PTSD

for your eyes only

The next in my continuing if infrequent film reviews in hopes that PTSD readers will a) find this the lit bit interesting (doubtful) and b)ignore that neither of us has posted a "substantial post" for a while...

So, I took myself down to the local cinema today and watched the latest James Bond flick. Now, Bond's always been a staple feature of the Priya household. In between conversions to Islam (not me, personally but other members of my family-mainly for the purpose of argument), criticising the news and frequent arguments about which footy team's better, 007 forms a large part of my childhood memories. So much so that when the 1990s versions came about, I drifted into watching them anyway. After a while, they all ran together into one big film with chases, one-liners and lots of women.

This one? A ripping yarn. The storyline is fairly predictable--one would have to have the thinking capability of a blond gerbil not to be able to figure out who the baddies are and what the plan is. The actual story? Something about terrorist financing (though these "terrorists" are lurking about in the jungles of Uganda and not the usual Muslim or even Irish versions) . The main bad guy? Danish. But not in a yummy let's have one of those type of ways. Instead, Danish in the absurdly stereotypical Scandinavian fashion of being cold and emotionless and so on.

But, is there any reason to go see this flick then? *spoilers ahead*

Oh yes, two words: Daniel Craig. Fantastic upper body strength (and those Speedos, mate), good acting (the little that is needed to be a Bond) and just all around lethal meanness instead of the pretty boy charm Pierce Brosnan had got going. The type for a spy has obviously been reformulated from charm and double entendres to a very appealing combination of danger and arrogance and a lot of stupidity. This Bond could hang out with the Transporter. In fact, they probably shared the same gym, from the looks of things.

Some things, though, do not change. Bond does not cave in under pressure (even if the pressure is being applied by a rope to naked flesh, apparently. Very Lawrence-ian); Bond is cheeky to M; Bond jumps off buildings and blows things up; but Bond also is rather arrogant, makes mistakes and runs about without many clues. He misses seeing things that the rest of us, sitting out on the audience and armed with loads of other movies to draw upon, have already figured out.

In IR terms, terrorists actually play a small part in the film. I mean, they could well have been Nepali tantrics instead of Ugandan terrorists for their specific role in all of this.

The best IR moment comes when the Felix, the CIA guy, offers Bond money so he (Bond) can continue his high-stake poker match with the Baddie. Felix's condition is that the CIA should get credit for arresting the Baddie. Bond agrees and asks what about the winnings? Felix answers along the lines of "and you think we need the money?".

A sly dig at the rest of the world and an assertion of American superiority, all in one short sentence. Perfect.

posted by Priya @ 11:22 PM