by Dan Cohen
The new James Bond is a let down. On the most basic level the movie lacks the suspense that made “Casino Royale,” such an overheated romp. What we get in “Quantum of Solace,” is a lot of furious action, but with little connecting tissue. And less heat.
As it begins we’re told that Bond, the closed mouth Daniel Craig, is in a funk over the death of his latest love, the slinky, double dealing Vesper Lynd. And that he’ll do anything to avenge her. This makes him unreliable in the eyes of his employer, the infallible Judi Dench, who barely escapes an assassination attempt herself. But the screenwriters keep Bond’s assignment and dialogue to a minimum as trips through the expected set pieces. The most vivid element becomes Dench’s increasing irritation, such that we remain more interested in her reactions than his jeopardy.
Hitchcock, the master of suspense, even in comedy, always gave the audience as much information as possible, so it could get “Quantum of Solace,” (a title I’m still not sure I understand,) is that the story line is so murky it’s hard to figure out what’s really going on or why. As a result the tension is muted.
The action however, is fast and frenetic. A chase set in Siena, Italy, is a virtual symphony of elaborate camera moves. But when it ends, like the other set pieces, with a bad guy neutralized, the movie has to be jump started by another baddie. And finally, the central villain, played by Mathieu Amalric, who was so strong in “Diving Bell and the Butterfly,” fails to summon either the menace or humor of others before him. Olga Kurylenko, this years Bond girl isn’t much help: she’s a stunner, but much less an emotional threat than Eva Green’s “Vesper.”
The writers, Paul Haggis, Neal Purvis, and Robert Wade, are largely to blame for the opaque story. They’ve substituted muscularity for the smug, knowing humor that punctuated the best Bonds. They took the same course, more successfully, with “Casino Royale.” But that was drawn from a book with stronger elements. And director Marc Forster, the capable hand behind “Finding Neverland,” and “Stranger than Fiction” cross cuts his action scenes with such rapidity, half the time there’s no telling how Bond gets out of the trouble the writers have contrived for him.
Still, bland Bond is better than no Bond, especially in these troubled times. And the initial box office, was so huge, (both here and abroad,) that we needn’t worry about Daniel Craig returning for the next installment. At a reported cost of 200 million “Quantum of Solace” has a certain “wow” factor, but after the roller coaster melodrama of “Casino Royale,” our appetite was whetted for just a little more.
I’d bet anybody that Anne Hathaway will be an Academy Award nominee for her heart rending performance in “Rachel Getting Married.” Released from a live in rehab program to attend her sister’s wedding, she becomes the focal point from which a complex, extended family is seen and felt. The movie is amusing, touching and not a little scary.
Jonathon Demme, who has directed nearly 40 films, everything from B movies, (“Crazy Mama,”) to music docs, (“Stop Making Sense”) to A movies, (“Philadelphia,” “Silence of the Lambs”) goes in a completely different direction this time, borrowing heavily from the master of American cinema verite, John Cassavettes. Working from a perceptive script by Jenny Lumet he’s found a near perfect means for getting under the characters’ skin, and ours.
Kim has a problem. She was responsible for a tragic event that scarred this likable, decent clan, and complicated their relationships no end. Since it’s the sort of thing that never goes away, Kim remains the flash point for a recurring wild fire, that, when it flares, burns everybody.
What’s initially seen as Kim’s raging narcissism is eventually revealed as part of a process she’s devised to cope. Hathaway, always likable in the sort of parts that made Julia Roberts a big star, here goes way deep. But she never strains for effect, and is most appealing at her most helpless, usually when the camera is most mercilessly at her throat.
There are a half dozen indelible performances here; from Bill Irwin as a concerned father, to Rosemarie DeWitt as the conflicted bride, to Debra Winger as their troubled mother. And others, all believable.
The movie winds down a little in its last act, as the wedding evolves into a multicultural, concert of sorts. But the nerves it’s touched remain sensitive. These people, in spite of their best efforts, are never far from a dire crash, and we remain sensitive to that, and concerned for them, to the end credits.
