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Casino Royale
Dec. 10th, 2006 08:25 pm[To get away from my heat problems took off to the movies this afternoon. Apparently the thermostat that controls the heat in the building switchs off when the room it is in reachs 69 degrees, which is all well and good, except for the fact that that usually happens when it only reaches 60 or 61, if I'm really lucky 63 or 64 degrees in my apartment. Woke up yesterday morning at 10 am to 57 degrees and this morning to 60. Hot is 66 degrees, which is what it is right now because I used the stove and it is only 50 degrees outside. The landlord promises me he'll remedy the situation - I've been bugging him about it off and on all weekend. Have decided to give him until Tuesday. Then I'm buying a small space heater. It's ridiculous considering how much I pay each month in rent. I chose Casino Royale after it had been enthusiastically and rather vehemently recommended by a gal I met on Friday night at Chez Laurence prior to seeing the Bob Dylan Historical Retrospective at the Morgan Library and Museum on 38th and Madison. It's free on Friday nights by the way. ETA: Heat problem solved for now - it came on tonight and am warm for first time in five days. A ptich perfect 68 degrees. YAY!!!]
Casino Royale is the perfect film for anyone who wants to see a bit of ass-kicking or feels an overwhelming need to punch a boxing bag. After seeing it I understood why the critics loved it. The film is "old-school" Bond, going back to the flavor and nature of the Ian Fleming Books. Having read several of them, I can say that without compunction. Bond in the books is as Judi Dench's "M" describes him, "little more than a blunt instrutment" or "weapon" aimed at the enemy and intended to take it out without remorse or hesistation. Fleming meant the books to be a commentary on how men were turned into weapons, and Bond was supposed to be no more than an passably attractive and occassionally charming thug. But still a thug. Connery kept some of the thuggishness there, but over time the image got romanticized. There's something almost bare-bones about the violence in Fleming's novels. You are following the adventures of a "hitman" after-all. They are noir fiction, which admittedly is not for everyone, and Bond is a compelling anti-hero, from poor roots, no family, constructed and made by his country. A human weapon. Robert Ludlhum in a manner of speaking constructed a similar hero with Bourne. The cold-blooded killer who kills for Queen and Country, yet is still just a cold blooded killer.
Of the books - the one's I remember the best, and it was over 20 years ago that I read them, were The Spy Who Loved Me and Live and Let Die - neither bore any resemblance to the films that carried their names. There were no gadgets. No fancy villians. No huge plots. Just Bond, with his gun, chasing men who were killers like himself. Reading them reminds me of reading Dashielle Hammett or Raymond Chandler orJohn D Ross McDonald's Harper [*thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
oursin for the correction]. And of the films carrying Fleming's character only Connery's Doctor No ever felt like the books.
Connery, a former Mr. Universe put the stamp on Bond, a stamp that no one else has come close to until Daniel Craig, who may not be as "pretty" as Connery, but still contains the same rugged deadly charm. You believe Craig will kill you, not just that he will but that he can and with his bare hands. I believed the same thing of Scean Connery. I did not believe it of the men who performed the role in between, even though I was highly entertained by them and will probably watch just about anything Pierce Bronsan does even if it involves reading a phone book. But Bronsan did not fit the image of the character I envisioned from the books, while Craig does.
Craig is not what I'd call a pretty man. His ears stick out oddly, his hair is sparse, and his face worn, but I see the experience etched in the planes of his face. And while the chest, those perfectly formed abs, make up for it - I tend to like leaner builds. So, no, I would not call him photogenic. But, when you watch him on screen, he draws you in, there's an almost thuggish beauty to his manner and while he does not move with the panther like grace of a Connery, his style is similarily beautiful and simarily deadly - much like a tiger's or perhaps a gorilla - as he races and jumps through the chase scenes. And like Connery, you realize the playboy, the rich-boy beneath the veneer is nothing more than a practiced charade.
The movie itself, casting aside, may well be the best written Bond film since the Connery era. And in some respects is better written than the Connery films, eschewing the gadgets, supervillians, and multiple babes.( no real spoilers, really vague. )
Casino Royale is the perfect film for anyone who wants to see a bit of ass-kicking or feels an overwhelming need to punch a boxing bag. After seeing it I understood why the critics loved it. The film is "old-school" Bond, going back to the flavor and nature of the Ian Fleming Books. Having read several of them, I can say that without compunction. Bond in the books is as Judi Dench's "M" describes him, "little more than a blunt instrutment" or "weapon" aimed at the enemy and intended to take it out without remorse or hesistation. Fleming meant the books to be a commentary on how men were turned into weapons, and Bond was supposed to be no more than an passably attractive and occassionally charming thug. But still a thug. Connery kept some of the thuggishness there, but over time the image got romanticized. There's something almost bare-bones about the violence in Fleming's novels. You are following the adventures of a "hitman" after-all. They are noir fiction, which admittedly is not for everyone, and Bond is a compelling anti-hero, from poor roots, no family, constructed and made by his country. A human weapon. Robert Ludlhum in a manner of speaking constructed a similar hero with Bourne. The cold-blooded killer who kills for Queen and Country, yet is still just a cold blooded killer.
Of the books - the one's I remember the best, and it was over 20 years ago that I read them, were The Spy Who Loved Me and Live and Let Die - neither bore any resemblance to the films that carried their names. There were no gadgets. No fancy villians. No huge plots. Just Bond, with his gun, chasing men who were killers like himself. Reading them reminds me of reading Dashielle Hammett or Raymond Chandler or
oursin for the correction]. And of the films carrying Fleming's character only Connery's Doctor No ever felt like the books. Connery, a former Mr. Universe put the stamp on Bond, a stamp that no one else has come close to until Daniel Craig, who may not be as "pretty" as Connery, but still contains the same rugged deadly charm. You believe Craig will kill you, not just that he will but that he can and with his bare hands. I believed the same thing of Scean Connery. I did not believe it of the men who performed the role in between, even though I was highly entertained by them and will probably watch just about anything Pierce Bronsan does even if it involves reading a phone book. But Bronsan did not fit the image of the character I envisioned from the books, while Craig does.
Craig is not what I'd call a pretty man. His ears stick out oddly, his hair is sparse, and his face worn, but I see the experience etched in the planes of his face. And while the chest, those perfectly formed abs, make up for it - I tend to like leaner builds. So, no, I would not call him photogenic. But, when you watch him on screen, he draws you in, there's an almost thuggish beauty to his manner and while he does not move with the panther like grace of a Connery, his style is similarily beautiful and simarily deadly - much like a tiger's or perhaps a gorilla - as he races and jumps through the chase scenes. And like Connery, you realize the playboy, the rich-boy beneath the veneer is nothing more than a practiced charade.
The movie itself, casting aside, may well be the best written Bond film since the Connery era. And in some respects is better written than the Connery films, eschewing the gadgets, supervillians, and multiple babes.( no real spoilers, really vague. )
