Darkness is in. It's the new cache of cool makers of big-budget franchises trade in nowadays, cloaking their brand-name products in grit and grime, leaching off it's humour, sense of irony and taking tongues firmly off cheek. It's no longer sufficient for heroes to merely be human, they need to be mired in angst. It's not enough to catch the bad guys, but closure to unresolved issues is required as well.
And so, in the 22nd installment of a James Bond movie, we see, for the first time, the remnants of it's predecessor casting a lingering shadow. In Quantum of Solace (henceforth referred to as QOS), the first true sequel to a Bond movie, references to Casino Royale (henceforth referred to as CR) not only litter the landscape (in fact, so furiously and frequently do names like Vesper, Mr.White and Le Chiffre get tossed at you, a re-watch of CR is practically a must), but jumpstart the movie's opener, which is set less than an hour after CR's closer, with Bond kneecapping Mr.White, who as it turns out, is a mere cog in the large malevolent wheel of Quantum,a sinister organisation with slimy tentacles reaching into the highest levels of Multi-National conglomerates and Governments. As Bond (a still steely and menacing Daniel Craig) shoots, stabs and punches his way through ever escalating action set-pieces (this is easily the most breathlessly paced Bond flick yet), leaving behind a trail of corpses, M (Judi Dench, still effortlessly exuding regal authority) worries her boy is out for revenge. But 007 is after closure, and so apparently is Olga Kurylenko's Camille (wearing much more clothing here than in her debut Hitman, much to this viewer's disappointment), pursuing her own private vendetta that sees her bedding down with Bond's nemesis, Dominic Greene (Mathieu Almaric), a billionaire financing the coup of a deposed dictator in Bolivia, for his own nefarious ends.
It's all very glum, of course. This brooding Bond has little time for humour, meaning the glib toss-away one-liners are in even shorter supply here than in CR. You don't even get Bond's trademark self-introduction nor see him refer to his favourite beverage by name, although you get it's precise recipe from a bartender. As Bond villains go, Almaric's Greene is creepily reptilian enough to be effective. And while Dench's rapidly expanded role is welcome, Jeffery Wright's truncated one as returning CIA agent Felix Leiter, is not. And the under-utilisation of Giancarlo Gianini's Mathis, a returnee from CR, is downright criminal. With his cigarette and cognac baritone, Mathis' world weary operative is Bond's voice of reason and provides the movie's sole scene of Bond's compassion. Gemma Arterton's Agent Field's (her first name, revealed only in the credits, is one of QOS' rare concessions to humour), is utterly disposable, although Bond's brief dalliance with her provide the only scenes where the faintest glimmer of an older, rakish 007 can be briefly glimpsed. With it's hyper-kinetic chase scenes, brutal hand to hand combat and brooding protagonist who loses his girl in one film only to spend the better part of another mourning her, this Bond recalls a more recent franchise featuring an amnesiac assassin far more than it' s own 3 decade antecedents. And like Jason Bourne, one can only hope this Bond reclaims his Identity. Soon.
