Not Even Wim Wenders Could Make MOONRAKER Good

For years, I laboured under the impression that MOONRAKER, the 1979 James Bond film, was a cheap response to STAR WARS that, in its rush to theatres, essentially just copied the script of THE SPY WHO LOVED ME, the 1977 Bond film. Watching both of these films again, it's clear that's not entirely true. There is a sharp difference between the two, and the difference is that MOONRAKER is terrible. Let's take a closer look:

It becomes clear to me, as I think about it, that many of the criticisms about Roger Moore's Bond are actually of his performance, and, indeed, the overall tone, in MOONRAKER. Now, I don't want to turn into some sort of Moore apologist, but what is one supposed to do when faced with this kind of absurdity except try to grin your way through it?

This movie should never have been made.

The Infuriating Smirk of Roger Moore

Do you think there's an ideal age to see a film? That a movie will play better to a specific age group or demographic because the ideas in it are more relevant to those people?

If so, I think I was introduced to the James Bond films at the exact right time. I was around 11 or so, and the heady mix of girls, guns, and car chases went straight into my blood, like an adrenaline shot to the heart. I suspect the same is true for many young men. Our fondness for Bond is rooted in late night viewings of underwater spear gun battles and beautiful blondes in need of rescue. They're viewed in dens and basements with uncles and grandpas. They are simultaneously the fairy tales and the porn of our tween years.

I've written briefly about how Bond films are childhood fantasies writ large, but I find that they're almost all (with a very few interesting exceptions) actually a very particular fantasy we have as boys: the fantasy of growing up. Bond was the culmination of what I thought I'd become: the suave lady-killer, the dangerous rogue, the renowned expert on every subject under the sun. In a word: invulnerable.

Which is why the Roger Moore Bond films are, for the most part, unbearable.

Moore's approach to playing Bond was to smile his way through the metal-toothed and midget henchmen, knowingly grin at the Agent XXXs and Holly Goodheads, and double-take at the massive space stations and blimps of his enemies. He was having fun, and he wanted you to join in on the childish adventure. I suspect those that like Mr. Moore's portrayal were those who saw them as young boys, not as interested in vodka martinis as they were in space laser gun battles.

To those of us who were more intrigued by baccarat and Faberge eggs, though, that ever-present smile looked more like a smirk, refusing to play it straight. We could never connect to the fantasy while the ostensible narrator was grinning at us, mocking our desire to indulge in the ridiculous daydreams of childhood. To borrow a British phrase, he took the piss out of the whole thing.

This is, however, a generalization. Bond films all tell the same basic story, so we tend to combine them all into an actor's "version" of the Bond character (hence the often-repeated criticism of Timothy Dalton's Bond as "too dark and serious", although only one of Dalton's films is "serious" in any sense of the word). The truth is that each film has a distinct Bond, which plays distinctive notes about the character. To illustrate this, let's look at Moore's second effort, THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN GUN.


THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN GUN is a fascinating failure, a film that has so many great scenes and moments to add to the Bond mythos, but one that is ultimately done in by it's inability to play it straight. Oddly enough, almost none of this is Moore's fault. His Bond is the most grounded character in the whole mess, and for the most part, he plays it dead serious. The scene between him and Andrea Anders, Scaramanga's mistress, is of particular note. In the scene, Bond trails her and breaks into her hotel room, confronts her, then viciously slaps her and nearly breaks her arm. It's one of the darkest scenes in any Bond film. There's a sense in this scene of a brutal realism, of a lethality in Moore, that earnestly portrays the assassin that Bond is. It's a scene that never plays up Bond's sexual prowess to resolve the situation, and never winks at the audience. In as much that it comments on Bond's chauvinism and violent tendencies, it's a much more mature look at those childhood fantasies about the invulnerable male.

But for every scene like this one, which disturbs and pushes the viewer, there is an overlong scene with J.W. Pepper hurling racial epithets and generally embarrassing the franchise, or a gangster apologizing to a cardboard cutout of Al Capone for shooting it, or a midget butler bringing, of all things, Tabasco sauce to his master. THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN GUN is scared to commit to the story, like a child who knows he's too old to order off the kid's menu, but just wants a hot dog really bad.

It is the only Bond film to ever really comment on Bond's "licence to kill" (other than, of course, LICENCE TO KILL), and the moral ambiguities inherent to such a thing. Christopher Lee's Scaramanga is a shadow of Bond, a fact Lee is only too fond to play with. There is a great dinner scene where the differences between the two men are laid out, and one feels like Bond is protesting just a tad too much. Like many of these great scenes in the film, though, it is immediately proceeded by a silly, winking scene that makes fun of it all. Lee is immediately saddled with a lengthy monologue about "solex agitators" and channeling the power of the sun in order to explode Bond's plane with a blast of solar energy. It's not enough that Scaramanga wants to kill Bond - now he's got a world domination scheme! It's ludicrous, and Lee looks like he's trying to get through it all as quickly as he can so he can get back to the duel between the two men.

