The Spectre of James Bond

Geeks are a whiney lot. They are notoriously difficult to please and obsess over every nuance, gesture and detail in search of any hint of discrepancy that will alter or dishonor the object of their passion. I count myself among them even though, like Groucho Marx, I would never belong to a club that would have someone like me as a member. As a lifelong 007 geek when that word meant someone who bit the heads off of chickens in the carnival, you have just entered my wheelhouse.

So get the cheese ready. I'm about to pour the whine.

SPECTRE is such an appropriate title for the latest James Bond film, but for many of the wrong reasons. Its predecessor, the game-changing SKYFALL, set the bar so high that it could be the specter looming over its follow-up, the quintessential hard act to follow and the pressure on the Bond crew to outdo it has had some unfortunate effects this go around. I'm not about to write SPECTRE off as a disappointment because there is so much it gets right. But with that, so much does not.

From the git, expectations were through the roof, especially with the brilliant pre-title sequence set at a Day of the Dead celebration in Mexico. The opening shot, an extended sequence taking a page of the BIRDMAN (or TOUCH OF EVIL, if you'd rather) playbook, begins with a parade until the camera picks up Bond and a babe strolling down the street, into a hotel and finishes with 007 on the rooftop as if on his way to work. It ends with Bond and bad guys duking it out in an out of control helicopter over the heads of parade revelers below. A really sensational sequence that quite frankly steals the whole movie, I felt relieved and ready to settle in for the ride..

The opening titles, in and of themselves a rarity these days for some inexplicable reason, unfortunately give this Aston Martin some engine trouble. The song, a sad sorry number by Sam Smith that I have previously complained about in a previous post (LICENCE TO TRILL) is bad enough, but Maurice Binder successor Danny Kleinmann's visuals are positively...or negatively, rather, creepy. Danny Craig's oiled up naked torso groped by adoring females and the homage to tentacle porn put me off more than Pierce Brosnan's torture in the opening credits of DIE ANOTHER DAY.

  

This sums up the entire experience for me, a series of extreme highs and lows that by the end left me more troubled than truly satisfied because frankly, I admit to have been spoiled by the previous outing and expected something more cohesive considering the talent involved. However, I am aware that the producers of the Bond franchise often shoot themselves in the foot more often than not so I lay many of the film's shortcomings at their feet. Sam Mendes pulled off the impossible with SKYFALL,
a recognizable directorial vision. This time around, there seemed to be so much emphasis on trying to make lightning strike twice that it appears forced, awkward and something a Bond film never has been, clunky.

A few other elements rankled me as well all within the confines of  a car chase scene through Rome. While maneuvering his Q tricked out sports car through the city streets and back alleys with a deadly assassin hot on his trail, Bond insipidly calls Moneypenny mid-way for some casual banter and unnecessary plot exposition, taking the piss completely out of it and transforming into excess without success. Toss in a couple of bad gags leftover from the Roger Moore era and the movie not only takes a step backwards, but falls sharply on its ass in the process.

On the other hand, the cast is near-flawless with some of the new faces introduced in the SKYFALL shining brightly. Ralph Fiennes' M continues to impress and when Ben Whishaw as Q is given more to do, the movie is better off for it. Dave Bautista's silent killer works his pro wrestling experience (the first of that profession since Peter Maiva-Dwayne Johnson's grandpa-in YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE) into an excellent train fight scene. Christoph Waltz underplays his main villain role to fine effect, though some of the quirky nuance he brings to Tarantino characters would have been welcome to help feed the initial delight of his casting in the first place. The two big reveals of his character, a combination of Benedict Cumberbatch in STAR TREK IN DARKNESS and AUSTIN POWERS IN GOLDMEMBER, became something the filmmakers should have avoided like the Black Plague. Monica Bellucci was a welcome addition who fortunately lived to see the end credits. And Lea Seydoux overcame her poorly written character as Bond's main squeeze with great finesse, not an easy task for such an ill-conceived character. Much has been made of the Bellucci's age as a Bond girl, which is noteworthy on the surface until Bond runs off with Seydoux, nearly half his age, at film's end.

Daniel Craig, the James Bond for this generation has been reportedly and understandably burned by the making of SPECTRE, but it doesn't show on the screen. He's certainly looser here than he ever has been, even allowing himself a sense of humor (blissfully pun-free). Physically, this film has certainly taken its toll upon him and since he's invested in the entire enterprise, Craig receives a co-producer credit, a first for any actor in the role. Despite his misgivings of one more time at the helm, I wouldn't be surprised to see him in Bond 25, but given his personality, I'm sure he'll wearing his cranky pants again.

So glad to hear a Thomas Newman  musical score again (not entirely sure he worked in an instrumental of that awful title song) and while cinematographer Roger Deakins couldn't come to the party this time, Hoyte Van Hoytema, who shot HER and LET THE RIGHT ONE IN, fill his shoes superbly. While I've kvetched enough about the story, there are superb individual lines and exchanges strewn within such as:
"Why did you come?"
"I came here to kill you."
"And I thought you came here to die."
"Well, it's all a matter of perspective."

