Everything goes swimmingly – with Le Chiffre and Vesper Lynd as marvellous additions – until they do That Thing that makes the bottom fall right out of the third act. Two-thirds of it are great, and this certainly resuscitated the brand with its steely flexing of brawn, enabled by Martin Campbell’s headlong style. It’s a wonder it works at all, but it does have the song, Charles Gray in his furry boudoir, and an absolute lack of any seriousness going for it. The plot’s a drag, too.Ī big hmmm for this one, the campiest of the Connerys, the one with cringey gay henchmen and the most vacuous female characters of its day, desporting themselves over the long, dull Vegas bit.
The flashier action bits and fantastic Famke Janssen contribution – a Lenya-level female baddie, rare! – can’t entirely make up for the cheesiness, including some positively shocking dialogue, and a not-on-form Sean Bean as a royally forgettable villain. This one is reliably overrated even while obviously having its moments. But the plot holes are absurd, the small roles poorly defined, and chasing Judi Dench up to Scotland just isn’t good enough. And yes, thanks to Roger Deakins, it’s absolutely the shiniest-looking entry. To have and then waste one of the best-played villains of the series: does Skyfall deserve brownie points for Javier Bardem, or black marks? His first three scenes are wicked.
