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Looking
for trouble: (l-r) Craig and Arterton in Quantum of
Solace. |
A
Killer for Our Time
By
Laura Leon
Quantum
of Solace
Directed
by Marc Forster
So I hear Roger Moore was dissing Daniel Craig’s 007, saying
that this latest incarnation of James Bond is too violent
and lacks the “lover and gigglier” quality of his own interpretation
of the Ian Fleming agent. This, from the man who starred in
such lesser franchise flicks as Octopussy and Moonraker.
Of course, Moore, saddled with scripts that had bad sci-fi
effects and lame attempts at comedy (the Tarzan yell, anyone?),
held his own as well as could be expected, considering he
was usually wearing a khaki leisure suit. The latest two Bond
films are decidedly darker and more action-packed, benefiting
greatly from phenomenal stunts and computer-generated effects.
But to imply that that is the sum of their parts is to miss
the key point: Not since Sean Connery has the franchise had
such a virile actor believable as a trained killing machine.
In Craig’s Bond debut, Casino Royale, a reboot of the
franchise designed to free it from its four-decades-long cinematic
history, the M16 agent finds love in the person of Vesper
Lynde (Eva Green). There’s a nice bit with a high-stakes poker
game, and some suspenseful moments when James looks to be
a sure goner. When Vesper turns out to have been a double
agent, Bond goes after her associate Mr. White, ending that
movie by shooting him before pronouncing who he is: “Bond.
James Bond.” But of course. It was a thrilling reentry to
relevancy, which I realize sounds silly, since Bond, after
all, is pure fantasy. Nevertheless, in Quantum of Solace,
Bond, still reeling from his loss, tries to reengage by using
his whole self as a sort of one-man battering ram against
all of MI6’s enemies, leaving a trail of broken and bloodied
bodies. “Do us a favor,” implores M (Judi Dench), “try not
to kill all of our leads.” When she asks Bond what happened
to a latest lead, who is dead on a Haitian hotel floor, Bond
curtly responds that he doesn’t dwell in the past. This is
the sort of dark, cynical humor, rooted in Bond’s bitterness,
that one gets in Quantum—so unlike Moore’s “gigglier”
007.
Quantum
begins soon after the conclusion of Casino Royale,
with Bond racing his car through Italian tunnels, Mr. White
bound and bleeding in the trunk. Turns out that the secret
group to which Mr. White belongs is an extraordinary web of
international connections, headed by one Dominic Greene (Mathieu
Amalric). Posing as an environmental advocate, Greene actually
buys up natural resources in unstable countries, with the
purpose of taking over the world’s water supply. As Bond villains
go, Greene is lackluster, both in name and in appearance,
but apparently this was a conscious decision by the filmmakers,
to show that today’s face of evil often wears a suit (or,
in Greene’s case, ugly floral shirts) and a benign expression.
Bond pummels through one violent exchange after another, at
one point dueling with an assassin while both are suspended,
upside down, from ropes connected to a veritable Jenga of
scaffolding and beams. He’s assisted in his efforts to bring
down Greene by old ally and sometime nemesis Mathis (Giancarlo
Giannini), vengeance-craving Camille (Olga Kurylenko), and
an oh-so-efficient MI6 assistant, Strawberry Fields (Gemma
Arterton). M, concerned that Bond has completely taken leave
of his senses, revokes his license to kill (and his credit
cards), but these things are mere hiccups in the action. In
this case, the final confrontation takes place in the Bolivian
desert, where a corrupt colonel meets with Greene to finalize
plans to screw the natives out of their own resources. Can
you say, I think not, little puppies?
Granted, this is a decidedly darker Bond, one without the
expected bedding and gadgetry. Bond does get it on with one
lovely, only to find her—like that poor lady in Casino
Royale—dead in a particularly fetching cinematic way.
His relationship with Camille is more tutor to mentee, as
he helps her understand the particulars of the kill. About
the closest he gets to real emotional ties is to an extremely
vulnerable Mathis, or when he goes ballistic on the man who
tried to kill M (not M!). In part, it’s Bond coming to terms
with grief and forgiveness, but the script also shows us a
James Bond who is beginning to realize that it’s not so easy
to distinguish the good guys from the bad guys anymore. When
M sanctions the prime minister’s plan to do nothing about
Greene, and supports this with the approval of the American
CIA, Bond is incredulous that his own group would bed down
with, well, just anybody. This doesn’t make 007 seem weak
or naďve; rather, it adds a sense of gravity to Bond, much
like what occurs with many of the protagonists, poised between
two changing worlds, of the great 1950s Ford and Boetticher
westerns. The times are a-changing, but that doesn’t mean
that our 007 is going to turn pacifist; and with Daniel Craig
committed to plumbing the depths of his character’s dark side,
we should be in for a series of stellar adventures in the
future. A girl can hope, at least.
 |
Lose
the Lions, Keep the Penguins
Madagascar:
Escape 2 Africa
Directed
by Eric Darnell and Tom McGrath
In this, the sequel to 2005’s popular but not terribly good
Madagascar, Alex the Lion (Ben Stiller) and his escaped
zoo buddies Marty the zebra (Chris Rock), Gloria the hippo
(Jada Pinkett Smith) and Melman the giraffe (David Schwimmer)
try to make their way back to good old Manhattan, courtesy
of a rickety plane piloted by penguin Skipper (Tom McGrath)
and his similarly feathered buddies Kowalski and Private.
Needless to say, the travelers don’t get far, crash landing
in the movie’s only true action sequence in the middle of
an African preserve ruled by Zuba (Bernie Mac), who turns
out to be Alex’s long lost daddy. The father-and-son reunion
is cut short when Zuba’s rival Makunga (Alec Baldwin) reveals
the startling truth about Alex’s terpsichorean tendencies.
The resulting confrontation between pussycat Alex and another
lion is uncomfortable, but not as much as the movie’s blatant
racial and ethnic stereotyping. The characters played by black
actors display the cool factor of, say, Chris Rock or Bernie
Mac. Oh, yeah, that’s who plays them. Then we have will.i.am
from the Black Eyed Peas doing a Barry White imitation to
the hippo who wants to unsubtly have at it with Gloria. Mandingo
anyone? More troubling is the fact that, yet again, fat and
sassy equates with a black actress’s voice (at least Smith’s
not playing Hollywood’s usual choice for black actresses in
animated movies, the skunk), just as neurotic and hypochondriacal
connote Jewish. There are also the usual humanizations of
the animal world, such as Alex’s daddy, the pride of the pack,
being a chief caregiver. (Then again, maybe that explains
why Alex is kidnapped as a cub.)
The best parts of the movie involve the efforts of the first
movie’s crazy granny to rouse her fellow New Yorker tourists
into action, not despair, after their jeep is commandeered
by—who else?—the penguins, who take top honors for restoring
any interest in the story. The deadpan delivery of McGrath
and company make this reviewer yearn for a movie sans Alex
and company, but centered on these crafty penguins.
—Laura
Leon
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