The attempt to reboot the criminal organization known as Spectre (hence the title) worked for the most part by tying in all the elements from the previous three films together, though I wonder why Mathieu Amalric's Dominic Greene, the villain from QUANTUM OF SOLACE, was missing. The desert fortress in the crater became a touchstone to YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE's volcano lair, as do some other callbacks to previous entries in the series. The finale wraps up in London, something the series has never done before, putting a rather lovely bookend to the Craig quadrilogy. However, SPECTRE reminds me of the recent FX TV version of FARGO. That show works best when strays away from the source material and becomes its own entity. SKYFALL, it being the 50th anniversary recipient, was able to walk the tightrope between past and present, often seamlessly. Here, the references seem an afterthought, forced and repetitive, muddying the waters of the Bond legacy.

When I eventually rewatch SPECTRE, which of course I will do because, well, that is what I do, I may reassess many of the drawbacks I found upon this initial viewing. In order of how I rank the Daniel Craig Bond films, I rank it number after SKYFALL, CASINO ROYALE and QUANTUM OF SOLACE. Not a weak effort, just overblown, overdone and ultimately, not enough, goddamn it.

Sorry, James. But according to the final tag, you will return. And so will I. It's what we do.

And I Smell Like One Too

Some musings on this year's birthday extravaganza (aka CherneyFest 2013)

In my new guise of societal vigilante, I have taken it upon myself to change the moronic phrase that never pays "At the end of the day" to the more aesthetically pleasing  "In the middle of the night". For one thing, it's more specific. "At the end of the day" is vague and ultimately lazy. At the end of the day-when? Sunset? Bedtime? Midnight? Last call? As an eternally nocturnal creature, "In the middle of the night" suits me just fine. It must be my Hungarian roots. We're basically night people, don't you know. And "In the middle of the night" is sexy. Again, it's the Hungarian in my blood.  We're basically sexy, don't you know. "At the end of the day" is bland, suggesting a warm glass of buttermilk. Bluch.

ABC's new food competition show THE TASTE is a waste, both of air time and my time. Normally, I would just write this off without another thought were it not for the unfortunate participation of Anthony Bourdain. Sad. This is the kind of show he would have torn a new asshole. Now the asshole's on the other foot. The major networks can't mange to make a decent food related show. it's all about the cable. THE TASTE may not be as putrid as that bottom feeder known as THE CHEW, but for someone I admire as much as Bourdain, this is a kick in the reputation. Hopefully, the rest of his career won't be reduced to a series of snarky sound bytes like this. It won't negate his previously excellent work, but it doesn't make for smooth sailing into the sunset. Sure, everybody's a whore, but I hold Bourdain up to a higher standard because he's basically responsible for raising the bar in the first place.

(UPDATE 6/6/13: Bourdain rebounded with his new CNN show PARTS UNKNOWN, just a retitle of  NO RESERVATIONS. This is what he does best. Unfortunately, THE TASTE has been inexplicably renewed for a second season, even though its ratings were in the toilet. Hopefully, Tony will not return. This ain't for him and frankly, leaves a bad TASTE in the mouth of one his biggest supporters, namely me.)

FOX's THE FOLLOWING was one of the best pilots I've seen in quite awhile, genuinely creepy and downright jump out of your seat scary. I wonder about its limited premise and how it can extend into a series. Too many shows like this are getting green-lit and when the major selling point reaches a logical conclusion, it flounders. (example: last year's Ashley Judd show MISSING or even AMC's THE KILLING) Why not just make it a limited-series and be done with it? Of course, it could end up like the second season of Ryan Murphy's show, AMERICAN HORROR STORY: THE KITCHEN SINK.

(UPDATE 6/6/13: A good pilot does not a series make. This show grew stupider with each episode and made me angry at myself for recommending it at all.)

A birthday gift for myself is a trip to the movies, an annual tradition I've kept for the past twenty years. This year's film was none other than Quentin Tarantino's bugfuck crazy-ass spaghetti western/blaxspoitation mix tape DJANGO UNCHAINED. Here is a list of why this was made for yours truly: The retro Columbia Pictures logo, the stylized opening credits, NEW Ennio Morricone music, Christoph Waltz. Jamie Foxx, Jim Croce's "I Got a Name", Big Daddy and his gang of "hoods", Leonardo Di Caprio and Samuel L. Jackson at his Samuel L. Motherfucking Jacksonest. Sam has been unjustly overlooked by most critics and this awards season even though he is as compelling as either Waltz or Di Caprio in this film. I can only assume that this is a casualty of the PC backlash DJANGO is receiving. his portrayal of a duplicitous house slave must have really upset the rank and file. Calling tarantino and his film irresponsible is missing the point. He's working with two bastardized genres to begin with and then propels everything so far over the top that it lnds on the other side. There's another perspective from that angle and if you're not tall enough for this ride, you shouldn't try to take it. He's dealing with themes within this framework that are otherwise getting swept under the rug. The end result tries to fulfill a revenge fantasy and there's no sensitivity involved in that sort of conclusion. At least it's an attempt to right a wrong, however cartoonish. That's his canvas or are you dopes unaware that Tarantino's been around for the last twenty years? Wake up and watch the blood spurt. Or don't. DJANGO has some drawbacks including a clunky final third and the lack of decent female characters, but this was a birthday present for me and I thank Quentin for it.

