
really thrilling, and an espionage picture without actual spy games
thanks to broad storytelling, a troubled script, and transparent
meta. Maybe the great individual character moments, action scenes,
and Bond treats come together more in repeat viewings, but while I
don't hate Spectre, I've
no real desire to sit through this heavy handedness again. Bond fans
can perhaps appreciate some aspects here and newer audiences may find
merit, but there are better, less frustrating and disappointing films
in the franchise. The
gun barrel is back at the beginning, Bond takes his Aston Martin off
the blocks, picks up his daughter – er girl, and
rides off towards Big Ben. “Whoop dee do, Basil!”
