Quantum of Solace

OPENING: 11/14/2008

STUDIO: MGM

TRAILER: Trailer

ACCOMPLICES: Official Site

The Charge
This time, it’s personal.

Opening Statement
Something feels a little funny about the latest James Bond film. It just doesn’t feel the same anymore. Once upon a time, Bond movies were an ideal source of escapist entertainment, offering grand adventures, megalomaniacal villains, women with suggestive names, and hi-tech gadgets. All of that was dispensed with in the previous Bond film, Casino Royale, a gritty and immensely effective story of Bond’s early years. That film felt like the beginning of a potentially great run of Bond movies, and it seemed to hint these films would attempt to incorporate the more fantastical elements of Bond’s world in as realistic a manner as possible. Unfortunately this latest film, oddly titled Quantum of Solace, seems to be stuck in neutral. It attempts to recapture the thrills of Casino Royale, but doesn’t seem to want to go anywhere new. As a companion piece to its predecessor, it works well enough, but it’s not too successful as a standalone entry.

Facts of the Case
This one picks up directly where the previous one left off. Bond (Daniel Craig) and M (Judi Dench) are attempting to figure out what sort of organization was behind the shenanigans in the previous picture, and quickly realize they’re up against a pretty significant and frighteningly invisible adversary. Simply playing by the rules isn’t going to work. You need someone who is fearless and willing to get his hands dirty. 007 is precisely the man for the job. From a purely official standpoint, M disapproves of his behavior, but deep down she knows the right man is handling the situation. Very quickly, Bond begins to uncover the diabolical plot of a wealthy entrepreneur named Dominic Greene (Mathieu Amalric), who has plans to take control of the water supply in parts of South America.

The Evidence
In many ways, Quantum of Solace feels like an inferior imitation of Casino Royale. I may end up belaboring this point, but there’s simply no way around it. Let’s start with the pre-credits sequence: a frantic car chase directed with surprising sloppiness and incoherency by director Marc Forster. Compare this to the foot chase in Casino Royale, directed with exciting skill by Martin Campbell. Why is one of the most action-packed Bond films in recent memory being directed by a man who has no experience in the realm of action films? Granted, Forster (The Kite Runner) is gifted when it comes to character-driven drama, and there are a few nice scenes along those lines here… but just a few. For the most part, this one is concerned with keeping everyone running, jumping, and fighting. That’s okay with me, but you’ve got to make it exciting. Much of the action here is just busy, difficult to follow, and not much fun.

Then let’s consider the main title sequence. Remember that cool card-themed main title from Casino Royale and the equally cool song from Chris Cornell? Here we get a very unimaginative desert-themed sequence and a rather ho-hum tune from Jack White and Alicia Keyes that feels a bit out of place in a Bond movie. Perhaps that is appropriate for a Bond film that feels out of place in the franchise. Despite all of the modern grit it contained, Casino Royale felt like a real Bond movie. This one doesn’t. Q, Moneypenny, and the gadgets are still missing, but this time we don’t even manage to make room for villainous monologues, gambling, romantic bliss, or witty quips. This film sucks the life out of the franchise, soaking everything mercilessly in realism (well, movie realism) and the woes of “the real world.” Remember the scene in Goldfinger, with the dead girl covered in gold paint? Of course you do. Here, we get a similar image, but this time the girl is covered in oil. I winced just a little. This is not what I want a Bond movie to be.

Another big problem is the plot. Name any Bond film other than Quantum of Solace. Go ahead, pick one. Got it? Okay. I guarantee you anyone could walk into that film without having seen any previous Bond films and understand everything going that’s on without any trouble. There are lots of Bond films, but they aren’t really “sequels.” This one is most assuredly is a sequel, and requires a thorough knowledge of everything that happened in Casino Royale. If you haven’t watched the film within the past few months, you’re pretty much screwed going into Quantum of Solace. The movie never even bothers to make a half-hearted attempt at bringing the audience up to speed. If names like “Vesper” and “Le Chiffre” don’t mean anything to you, I suspect you will be lost completely.

