Craig is raw, harsh, brutal and hurting.

Rating: 8/10 (28 October 2012)

The rumours built anticipation, the trailer thrilled, the theme song disappointed. The expectation is that Skyfall will be the highest grossing Bond film of all time and Daniel Craig may be the first Bond to garner an Oscar nomination. But could the film possibly stand up to the hype?
I grew up in the Roger Moore years and thought he was the bee's knees. As a more discerning cineaste I respected the killer in Timothy Dalton's eyes, though he suffered for the weak films he was dropped into. After the cheesy romantic Brosnan period, Bond was reborn and I cheered very loudly, much to the chagrin of the next door neighbours, when I read that Daniel Craig was to utter those immortal five words.
Craig is raw, harsh, brutal and hurting. Know this: James Bond is a killer. It's what he does. Craig's 007 will slot a bullet between your eyes for Queen and country and, outwardly, he won't waste a nanosecond considering the emotional consequences. Because that is his job. No, you wouldn't mess with him and, yes, he is the best 007 yet.
But despite the proclamations, Skyfall is not the best Bond film; that accolade, for me, belongs to Casino Royale. Director Sam Mendes hasn't broken Bond, not by a long way, but he has dented it and if they don't repair those dings pretty sharpish, they will rust and cause irreparable damage. Mendes must take the responsibility as he is the top dog on set but the damage has been caused by screenwriter Messrs. Purvis, Wade and Logan. Mendes stated he wanted to inject humour into Bond and from the first twenty minutes or so it was written beautifully. The smiles came from crisp, disposable comments that flowed in conversations, but as Skyfall unfolds scenes are ended with self-conscious, cheesy quips and exchanges and almost blatant winks at the camera. We haven't stepped back to the Moore years but we have certainly suffered a horrible slip to the edge of the Brosnan era Bond.
Barbara Broccoli, if you're reading this, please, for the love of all things Bond, stop now, retrace your steps and take Bond back where he belongs; to the dark, reality of espionage and terror that excites us but makes us wee our pants just a little bit in fear. That is who Bond should be.
But Skyfall is an extremely good film. Its 143-minute running time sprints past with enough variation in the pace for us to catch our breath and keep up without allowing the heart rate to settle into a relaxed rhythm. Craig is on blistering form, momentary scripted bombs aside, and not once do we believe he is anything but serious or anything less than capable, even when the story suggests otherwise.
Skyfall rattles along from the fresh MGM opening sting to the final crescendos, both visually and aurally, as the last of the credits fade. Mendes et al are clearly aware this is Bond's 50th anniversary and there are numerous references to bygone Bonds though, mercifully, no painful cameos from the men who played him. Most are subtle enough to be enjoyable but one jars; it cuts against the naturalistic grain of the film and all but contradicts an exchange between Bond and the excellent new Q (Ben Wishaw):
Bond: A gun and a radio? Q: What? You were expecting an exploding pen? We don't really go in for that any more.
But in the final act we are thrown a series of references and sequences from that bygone era. What was Mendes playing at?
The cast is impeccable. Javier Bardem as Silva is not just a 'bad guy' but a genuine, hope you never meet him anywhere, villain. He is beautifully restrained when first we meet him and our chuckles emerge when the character plays with us, not when we laugh at the funny man. And as he slowly unhinges himself from reality we understand the palpable fear that Sévérine (Bérénice Marlohe) fails to disguise in her shaking hand.
As ever, the relationship with Craig's Bond and Judi Dench's M is absolutely compelling. The two actors have a rare chemistry that doesn't require a sex scene to make it noticeable. At times she is mother to his petulant teenager but there is a mutual respect, an admiration that veers towards a familial love. And, in M's case, a genuine fear of what she has created.
Naomie Harris is a joy to watch. Though she's produced some startlingly good work (28 Days Later, White Teeth) only in Skyfall has she finally stepped into limelight. Perhaps, if we are very fortunate, she will break the 'Bond girl' curse and have a career that continues to ascend rather than evaporate post-event. Next year's Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom is a very hopeful start.
Equally, both Wishaw and Ralph Fiennes, as government man Gareth Mallory, stand tall as characters that command our attention with solid, determined performances. Wishaw's Q is quirkily engaging but there is clearly far more to him than the cuddly, buffoonery of Desmond Llewelyn and, hopefully, he'll have a more positive impact than the pantomime fool played by John Cleese. Fiennes, meanwhile, sets Mallory up as a hateful man within the fold but his evolution through Skyfall is gently handled to great effect.
Skyfall is a very definite statement of intent. Some of that intent concerns me but mostly it is the reason I'll return for a second viewing this week.
No, Skyfall is not the best Bond film ever. But it is remarkably good, it will leave you reeling and it is imperative you don't ask and don't let anyone tell you anything about it.
See it now and then keep your mouth firmly closed.
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