Early. “Dame” Judi Dench. Threat of extraordinary rendition. Not cool.
Doesn’t seem to bode well. Are we about to be served a helping of steaming-shit propaganda?
No. Not quite. Thank heavens!
Earlier. Another fucking car chase. God damn it, if I wanted to watch Top Gear I’d have stayed home with a cup of PG Tips!
But by the grace of all that’s good and right in the world (hyperbole watch), Marc Forster has done the impossible: a good (not great) follow-up to the best Bond film of all-time.
As of 2006.
Tagged banknotes. D. B. Cooper. An alias. It was 1973 when this bizarre skyjacking took place in the Pacific Northwest. The FBI had the forethought to make a microfilm photograph of all of the ransom money turned over to Mr. Cooper. That’s a lot of photographs in a short amount of time, don’t you think? 10,000 unmarked 20-dollar bills. L. Federal Reserve. San Francisco. Series 1969-C. In a matter of hours…10,000 individual photographs?
By 2008, we doubt such modes of tracking considerably less. And so, by hook and crook, we end up in Haiti. This is where we first meet Olga Kurylenko. Bolivian Intelligence.
And then the subtle subplots come in waves. We are shown the duplicity of the CIA. To wit, a CIA which is deceiving its partners the MI6.
It is all so very applicable to the adventures of one Ms. Victoria Nuland. But it goes all the way back (at least) to the ouster of one Mr. Mosaddegh in 1953. Particularly, it extends to the present allegations of U.S. military (and contractors) raping children in Colombia. It goes to the adventures of one Mr. George Soros. It leads right up to the ridiculous pronouncement of Venezuela as a threat to American national security.
Nisman. Nemtsov. Shady activities to undermine democracy in Argentina and Brazil. Warnings from Ecuador that American intelligence is attempting to overthrow any government which does not declare fealty to the United Corporations of America.
We will eventually get to Russia…or they will get to us.
São Paulo. Veolia Environnement. Suez Environnement. Water. Drought.
We tend to view very few world events as accidents anymore (knowing what we know about history). It was 9/11 which taught us that things aren’t always what they seem. And as we dug deeper into declassified documents, we realized how long this charade has been going on. And now, with immensely powerful technology at their fingertips, the most unscrupulous world leaders are in a position to stage just about anything (with a little help from the military component of their industrial complex).
I must hand it to director Forster: though the earpieces were brilliant, it was the strains of Tosca which made the mute shootout so artful.
Another soft undercurrent: a Special Branch bodyguard protecting a member of an international crime syndicate. No wonder the work of intelligence agencies is so difficult! Politicians make deals with unsavory characters and thereby endanger the safety and futures of their citizens. Oh, sure…we are made to believe that this is all in the process of pursuing the lesser of evils, but as Mary Parker Follett said, “Authority should go with knowledge…whether it is up the line or down.” That means that in many cases, politicians should get out of the way of the NSA, CIA, MI6, etc.
It’s a shame Strawberry Fields couldn’t remain with us longer. At least she gets a good trip in! Her death, however, is a rather unimaginative twist on Goldfinger. Nice try, gents.
But all is forgiven because of the Mathis death which precedes this. When seeing the old agent dead in a dumpster from a high, circumspect vantage point, we think of Bill Buckley in Beirut and even the strange death of John P. Wheeler III. We think of the MITRE Corporation. We wonder about all those filthy neocon roaches that have managed to keep their clawed positions in government (Nuland). But mostly we realize that death in a dumpster is the true romanticism of being a secret agent. This is the disconnect between reality and fiction: James Bond will never end up dead in a dumpster. He is, actor by actor, immortal. Or rather, his lifespan depends on the British-American power which persists.
If the Russians were to win, we might be seeing more Stierlitz films. Though Vyacheslav Tikhonov and Georgiy Zhzhonov are gone, that spirit would procede.
In James Bond we have the remnants of the British Empire (and the American spoils of WWII known as Hollywood).
In Quantum of Solace we again find the trend which started at least as early as the excellent License to Kill (1989): divine insubordination. You do not have to obey an unjust order. An unjust law is no law at all. St. Thomas Aquinas (from St. Augustine). Natural law.
Jeffrey Wright displays this admirably in his portrayal of CIA agent Felix Leiter. And of course Daniel Craig as Bond…the epitome of insubordination. Bond can get away with it because he is that talented. Few are these mythical supermen.
Forster manages a touchingly real moment when Craig shields and comforts Kurylenko amid the flashback flames. It reminds us of Bond’s humanity in the egg-shell poignant scene of Casino Royale when Craig joins Eva Green beneath the interminably therapeutic cascade of a distraught shower…sitting down, fully clothed…that distant, vacant look of fear in her eyes as she shivers.
And with this we congratulate the James Bond producers Michael G. Wilson and Barbara Broccoli for stringing together these two films in such a genius manner.
We end in Kazan. Not Elia Kazan. May God spare us the dick-measuring contest of Minuteman III and Topol-M.