Quantum of Solace

Casino Royale (2006) was a revelation. For the first time in decades, attending a James Bond picture was not simply a joyless, long-observed ritual. There was finally a new Bond picture worthy of genuine excitement.

For years, Bond fans hoped in vain that some of the old 60's magic would return. Casino Royale brought it back in spades: The girls. The villain. The coolness. Like Batman Begins, it successfully rebooted a franchise that had grown sillier and sillier over the years (I'm looking at you, Roger Moore) imbuing it with a renewed sense of energy and added emotional depth. It also boasted an intricate, modernized origin story, concessions to third wave feminism, and several plausible, expertly executed action sequences. (They even bothered to faithfully adapt the book!) Daniel Craig, Bond Actor Number Six (Yes, six. Forget Barry Nelson. And for that matter, forget David Niven.) was tough, surly, and seductive. Surely even the most ardent "James Blonde" haters must now admit: Craig IS Bond.

After successfully rebooting the franchise twice (Goldeneye was the first) Royale director Martin Campbell handed the reigns over to Finding Neverland's Marc Forster, who seemed like a curious choice until you realize, hey, Michael Apted of all people directed The World Is Not Enough (1999). Foster, more known for the emotional introspection of Monster's Ball and The Kite Runner, said of the Bond character: “People travel a lot more now, and with the Internet they’re more aware of what the rest of the world is like. In a way the most interesting place for a James Bond movie to go is inward — deeper into Bond himself.” Bond held no appeal to Forster until Royale plumed the depth of the character's origin and damaged psyche.

Quantum of Solace is a direct sequel to Casino Royale, an unconventional move. Borrowing only its cryptic title from an Ian Flemming short story, it follows Bond on his quest for revenge on the organization employing the enigmatic Mr. White (Jesper Christensen). Each previous Bond film functioned as a self-contained episode; each adventure was fun, with few long-term consequences. The new Bond is shaping up to be a very different animal; very little solace is expected.

The Solace trailer looks as tough and as hard hitting as Royale. Let's hope it's an inner journey worth taking.

Click here for the trailer.

Rob Zombie's Tyrannosaurus Rex

A bit of promotional art for Rob Zombie's next flick, Tyrannosaurs Rex, hit the net yesterday. Despite the amusingly filthy tag line and the garish Frank Frazetta meets Enzo G. Castellari artwork, one can't help but groan a little when seeing this thing. Hasn't Rob gone down this tired road before?

And more that once: Rob’s terrible debut, House of 1000 Corpses, was an little more than an extended Texas Chain Saw Massacre homage. His shockingly good sequel, The Devil’s Rejects, took his psychobilly clan on the road, moving through the plot outline of Empire Strikes Back. In 2007, Zombie swapped Tobe Hooper for John Carpenter, remaking Carpenter’s seminal Halloween into a joyless hash. (His Grindhouse fake trailer contribution Werewolf Women of the SS can't even get it's homages straight.)

In his defense, Zombie has chops as a director. Visually, his work is admirable, alternating gritty realism (the seedy hotel from Rejects) with formal beauty (the slow motion apocalypse of Rejects ending.) His portrayals of violence are unflinching and nasty, but laced with black humor. His films are steeped in genre history and lore, giving perfect roles to aging genre icons (Bill Mosley, Ken Foree, Sid Haig, Michael Berryman etc.).

Why does his work feel so second hand?

Even his best moment feel cribbed from other films. Despite how lovingly crafted they are, Corpses and Rejects feel like the world's most elaborate Tobe Hooper homages, muting their potentially subversive edges. Showcasing levels graphic violence, profanity, and general nastiness seldom seen in mainstream features, Zombie strives for the type of in-your-face punch that Quentin Tarantino pulls of with aplomb. It’s hard to take things seriously when the whole thing feels like a giant in-joke filled put-on. Tarantino can synthesize his myriad influences into something that feels original. Zombie’s best efforts feel second hand.

Taking a look at that Tyrannosaurs Rex poster again, I can’t help but feel déjà-vu. The tag line uses the words "motherfucker" and “son-of-a-bitch," familiar from nearly every line of Zombie dialogue. The guy in the middle is clearly Danny Trejo. Sheri Moon Zombie is the blonde. Ken Foree, maybe, as the guy on the left? The wrecked vehicles suggest a stab at Mad Max-type dystopia. Perhaps Zombie will add George Miller to his catalog of influences?

It might be premature to judge a film from just a poster, but Zombie’s track record suggests otherwise.

Source.