In Spectre, Craig's rather tortured take on the role, while retaining the grit of the actor's canny interpretation of Ian Fleming's literary conception, relaxes a bit into a suaver sort of self-confidence. He even exhibits a newfound compassion and sense of proportion.
Spectre isn't the worst Bond movie, nor is it the best. It's a little too long, a little too indulgent, and a little too scattered to be top tier 007, but it nonetheless benefits from solid action sequences and the sizable reservoir of audience goodwill for this franchise. I
Wit, non-stop action, and a liberated heroine make Spectre -- that is breaking records in the UK -- a blockbuster delight. Spectre a criminal spy organization is masterminded by Christoph Waltz, the champion of naughty.
Owing to a web of legal rights so complex it could have been knotted by one of Bond's diabolical nemeses, the official 007 series hasn't been able to use the character of iconic cat-stroking supervillain Ernst Stavro Blofeld since 1971's Diamonds are Forever.
Cabaret is fascinatingly structured, mirroring the societal infiltration of Nazism in the 1930s. It is insidious in its nature. As an audience, we are swept up in the decadence, debauchery, passion and lust that is presented.
Yes, yes, I know -- spidermanspidermanspidermanspiderman. I'll get to it. But my favorite movies of the week, as usual, are the small ones. Let's start with Amma Asante's Belle, a Jane Austen-ish film based on a true story.