All of that being said, um… I still kind of liked Quantum of Solace. Hard as that may be to believe, I can’t say that I hated the movie. I was disappointed by it, I was frustrated by it, I was irritated with it… but I’m glad I saw it. That’s mostly because the actors work very, very hard to sell this material. Wow… Daniel Craig is a good James Bond. He isn’t given much to do here, but he doesn’t need much to make an impression. He nails every scene. Judi Dench has never been better as M than she is here, and she shares some of the film’s best scenes with Craig. Jeffrey Wright is once again underused, but he has all ready secured a place in Bond history as the best Felix Leiter. As for the rest of the cast… well, everyone is fine, but let’s just say that the villain is no Gert Frobe, and the girl is no Eva Green.

Closing Statement
This is one of the lesser Bond films and, coming on the heels of one of the very best, it may seem particularly disappointing. Seeing each and every Bond film is one of the rules of cinema, so you should see it, note your concerns, and feel free to post your complaints and compliments on your friendly neighborhood internet forum. Then just try to relax and sleep well. James Bond will return, and he will be good again. If the past 45 years or so have taught us anything, it’s that you just can’t kill the Bond franchise. He’ll be back again. Just think about all of those Bond girls over the years. Half of them are tragically killed, and half of them are valiantly rescued. The movies are the same way. You can’t rely on Bond to save all of them, but you can rely on him to keep saving some of them on a regular basis. Quantum of Solace just happened to be the unlucky gal this time around.

The Verdict
6/10

Devil May Care (a James Bond novel)

Release Date: 05/28/2008

Publisher: Doubleday

Accomplices: Official UK Site

Buy the book: Amazon.com

The Charge

“All right,” said Bond. “It’s a hundred pounds, isn’t it?”
“I believe so. So…Shall we say a hundred thousand?”
Gorner was still not looking at Bond. He was bending over his bag to extract a new racquet and was testing the tension by banging the frame of another racquet against the strings. He said, “I mean francs, of course, Mr. Bond.”
“Old, presumably,” said Bond.
“Oh, no. New. As new as we can find them.”
Bond calculated rapidly. It was more than seven thousand pounds, silly money, far more than he could afford, but in the strange tussle to which he now appeared committed, he felt he could show no weakness. “All right, Dr. Gorner,” he said. “Your serve.”

The Case

James Bond has always straddled the dual concerns of artistry and commercialism. When the budding novelist Ian Fleming first created the character, Bond was a brash agent whose inexperience and overconfidence doomed him to death at the hands of a ruthless mercenary. Such an ending to this first novel was the only way to remain faithful to Fleming’s experience: cocksure agents rarely lasted long in the field. Casino Royale was to be an authoritative calling card to the world of espionage literature, a tonic for the contrivances and mumbo-jumbo that diluted the genre. Yet when Fleming sought the advice of a friend, he was urged to reconsider Bond’s early demise and alter the book’s ending. James Bond was a compelling agent; his continued adventures could be lucrative.

With this early concession to commercial concerns, Fleming opened the door. Bond indeed became lucrative. And his franchise was birthed with one eye towards artistry and one towards cash.

Bond’s literary adventures ostensibly concluded with You Only Live Twice, a ruminative work that is half comedic travelogue (it is better to travel hopefully…) and half doom (…than to arrive). Fleming wrapped up the threads of Bond’s life, the pains and desires he’d carried in his heart from the first novel forth. Fleming closed the book on Blofeld, the Service, and even Bond’s national identity. He left Bond in the arms of a perfect mate in a remote corner of the globe with no hope (nor desire) for rescue. The Walther PPK had become a ploughshare; the mercenary, a fisherman.

