Film: Skyfall

4 Dec

Last Thursday I went to the IMAX (because I’m fancy) to watch Skyfall – the new James Bond, just in case you live under a rock – for the second time. Because the first time I saw it, with my friend Fliss, I was drunk, and because everything is obviously better when you watch it on a huge screen whilst your ex-boyfriend drops half a box of popcorn into your drink.

I’m not a huge Bond fan, I haven’t seen a lot of the films and I haven’t, to my intense, burning shame, read any of the books. But I LOVED Skyfall, and I think the next one is going to be amazing thanks to it.

The storyline is very good, but I think quite a difficult one to work into an action film, though Skyfall is definitely that. It’s almost quite introspective, but in a nicely subtle way, with lots of punching and broody self-harmy bits. My favourite bit of the entire film was when M said ‘fucked’ and a man behind us shouted “WHAT?!” but who really cares about what I liked about it? NO ONE DOES. So instead here is what I thought about the film after two gins and a martini:


Bond is the most ridiculous spy, isn’t he? Surely one of the main points of being a secret agent is that what you’re doing is secret. I would think the Guardian would explode if a British spy wrecked an entire Turkish marketplace and then ripped a train in half. Also, he just goes around bandying his name about. “Bond. JAMES BOND! EVERYONE LOOK AT ME PLEASE! THAT’S B-O-N…” Doesn’t he have a code name? Seeing as villains always seem to know who he is MI6 should probably do something about that.

Then there are Silva’s henchmen – if you’re willing to pay a man five million euros (or whatever) to take out some bloke, you’d hope that he could manage to kill a guy hidden behind some oranges before hand, especially as I’m not sure they’re the most well-known protection against machine gun bullets. And then, again, when he’s a sitting target and all you’ve got to contend with is a slow-moving digger arm. But then I wouldn’t like to lose my job just for one or two little mistakes so I won’t make too much of a big deal of that.

I’m a bit worried that tax payer’s money is being used for Q’s salary, too. Everyone has the odd ditzy moment but you’d think a geeky little tech genius wouldn’t be thick enough to plug a known hacker’s laptop into the Government’s network. Can’t we buy him a dongle if he needs the internet? And in a world where I can get wifi on my phone and my keyboard is bluetooth it can’t have been just to get it up on the projection screen. DUH, Q, DUH!

And M, my God, M, I know you must be a bit rusty now but why are you flashing a torch around like a big come-and-get-me firework display? Surely the light from the HUGE FIREBALL is enough for you to see by?

Silva was brilliant, wonderfully, wonderfully creepy and aren’t Javier Bardem’s hands GIANT? But who drinks whisky out of a shot glass? And at least he got a cover name when he was in the field. Why can’t you just take a bit of solace in that, Silva? Why do you have to be so angry? Couldn’t you have just called HR?

On the other hand, I reallyreallyreally liked the title sequence, which makes the Adele song sound quite good, rather than a boring dirge.

It’s always nice to end of a positive, isn’t it?



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