It is with heavy heart and long face that I come to admit the following: despite the overwhelming feeling that Daniel Craig is the best actor ever to don the Bond cape, depite the hungry promise of Casino Royale, despite adding professionals Javier Bardem, Mads Mikkelsen and Christoph Waltz to the menagerie of Bond villains, the Daniel Craig Bonds are the worst of the lot, listlessly sagging below the forgettable and brief Timothy Dalton years. I come to this conclusion honestly, desperately wanting Spectre to break a pattern of mildly-entertaining-at-best James Bond films. It didn’t happen. The Bond franhcise will always have a large following due to previous decades of fun, but the best Bond movies are now called things like Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol, Kingsman: The Secret Service, and Furious 7; the hyperbole, mock international tension, and unrelenting confidence that saturated our comic book spy hero is now found … elsewhere.
Spectre reminded us in the opening credits, the dialogue, and the denouement of characters fallen in the Daniel Craig era. That was a mistake – for one thing, it assumed that Bond only extended as far as Casino Royale, which, while convenient to this iteration of the mythology, ignores the reason we attend Bond films in droves; it wasn’t for Quantam of Solace, I can tell you that. More importantly, however, it gave me a chance to reflect on exactly where is this franchise has gone – Bond films were fun; now they aren’t. Bond films were cool; now they aren’t. Bond films had the greatest action sequences in film. Now? There are comedies made with better action. I’m not kidding.
For the latter I highlight the moment when Bond steals the £3M prototype Jaguar intended for 009. Oh boy, here comes the car chase of the year, right? This thing is gonna make Fast & Furious look slow & amiable. And … just the opposite happens: with non-blue Dave Bautista in pursuit, the conveniently empty streets of Rome allowed a chase so mild, I think I could have caught Bond and not broken any traffic laws while doing so.
This is what it’s come to, huh? Bond just needs to be seen in the cool car? He doesn’t need to actually do anything in it? The Transporter Retooled had a 
dozen better car stunts and nobody expected a thing from that POS.
Spectre’s “action” begins in Mexico City where rogue vacationing Bond, in a long range plan to score with a widow, interrupts a Day of the Dead festival by blowing up a city block. Bond pursues the nasty to a helicopter brawl – a decidedly tepid helicopter brawl. How tame was it? Ever seen an action movie where the helicopter doesn’t blow up? This happens twice in Spectre. Back at home, Lord Voldemort (Ralph Fiennes) isn’t pleased. His avada kedavra mojo, however, is interrupted with the bad news that Moriarity (Andrew Scott) is now in charge of all U.K. espionage and plans to upgrade. For some reason, this comes as alarming news to a guy who uses a new gadget every day of the week (except in Spectrember, apparently). Continuing to go rogue because dead Judi Dench told him to, Bond unveils Spectre, a sinister and powerful organization plotting to … know everything. At the head of Spectre? Christoph Waltz, who is more machine than man these days. It takes two hours of film for Bond and Señor Spectre to exchange words. Two very long hours.
Many of the Bond trappings still exist – the tailored suits, the vaguely sexist opening credit sequence, the shaken martini, the musclehead villain, “Bond, James Bond”, the knowing smirk … he even turns a shootout into a sexual encounter. I mean, sure, her name isn’t Bouncy McLicious or whatever, but Bond gets the numbers right to enjoy a Léa Seydoux-coup (another cast member here who is better in Blue). However, what’s missing is striking – the over-the-top moments, the smug invicibility, the gadgetry, the awesome stuntwork, the things you’ll be talking about generations from now … like when For Her Thighs Only is on TBS and “yeah, it’s stupid, but I gotta see the ski jump scene again.”
The Daniel Craig era represents a pointless attempt to humanize James Bond. We see him vulnerable, fallable and considerate, and the films have suffered greatly as a result. I want the guy who escapes two impossible deathtraps and shamelessly scores before the opening credits. I want the guy who sleds down the Alps in a cello case using the instrument as a rudder with a look on his face that says, “eat this, bitches.”
This franchise now needs a new injection of anything – black Bond, woman Bond, gay Bond, conflicted drug lord Bond, Treasury Bond, Bondage, anything. Daniel Craig, you’ve made me care about James Bond, and both consequently and ironically, I no longer care about these films.
♪Somebody does it better
Makes me think James Bond is bleah
Several films do it twice as good as you
Baby, you’re the, “meh.”♫
Rated PG-13, 148 Minutes
D: Sam Mendes
W: John Logan, Neal Purvis, Robert Wade and Jez Butterworth
Genre: Death of a Stale Fran- (chise)
Type of person most likely to enjoy this film: Unrelenting optimists
Type of person least likely to enjoy this film: Did you ever make a top-10 favorite movies ever list with a Bond film on it?
♪ Parody inspired by “Nobody Does It Better”