Yet Fleming could not resist leaving the door open via a few sentences at the end. A halfhearted attempt to resurrect James Bond called The Man With the Golden Gun was posthumously released; the dual concerns were back in full. The Man With the Golden Gun was Fleming’s last gasp of James Bond, though the breath of another writer (if rumors are true) administered CPR to complete the novel.

Kingsley Amis was the first author to officially take up the pen and carry on Fleming’s legacy. Colonel Sun’s heart is in the right place; it is the best non-Fleming James Bond novel. Less certain is the heart of John Gardner, a talent who penned a cohesive series of Bond novels but who openly admitted that the character was never his. Gardner’s body of Bond novels is uneven (particularly near the end) but he did an excellent job of incorporating the post-cinematic Bond into a modern take on Fleming’s universe.

The dilution of the literary Bond became complete with the arrival of Raymond Benson, whose Bond lived for the spray of bullets and thrilled in slaughtering adversaries. Fleming’s Bond had always wrestled with killing; had always despised the dark acts on behalf of Her Majesty that prevented him from buying a chicken farm and settling down with a beautiful woman. Benson’s Bond toted an Uzi and sprayed down faceless foreigners with the xenophobic bloodlust patented by John Rambo.

Which brings us to Sebastian Faulks and Devil May Care. The novel, released on the date that would have been Fleming’s 100th birthday, is honorary. Faulks wrote as Fleming wrote, a peculiar ritual involving 2,000 words a day and lots of snorkeling. More importantly, Faulks did his level best to capture the cadence of Fleming’s prose and the spirit of his beloved 007. Faulks is not as self-indulgent as Fleming–there are no page-long monoliths of dialogue–and the abject racism has been toned down. Yet Fleming’s brand of racism and sexism are still present, along with the other absurd, engaging elements of a Bond novel. Faulks has subsumed his voice to write, unapologetically, as Ian Fleming.

The resultant novel is as refreshing for fans of the literary Bond as Casino Royale was for fans of the cinematic Bond. In the first two chapters (an “opening sequence” and the introduction of James Bond) Faulks establishes his facility with the world and character of 007. The initial violence in a rain-soaked ghetto is a shattered window; Bond’s boredom while on holiday is a crystal wineglass that magnifies his frustrated state of mind. An encounter with a beautiful Russian evokes the best of Fleming’s electric flirtations. It is also contrived. Aside from other awkward (but brief) references to past Bond adventures, Faulks slides into Fleming’s shoes without much hand waving.

As the story unfolds, we’re privy to Bond’s ruminations on health, duty, and women. Faulks perhaps missteps in terms of pacing and emphasis. For example, an early attempt on Bond’s life has no follow up, which makes the encounter feel tacked on and unresolved. Likewise, the clever establishment of The Summer of Love left me wanting more. Other modest bits, such as a mystery involving two sisters and Bond’s forced marches through Persia, consume several chapters. Yet these annoyances never subvert the overall joy of reading a Bond novel.

Tarnished chivalry, tuned senses, and brute determination eventually carry the day. Faulks paints a villain who is as depraved as he is believable (assuming your disbelief is securely suspended). You want to see Gorner brought down, and the dilly-dallying beforehand builds up tension. As in Fleming’s tales, Bond’s actions are not all that impressive; the journey itself, the sense of spirit and human reserves, power the tale. Throughout, Faulks delivers steady, confident prose and judicious attention to detail.

Gone are the video-game like slaughters of Benson and the “gee whiz” technology of Gardner. Devil May Care is most reminiscent of Colonel Sun for its faithful tone and good intentions. Of course, this means that the bathwater is left in with the baby. Two thirds of the novel would not exist but for a horrendously stupid decision on Bond’s part, a decision that no thinking man in his position would ever make: a classic Fleming MacGuffin. The arc of the story is eminently predictable, as are the outcomes of each encounter. Perhaps Faulks telegraphs some of his decisions, or perhaps he stuck to the formula that made Fleming’s works equally predictable. In either case you won’t be surprised.

Then again, that’s precisely why Devil May Care works so well.