Making this James Bond film must have been one long, exhausting slog. And the result looks it. The payoff to this joyless bit of grey matter? Just about the limpest climax in Bond history. (And it’s not even the real climax!) With a consistently drab tonal scale holding tight to a forlorn, if unearned seriousness, it’s not only the color that’s been drained out of this one.
CONTEST: Even as Bond pics go, there’s an unusually heavy load of self-referential stunts, gags, dialogue & weaponized ‘toys.’ (It's less screenplay than eulogy.) Same for Thomas Newman’s score; endless variations on classic Bond themes when he’s not mindlessly tom-tomming up tension. So why lift a major story point straight out of classic Alfred Hitchcock? Name the steal to win a MAKSQUIBS Write-Up of your choosing. HINT: Think ‘50s Paramount.
ATTENTION MUST BE PAID: You know a change in the Bondian guard is coming when 007 keeps his shirt on even in bed. Daniel Craig established his Bond bona fides a decade ago, striding out of the water in nothing but a groin hugging ‘Speedo.’ No more. Four films and out.