An Incredibly Pretentious Review of SkyFall

I've been thinking about getting a blog for a very long time, because, as an active thinker obsessed with a great many disparate things, I have an urge to blab about stuff that many of the people in my life don't necessarily care to hear about, and maybe no one else does either. But maybe some people do! And the internet strikes me as a pretty good way to reach those people, if they are out there.

What is strange, is that though I've been flirting with this blog idea for a years, and resolutely denying it on the grounds that I don't think I'm important enough for anyone to have any interest in anything I have to say (or, to be more accurate, I don't want people to think that I think that I'm important enough for anyone to have any interest in anything I have to say), I have finally come around to the idea and it was all because I saw the new James Bond movie last night. Though I love a good movie, I'm not much really a film buff (classical music, philosophy, and literature are much more my jam) and I've really never given more than two shits about James Bond, I saw this movie last night and I was just blown away by it. I am quite convinced that it is something of a post-modern masterpiece that amounts to a reluctant and heavy-hearted acceptance of the modern world, while still being a nostalgic roller coaster ride. And it didn't seem like anyone else who was writing about this movie thought it had any such depth, so I figured I'd write a little something, maybe post it onto Reddit, and see if anyone agrees. If they do, well, maybe I'll write some more bloated bullshit.

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In 1917, Bertrand Russel, the towering genius of 20th century British philosophy, published a particularly wonderful essay, entitled Mysticism and Logic, that emphasized the dichotomy between the human capacity for intuition and inspiration (mysticism) and the human capacity for rational thought (logic). Moreover, he emphasized the need for a balance between the two. There is little doubt that human society has been progressing ever toward the logical (to the neglect of the mystical) for a long while, and with the dawning of the digital age, this is more true than ever before.
Max Weber, the preeminent 19th century sociologist, saw the modern state as primarily defined by the process of bureaucratization - the breaking down of complicated systems into many simplistic, component parts, to be carried out by armies of logical peons. While this approach is unquestionably the most rational, it leaves little room for creativity and intuition, which, after all, are hard to predict, evaluate, and quantify. And while a movement toward bureaucratization is inevitable and even desirable for many reasons, there is a real loss to individual expression and freedom.

To me, this is what Skyfall is about: An intuitive, ingenious, and ultimately mystical man, desperately flailing for relevance in an increasingly logical and bureaucratized world. The primary source of conflict in the film revolves around the vulnerability of individual humans in a computerized age, and, ultimately, the process of computerization and digitization is the apotheosis of bureaucratization. Complex processes have been broken into literally trillions of component parts, all of which simply need to say "yes," or "no", 1 or 0. And James Bond has no place in that world. In fact, he is (almost) literally killed in the very first scene of the movie, and is washed away into obscurity. But he comes back to save his anachronistic MI6 in its hour of need.

His sidekick Q., beautifully played by a presumably British actor I've never seen before, is a nerdy hero in a world that the geeks have inherited, and the two of them have overtly hostile relationship, the likes of which one doesn't usually see between partners in popular films. Bond is, quite frankly, disgusted that his most useful ally is someone who does not seem to get much sunshine and fresh air. The tension between these two characters highlights the deeper tension between the corporeal and intuitive world of the past and the "brave new world" (as Bond sardonically puts it) of the future.

The climax of the film is a beautifully balanced contrapuntal sequence in which Bond is on the ground, doing his corporeal thing, and M is defending the need for her department of secret agents while being berated by government officials for clinging to a bygone era in a quintessentially bureaucratic scene. This juxtaposition comes to a head when the villain Bond is pursuing (played to absolute perfection by the always brilliant Bardem, in a role that rivals Ledger's Joker as the best villain of post-9/11 blockbusters) breaks into the bureaucratic nightmare and turns it into a corporeal nightmare, for which the government officials are totally unprepared. Fortunately, Bond is not far behind, and in a moment of inspired ingenuity, he blasts apart a couple of fire extinguishers, creating an improvised smoke bomb, and saving the day. As efficient as they may be, the bureaucrats are utterly helpless in matters of flesh and blood.

Still, though Bond saves the day this time, there is something elegiac about the conclusion of the film. In order to regain the upper hand against a villain beyond his reach, he leds Bardem to a place that time has left behind - the estate he grew up at, called Skyfall. His plan works, but the house of his childhood is destroyed, and Bond doesn't seem up to the challenge of running from the future forever.

Given Sam Mendes' mastery of film as a visual experience, it is not surprising that the whole thing is just gorgeous. His leisurely pacing turns a film that could have been 90 minutes into one that is well over two hours. And that structural choice speaks to the central thematic tension in the film: In an era of too much information and not enough attention, this Bond movie is itself anachronism. The film maker takes plenty time telling a fairly straightforward story, crafting a visual experience that is far more reminiscent of Kubrick's 2001 than, say, the new Star Trek movie (which, incidentally, I loved).

The film has an undeniable air of resignation about it, like it knows that the days of anyone caring about as old fashioned a hero as James Bond are numbered - or even, that it can't believe Bond has made it this far into the 21st century in the first place. Sure, the closing sequence leaves the franchise open for another installment, (which is pretty much an inevitability, given the success of this one) but I think that would kind of be a shame. This film should stand as Bond's Swan Song: an almost mournful meditation on a world that is becoming too logical for its own good, where inspired individuals grow increasingly irrelevant.