James Bond is outdated. That was the message of Skyfall, and it’s once again the primary theme of Spectre. MI6 and the ‘00’ program, we’re told again and again, are ‘prehistoric’. Tux-wearing, womanising secret agents are the past; drone strikes and the military-industrial surveillance complex is the future.
And yet Spectre is a film that fetishises the past. Like this year's Jurassic World and Terminator Genisys, its driving force is not the future, but franchise nostalgia. This is a spy leaning on crutches; stare into Daniel Craig's ice-blue eyes and you can just make out the existential crisis churning away underneath all that nicely cut Tom Ford.
Spectre opens superbly, with Bond on an unofficial assignment in Mexico City. A wonderful long tracking shot (after True Detective and Birdman, clearly the cinematographer’s trick du jour) climaxes with a fight scene on board a barrel-rolling helicopter, all before the credits roll. After discovering an oddly conspicuous octopus ring – apparently secret crime organisations take their logos and jewellery from 1980s cereal boxes – he's off on the trail of SPECTRE, said ultra-secretive crime organisation. (Or, it would be secretive, if Bond fans didn't all know all about it from previous outings. Spoilers, thy name is Khan.)
From there, we're off globe-trotting, taking in Mexico, Rome, Tangiers and the Austrian alps, each locations beautifully shot by cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema and matched in glamour only by Craig's numerous wardrobe changes. The performances are great, particularly Lea Seydoux. The jokes are funny, there's some great Casino Royale-esque fight scenes, a few great stunts, and Christoph Waltz being Christoph Waltz.
But midway through the second act, you're struck by a peculiar question: in a post-Edward Snowden world, what does James Bond actually do?
Back in London, the film's second plot-strand sees the new M (Ralph Fiennes), Q (Ben Whishaw) and Moneypenny (Naomie Harris) railing against Bond's least glamorous but most realistic foe: budget cuts. The new C (Andrew Scott) is determined to merge MI6 and MI5, to spend money on a new electronic global surveillance initiative called Nine Eyes. The details are hazy -- the film's general rule remains "tech bad, old ways good" – but from what we can tell it's nothing more than what governments around the world are already doing.
And that's where it gets odd. Are we supposed to believe that M, the head of MI6, has objections to the type of surveillance technology already used widely by developed nations? It's never clear why, other than it might put him out of a job. It's jarring: an intelligence official who cares more about protecting metadata than saving lives feels more false than any invisible cars or volcano lair ever did.
Bond, meanwhile, is consumed by a personal vendetta. At one point he foils a terrorist plot in the process, but only by accident. Three major bombings occur and nobody bats an eyelid. Just what are MI6 supposed to be up to here -- driving Aston Martins and chatting-up women in the bar while civilians are dying? No wonder the accountants have some objections.
But then again, this is Bond, and you don't see a Bond film in 2015 for depth or invention. You see them to remind you how good Bond used to be. In that, it succeeds. Spectre is a stylised, thrilling 70s-style romp, and easily the best Bond since Casino Royale.
But like an apparition, it's fragile – poke it and it dissolves.
Spectre is out on October 26
This article was originally published by WIRED UK
