"Bond. James Bond." That smug-ass salutation from the world's oldest, Britishest super spy isn't just a catch phrase anymore; it's part of the pop culture lexicon. It's shorthand for "Hi. I'm a suave, sophisticated killing machine. I know 54 languages, 10 different martial arts, can field strip any gun blindfolded in under 15 seconds and drive so brilliantly it makes Dominic Toretto look like he just got his learner's permit. Would you mind terribly if I fucked your wife?"
Cinemavenger has just one thing to say to all that swaggering douchebaggery.
You. Fuck you.
Spectre, or James Bond Part XXIV, is the best Bond movie since Casino Royale. Of course, that's like saying it's the tastiest load of donkey cum you've had to swallow since the regrettable summer you spent as the main attraction in a Tijuana sex show.
Because let's face it. Quantum of Solace was Timothy Dalton era bad, and I don't care how many people got suckered by the Bond-as-Dark-Knight sheepshit of Skyfall; it barely ranks among the lesser Roger Moore entries in the series. Think Octopussy minus the classy title.
But hey, at least Octopussy had an assassin who used a circular saw-bladed yoyo. And a couple of other Moore Bond flicks had Jaws, the metal-teethed murderer who munched on jugulars and could bite through steel. In Goldfinger, Connery's Bond had to deal with Oddjob and his razor-brimmed bowler hat. All Spectre can muster up is Hinx (Dave "Batista" Bautista), a steroidal goon with sharp thumbnails . . . that he only uses once and not even on Bond.
Director Sam "Petals On Mena Suvari's Tits" Mendes opens Spectre with a long take following Bond (Daniel "Elijah" Craig) through a Day of the Dead celebration in Mexico. Senor Mendes, try all you want but when it comes to single-shot masturbation you're no Welles, Scorsese or Chan-wook.
Then Spectre serves up the weirdest opening credit sequence of any Bond movie. It features the worst Bond theme song ever (Sam Smith could learn a thing or ten from Shirley Bassey. Or, for that matter, Sheena fucking Easton.) synched to more tentacle porn imagery than I ever thought I'd see in an actual movie theater.
After that, it looks like Mendes threw all the Bond cliches into a blender and hit "Suck." Bond goes rogue. Someone's trying to shut down the 007 program. There's a tricked out Aston Martin and a tricksy watch. Martini's are ordered shaken, not stirred. Bond globetrots before getting tortured and the girl. Bollocks!
The girl, Madeleine Swann (Lea "It On Me" Seydoux), doesn't even have a classic double ent-Bond-re name like Pussy Galore, Honey Ryder, Plenty O'Toole, Mary Goodnight, Chew Mee, Holly Goodhead, Bibi Dahl, Xenia Onatopp, Molly Warmflash, Strawberry Fields or Fook Mai-ahs. By the by, all but one of those is an actual Bond girl name. Have fun fingering out which is the impostor.
I'd rather eat a Walther than sit through Spectre's two-and-a-half ass-numbing hours again.
November 8, 2015