The One with the Silly Title

Quantum of Solace isn’t the worst Bond but it’s far from being the best. It’s far from being as good as Casino Royale. That one rightly won praise for re-inventing Bond. This one is … more of the same, really. The first one gave us mean, moody hurtin’ Bond. This comes perilously close to giving us Bond the Big Baby. Oh get over it, you want to cry out.
Let’s not be too negative; let’s talk strengths. Daniel Craig is still flippin’ good. Judi Dench is even better. Bond is just so beautifully irritating to the baddies. The bad guy isn’t a world-dominating ogre, just a well-acted bad guy; and like most bad guys, it wouldn’t actually make that much difference to the greater good of the greater whole if he won. But you’re glad he loses.
We get tantalising hints of the new Big Bad, Quantum, which might just might just possibly might be a SPECTRE for the twenty first century. And it will be interesting to see how well this films in Bolivia – or maybe they’ll dub the name of another country. Not many people want to be told their homeland is a corrupt coup-prone rat infested banana republic. Even if it’s true.
The fact that Bond doesn’t go to bed with Bond girl gives their relationship a sense of plausibility. Sadly said Bond girl has to be one of the densest of the lot, and frankly that’s pretty dense. Having ascertained that her boyfriend has sent an assassin after her, she twice confronts him in a situation that he completely controls and where he could quite easily have her killed without anyone batting an eyelid, and then acts surprised when – um – he tries to kill her. Pattern recognition not her strongest point.
And then there’s the fighting. Oh dear, the fighting.
Remember the fight between Sean Connery and Robert Shaw in From Russia With Love? It was gripping, brutal and to the death. 007 was up against someone who was at least his equal and you could believe (and you cared) that he might not make it (apart from the obvious given that he would make it – but it was fun to see how). Every blow, every shot counted. The camera often stayed stationary for seconds at a time. You could tell what was happening.
Three, four, five times QoS gives us an action scene so fast, furious and blurry you can’t (a) tell or (b) give a toss what’s happening. It’s a case of wake me up when Bond’s won and we’ll get on with the movie. At least one of the chases I could swear I’ve already seen, in the last Jason Bourne movie. Run across rooftops, check. Jump through windows, check. Perhaps the producer got confused.
Please will the producers and directors of thriller movies start trusting the intelligence of the audience again and give us scenes we can follow and care about. Thank you.
Here’s how fight scenes should be done.

If you’re in a hole, stop digging

Best Beloved served up some really quite nice rice pudding for dessert. I went to boarding school: “nice” and “rice pudding” have never belonged together in the same sentence. This was hot and creamy with a hint of cinnamon.

Quoth Bonusbarn: “it’s a bit like phlegm, isn’t it?”

[Transfixed by twin glares]

“I mean, good phlegm, obviously.”

[Glares do little in the way of abating]

“The kind that’s out, not still in and making you feel unwell.”

I think we then talked about the weather.

The Face of the Other

So there I was idly reinforcing my insecurity complex by Googling my own name when my eye is snagged by one of the search results: “Ben Jeapes is on Facebook”.

To which Ben Jeapes’s immediate reaction was “no he flaming well isn’t, for reasons chronicled elsewhere but revolving around having a life.” Then I looked a bit closer and I thought, oh, so that’s him.

For there are in fact two of us, as I discovered a couple of years ago. There’s little danger of our being confused as Junior is, so far as I can gather, a pupil at Gravesend Grammar School. And he seems to be quite good at sport, which is why his name gets onto the school website and hence Google in the first place. I wish him well in life; I only ask that if he goes into writing, please could he use a different name. Unless he becomes wildly successful and attracts millions of devoted fans who will buy anything with that name on the cover, in which case please use the name you have with my blessing.

And now I know what he looks like, and if I had a good memory I could name his friends. This all happened yesterday. Recreating the search conditions today fails to get the Facebook link back. Did Facebook release it into the public domain by accident? I’ve tried going to Facebook with the intention of searching, but they expect me to sign up even to do that much. So take my word for it, he seems a sound, outstanding fella as befits anyone with such an illustrious name.

On a COMPLETELY different topic – except that it relates to online privacy, which isn’t completely tangential to the subject at hand – see this page from the ACLU for proof (if it were needed) that you can have too much information.