SPECTRE: Blu-ray (EON Productions/MGM 2015) Fox Home Video
Gosh almighty,
I am so very much done with the inelegant James Bond as depicted by Daniel
Craig: that thug-muscle, gun-toting hypocrite who affects a taste for fine
wine, expensive cars and hot women, but cannot help but wind up shirtless and pathetically
soaked through with hard liquor while wallowing over the loss of his beloved
mommy-figure, ‘M’ (Judi Dench) and deceptive lover, Vesper Lynd (Eva Green),
even more so, suffering Bond’s general disdain for that lavish government
expense account for which most any of us would sincerely trade a few teeth and a kidney. I also wish Mr. Bond would quit banging twenty-cent tarts or philandering married gals of a certain 'prime' with equal aplomb and
noblesse oblige. Sean Connery’s Bond would never have been caught this sloppy
and unawares; ditto for Roger Moore’s laid-back – if morally ambiguous, though
deliciously amused 007. The secret to either man’s longevity as Bond – James Bond, that is – remains steadfastly
affixed to each’s ability never to take themselves or the work of
super-spying quite so seriously. In the shadow of film makers like Terrance
Young, Guy Hamilton and John Glenn, among others, who intuitively understood
part – if not all – of Bond’s sex appeal lay in the cream of the jest (he
actually ‘cures’ Pussy Galore of her lesbian tendencies in the novel, Goldfinger); also, the series’
perpetually sundrenched and appealingly exotic locales. I observe, with more than a modicum of regret,
no such thoughts have crossed the mind of director, Sam Mendes who continues to
inveigle his Mr. Bond in convoluted and badly realized vignettes mired in the
dank, dark despair of post-postmodernism run amuck. Spectre (2015) is one of the bleakest, weakest and most graceless footnotes to the Bond franchise in a very long while, morbidly afflicted by our
present-day preoccupation with a theater of death.
In fact, after
the mercifully reinstated, trademarked gun barrel opener, the pre-credit
sequence to Spectre takes place on ‘The Day of the Dead’ celebration in
Mexico City; Bond attempting to kill three would-be terrorists plotting an
international incident. Bond’s interception is foiled by a hotel explosion. Once
again, James has come too late to this party. In the good ole days, MI6 would
have debriefed their numero uno answer to Nietzsche’s superman who, thereafter,
would have become the catalyst to stop these baddies in their tracks. But no –
it’s a new day for James, increasingly the bungler of such clean kills that
turn into very messy and blood-soaked grindhouse likely to leave Connery and
Moore with their heads in their hands. The hotel explosion leads directly into
a somewhat tedious chase through the congested streets, all shot with the
frenetic ‘Steadicam’ energy of a break-dancing chicken by cinematographer, Hoyte
Van Hoytema; Bond on a die hard mission to apprehend ringleader, Marco Sciarra
(Alessandro Cremona) – the real assassin who survived this attack. In the
ensuing struggle, Bond and Sciarra board a helicopter; Bond eventually tossing
Sciarra from it to his death; though, not before he recovers a ring with a
stylized octopus etched into its band. Given Bond’s previous outings with this
international spy syndicate known as Spectre, the fact he needs MI6
clarification, and a little help from Ms. Moneypenny (Naomi Harris) to identify
the emblem, remains something of a curiosity. Perhaps too many knocks on the
head have finally taken their toll on our Mr. Bond.
Personally, I
don’t like to think on my own mortality. But I especially do not believe it
proper to put a chronically sullen and squinty-eyed Bond on display as the
proverbial piñata, enjoyed for a good swift kick (and far more), repeated
marked as a dinosaur for extinction, and cruelly blamed for all the wrong and
ridiculousness in the world; a sort of anti-heroic worldview adopted by the
denizens of dreck in Hollywood these days and increasingly favored by
audiences. To paraphrase Bonnie Tyler, “I’m
holding out for a hero!” It is a good thing I am sincerely not holding my
breath too, because somewhere along the road to this Bizarro-land degradation,
where virtues and traditions are trampled on and disdainfully observed with
increasing moral ambiguity, as a society we have replaced the definitions of
good vs evil with the laissez faire ‘gray area’ and treaties that market such
unadulterated swill masquerading as art – high, low or (and, in most cases)
indifferent. Viewed from this repugnant quagmire, one could almost champion a pervert
like Christoph Waltz’s Ernst Stavro Blofeld as doing the morally ‘good’ work by
drilling holes in Bond’s cranium with a Black and Decker. Grotesque torture scenes like this one have
become the norm in Bond movies since Daniel Craig took over the role. In Casino Royale, Bond had his testicles thrashed
with fetishistic aplomb by Mads Mikkelsen’s Le Chiffre. In Spectre, Waltz’s Blofeld goes after the other head, enjoying Bond’s
cringe-worthy suffrage for a few excruciating moments that leave much to be
desired since – no kidding – we are assured Bond will always survive whatever
hellish circumstances befall him – even this crude pseudo-lobotomy.
