My Thoughts on Skyfall [No Spoilers]

Quantum of Solace’s release in 2008 garnered some pretty strong, and not entirely unfounded, critical reviews. Long-time Bond writing duo Neil Purvis and Robert Wade, although hitting on gold with their adaptation of Casino Royale in 2006, struggled to bring through the nuances of the character, plot and little extras that we have come to know, enjoy and expect of our Bond flicks. Essentially, it failed to achieve what the prying public looks for in a bond film in almost every aspect; from the insipid eco-warrior villain Dominic Greene, to the frankly boring Quantum organisation itself and the film’s plotting which left much to be desired. All in all, it looked and felt somewhat of a collection of deleted scenes from the Casino Royale archive than a fully-fledged Bond outing of its own.

            Of course the blame, if it can be called as such, cannot be pinned entirely on the writers. Quantum of Solace’s Director Marc Forster made the film look more like a modern Swedish crime thriller than a new-age Bond epic, something that, with what seemed like considerable ease, Martin Campbell managed to achieve with Casino Royale. Campbell, having taken the reigns on the debut of previous 007 incumbent Pierce Brosnan in Goldeneye, handled the project with an efficiency and splendid outlook which shone through on screen as a visually spectacular Bond for the 21^st Century – although the film is, ironically, placed before Dr. No on the Bond timeline.

            If Quantum of Solace achieved one thing however, it was to cement Daniel Craig well and truly in to the role of everyone’s favourite secret agent. Long gone were the cries of “Bond can’t be blonde” as Craig portrayed a grittier and more conflicted character with a side order of sophistication, sticking closer to the character that Ian Fleming created all those years ago that certain previous films, and actors, had failed to display.

            If Quantum of Solace was the foundations, Skyfall, our latest Bond adventure, sees Craig and Director Sam Mendes plonk a bloody big house on top of it. It’s been a film four years in the making, a set back with financial issues on the part of MGM meant that production had to be simultaneously halted whilst the relevant funds were acquired. Production, at least in any official capacity stopped. However, in recent interviews both Craig and Mendes expressed that although the official go-ahead had not yet been given, they continued to discuss and prep their ideal film nonetheless. The film that was to become what is hitting screens across the country from 26^th October.

            Craig and Mendes, both of roughly the same age and background were, if promotional interviews are to be believed, ideally suited to working together (in fact, rumours flew around that Craig asked  Producers to Bring Mendes on board initially). They both approached the film from the same angle, wanting to include certain features that they felt had either not been included, or not been explored in enough detail in recent films. Mendes is recently quoted as saying “I put my all into this film. Everything I wanted to put into a Bond film, I put into this.” And it shows.

            The film has found the balance between a modern day action-adventure and the traditional elements of the Bond franchise that have been laid to waste in recent years; most notably the inclusion of gadgetry. The original Quartermaster Desmond Llewellyn, having appeared in more Bond films than any other actor (17) died in 1999 leaving the reigns to John Cleese to uphold the role for only one film. The producer’s decision to not include gadgets and a Q was somewhat of an inspired choice alongside a new, grittier Bond when the franchise was rebooted with Casino Royale. Skyfall however brings back arguably one of the most beloved characters from the franchise and Ben Whishaw plays it brilliantly, providing a teenage whizz-kid kind of character who introduces himself to Bond in a way that presents himself as his intellectual equal, or superior, but still in some ways maintains a youthful naivety to the service that adds an additional element to this classic character. The scripting of this introductory scene goes someway to exemplifying how much this film is informed from previous adventures as when Q leaves he says to Bond “please try to return these items in one piece,” a brilliant call-back to the classic line spoken by Llewellyn on so many occasions before.

            One of the main stuttering points in Bond films of late has been the lack of a villain we as an audience can really sink our teeth into. I have already mentioned the lack-lustre Dominic Greene but even Piece Brosnan’s arch nemesis’ left a lot to be desired. Of the last six or so Bond films only Sean Bean and Mads Mikkelsen as Alec Trevelyan and Le Chiffre respectively made much of an impact. Here is where that changes. Anyone having seen Javier Bardem in his Oscar award winning role as the maniacal Anton Chigurh in No Country for Old Men, will understand just how good he can be applied to a villainous character and his performance in Skyfall as the vengeful Raoul Silva has left critics calling for a further Oscar. He plays it camp; he plays it cool, he plays it in every way you could possibly want from a Bond villain. Cries that he could be the best Bond villain of all time are cries that I find hard to dispute. If not the best, he’s certainly well up there.

            The other notable performance is Judi Dench as M. It had been well documented that Skyfall really was Dench’s film and that much is certainly true. Delving into M’s past allows the writers to bring in a certain amount of sentimentality without over stepping the mark, much like the film as a whole. There is an air of the sentimental running throughout but it doesn’t compete for the audience’s attention alongside the big spectacular action sequences, they both allow each other to breathe. This is, again, where Mendes has the balance just right. Dench’s performance is truly spectacular and she proves, where she hasn’t always been allowed to before, that the role of M belongs to her. She’s strong, witty and although she’s always had an edgy sense of humour, it has been played upon more thoroughly in this script than ever before.

            The production design is beautifully modern, the locations allow the escapism of the traditional Bond film to shine through, director of photography Roger Deakins provides a spectacular array of visual images and Thomas Newman’s score provides an excellent backdrop for the scenes to breathe in. By using the bond theme carefully throughout to highlight particular moves or scenes, Newman gives the atmosphere of a proper Bond adventure proving that he was the right man to score it after he was hired in favour of David Arnold.