But even the basic idea of the duel gets undermined by Scaramanga's ridiculous LaserQuest-y maze that the duel takes place in, replete with funhouse mirrors, a giant grizzly bear statue, and a life-size mannequin of James Bond. It's like Laser Quest with the lights on; no fun for anyone.

By the time we get to A VIEW TO A KILL, Moore's seventh and final outing as Bond, no one's even trying anymore.


Iceberg submarine with a British crest on it? Check. The title sequence now has neon in it. Ooh. Microchips are important. Hooray. Moore is so old at this point (58) that his most exciting stunts are performed by a horse. The Bond fantasy is about growing up, not growing old. There's nothing cool or exciting about 007 in this film - even the one relatively new trick in Bond's repertoire, snowboarding, is undercut by the use of The Beach Boys' "California Girls" (sadly, not a middle-finger-flipping gummie bear to be seen).

In fact, the most interesting characters in the film are the villains. Christopher Walken's Max Zorin and Grace Jones' May Day are the two most memorable antagonists in the Moore era. Walken's character is a gem, a steroid-bred lab baby, brilliant but psychotic, a KGB agent gone rogue. It plays perfectly to his unique delivery, and he seems to have great fun letting loose, killing both adversaries and allies with gleeful abandon. But it's Grace Jones who steals the show, with her lithe steroid-fuelled assassin. Her arc is a little cliché (her line after Zorin betrays her: "I thought that creep loved me!"), but her commanding presence breathes some life into an otherwise dull movie.

As good as these villains are, it all seems so paint-by-numbers at this point. The Bond character isn't really about anything in this movie. He just moves where the script tells him to go and does the things he's expected to do. Moore tries to coast by with that damn smirk, and it becomes obvious that the toothy grin is only getting toothier by the day.

But maybe when I'm 58, it'll play better to me.

BLACK DYNAMITE and the Trial of Mike Myers

I think we can all agree that, in general, the genre of spoof film is in a tired state. The Scary Movie series (the definition of tired). Meet the Spartans (yes, that is THE WIRE and Wu-Tang alum Method Man). Not Another _____ Movie (which is one of the first series to start the trend of having the title mimic your reaction to finding out about it). Not since I watched a massive load of ejaculate plaster Anna Faris to a ceiling while sitting next to my dad have I felt so ashamed to watch a spoof. And we all know who to blame. It may not be pleasant to turn on one of our own, but it's something we have to do. Mr. Michael Meyers, please step to the stand.

Mr. Myers, you have been called here today to be judged. Not so much for what you've done, but more for what you haven't done. But we'll get to that in a moment.

But first, let me set the scene of the crime: the summer of 1997. A muggy summer, the kind of heat that gets into a man's soul; makes him crazy, drives him to the dark, lonely corners of his mind. Not to say your intentions were anything but pure when you released AUSTIN POWERS: INTERNATIONAL MAN OF MYSTERY into the world that fateful summer, but as we have so often seen in our history, the noblest of intentions have a way of twisting us, perverting us from what we started as.

Now, I'll admit it: I liked your spoof. You distilled the essence of Bondian intrigues and combined it with terrifying puns, Seth Green at his wise-assiest, and Elizabeth Hurley. In my defense, I was eleven years old. I had just finished writing a James Bond movie with my brother where the main villain had swords for arms and was called Dangerhands (still awesome, IMHO) But I'm not on trial here, Myers, you are!

No one could really blame you when you released the sequel. I mean, you hadn't touched on the outrageousness of hollowed-out volcano bases and midget henchmen yet. So I got it. The commentary wasn't complete yet. But there were also a few, um, troubling inclusions. I don't know what the fuck Fat Bastard was supposed to comment on, but every single time I think of him I want to strap you to the electric chair myself and throw the switch.

But the third one ... well, to be honest. I don't remember much about the third one. Whether it was through the rarely-heard-about benefits of some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder, or a conscious attempt on my part to subjugate the memories of the film through sheer willpower, everything about those ninety minutes remains gauzy. I do remember you co-opted cameos from Steven Spielberg, Tom Cruise, and Britney Spears, in the sure-fire mark of a tapped-out well of ideas. Oh God, Beyoncé was in it too, wasn't she? Jesus Christ, the memories are coming back...

The less mentioned about The Love Guru, the better. For everyone. That list looks like the goddamned docket for a Nuremberg courtroom in 1945.

Mr. Myers, the charges are simple: you ruined the spoof film. And you have not apologized.

So when I see hilarious scenes like this in a movie like BLACK DYNAMITE, there's a sour after-taste. I want to think about Zucker-Abrams-Zucker and the awesomeness of a spoof film with a point and story of it's own, but I can't help but flash back to this kind of shit.

Mr. Myers, all you have to do is apologize. And then maybe we'll get into reparations. In the meantime, we'll always have Mel Brooks.

