“Take the bloody shot!” The James Bond blogs: ‘Skyfall’ (2012).

I completed my reviews of all the James Bond films back when this blog started, in 2011. However, it was inevitable new Bond films would continue to be released and for completeness sake it’s high time to review them. The first twenty three Bond films (including the non-EON production Never Say Never Again) are still here to read. So, with no further delay it’s a pleasure to review the remaining Daniel Craig films, especially as the first one left to review is Skyfall.

The minor problem I had with Skyfall, when it was released in 2012, was that it was apparently so adored from the moment it was released that I felt I needed some time to give it an objective distance. Still, eleven years is maybe a bit too long. Skyfall is, I should start by saying, one of the Bond franchise’s great success stories and in many ways one of its best films. To draw a parallel, if Casino Royale was Daniel Craig’s Dr. No or From Russia with Love, in terms of success and critical standing, then Skyfall is his Goldfinger or Thunderball; a quality blockbuster hit that just chimes with the audience desires of the time. Actually, perhaps SPECTRE is more akin to Thunderball, for reasons I’ll elaborate on in the next review.

Skyfall is by no means a perfect film, should such a thing exist, and there are a few things I don’t like about it. But in my eyes it manages to successfully marry the new more brutal direction taken for Craig’s Bond with many of the much loved and established tropes from the earlier entries , even so far as occasionally resembling the aesthetic of Connery’s era, although there is a specific visual gag that pays homage to Roger Moore’s Live and Let Die (just swap alligators for a komodo dragon).

Quantum of Solace was a bold, clippy entry to the franchise but as I previously argued, it wasn’t a wholly satisfying Bond experience. Skyfall can be seen as a scaled up course correction, perhaps in the same way The Spy Who Loved Me went for broke after the mediocre The Man with the Golden Gun. In Quantum of Solace’s defence, though, Golden Gun wasn’t trying to push any creative boundaries. Like Spy, Skyfall is also the third film for an established Bond actor, which is often seen as a benchmark for everything that makes that particular actor’s era a success; an arguable zenith. That argument certainly rings true if you consider the examples of Goldfinger or The Spy who Loved Me (less so with The World is Not Enough). Brosnon’s third aside, Connery and Moore’s third films helped their portrayal achieve a kind of posterity. Goldfinger, for example, defined the series and is considered to be an evergreen classic; a great film, not just a great Bond film. Skyfall, I would say, reaches for those aspiring heights and at least for a newer generation achieves a similar goal.

Loosely continuing the story began in Casino Royale, Bond is now presented as something of a veteran (who at one point has to be strenuously reassessed and reminded that his job is a “young man’s game”). When a mission goes wrong, Bond is written off as dead, only to return to the secret service when a nefarious face from M’s past returns. The spectre from the past is no other than another secret agent, Silva (Javier Bardem) who is seriously aggrieved at what he sees as M’s betrayal many years before. The personal vendetta against M makes this story unique, although other aspects such as Bond going ‘rouge’ and not being fit for service have now been done a few times too often. Also, the fake obituary and Bond being presumed dead (either genuinely or as a conceit) is an idea that the films had first done back in You Only Live Twice, with Connery, and you could argue that an angry and vengeful Bond was established much earlier with Timothy Dalton’s portrayal, further eroding the originality Skyfall has to offer. But this is all nit picking really as Skyfall manages to supply these ideas in a way that is packaged as a big crowd pleaser. Some things might seem familiar, but that’s why we’re here after all.

Sam Mendes, previously known for American Beauty and The Road to Perdition, takes over as director. Mendes wasn’t an obvious fit for a Bond film, but he delivers a handsome picture with some great set pieces, much aided by Roger Deakin’s atmospheric cinematography. A Bond film helmed by these two was always going to be something a bit special. Sadly, one casualty of employing auteurs is the absence of David Arnold, whose musical talents are swapped for Mendes’ regular collaborator Thomas Newman. I’ve liked Newman since his offbeat contribution to Desperately Seeking Susan in 1985 and he’s come a long way since. His Skyfall score is absolutely fine as it goes, but Arnold was the true successor to John Barry in my view and he is missed here. Conversely the title song by Adele is a triumph, an emotional homage to the Shirley Bassey/John Barry barnstormers of old. Like Bassey, I want to hear Adele supply another Bond theme. She seems to understand what’s expected and absolutely delivers. As good as the song is, we also get a gorgeous title sequence from creatively reliable stalwart Daniel Kleinman, which enhances the music no end.