Spectre isn’t out of the realm of possibilities for a
post-Connery/Moore Bond flick. But that is not saying much and precisely, it
proves my point. It hovers in the foggy ether as a nondescript installment to
this once highly anticipated and Teflon-coated franchise, steadily brought down
several pegs with each subsequent installment since Moore’s exit, and with Spectre a fait accompli to the
unremarkable era of the ‘every Bond’ movie; dangerously close to the precipice
of being just par for the course. Certainly, Craig – who has repeatedly
threatened with each new installment to be ‘un-officially’ done with his alter ego, seems to be going through the
motions herein. He’s older too; at 47, less buff and more sullen than serious,
looking to move into his emeritus years and/or diversify his portfolio with
roles apart from the one that continues to make him a star. Personally, I am
not one of those Craig worshippers who, having idiotically labeled him “the best Bond ever!” now seem as
myopically shaken and stirred by the prospect of facing that day when Craig
will no longer be Bond. Actually, I am rather looking forward to that day, and
hoping Spectre is Craig’s swan song;
goodbye, and don’t let the Aston Martin run you down on the way out. For a
while now I have had my own ideas as to who could – and should – be the next
007; the list beginning with Henry Cavill, Clive Owen or Ewan McGregor. Each
would bring something new and likely invigorating to a role Craig seems
willfully to despise with increasing frequency, holding out for his even more
obscene paycheck to reprise the part.
Spectre is the 24th Bond from Eon Productions and,
at 148 minutes, one of the longest and most self-involved. Here’s hoping the
golden 25th has more to offer. I cannot rightly say what went wrong.
Superficially, at least, #24 had everything one might associate with the
classic Bond thriller: stylish sets, exotic international locales, outlandish
action set pieces, and a turbo-charged erotic femme fatale. Still in absentia: the uber-clever Bond super
villain a la an Auric Goldfinger or Hugo Drax; although Christoph Waltz’s
Blofeld retains the traditionalist evil-doer’s verve for pointlessly
labyrinthine ambitions about conquering the whole world, doomed to remain an
avatar’s pipedream in the end. Everything one could imagine on a $300 million
budget is present and accounted for, and yet, none of it looks the part…well,
maybe, Léa Seydoux forthright Bond girl, Madeleine (no, no misogynistic
monikers like Dink, Pussy Galore or Holly Goodhead…this Bond girl is all grown
up, though predictably bumped out in all the right places). I keep reading a
lot of pseudo-feminist critiques about Bond movies refusing to ‘move with the times’ and accept a strong
woman in supporting role. Indeed, poor Daniel Craig had to dodge a militant
press corp. repeatedly browbeating him about the so-called ‘problematic views’ of women in Bond
movies. Note to anyone harboring the
misguided notion any Bond girl, past,
present or future, is designed to be anything
more than a sultry, slinky sex kitten for our Mr. Bond to bonk – she’s not. Deal with that reality and maybe you will be able
to have a good time when watching the next Bond movie or any that have gone
before it. Or simply give up this idiotic level of expectation and go see
another installment of The Hunger Games.
Clearly, Bond movies are not your cup of tea – Earl Grey, breakfast or orange
pekoe aside.
To be fair, Spectre addresses some, if not all of ‘the problem’. My question is why should
it? Léa Seydoux gets in a few licks, but has the ever-loving snot and wind
knocked out of her by steroidal henchman, Hinx (David Bautista). Face it girls;
he is meaner, uglier and ramped up on better synthetics than Madeleine. She
never had a chance. But to be clear, Bond movies of yore were created to appeal
to a male audience: real men and boys who couldn’t wait to grow up and aspire
to be James Bond. Poor deluded devils! Personally, I do not want my Bond
getting in touch with his feminine side. According to a recent Cosmo poll,
neither do real women, who would prefer a ‘take charge’ protector alpha male to
a sensitive ‘yes’ man – especially, in the bedroom. So, perhaps, Bond’s only
genuine flaw is he is not apologetic about being that surrogate for guys who
have already surrendered their testicles to the chemical castration of the
mainstream media’s representation of today’s man; their urges, needs and
inherent behaviors viewed as bad – or at the very least, wrong – while
everything their significant other does is celebrated as clever, inspiring and
structured around high-minded principles of altruism. Oh, who’s telling tall
tales now? But I digress.