            Skyfall then is classy, witty, funny and full of traditional Bond nostalgia, yet very aware of the time in which it is set. Before seeing it I read that Mendes was unsure as to whether he would direct another Bond film, even after the press screenings a fortnight ago received such favourable reviews. Having now seen the film I can perfectly understand why he would have doubts. Skyfall screams of a film that has had its Director throw everything he wanted to do at it, and it is all the better for it. For Mendes to direct another might be a mistake; it may well be the definition of ‘quit while you’re ahead.’ He needn’t worry for now though. Skyfall is not only Craig’s best Bond film, it might possibly be one of the best Bond films of the last 10, 20, 30, 40 or, dare I say it, 50 years. Happy birthday indeed Mr. Bond.

Amy Childs and the Lost Phone of Perspective

We all knew that this day would come but you just can’t really prepare yourself for it when it does. It’s the kind of thing your parents and grandparents have strove to prepare you for since the day that you crawled helplessly into the world. Since you opened your delicate newborn eyelids. It pains me to even write this, but here goes: Amy Childs has lost her phone.

I kick myself everyday for even being aware of who this poisonous fleshwaste is. I hope everyday that some new piece of information that I learn will push my knowledge of her useless existence out of my noggin. On a daily basis I can fail to recall passwords, where I left my pen or where my keys are, but still remaining, untouchable, is my knowledge of who Amy Childs is; fake, deplorable, abhorrent, detestable, obnoxious, heinous, revolting, ghastly, grim and grisly, Amy Childs.

I can safely say that my hatred for this plastic sack of air has very much peaked this evening when she tweeted a total of thirty-one times in two hours, all in capitals, that someone had stolen her phone. A number of retweets from pathetic “fans” (of whatever it is she does that one can be a “fan” of) were also thrown into the mix; people who were expressing their “disgust,” “annoyance” and, get his, “utter devastation” at the events that had befallen the Warlock on the day in question.

Now for someone like Childs, who evidently has to fill her day tweeting in capital letters to make her feel like her life means something, this activity cannot go without sympathy from us, the normal folk; us who go about our day with purpose, with a vigour for life; to our jobs, schools and universities, to learn, to help others, to rebuilt our stricken economy and to make the world a better place. Sympathy we must give, except for today.

Today is only one day after Mark Bridger has been arrested for the murder of five year old April Jones, who still remains missing. We can all sympathise with losing an item dear to us but I’ll bet not many can understand just how stricken it must feel to have lost a child. I certainly can’t and I hope to goodness that you cannot too.

Caution must be exercised and perspective must be engaged. We have all lost our keys, lost our phone and sure we’re annoyed, upset and damn right frustrated. A simple tweet or a Facebook post to vent ones anger is perfectly natural and normal in this age of technology, but thirty-one capitalised tweets crying out in anguish across to the whole of the Twittersphere because you’ve lost a 4” set of electronics encased in plastic? Please.

The diehard Childs “fans” will feel that she has done no wrong and the sad fact is that even after all of this they will harbour no hatred whatsoever. She will not lose fans, she will not gain fans and her public image will remain intact and unharmed. It’s the sad fact that accompanies each modern day ‘celebrity,’ and it’s the cross that us normal folk have to bear as it’s something we will never be able to change. 

A Short Post on Being Ill

 Say goodbye to my family and friends for me, I’m dying. No really, I am. My complete inability to tolerate real pain or hardship for more than a few minutes is, granted, one of my many faults but this “cold” is very much the viral form of Lucifer himself. On day one I got just about half an hour’s worth of sleep and the following days, well, not much more than that. I have a headache, earache and am producing more mucus than I thought was humanly possible. Today I literally looked like special effects gunge was pouring out of my nose (form a queue ladies) and I thought I must have been giving birth to alien out of it. Either that or I’m secretly the next mutation in human evolution and I’m so advanced that it seems far too farfetched to be true. That one. I pick that one.

Whichever one is true this man flu feels like it’s set to stay forever and I see no logical explanation to determine why that my not very much be the case. In fact, inbetween the last paragraph and this, I had to stop to blow my nose take a sip of tea. You would think that with my new found time moping around the house in rather loose fitting trousers and hoodies drinking tea and trying to taste food that I would have no excuse for not completing Uni assignments. Well, you couldn’t be more wrong. Make no bones about it, I tried, I really did; yesterday I sat down to read Little Women for my American Literature module and got about one sentence in before the text on the page actually started to make me feel dizzy. Books, my literary friends, reducing me to a blabbering wreck of ridiculousness, taking away a form of dexterity I possess that I’m actually proud of. The computer screen hurts my eyes, I can hardly squeak out a whole sentence and I’m loathed to waste food by eating something I can’t even taste – my piece of toast this afternoon might as well have been a brillo pad. All in all my past couple of days have been pretty damn awful. Pause for another nose blow. 

There isn’t an awful lot more that I could venture to say on the matter. I’m ill, that’s all there is to it. Of course I appreciate that you might not care and quite frankly more fool you for clicking the link or reading thus far, I hope you get what I’ve got – this mutated super man cold flu thing – then you’ll care. Until then dear readers, friends and comrades, I’ll see you on the other side. If I make it.