I want to give myself major props for meeting my own personal deadline (with hours to spare) in completing the final draft of my first new book for this decade. Hooray for me. It's only about goddamn time. But, instead of kicking my ass for procrastination once again, I think I'll just kiss it instead. Well done, me bucko. Smooch. More info to come on said book du Chern,so stay tuned. I won't start the pimping here. Besides, I'm at the end of the blog. I'd be burying the lead.

So happy stinkin' birthday to me.

Just how old am I? Nunya. Let's just say that I went to high school with dirt. I was a senior when he was a sophomore.

Summer Has Left the Building

Well, that's the end of that. Labor Day has come and gone. Now is the time to put your white shoes

away for another year 'cuz summer is outta here. The cinema was chock full o' the usual crap, lotsa toys made into disposable garbage for the landfill, but I was able to mine a few nuggets here and there. Among them:


STAR TREK-Totally worth the dollar admission I paid to see it in second-run. This re-booting of another franchise didn't exactly set my phasers on stun. As TREK movies go, it ranks very high, the gold standard (well, gold plated anyway) still being the great WRATH OF KHAN, but I find it hard to get to worked up about yet another TREK movie. It turned out to be a competent, entertaining piece of work that I have trouble recalling anything memorable or significant beyond Zachary Quinto's Spock. The rest of the cast were all adequate enough, but I find it hard to believe Paramount will be able to reassemble this cast intact beyond the next installment. A good effort, but honestly, what's all the hub-bub, bub?

And what the hell is all the backlash against THE NEXT GENERATION all of a sudden? TNG was a better TV show than the original, but the original had better theatrical films. Maybe if Nicholas Meyer directed a TNG film instead of Jonathan Frakes, they would have had something.

DRAG ME TO HELL-Sam Raimi's attempt to recapture his EVIL DEAD credo after spending the last decade in mega-blockbuster film making kind of flounder, albeit with lots of the gory slapstick for which he is most famous. It's too bad he didn't totally commit to the project, relying too much on Hollywood bombast, dragging his picture out about 15 minutes too long. Star Allison Lohman should get the Good Sport of the Year award for what Raimi put her through, but actually the film would have benefited from a female Bruce Campbell, an actress that could go way over the top and back again. Ultimately, a good future rental with plenty of decent sight gags-both literally and figuratively.

INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS- Once again, Quentin Tarantino proves that there is nothing more he loves than the sound of his own voice, something that worked so much against him on his last work, the wretched DEATH PROOF, that he almost lost all creditability with this one singularly horrible film. This time, however, he returns to form with his crazy-ass combination OF THE DIRTY DOZEN and CINEMA PARADISO. This is almost his bloody valentine to film itself, a geek forever sampling works from the world cinema while trying, sometimes in vain, to maintain his voice. Sometimes, his tributes take me completely out of the film, like much of the Ennio Morricone music, mainly because I know what movies they came from initially. And the theme from the CAT PEOPLE remake...so far out of left field that I was actually enchanted when I should have been sneering. Quentin...you big goof. I wanted more of the Basterds themselves. I think they were short-changed. How about a little scalping tutorial or some kind of training for these guys? I also would have welcomed a battle scene. Tarantino can stage action beautifully, but he's kinda stingy here except for the superb climax. I could have done without the Mike Myers cameo also. Brad Pitt? He's one of the best as far as I'm concerned. When he plays goofy, as BURN AFTER READING or TRUE ROMANCE, he's aces in my book. His reading of "BONE JORNO" had me rolling. The breakout stars have to be Melanie Laurent as Shoshanna/Emmauel Mimieux-beautiful, sad and mighty damn fierce and of course the much-heralded Christoph Waltz as Hans "That's a bingo!" Landa, the best villain of the new millennium. With his giant head, Waltz looks like a real-life Gerry and Sylvia Anderson puppet. Shortcomings aside, 2/12 hours went by like nothing. I actually wanted more. In the end, Quentin got a bingo.

DISTRICT 9- I'll gladly jump on this bandwagon to proclaim Neill Blomcamp's sci-fi film the best movie of the summer and of 2009 thus far. Imagine STARSHIP TROOPERS (satire included)
mashed together with Cronenberg's remake of THE FLY in the framework of a South African version of THE OFFICE and you've got yourself just a fabulous piece of film making, miles above the stench of Michael Bay's TRANSFORMERS or GI JOE: THE RISE OF CRAPPY SUMMER FILMS. Sharlto Copley is brilliant as the weaselly little bureaucrat who is unfortunately transformed into an alien, making him more human in the process. An exciting, funny, sometimes gross and finally heart-breaking work, DISTRICT 9 is divine. That's right. I said it.

And once again, I treated myself by watching DISTRICT 9 at the Roseway Theater, the best venue in the Portland area. Beautifully crisp digital projection and superb sound helped push this baby over the top for me. This was a 50 mile round trip from my home that I didn't mind at all.

Sometimes you have to go the extra mile and that's the fact, Jack.