And I have
news for any aspiring Bond director in the future who believes the next Bond
movie should tackle ‘the problem’ by
presenting Bond with a female counterpoint every bit his equal in the field or
while playing the field. You will
lose half, if not all, of your loyal Bond viewership if that day ever comes to
pass. After all, it is a James Bond movie we have paid to see: not James
Bond…and friends. One of the most grotesque tragedies befallen a great many
Bond movies in more recent times – is a weak villain. Spectre, alas and a lack, has one of the least inspired of the lot.
The oversight becomes even more glaringly curious when one considers how
maniacally sinister Christoph Waltz can be, given the right part and more than
an arm’s length of experimentation to discover it for himself. Waltz ought to
have been the linchpin to propel Spectre
into that top-tiered echelon still occupied by the likes of an Auric
Goldfinger. But he never gets this opportunity and quickly slips into just
another ineffectually bitter and grimacing cliché of villainy. Since Casino Royale, each subsequent Bond
movie has tried to provide plausible ‘cause
and effect’ to carry over from one movie into the next. Too bad Bond movies
were never intended to be trilogies, quadrilogies, prequels, sequels etc. but
stand-alone entertainments with a certain level of threadbare continuity
factored in for good measure; the gadgets, pithy one-liners, merciless riding of
Bond by his superior, ‘M’, gadget master, ‘Q’ and Miss Moneypenny; the Bond
girls, with no head, except what they gave to the cause of satisfying our
James, and so on.
The plot to Spectre is suspiciously like too many
other more recent Bond adventure yarns; James taking one for the team yet
again, officially and indefinitely suspended from field duty by M (Ralph
Fiennes). As a parting gesture, ‘M’ has ‘Q’ (the as ever ineffectual Ben
Wishaw) outfit Bond with a sort of glamorized version of the ankle bracelet –
an injectable chip that can be monitored from anywhere in the world. Meanwhile,
‘M’ is in the midst of a power struggle with ‘C’ (Andrew Scott), head of the
privately-backed Joint Intelligence Service, consisting of the newly
amalgamated MI5 and MI6. We get flashes of the old home guard caught in the
crosshairs of their debate; the gleaming white edifice that once housed Judi
Dench’s MI6, now a crumbling façade slated for the wrecking ball. It’s the end
of an era, or rather, the forced obsolescence of this once galvanic espionage
leviathan now viewed by ‘C’ as a foundering Cold War relic to be put down once
and for all. ‘C’ promotes his agenda in parliament. Britain will join with
eight other countries to form a consortium with the code name, Nine Eyes; a
global surveillance and intelligence initiative.
Against direct
orders, Bond convinces ‘Q’ to quietly stop monitoring his whereabouts. He
travels to Rome, attends Sciarra’s funeral and confronts the widow Lucia
(Monica Bellucci) in the presence of some Spectre bodyguards. Their tête-à -tête
signs Lucia’s death warrant. That evening, as she prepares for her
assassination, Lucia is instead surprised when Bond suddenly reappears, easily
dispatching the henchmen sent to kill her before predictably making love to her
to seal the deal. Lucia confesses to Bond Spectre is behind everything; their international
consortium closer than ever in their plans to rule the world. Learning the
whereabouts of their next clandestine meeting, Bond secretly infiltrates the
gathering; unnerved when its leader, Franz Oberhauser – a.k.a. Blofeld (Christoph
Waltz) turns in mid-address to the group to acknowledge him directly. Bond is
pursued by thug-muscle henchman, Hinx. In a harrowing car chase solely meant to
afford Bond the opportunity to show off the new toys affixed to the revamped
Aston Martin he has stolen from ‘Q’s laboratory, James narrowly escapes this
assassin. Previously contacted by James, Moneypenny now informs him everything
about Spectre’s plans points to Mr. White (Jesper Christensen) – a former
member of Quantum, since revealed to be a subsidiary of Spectre. Traveling to
Austria in search of White, Bond finds the recluse hiding inside the basement
bunker of a remote and seemingly abandoned chalet. White is dying of thallium
poisoning. But before the inevitable, he strikes a bargain with Bond, pleading
with him to protect his only child, Dr. Madeleine Swann (Léa Seydoux) who is
sure to become a target.
Offering White
the honorable out, Bond leaves the room and White shoots himself. James enters
the Hoffler Klinik, a mountain-top retreat, under the pretext of becoming a
patient. But Madeleine is both hostile and unwilling to accept Bond’s
protection. Meanwhile, ‘Q’ has discovered a sinister link between former agents
Le Chiffre, Dominic Greene and Raoul Silva. All of them belonged to Spectre.