The established cast bring some of their best performances, with Judi Dench’s M in particular getting more opportunity for character development. Ralph Fiennes’ Mallory is a welcome addition and Craig finally gets his own ‘Q’ and Moneypenny, played by Ben Wishaw and Naomi Harris respectively. Both supply hugely likeable performances, giving us new spins on the old favourites, more in tune with the new era without sacrificing what made us like the characters in the first place. Harris in particular is in turn ballsy and charming, and I wanted to see more of her. The same with Wishaw’s Q, and the more gentle variation on Bond’s relationship with the quartermaster is engagingly droll. But as far as scene stealing is concerned, Javier Bardem’s Silva is no competition. A jarringly effete but seething character, Silva is a quality villain and gives Daniel Craig his first truly larger than life adversary. Hiring such a consummate actor as Bardem certainly raises the game for everyone. As for Craig himself, he puts in an assured performance, to the extent where I could be fooled into thinking this was his sixth film, not his third. As I have mentioned before, there is much about Craig’s appearance and demeanour as Bond which isn’t to my taste, but much of this is aesthetic. By Skyfall, Craig owns the role and is able to do what Dalton never truly managed, which is to deliver a dry, genuinely funny one liner without it seeming forced and insincere. Craig’s Bond is so jaded and sardonic, that he would say these things just to amuse himself. But not once does Craig sacrifice the hard as nails ruthlessness. He doesn’t quite have the charm of Connery, but he is as much of a physical threat and is better at revealing emotional depth than Connery’s Bond (which was likely more down to the writing of the era than the actor). The screenplay is again by Neil Purvis and Robert Wade (with John Logan). If it isn’t broke, why fix it? It’d be a tough call to say which of Wade and Purvis’ Bond scripts are the best, but Skyfall must be a contender.

From its audacious pre-credit sequence, motor cycling over the rooftops of The Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, through to the shootout at Bond’s ancestral home (the titular Skyfall), Skyfall does not disappoint as a top tier action film. There’s a refreshing urgency about Bond’s adventures, that often puts him in real jeopardy (“take the bloody shot!” M tells Moneypenny, who can’t be sure if she will hit Bond or the assailant). Bond is expendable. But it also presents a Bond we can believe in and whatever doubts anyone had about him two films earlier, Craig has become James Bond in a way no other actor ever has, bar Sean Connery. I say that as someone who does not class him as a favourite (I would rank both Connery and Dalton above him, and Lazenby is the only Bond for the particular film he is in), but he brings a quality portrayal to the table and he is one of many reasons Skyfall never fails to entertain. Skyfall combines the best of what made Casino Royale so good, with the addition of much loved tropes from Connery and Moore’s eras, without abandoning the more serious nature of Craig’s tenure. It finally feels like a modern Bond film in love with the franchise’s legacy, which still pushes for something new.

Reviewing Hitchcock. #22: ‘Sabotage’ (1936).

“What goes on after hours in that cinema of yours?”

If many of Hitchcock’s later films had not been so astounding, perhaps this offering from 1936 would be far better known. It certainly deserves to be. Many of the themes and tropes which would come to define Hitchcock’s films are already here: the icy blonde, the innocent man who is wrongly accused and the narrative ‘wrong footing’. Sabotage actually contains one of Hitchcock’s more shocking and unexpected reveals, one that the director himself was conflicted over. Following the relatively light-hearted screwball elements of The 39 Steps and The Lady Vanishes, where a slightly kooky romantic pairing offers a cornerstone to the more serious suspense and action, here things are considerably more restrained.

Sure, there is a romantic flowering between the two main characters, but this is a pairing more in tune with the less fantastical plot. The story of Mr. Verloc (Oscar Homolka) and his treacherous involvement with foreign agents (for he is the saboteur of the title) just about remains within the realms of everyday plausibility, taking place in a minimum of locations, that lacks the travelogue proto-James Bond feel of The 39 Steps or the much later North by Northwest.

At the beginning of the film we’re introduced to a successful attack on London’s electricity grid, and to Verloc’s involvement (which is never truly explained. What are his motives?) Despite being spotted coming in through the backdoor by his wife (Sylvia Sydney), which is untypical, he lies to her about his whereabouts and our seeds of suspicion are firmly planted. The Verlocs are the owners of a London cinema, which must have felt quite novel in 1936 and lends the film a degree of subversion; Mr. Verloc’s genuine affairs are likely more shocking than the fictions on the silver screen.

A memorable meeting between Verloc and his contact in an aquarium (with a blink and you’ll miss it appearance from Carry On’s Charles Hawtry) tell us little about the villains’ nationality. This was probably deliberate, although in the build up to World War II we can make some educated guesses. Verloc is instructed to take possession of some explosives and how to use them, with the stress on making this a success. “They must not laugh…” This cannot be anything other than a successful terrorist act, which the populace and media will take seriously.

