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Friday 9 January 2009

Cold comfort

Quantum of Solace
12A, Nationwide

Quantum of Solace is the latest James Bond movie, which I thought I would make clear from the start. These films arrive with such little pre-publicity and hoo-ha they can often slip by quite unnoticed. (As one regular cinema goer told me, ‘I’d have at least liked the chance to win his watch.’ And as another said, ‘I’d like to dress like him, so why doesn’t anyone ever write about the clothes?’) Anyway, what’s it like? Well, although it’s not the most crushing disappointment of all time — finding you have won the lottery but lost the ticket is probably more crushing, I imagine — it is still a crushing disappointment.

It has none of the emotional power, intelligence or stylishness of Casino Royale, and doesn’t even give itself the odd, knowing wink. No Speedos, no plays on Martinis being shaken or stirred, no Omega moments and, as for the theme music, it doesn’t strike up until the final credits roll, which is a bit weird, considering it has to be the most rousing, iconic, film theme music of all time. I do think director Marc Forster (Monster’s Ball, Finding Neverland) has rather thrown the baby out with the bathwater, and while I am all for throwing babies out with the bathwater generally — babies are a lot of work, after all — the result here is an unengaging, cold and mechanised affair without heart. It’s also quite boring. And there isn’t enough sex. Not nearly enough sex. Hell, let’s be honest, I’m never going to have sex with Daniel Craig, unless he happens to be passing and I can get the rugby tackle in quick enough, so I’d have liked my Craig fantasy to have received a little nourishment at least. But it did not. Indeed, as my fantasy said on our way out, ‘Well, that was a waste of time, wasn’t it?’ And I could not have agreed more.

The film opens in Italy, then travels to Panama, Chile, Mexico, Austria...more countries than any previous Bond film, apparently, which is a shame, as concentrating on the narrative journey rather than the glossier, geographical one might have made for a better film but there you have it, and what do I know? So, Italy then, with Bond speeding away from cops in his Aston Martin and with sinister ‘Mr White’ tied up in the boot. This is a true sequel, with the action picking up minutes from where Casino Royale left off, so if you didn’t really get sinister Mr White then, you so won’t get him now, and if you did get him then, you so won’t remember now. It’s a big ask, I think, demanding audiences recall a plot from two years ago, and while normally I don’t mind a big ask — ask me and ask me big, I will often say to people — this particular ask utterly defeated me. Oh, age and increasing forgetfulness...I can start searching for a word at breakfast and not get it until well after supper, by which time I don’t need it anymore. I did this just yesterday with ‘lamentable’ which is now going spare, if anyone wants it. First come, first served.

More articles from: Deborah Ross | this section

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