Meeting up with ‘Q’, Bond and Madeleine narrowly escape Hinx; a daring chase by
cable car, air and automobile, ending with a near death experience for all
concerned. Madeleine agrees to take Bond to L'Américain; her late father’s
favorite hotel in Tangier. There, a secret room in White’s suite reveals the
whereabouts of Oberhauser’s base of operations in the desert. Traveling by train
to this remote outpost, Bond and Madeleine are once more confronted by Hinx. In
one of the most brutal of all hand-to-hand combat sequences ever featured in a
Bond movie, the brutish Hinx, who once gouged a man’s eyes with his bare
fingers, now attempts to toss Bond from the baggage car like a rag doll.
Instead, Bond gets Hinx leg caught in a chain link attached at the other end to
a series of weighted barrels. Tossing the barrels out the open door takes care
of Hinx too.
Now, Bond and
Madeleine arrive at a remote outpost in the middle of the desert, surprised to
find an escort waiting to take them to Oberhauser’s base of operations, nestled
in the middle of a crater. Oberhauser reveals to Bond how Spectre will soon
dominate the world, having been instrumental in securing the Nine Eyes program and
thus rendering all international protection agencies utterly useless and at the
mercy of his control. Bond is severely beaten by Oberhauser’s henchmen and then
strapped into a chair; Oberhauser drilling into Bond’s cranium to extract the
mutual history they share – seemingly one memory at a time. Oberhauser reveals
to Madeleine that when Bond was a boy, prematurely orphaned, his father became
Bond’s temporary guardian too. Jealousy intervened as Oberhauser, believing
Bond to have taken his place as the number one son, murdered his own father and
then staged his own death; later, to resurface as Spectre’s puppet master,
Ernst Stavro Blofeld. Oberhauser now suggests he will drill into Bond’s mind,
systematically enjoying the slow, sad progression of Bond’s mental and physical
infirmity. Instead, Madeleine intervenes
and, with the aid of a gadget watch earlier supplied by Q, she is successful at
stopping Oberhauser from carrying out this dastardly plan.
Bond and
Madeleine escape Blofeld’s compound, detonating a series of explosions that
level it to the ground. Back in London, Bond and Madeleine part company briefly.
Although Bond is in love with her, he accepts she cannot – and will not – be a
party to this espionage any longer. Unhappy chance, Madeleine is captured and
taken prisoner yet again by Oberhauser who now presents Bond with an impossible
dilemma. Either he use the remaining countdown to prevent Spectre from gaining
access to the Nine Eyes main data base – thereby thwarting Oberhauser’s plans
to rule the world – or save Madeleine from certain death, as Oberhauser has
hidden her somewhere in the bowels of the defunct MI6 building, destined to be
detonated with explosive charges. Bond gives ‘M’ the necessary information to
pursue ‘C’ for his complicity in Oberhauser’s plans. ‘M’ and ‘Q’ ambush ‘C’ at his office moments
before Nine Eyes’ directive goes live. ‘Q’ manages to corrupt the program, thereby
denying Oberhauser access to the participating nation’s high security files.
But ‘C’ and ‘M’ now struggle to regain control of the system; ‘M’ causing ‘C’
to slip and plummet to his death from an open window. Inside the old MI6
building, Bond manages to rescue Madeleine with only seconds to spare. Viewing
their escape from a nearby helicopter, Oberhauser orders his assassin/pilot to
fire upon the pair. Instead, Bond manages an impossible kill shot, the
helicopter crashing into Westminster Bridge. Oberhauser has survived – just barely.
He now taunts Bond with this flawed victory; killing him will put an end to
their rivalry, but Bond will lose Madeleine’s love forever. Bond is tempted,
but ultimately chooses to leave Oberhauser to be arrested by the police. A
short while later, Bond and Madeleine are seen departing from his stylish
London flat aboard the iconic and presumably completely rebuilt Aston Martin
DB-5 – inexplicably blown to bits at the end of Skyfall. But this finale suggests Bond has chosen a quiet life and
marriage over more assignments for MI6. Has he? Hmmmm.
Spectre is occasionally a stylish affair, but mostly it leaves
a great deal to be desired. The plot is overly complicated and nonsensical.