Sometimes Hitchcock deliberately led us down a narrative path that indicated the true villain was someone other than it actually was, such as influencing our suspicion of Norman Bates’ mother being the perpetrator in Psycho. But here, Verloc is most definitely the antagonist, and instead of playing with the audiences’ narratively constructed prejudices, instead focuses on his wife’s growing realisation that her husband is a killer. Many of Hitchcock’s films feature women in relationships with bad men that they cannot escape, to the extent that in Notorious the woman eventually becomes a literal prisoner. Mrs Verloc’s growing unease and eventual paranoia over her husband’s activities fuel the film and the introduction of Detective Sergeant Ted Spencer (John Loder) compounds her suspicions; her husband is evidently being investigated. From all these suspicions Hitchcock weaves his tapestry of suspense quite effectively. Ted initially operates undercover but a growing affection with Mrs Verloc soon blossoms into something else, in an earnest and touching way not really present in the aforementioned coupling in The 39 Steps.

The suspenseful centrepiece of the film is one that Hitchcock himself was quite critical of, suggesting the sequence could have been more effective. It does lead to one of Hitchcock’s more sombre and shocking moments. Mr. Verloc ropes in his wife’s young brother Stevie (Desmond Tester) to act as a courier, carrying the deadly package to Piccadilly, where the bomb is set to go off at 1:45pm. Unexpected delays along the route will have you knawing at your fingers, not least because of the regular clock updates. Never have the hands moved so slowly to the doomed time. Stevie is detained by a market salesman, a police officer and general crowds, all going about their business, but it leaves the boy fatally delayed. Although this centrepiece scene occurs without Mrs Veloc, it is that character who I was eager to get back to, to see her responses. Sydney’s performance is key to the film’s success and her subtle portrayal of the wife more than makes up for any of the film’s narrative failings.

You see, there are some things in Sabotage that clearly don’t make sense. Why would an experienced police detective bungle his eavesdropping on the terrorists by sticking his hand through a window? Why did Mrs Verloc ever marry Mr. Verloc, who she seems to share zero romantic chemistry? Often, Hitchcock presents things ‘just because’ they will help further the story and rack up the suspense by ensuring certain things will happen. I’m not convinced that it’s a heavier handed way of telling a story that Hitchcock ever truly abandoned, but I can just about let those implausible actions go in the broader context of the story being told.

Even with its irrational moments, and it isn’t the only Hitchcock film to have them, Sabotage is one of Hitchcock’s finest early pictures. The film is very effective in communicating the mood of a city just three years away from an huge unavoidable conflict, and one of his last British films before Hollywood finally poached him.

Reviewing Hitchcock. #23: ‘Young and Innocent’ (1937)

“We ought to order tea or something if we’re going to stay here long…”

Based on the novel A Shilling for Candles by Josephine Tey, Hitchcock’s twenty third film takes some liberties with its source material, but manages to offer a reasonably engaging man-on-the-run thriller, of the kind beloved of Hitch. The version of Young and Innocent available on Britbox is also of remarkably pristine quality, so much so that the deep shadows and bright skies of summer really spring out of the screen, maybe more so due to the monochrome.

There’s also a pair of likeable and engaging lead performances from Nova Pilbeam and Derrick De Marney. Pilbeam put me in mind of Maxine Peake in appearance and on the strength of Young and Innocent you’d think that her expressive face would be better known, but as in common with many actresses of the ‘20s and ‘30s she had a relatively short screen career, perhaps with the contemporary attitude being to make hay while the sun shone and then retire gracefully. De Marney has the clipped British tones that really don’t sound like anybody British I’ve ever met, and I’ve lived here all my life, but still, a voice that exists in a certain era of cinema as the heroic everyman centre of films such as these (see also Robert Donat in The 39 Steps).

De Marney plays Robert Tisdall, who like many Hitchcock heroes, ends up having his day go to bollocks just because he innocently got involved in events bigger than himself. You have to wonder how absolutely incriminating the spectacle of him running away from the drowned body is, but those two young ladies do seem absolutely appalled and convinced of his guilt, so what’s a police officer going to do? Sorry Son, that’s enough evidence for me! Down the station with you! Meanwhile, we already know there is a jealous husband out there, who is likely the killer. The bloke has a really noticeable twitch. I’m talking proper full on face gymnastics here. He probably should have got someone else to do the dirty work for him, because with a facial performance like that you just know he’s going to be easy to find later. So, already there’s a plot forming that is likely to keep you committed, as long as you overlook the sillier aspects. While praising the film’s strengths, I also have to mention the miniature model work, which is exceptional. I’m never convinced how much these scenes are always necessary, but Hitchcock stages certain scenes exactly how he liked with visual trickery and it usually convinces very well. Bernard Knowles is the camera man, but not sure who supplied the model work. I’ll get back to you on that.

