That transition becomes complete once Bond finally squares off against Waltz’s preternaturally calm and cocky Oberhauser, who fancies himself a “visionary” more interested in changing the world than profiting financially from his schemes. When not tying together the past few 007 films with that sort of easy-bake mythology, Spectre is concocting new ways to have Bond’s family history relate to his current circumstances – origin-story efforts that continue to seem modeled after Nolan’s The Dark Knight and The Dark Knight Rises in terms of both specific plot details and an overarching grim-and-gritty tone that’s increasingly ill-fitting for a franchise moving backwards, via unimaginative homages, toward its more outlandish roots. White (Jesper Christensen)-who, like Craig’s other Bond adversaries ( Casino Royale’s Le Chiffre, Skyfall’s Raoul Silva), were apparently members of Oberhauser’s malevolent cabal. Instead, it’s simply content to orchestrate expensive but inert mayhem devoid of consequence and, thus, suspense.īond’s investigation into Spectre leads him to protect, and then fall in love with, Madeleine, the daughter of his Quantum of Solace nemesis Mr.
By the time Bond is racing down a snowy Austrian slope in a breaking-apart plane, chasing his kidnapped love interest Madeleine Swann ( Blue is the Warmest Color’s Léa Seydoux, wasted in a one-note role), the film acts as if it’s lost the will to even try. An opening sequence set during Mexico’s Day of the Dead festival supplies some suitable Thanatotic imagery, but its conception and staging is lethargic, replete with a CG-heavy tussle aboard a helicopter that’s almost as lifeless as Craig’s performance. Worse, however, is that Mendes doesn’t compensate for the shortcomings of his narrative-which, scripted by four different writers, amounts to a too-many-cooks hodgepodge-with anything approaching a passable blockbuster spectacle. Spectre’s dearth of surprises proves a death knell for its drama, since it means that most of what occurs throughout its story (including a casual romantic dalliance featuring a squandered Monica Bellucci) is merely filler in service of telegraphed bombshells. His motivation for seeking out Oberhauser is shrouded in secrecy for much of the film’s first half, though a telling photo that Bond receives early on (from the wreckage of his family manor, Skyfall) so overtly implies the hero’s connection to his adversary that what follows is a tedious exercise in waiting for obvious revelations. The result is that Mendes’s film feels like a prolonged game of clumsy misdirection about the true nature of Franz Oberhauser (a menacingly cheery Christoph Waltz), the shadowy head of a sprawling criminal syndicate (the titular Spectre) that Bond is hunting. Like 2013’s reboot sequel Star Trek Into Darkness, Spectre is designed to play out like one big, long mystery involving the identity of its bad guy, undermined by the fact that it’s clear who said villain is from the outset.
Directed by Sam Mendes with the same level of action-choreography incompetence as 2012’s Skyfall, but this time with fewer memorable setpieces, the latest installment in the 007 franchise confirms what its predecessor (and 2008’s Quantum of Solace) had merely suggested: The primary ideas driving the Craig iteration of the iconic character come from Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy, as well as the original Connery-headlined classics.
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Daniel Craig once again wields a license to kill in Spectre, but the most lethal thing about his fourth go-round as British super spy James Bond is its absence of originality and thrills.
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