Okay, it’s only a movie, as Hitchcock used to say. But the villain of this
careworn world domination scenario is not even clever enough to explain how Spectre’s
technological espionage – advanced surveillance via robots and drones – will
render whole governments ineffectual and at his mercy. In retrospect, the
alliances begun in Casino Royale were
the beginning of a quadrilogy capped off by the events as unfolded in Spectre; the lengthy thematic
integration of various narrative bloodlines spread out over four movies,
heavily influenced by personal motivations with a singular, if overreaching,
arch of intrigue, and a not altogether successful parallel between hero and villain
who share a mutually flawed past. In Quantum
of Solace, Bond became a rogue agent, further muddying the clarity between
good vs. evil. But in Spectre, this
line in the sand is more obscured – or rather, clouded by chronically shifting
alliances. Could the whole thing really have been designed merely to exorcise a
child’s grudge match turned into a magniloquent revenge scenario: as in ‘you stole the love of my father so I’m
going to kill you’; Blofeld the mysterious ‘architect of all Bond’s pain?!?’ Apparently, and rather
simplistically - yes, although it has taken a good deal more time than
necessary to unravel this reality.
It still might
have worked, except Waltz’s deadpan monologues increasingly take on the flavor
of wounded pontifications; soliloquys, actually, devoted to his own
self-importance; a sort of ‘anything you
can do, I can do better’ one-upmanship that will not rest and suggests,
however ridiculously, that Blofeld and Bond might have been compatible
siblings, if only one was not quite so noble and the other ruthlessly
psychotic. Of course, allowing Blofeld to walk away from the fray at the end
sets up the not altogether out of the realm of possibility Daniel Craig will
return for another Bond movie, despite his increasing prejudice over being
typecast in a role that – let’s face it – made him a superstar. Without a
doubt, and whatever Craig decides, the Bond franchise is not finished. Not by a
long shot. We will get another Bond picture. Give it two years’ time (three
tops), and, one likely to mirror the tragic circumstances from yet another
(better) Bond adventure – On Her
Majesty’s Secret Service (1969); the death of Mrs. Bond #2?
Finally, the
stunts in Spectre are the most
impressive aspect of its production; the aerial helicopter assault during the
pre-title sequence, the flaming plane crash and Hummer chase through the
snow-capped mountains of Austria, the elephantine holocaust in flames that
levels Blofeld’s desert hideaway; these are executed with a frenetic energy,
all but ruined by cinematographer, Hoyte Van Hoytema. Rarely, does Hoytema
allow his camera to remain stationary or even focused on anything in particular
for more than a second or two, the blur in continuity having a discombobulating
effect. Action sequences in movies are meant to impress and hold the viewer
spellbound in the dark with their all-encompassing feats of full-scale daring.
The stunt work in Spectre is so
shakily achieved it merely forces one to look away to settle a queasy stomach.
Badly done! Like most Bond movies that
have followed Roger Moore’s record-holding tenure, this one is watchable,
though unlikely ever to be beloved. It has no staying power and zero
credibility as a great work of art, much less a worthy contender for a great
007 adventure. Worse, like too many Bond movies from more recent times it
neither sets a new standard, raises the bar, nor helps evoke the time-honored
precepts of the franchise as a whole. Honestly, last years’ Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation –
even, The Man from U.N.C.L.E. were
more entertaining than this.
Fox Home Video’s
Blu-ray is predictably solid. A full spectrum of color saturation, excellent
clarity, superb reproduction of film grain and crystal clear detail abound,
even during extremely dim lighting conditions. From top to bottom, Spectre looks phenomenal and will
surely impress. The image, at least at the theater I attended, was hardly as enveloping
and frequently appeared almost monochromatic. To be certain, cinematographer,
Hoyte
Van Hoytema has tinted certain sequences to exaggerate their mood; the Mexico
City sequence, as example, adopting copper-toned warmth; the Austrian Alps
looking bluish and icy. However, within this overall ‘color wash’ effect are a
lot of variables, magnificently brought forth in this 1080p transfer. The substiles
within this palette never fail to astound. Suffice it to state while I had my issues with
the movie, I really have nothing to complain about regarding this video
presentation. Wow and thank you! The audio in DTS 5.1 is equally as impressive;
the SFX giving your surrounds and sub a hearty workout; dialogue always brought
forth with razor-sharp audibility. Extras are a colossal disappointment; a few ‘video
blog’ featurettes tied together, loosely representing a ‘making of’ but
actually just a lot of sound and fury to promote the movie; also, a trailer and
a featurette on the staging of the Mexico City opener. Spectre was a Christmas release in theaters and frankly, I am a
little astonished it has made the leap to home video so soon. So, Spectre
is out. It’s not a great Bond movie. I would argue against it being even a
passably good one. So, judge accordingly: the transfer is a winner.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
2.5
VIDEO/AUDIO
5+
EXTRAS
1.5
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