Spectre

Daniel Craig once again wields a license to kill in Spectre, but the most lethal thing about his fourth go-round as British super spy James Bond is its absence of originality and thrills. Directed by Sam Mendes with the same level of action-choreography incompetence as 2012’s Skyfall, but this time with fewer memorable setpieces, the latest installment in the 007 franchise confirms what its predecessor (and 2008’s Quantum of Solace) had merely suggested: The primary ideas driving the Craig iteration of the iconic character come from Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy, as well as the original Connery-headlined classics.
Like 2013’s reboot sequel Star Trek Into Darkness, Spectre is designed to play out like one big, long mystery involving the identity of its bad guy, undermined by the fact that it’s clear who said villain is from the outset. The result is that Mendes’s film feels like a prolonged game of clumsy misdirection about the true nature of Franz Oberhauser (a menacingly cheery Christoph Waltz), the shadowy head of a sprawling criminal syndicate (the titular Spectre) that Bond is hunting. His motivation for seeking out Oberhauser is shrouded in secrecy for much of the film’s first half, though a telling photo that Bond receives early on (from the wreckage of his family manor, Skyfall) so overtly implies the hero’s connection to his adversary that what follows is a tedious exercise in waiting for obvious revelations.
Spectre’s dearth of surprises proves a death knell for its drama, since it means that most of what occurs throughout its story (including a casual romantic dalliance featuring a squandered Monica Bellucci) is merely filler in service of telegraphed bombshells. Worse, however, is that Mendes doesn’t compensate for the shortcomings of his narrative—which, scripted by four different writers, amounts to a too-many-cooks hodgepodge—with anything approaching a passable blockbuster spectacle. An opening sequence set during Mexico’s Day of the Dead festival supplies some suitable Thanatotic imagery, but its conception and staging is lethargic, replete with a CG-heavy tussle aboard a helicopter that’s almost as lifeless as Craig’s performance. By the time Bond is racing down a snowy Austrian slope in a breaking-apart plane, chasing his kidnapped love interest Madeleine Swann (Blue is the Warmest Color’s Léa Seydoux, wasted in a one-note role), the film acts as if it’s lost the will to even try. Instead, it’s simply content to orchestrate expensive but inert mayhem devoid of consequence and, thus, suspense.