And Then A Wild Aston Martin Appears!

SKYFALL (2012)

Obligatory bare-Craig-chest image.

Ever since Pierce Brosnan, we've become accustomed to a bigger, faster, explodier Bond. Each new movie had new gadgets, new gear, new nonsense. We propelled Bond into the future with invisible cars, cheap smiles, and all the luxuries of modern cinema. And we drank the punch. We expected Bond to get increasingly more hip and in-tune with our culturally relevant standards. We were waiting for Bond to switch out Q. for Google and start sexting his Bond girls.

And then Sam Mendes said, "Well. Fuck that."

Skyfall reminds us exactly why we loved the Bond films in the first place. If nothing else, it's a very loving homage to the Bond of the good old days. Bond is no longer clowned up and jumping around like a kangaroo on cocaine; he's a genuine spy. Yes, he's still the bold, brash bastard we all know and love, but he's a little more in control of the situation. Of course, the genius of this movie is that, for most of the movie, we get Bond completely out of his element. He spends the first half of the movie a battered, alcoholic mess with a very, very bruised ego. After twenty-three movies of a perfect shot, there's something extraordinarily satisfying about watching Bond miss his target. So not only do we have a highly competent organization set out to trip up Her Majesty's Secret Service, but we also have a damaged Bond struggling to keep up. I mean, why didn't anyone think of this before?

I think I've said all I can through my teeth. The twists in this movie are so epic that I would have to throw myself onto a Hattori Hanzo sword if I thought I spoiled this movie for anyone (even though, if you're a rabid Bond fan, you can see most of them coming ahead of time, it STILL doesn't change the fact that the "big reveals" are massively satisfying). That said, the spoiler portion of my review is under the cut! Otherwise, just see it, yeah? Or I will judge you. JUDGE.