While the film certainly has its merits, it’s a far lesser offering from Hitchcock than would have been usual, even at this early stage. The stakes never feel high enough and like a less considered Columbo script, the motives and ultimate ‘gotcha’ don’t stand up to scrutiny. As with many Hitchcock films, the ending can catch you by surprise unless you’ve been checking the run time; everything is wrapped up very neatly and swiftly in a few minutes. Would finding the murderer under fraught circumstances really convince him to give himself up in maniacal, laughing declaration of guilt? Maybe, maybe not. Young and innocent is best enjoyed for the two leads and their character’s slowly blossoming affection. Having said that, there are times where the film gives over so much time to quiet, unhurried scenes of their romantic bonding that any sense of jeopardy is all but diffused. This makes Young and Innocent less of a nail biting race to prove a man’s innocence in the mould of The 39 Steps or North by Northwest (to name but two of many) and more of a leisurely holiday in the country with a few road blocks and half-hearted car chases. I felt that if the couple stopped off for cream teas, there would still be plenty of time to evade the police. A sort of To Catch a Thief, but without the colour, vistas and sense of intrigue.

Reviewing Hitchcock in no particular order. #1: The Pleasure Garden (1925)

“…I’ll steer her away from those stage door tom cats if I can”.

Perhaps an unexpected place to continue a series of Hitchcock reviews, if I’m trying to attract thousands of avid readers, this second review in the series goes back to the very beginning. Well, almost the beginning, because the director’s first full feature (Number 13) no longer exists. The Pleasure Garden is Hitchcock’s second full length feature, but his first full length surviving film. While some films of the silent era can astound with their technological ingenuity and creative expression, it would be something of a lie to say The Pleasure Garden is one such film. While the likes of Vertigo, North by Northwest and Rear Window exist comfortably in modern culture as recognisably modern films (in the sense that they can be viewed alongside a new film and still come away looking comparable and sometimes even superior and also occasionally as a notable influence), The Pleasure Garden is from an era far removed. The progress in technology from the early days of cinema to the dawn of the sound era is often jarring when one isn’t viewing a bona fide masterpiece, and even then it can be a surprise to the uninitiated. The fact silent films were shot at around 16 frames per second (fps) can often cause the biggest deterrent to a modern viewer. When sound films came in that was changed to 24 fps. The projection of silent movies at a sound speed of 24 fps made them look faster than often intended, until recent times where such anomalies where corrected. So with regard to Hitchcock, if Vertigo glows with the colour and visual language that can still engage a modern audience and often make us work for the visual’s message, like a Picasso, then The Pleasure Garden is a cave painting. But cave paintings were often glorious, and even a master like Hitchcock has to start somewhere. Ironically, these observations apply doubly for Hitch’s first sound film Blackmail, more of which later,

The Pleasure Garden tells the story of Jill Cheyne, who arrives for her appointment at the theatre, to join the chorus line. Her invitation is stolen and she has to prove her worth as a dancer in front of the manager, the dance troupe and the orchestra. Jill succumbs to the temptations and vanities that accompany fame and fortune, while her friend Patsy (to whom she owes her break) are cast aside. There is a mild love triangle involved and a dastardly cad who promises much to Patsy, but is clearly having it off with this extra piece in Africa, where he has to go to work on ‘the plantations’. Add into the mix Hugh, Jill’s ostracised ex, and there is a story that while not complex, still manages to involve more complexity than some Netflix dramas.

Silent screen acting was obviously a somewhat different skill that that of a sound picture, and while always slightly over exaggerated and stagey, the leads offer relatively naturalistic performances, Virginia Valli is the lead as Patsy , and like many notable actors of the silent era did not have a long career after the dawn of the talkies. The beginning of the sound era was brutal for many stars, and even those than did transition to sound had their voices scrutinised, and often found lacking. Their natural voices were often not what the public expected and that too could play a part in their career demise. In Hollywood, Clara Bow was a prime example. For whatever reasons, Virginia Valli’s last picture came as early as 1931. Virginia Valli was quite a coup for Hitchcock in 1925, when The Pleasure Garden was made (it wasn’t released widely to cinemas until 1927), as was Carmelita Garaghty as Jill. Both were American, making this the only one of Hitch’s British films to have American actresses in the leads. John Stuart is serviceable as Hugh, but Miles Mander proves more entertaining as the oily, caddish villain of the piece (the kind of role Mander got stereotyped for).

The Pleasure Garden isn’t for everybody and I’ll include it here for completion’s sake (as with many of Hitch’s other early silents). There may, however, yet be readers who have interest enough to watch them. The Pleasure Garden is, on the surface, a run of the mill romantic drama and not untypical of the time. However, within the first few minutes we can already see some of Hitchcock’s enduring obsessions. We see the descending stairs (here winding down to the stage floor), the eyes of voyeur through spy glasses and the returned gaze of an icy and untouchable blonde. The Pleasure Garden is rudimentary Hitchcock perhaps, but it can still be thought of as Hitchcock’s true debut.