Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Skyfall: The Queen is Dead. Long Live the King!

Alert: This is not a review per se. More a feminist perspective of 'Skyfall', and a very personal response.

                    “Orphans make the best recruits,” M says, while she and 007 stop along a stream, on their way to Skyfall. Of all the eminently forgettable lines in a Bond movie written for grown-up kids, this line stuck in my head.
                    When I hear or read stuff like the dialogue above, I torment myself with how an orphan might feel tossed about, of having no one to call one’s own, of being exposed to dangers that children with parents don’t conventionally face…well, at least to a lesser degree. Who does one confide in, speak about one’s fears to, consult, confront, rebel against? Who tucks one into bed, waits up when one is home late, or kisses away one’s boo-boos? And how does the absence of all this influence a child as he grows up?
                    As a parent, then, I really felt for 007 and the villain Silva, not because of the thought of a parent’s mortality but because of the hole in the heart of a child who is orphaned, and of how this hole has the potential to be filled either by positive action or by deliberately taking the wrong path as a reaction to trauma and abuse. In Skyfall, we have the prime examples of the results of having taken either path – Bond vs. Silva…with an additional exploration of how one might also recover from a 'betrayal' by an idealized, substitute parent of sorts…in this case, M.
                    M is made out to be an exacting – sometimes, cruel – mother, whose love must be earned via jumping through MI6 hoops. Is she beyond compare? That’s something ‘Skyfall’ cannot make up its mind about. We know from the Bond universe, that M is efficient, ruthless, an excellent leader…and yet she is made to fail in this movie.
                    For some reason, Mendes and Fleming decide to let the elderly lady in charge slip up and be saved by (who else?) two men – her life is protected by a strapping male agent whom she is sweet on (or so we are told…she bequeaths him her porcelain bulldog, and allows him to return despite his not quite making the grade...!), and her mess is cleaned up by a male colleague who takes over the ship’s lead.
                    Does Mommy regret or show remorse for her betrayal…or even try to patch up with an explanation? M says to a visibly fragile 007 (who will then go on to fail his physical), “I had to make a judgment call!” And for Silva, who keeps reminding her to “Think upon your sins”, she has no words...just a communique, “You will spend the rest of your days in…” – spoken unemotionally, even without coldness. 
                    Silva has forfeited the right to expect any feeling from M, whose secrets he valiantly guarded while being tortured by the Chinese, only to discover eventually that it was Mommy who had given him up in exchange for 6 British agents...following which he makes his judgment call. It is not the torture or its memory that hurts Silva…it is the fine edge of being tossed away once more that cuts deep, everyday.
                    Javier Bardem is outstanding in capturing the frustration that a fallen angel might torment himself with, upon discovering his effeteness in making any impression whatsoever upon his Oedipal fixation. All he wants is to sleep calmly, after having heard the approval he once enjoyed, and it hurts worse than hell to realize that he does not make any difference at all. Bardem is beyond brilliant in portraying the anxieties that rule those who walk the thin line between genius and madness.
                    Of all the silly villains I have been forced to endure while watching these male-centric Bond movies – only because I love my husband – I have to say Silva is the only one who sends a shiver down my spine. This is not a man you would want to meet.
                    Can you imagine a physically well-built, intellectually handsome man who speaks softly –no matter the subject – because he has experienced so much depravity that nothing surprises him anymore? He has completely shut down his emotions and functions solely as a logical machine…the only passion driving him on being an obsession to get even…This is a case that not even serious psychiatric help can mellow because the nightmarish memories are still screaming, and they are screaming too loud.
                     But to return to the scene where M and 007 take a breather while fleeing…”Orphans make the best recruits”…Thus, in the midst of their short respite, they give us an inkling of the inner workings of secret agents. What makes them human. The ‘whys’. This is what made ‘Skyfall’ more bearable than all the other boring Bond movies that preceded it. A peep into the psychological unknown.
                      We are emphatically told that MI6 is no longer a treasure trove of gadgets and gimmicks – no more funny pens or phones. Q tells 007, "We don't go in for that kind of thing anymore" ;). And yet it can’t resist the lure of the Empire…when all else fails, Bond leads M to a dusty garage in the bellows of London, to reveal a shiny GOLD Aston Martin that purrs valiantly and sweeps M away to a chez (where else?) Bond. Of course, when this car is smashed by Silva, 007 can’t help but bring out his big guns. Sigh!
                       The land that surrounds these two en route to Skyfall is ruggedly beautiful. Mists roll in from the hills along a landscape that itself roils and twists, mossy, peaty, golden brown and dull green. With these colors and strong lines that reiterate the erotic machismo of George Bellow’s paintings, Sam Mendes hints at the strife-torn history of Scotland that in turn picks up the urgency of the ‘Skyfall’ itself, and suggests what is to come – the battle of all battles that will end M’s reign.
                       Yes, M faces her nemesis in this film, and her place is taken by the worthy Gareth Mallory, the new ‘M’ – played by the inimitable Ralph Fiennes…(him of the twinkly blue eyes and dreamy smile!).
                        With this, Mendes firmly sets the sun on M’s rule and raises a new monarch – not one who is a maternal (read ‘stifling’, boss who makes poor judgment calls…Ok, we women get it) – but one who understands Bonds needs and attaches a perky, sexy assistant for his benefit – Ms. Moneypenny. Also, lest we forget, we are shown the new office with the man in charge – no longer massive and onerous, but sunny, buoyant, and ready for action!
Fiennes as Mallory, with enlightenment shining from his face, as he awaits his turn in M's brooding office (!)
                        With these myriad changes, I dared to hope that Bond would be female in the next film…only to realize the heresy of my thoughts...
                        For all my rants about the treatment of women in the Bond tradition, I have to admit this latest movie was very enjoyable. Craig is impeccably fit, Bardem approaches Hannibal Lecter, and Dench is awesome, as always, for the manner in which she introduces vulnerability into her character. As for Fiennes, my visual treat and the only reason why I wanted to watch this film...I would not be alone in saying emphatically, "He is SO worth it."

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