The only way Chris Nolan can top INCEPTION is to bring back Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman

Remember INSOMNIA? Yeah, I barely do either. I remember not liking it very much at the time, thinking it was full of generic performances from tired performers, with a terribly convenient 'twist' ending. Pacino looked like he was sleepwalking (which may have been the point, with the titular affliction and all, but still) and Robin Williams playing creepy just didn't work. I think Hilary Swank actually had the word BLAND written on her forehead in one scene. Like I said, the memories are a bit fuzzy, but the impression is pretty strong.

If it wasn't for INSOMNIA, Nolan's filmography would be almost impeccable. MEMENTO was an instant classic, flipping noir conventions while remaining true to that thematic core. His BATMAN films have somehow made their way into the hearts of fanboys and general audiences alike. THE PRESTIGE gave us David Bowie as Tesla. Even FOLLOWING, his first feature, shows a mastery of narrative, playing on different timelines with stunning ease. Which brings us to INCEPTION.

INCEPTION is Christopher Nolan's masterpiece, no bones about it. This is a film in the best sense of the word, as gripping an entertainment as it is a serious examination of humanity. It's a loving hodgepodge of everything from THE MATRIX to James Bond films to PERSONA to episodes of THE TWILIGHT ZONE and soap operas. And it all feels like the most cerebral MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE movie we'll ever see. It's also far more than the sum of its parts, not just a collection of fun references, but a distinct film with its own soul.

There's a moment in this film that is as close to pure cinema as anything I've ever seen. It's the zero-G fight, and it's an absolutely incredible piece of filmmaking that's sure to inspire young kids to play with their cameras for years to come. I had an ear-to-ear grin while the sequence was going, and I can't wait to experience it again.

What really comes through is Nolan's determination to make a viscerally thrilling movie with an involving, thoughtful film, and in my books, he completely succeeds. Everything is working on multiple levels in this film. For example, the big Bondian assault on the mountain retreat works as an incredible action setpiece, but also functions as commentary about the violence near the heart of the human psyche. I know that sounds incredibly pretentious, but that's what makes this film truly incredible.

The cast is incredible, too. Leo's playing the tormented genius, the team leader with a mysterious past. There's weird echoes to his character in SHUTTER ISLAND that I don't particularly want to get into, but he brings his now-trademark intensity to the role. Joseph Gordon-Levitt knocks it out of the park again, bringing an understated (and unexpected) menace to his enforcer role. Tom Hardy is an absolute revelation as the actor of the team (the Martin Landau, if you will). I've had BRONSON sitting on my to-watch pile for months, I can't wait to see it now. Ellen Page is given a kind of thankless role as the moral compass, but she's able to shade it with some nice grays as well. Ken Watanabe is having a ton of fun playing the shady businessman. And Tom Berenger! Yes, MAJOR LEAGUE's Tom Berenger!

INCEPTION is absolutely incredible, a film that instantly catapults Christopher Nolan from the list of interesting modern filmmakers to the list of all-time greats. We all need to go see this movie, and see it multiple times.

Hell, it's even got me considering an INSOMNIA re-watch.

xXx: A Reminder That The 16-Year-Old You Was Awful

It must be summer. Because I just went on a bro-out of epic proportions, picking up a trio of movies that you'll see reviewed here shortly, the first of which was a truly unfortunate choice that will sit in infamy next to UP! on my DVD shelf for years to come...

There's one great moment in the entire 128-minute runtime of xXx (which, let's face it, is probably one more than we should reasonably expect). It's not the part where Vin Diesel co-opts a silver tray and uses it as a skateboard. It's not the part where he jumps through a barb wire fence by turning his motorcycle sideways in mid-air. It's not even the part where where he destroys an entire mountain and snowboards in front of an avalanche. It's where Vin Diesel confesses that he's a secret agent working for the NSA - and Asia Argento just laughs in his face. For a good twenty seconds.

And really, that's the only appropriate reaction to Rob Cohen's Bond-for-the-twentieth-century failure. To laugh in its face.

If the failings of the Bond franchise were that it were too childish, with its invisible remote control cars and cartoonish characters, then the failing of xXx is that it's painfully adolescent, zits and angry half-formed thoughts and all. At least the Bond films' childish nature contains a sort of innocent fantasy element, but xXx substitutes this for a fuck-my-parents-The-Ramones-are-awesome kind of attitude, which, while potentially refreshing, certainly lacks charm.

Vin Diesel's been good before (BOILER ROOM, anyone?) but here he's more than happy to lower his voice and glower menacingly and let the Rammstein soundtrack do most of his work for him. There's potential in the idea of the non-traditional secret agent, but the film is never quite sure who he is, and the audience is never really sure why he's helping the government. He just ends up coming off like a hypocrite, who loves to stick it to The Man but will also help out if it means he can drive around in The Man's GTO and shoot The Man's nifty tranq darts.

Speaking of hypocrites, I am one. Because the exact same character flaws exist with Asia Argento's Yelena, and I couldn't care less, because she is flat-out stunning. Rob Cohen's best choice in this movie was to outift Ms. Argento with a variety of thigh-high boots, and for that, he will have the 16 year-old me's eternal thanks. The less said about his other choice, to have every fifth shot be a Dutched angle, the better.

But still, it's better than STEALTH.