Neither Shaken Nor Stirred

Rating: 6/10 (11 November 2015)

Though it is clichéd but I must admit that I came out neither shaken nor stirred, quite unlike the way Bond would prefer his Vodka Martini. Few months ago when I saw the first poster release of Spectre showing Craig donning an N.Peal full-sleeve, dark charcoal grey, mock turtleneck sweater instead of his usual impeccably stitched tuxedo, it struck me almost like a blasphemy to the sartorial sensibility of Bond in the eyes of his worshipers though he was not looking any less suave, but soon after I was very hopeful and assured that this incarnation of Bond would have some extra tricks up his sleeves and more experiments to perform. Experiments do fail sometimes. The makers tried to more than compensate for it by attiring him in few Tom Ford tuxedos, glasses and Crockett & Jones shoes but nothing could really do a proper facelift.
The film opens with a delicious hors d'oeuvre of a sumptuous eye feast from the Day of the Dead celebration in Mexico itched on 35 mm celluloid in a mouth-watering, pale and subdued texture from the cinematographic prowess of Hote Van Hoytema (seen his Her and Interstellar?) in contrast to pure digital crispness of Skyfall by Roger Deakins. Equally brilliant but I would rather prefer my toasts crispier. It is indeed one of the most grandiose things ever filmed in the franchise's 53 year long history. The camera, through the sea of reveling mass of ghoulishly dressed people, continuously tracks movements of our masked crusader hounding his prey in a seamless breathtaking shot. After a long chase and wreaking some havoc, the pre-credit sequence culminates into a pulse-pounding and death- defying fight dangling from a helicopter dangerously careening over Zocollo Square. What a bravura act! So far so good.
We now enter one of the most anticipated part of any Bond movie, its theme song. Sam Smith does not have the usual menacing tone of other themes sung by likes of Tom Jones, Shirley Bassey, Tina Turner and Adele, etc. It sounds more like a sentimental love ballad. Not exactly my type. But it is nicely presented with its accompanying octopuses symbolizing Spectre, and the guns, and svelte silhouettes smouldering the screen. Going good until this.
The plot picks the thread from the aftermath of Skyfall when Bond retrieves some of his belongings from Skyfall and a cryptic message from previous M that sets him off on the trail of the titular shadowy criminal organisation Spectre. If Skyfall was more about M with only allusions to Bond's past then Spectre tries to delve deeply into the Bond's past, but rather unconvincingly. The trail tries to link all the lose ends from all the previous three movies in a faulty plot line which runs parallel with Ralph Fiennes' challenge as new M to keep the Double-O programme alive under his new MI5 boss Andrew Scott as C. Digital surveillance seems quite like a new fetish to Hollywood post-Snowden. The whole trail takes Bond on a globe trotting with his muses from Mexico City to Rome to Austria to Tangiers to back home London with doses of action. Nothing too extraordinary.
The whole movie tone is much darker than its predecessors (much attributable to its cinematography) and attempts to explore the vulnerable side of indestructible Bond with some old traditional and established formula. It does not actually work to its advantage. Returning director Sam Mendes with his team of four big time writers and other big guns fail to revive the interest. A few good exchanges of banters between Bond and his accomplices keeps the mood enlivened in this sometimes languorous installment. I am not saying that this Bond is bad and indeed it has its moments of glory in some shots but on the whole it does not leave you spellbound.
Christoph Waltz as the head of Spectre does not look as diabolic as gayish-blond Raoul Silva of Skyfall or blood-dripping-eyed Le Chiffre of Casino Royale, yet he graces the screen with his rather refined and dignified presence like a CEO for that matter of any organisation should have. Dave Bautista as Hinx is one of the best things that could have happened but unfortunately not explored well enough. Ralph Fiennes as the new M at the helm of MI6 replacing Madam Judi Dench is a worthy successor but not a match to the iron lady.
Thomas Newman's background score was not as exciting and inspiring as his in Skyfall.
Verdict: In pithy, Spectre tries to offer a smorgasbord of various flavours in a silver platter that only tantalizes your palate and leaves you unsatiated. Watching it after Skyfall was akin to watching Quantum of Solace after Casino Royale. (But now I realise that Quantum of Solace was not that bad at all, it was rather a very slick flick.) I would not dare give it more than 6.8/10.