friday, april 04, 2008
Casino Royale
James Bond has come to be inseparably associated with an array of characteristics and accoutrements rather than any essential aspect of the character himself. It’s worked very well for the endurability – and profitability – of the franchise but it leads to a suspicion that there is nothing at the center at all.What you see is what you get and, no matter how charming and elegant the outward appearance. For the viewer, it’s the perfect character for wish fulfillment, so much so that the franchise has done quite well for the past several decades on the momentum of its own conventions and charm.
Which is why Casino Royale was such an odd shock when released in 2006. Instead of a modernization or revisualization it is a concentrated study of one of the more conflicted characters in modern fiction and what those conflicts suggest about ourselves.
Of course it was clever enough to respect a few of the time-honored conventions of the Bond mystique by tweaking them mercilessly; the oddly named heroines, the vodka martini and the nifty gadgetry. The ones that are retained are put properly back into the realm of context. Despite the attention it draws, you don’t care more for the character due to the particular car he drives.
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His real success is taking on the hoary traditions of the role and finding the core of something else hidden inside. His quippy asides aren’t the facile one liners of the past incarnations, they instead suggest an earned bitterness you are compelled to learn more about.
What he does convey best is the effortlessness Bond has in the most uncertain situations – a fantastically enviable trait. A certain ease in the given surrounding, no matter how alien, is constantly driven home. In Nassau he not only witnesses the opulence of the locals he is mistaken for a lackey, then he slips with ease into the role of a client of the posh establishment.
For viewers stuck in a world of misunderstandings, embarrassment and confusion, it’s fantastically alluring. The fact it is completely illusion notwithstanding. He’s our surrogate and confidant but Bond is an imposter and we know it. And this particular romantic interest, Vesper Lynd (Eva Green) isn’t fooled either.
"By the cut of your suit you naturally went to oxford or wherever and naturally think human beings dress like that. But you wear it with such distain," she dismissively observes.
But that distain suggests a contempt brought on by familiarity - a familiarity impossible for the viewer to ever attain. Which is probably why the franchise has always ambled along simply filling each installment with the requisite number of expected gimcracks; its disposable escapist fantasy and nothing more. But the fact is it has always had the potential to be quite a bit more.
It’s not Bond’s ability as a spy that makes him so painfully alluring, it’s his mastery of mundane skills we only suspect of existing; how to tie his own bowtie, how to properly pour a Port and how to play high-stakes games of chance as if it were his vocation.
He observes all the subtle conventions of etiquette to perfection and almost as an afterthought. He travels in the most opulent level of first class as if it’s his right and suggests a level of culture and privilege available only to the most select
It’s assumed this is why he is seen as desirable by women, they are able to transpose their own fantasies and desires onto him with ease. It’s a conceit that belies considerable question of his own motives. As more than a few have pointed out, his attitude toward women demonstrate a hideously cruel misogyny.
- "My sex looks for maladjusted young men who give little thought to sacrificing others in order to protect queen and country. You know, former SAS types with easy smiles and expensive watches... Now having just met you I wouldn’t go as far as to calling you a cold hearted bastard. But it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine. You think of women as disposable pleasures rather than meaningful pursuits."
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As Bond chronicler Henry Chancellor, pointed out, the book was written whilst Fleming was preparing for his marriage to his pregnant girlfriend. The theme of abandoning aspects of one’s life for another - such as giving up bachelorhood for marriage – is relatively consistent throughout the work.
Casino Royale sets out to explore a lot of this dank psychology despite the demands of making the film a blockbuster action film. Part of it involves asking why is Bond any different from any other well-dressed hired gun in the annals of the spy genre. But before you can get there, you’ve got to figure out the genre itself.
So, to start, the film tips its hat to the era that begat the hero with the Noir-ish setting of the section chief’s office in Prague. It suggests the classic existential ruminations of such complex thrillers as The Spy Who Came In From the Cold and The Third Man.
