Where’s Tracy Morgan When You Need Him?
I think he’s the man you’re looking for, ladies. PS-I like how this post announces to the world that I spend my early afternoons cruising the WW4M section of Craigslist […]
The legacy of James Bond is a mixed bag for me. Some of my first memories are my dad ogling Bond girl jugs as we watched 007 marathons on TBS together. Later, as an adult, I viewed a few Bond movies via Netflix and realized that, other than the Sean Connery movies where he slaps lippy women and causes me to cackle the same soulless laugh I do while watching Mr. Ed and thinking about how much they tortured that animal to get him to do anything, I’m not the biggest JB fan.
Now comes Skyfall, 007’s 23rd outing, and the third featuring Hitler’s wet dream, Daniel Craig, as the secret agent. I greatly enjoyed Casino Royale and thought Quantum of Solace was unfairly dumped on, so it shouldn’t come as a shock that I bet Skyfall is decent. What may surprise, though, is I’m going to say Skyfall is great.
Why? Because of Sam Mendes and Javier Bardem. Not since Cheech and Chong have two Latinos guaranteed such cinematic quality. Sam’s an amazing director, and I think it’s rare to see someone who knows his ass from his elbow behind the camera of a Bond film, so that’s worth a few points right there. As for Bardem, the dude scared the piss out of me while wearing the most ridiculous, Prince Valiant wig I’ve seen since I dated that Asian chick undergoing chemotherapy. The man is a titanic on-screen presence as a force of evil.
I’m not sure who the Bond girls are this time around and I don’t much care. It’s not like they pull their tits or slits out in these movies, so they could use Edie Falco for all it matters. If undressed, sexually attractive women are your goal, Google the words “Internet pornography.” You’ve got a fun evening in store for yourself.
Hopefully, Skyfall won’t disappoint. Though, if it does, what am I going to do? Write a letter? No, it’ll have my ticket money and I’ll be left to toss the movie upon a bitter compost heap of failures along with my career, love life and expectations for the Redskins 2012 season. Hopefully, by next year, it will have produced mediocrity mulch in which I can plant the flowers of underachievement. God am I depressed.
David on November 9, 2012
LA, baby!