Moments later M (Judy Dench) complains aloud “Christ, I miss the Cold War.” And so do we. But times change and our icons must move along with us or perish themselves. The dreary nihilism simply doesn’t work in the new world order any more than the looming communist menace. Things are more subtle now – both in terms of our pleasures and our perils.
And so, it seems, is our hero. There’s something more authentic about this incarnation from the start, possibly because we are witnessing that start. But, as M adroitly points out, “arrogance and self awareness seldom go hand in hand.”
Which is true, but Bond is a bit more than simply the blunt instrument his job requires and, despite the flaccid effort of previous incarnations, this has always been the case. To actually take the ego out of the equation would be to drain the character of his subtle charisma.
He is protean by nature, which raises the question of what he is actually composed of. And that search is suggested by the quest he’s been presented, unlocking the meaning of the plot designated by the code word ‘ellipsis.’ The word ellipsis represents a symbol that, in turn, represents nothing - an unfinished thought or incomplete phrase, a pensive silence.
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It’s simple to say that the infusion of parkour (or "free running") into the sequence is an overt attempt to make the film more hip. Yet the practice, as created by David Bell is more than simply a nifty visual element, it’s a discipline. Yes, firing a gun precisely is a skill as well but – in terms of spectator identification – pretending you can fire a weapon is much simpler than pretending you can ascend a wall by your own power.
In many of the earlier films, Bond simply used conniving or luck to best opponents, here he is shown demonstrating an ability which belies a long period of practice to attain control both mentally and physically. It suggests the mastery of a philosophical point of view as much as a physical skill.
Of course, Bond certainly is prone to eschewing the more aesthetic aspects of the discipline in lieu of the practical – why go over when you can go through? – but that’s also because he is the pursuer not the pursued.
Of course, his facility with weapons and a frigidly cold temperament in terms of his prey serve to discount this suggestion of hidden depths almost immediately but it still lingers.
There is also a change in the relation of this agent to his adversaries. Typically there has been a two-tiered aspect of Bond’s foes presented to contend with – a henchman to overcome physically and the mastermind to best mentally or strategically. Here it is a somewhat uncertain descent into different layers of opposition. A descent into ever more perilous layers of the damned.
The primary antagonist for most of the film, Le Chiffre (Mads Mikkelsen) has very marked weaknesses; asthma and a scar on his eye that can make him weep blood. His story starts in the jungle, in a heart of darkness, and then moves into even deeper shadows. When he finally confronts Bond face-to-face he retains his monochrome suit and scars – Bond is stripped naked and powerless.
And then the threat is to Bond’s manhood, his virility. This is the nut of the problem. If Bond is the ideal of masculinity, the affront is the most perilous possible. But, suddenly, it isn’t. There’s something else inside the man even though all his glorious gimcracks and appearances have been stripped from him.
But now, obviously, he has something he can loose. And that’s when he really becomes interesting. Because lose it he does.
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From there the idea of being drenched constantly reoccurs; he emerges from the waters when he spots the woman that will lead him to his quarry, he comforts Lynd under the pouring water of the shower and, finally, there is the maelstrom that takes her from him as the house collapses in Venice.
Rewatching the film it’s somewhat startling to see how consistent the device is used. (It’s also odd the number of scenes that are set in bathrooms as well)
It’s also a telling element for his opponents. Le Chiffre cuts the deal that will go and drive the plot during a jungle rainstorm and then headquarters himself in a yacht on the tropical waters of Nassau. But, when Bond finally corners his true opponent, Mr. White, it’s by the water on an exclusive Swiss lake and he appears mysteriously from the aether instead of from the depths.
So, the logical question is he will, as Hamlet observed, “walk out of the air and into his grave?” Doubtful, given the durability of the franchise, but it will be interesting to see how this new incarnation proceeds forward having found its center and lost it again so quickly.
more: 52 films 26 books | Movies
| comment posted by: rhYno on august 9, 2010 @ 11:30 pm |
Fantastic review, Kleph! Quite possibly the best CR review that I've read, yet. |
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