No Time To Die (2021 | UK | 163 minutes | Cary Joji Fukunaga)
“We have all the time in the world”, Daniel Craig’s James Bond purrs to Madeleine Swann (Léa Seydoux) as they zip along a spectacular winding Southern Italian coastal highway in his latest tricked-out Aston Martin. Although the title of this installation in what’s become a highly interconnected franchise is No Time To Die, no Bond is forever. Following the lead of his 007’s retirement from MI6, Craig’s intentions to get out of the big screen spy game were well known, so this one marks a long goodbye that’s largely successful for the Bond of it all, even if the story gets a little knotty as it makes room to give everyone a sendoff.
Picking up in the immediate aftermath of Spectre, we find Bond surrendering to the possibilities of lasting love with Dr. Swann. While a rewatch or Wikipedia visit might help those whose memory of the 2015 film faded in the pandemic-extended interval between releases, No Time To Die opens with a suspenseful flashback sequence that gives director Cary Joji Fukunaga (the first American to helm a Bond picture, by the way) an early chance to flex his cinematic chops by re-introducing Madeline via a traumatic event from her childhood. A lone assassin in a Noh-style mask slowly but purposefully emerges from a snowy forest to terrorize a young girl and her wine-drunk mother in their isolated house on the shores of a frozen lake. It’s the kind of filmmaking that papered over a shaky script to make his season of True Detective so compelling: wide sprawling natural footage with soft misty edges, adrenaline-spiked close-quarter confrontations, inexplicable menace, and twisting decisions governed by uncertain motives. A thrilling little intro to get everyone back in the mood for intrigue.
We cut from the icy alpine past to the sun-drenched waters of the (nearer) present. After an afternoon swim, Bond and Swann make their way to Matera. The camera luxuriation in all its remote splendor: luxury resorts springing from craggy hills and fires burning on every corner as locals toss their secrets into the flames as part of a local festival. But nothing is simple for Bond: his choice of romantic getaway with his new girl is motivated by a desire to visit the grave of Vesper Lynd, whose love and betrayal in Casino Royale left him as even more damaged goods. Pity any town whose regional celebrations coincide with a visit from a secret agent, retired or otherwise. Unsurprisingly, James’s pilgrimage is anything but quiet. Explosions, suspicions, and a village-destroying car chase and near-comedic shootout with some Dan Flashes connoisseurs (one with a mechanical eyeball, an odd robotic supporting character) serve as both a great set piece as well as an occasion to shake, not stir, his persistent inability to trust a lover.
Craig sells his deeply wounded goodbye, we get the opening title music video for that already Grammy-winning Billie Eilish theme song, and the action skips ahead five more years. We next find him hiding out in Jamaica, where a fishing trip on his personal sailboat satisfies Daniel Craig’s final contractual obligation to don short shorts on the big screen. He may be semi-retired in a sleek cabana with a terrific outdoor shower, but no one’s going to let this final film be a visual poem about island life and a series of unexpected visitors mark the end of his relaxing sojourn.
The plot, in as spoiler-free a synopsis as possible, finds Bond being pulled between his old MI6 allegiances and assisting the CIA with the recovery of a human asset who knows something about someone who is connected to a broader conspiracy and who obviously wants to upset the global order with a highly sophisticated weapon of mass destruction for the usual megalomaniacal reasons of revenge and perpetuating cycles of inter-familial violence. You know, the usual spy stuff in a world driven by sad little boys with longstanding grudges in their broken hearts. With an engineered airborne pathogen at the heart of the evildoing; one can imagine reasons beyond a desire for a full theatrical release playing into the film’s delay from the uncertainties of Spring 2020.
Leering visual jokes about the state of Bond’s inner thighs aside, this run of films have taken advantage of Craig’s physicality. Sure, he looks great in a tuxedo, but we’re always aware that his Bond is far more at home in tailored resortwear or military-grade knits. And Craig’s portrayal has evolved over each film, allowing his body to carry the toll of so much violence violence and his craggy face to bear the psychic pains of so many betrayals. Watching the character suffer these wounds, and having them feel consequential, is a major upside of the decision to treat his entire run as a continuous project.
The downside, however, is the cognitive fog of the casual fan trying to keep track of all the characters that pop in and out of his adventures. Ralph Fiennes is back as M, something of a thankless role given that an oil painting of Judi Dench in a hallway is enough to remind us that he’s far less interesting than his predecessor. Jeffrey Wright is back as the CIA agent who helped Bond out of a jam in Casino Royale. I struggled to remember whether they were ever established as friends who would put everything on the line for each other or if the script and his strong performance were just retconning. Who can remember?
At least we do have the mini-Scooby Gang of Naomie Harris’s Moneypenny and Ben Whishaw’s Q back for some off-books assistance in this one. They’re always a delight and a glimpse of Q’s fuzzy-sweatered homelife with a hairless cat alone makes the whole thing worthwhile.
Among the newcomers, David Dencik provides comic relief as the Russian scientist bouncing between evildoers while Billy Magnussen’s newbie CIA agent is turned all the way up to eleven at all times. Elsewhere, Ana de Armas makes her first appearance in a Bond film as the breathtakingly glamorous and charmingly enthusiastic rookie Paloma. Her section of the film – set in an oddly un-strategic convention of villains and that creepy mechanical eyeball — is a terrifically-staged episode of espionage culminating in what feels like a dance sequence of flying bullets and dynamic fisticuffs.
New also is Lashana Lynch’s Nomi who reminds us that even though Bond is retired, his precious 007 designation hasn’t been. She has the seductive confidence of one of MI6’s finest, the toughness to hold her own in any situation, and an outstanding collection of certainly expensive sunglasses. As their competition turns to camaraderie one wishes that either of these women had been the focus. I don’t know which parts of the script Phoebe Waller-Bridge punched up, but it seems like a safe guess that she helped to provide some of the sparks of humor and self-assurance that really made these two pop.
Unfortunately, the weak points of an otherwise entertaining film lie in the main villain and the central love interest. On one side, we have Rami Malek as a villain whose methods and motives are muddled. But at least he has some cool costumes and a sprawling lair with photogenic backlit corridors, trap doors, geopolitical intrigue, and picturesque gardens. Villains can have a way of stealing the spotlight; so his being a relative dud is probably fine. It’s not his show anyway. A more pressing issue, though, is that the driving motivation for this Bond’s culminating chapter is a deeply meaningful and passionate romance with Madeline Swann. It’s a hard sell since the entirety of their connection seems to have occurred almost entirely offscreen. Despite their many gifts and appeal as performers, Craig and Seydoux struggle to muster the requisite chemistry to sell it.
This complaint might sink a proper drama, but we’re here for a spy movie with its action, globe-hopping adventure, double-crossing, technological wizardry, crowded cast of characters giving broad performances. As for the tech, there’s plenty of it both to inspire awe and laughter: from a sleek folding airplane to the hilarious motorized cage employed as part of Bond’s heart-to-heart with his old nemesis Blofeld (Christoph Waltz). There’s a lot of plot, some of it works, some of it doesn’t. In the end Fukunaga uses it all as a scaffolding to stage plenty of eye candy, thrilling action sequences, and give a bunch of good actors room to shine. Despite the two and a half hours occasionally veering into self-seriousness, there’s enough levity and flair that the film zips along nicely. And that’s why we keep showing up for these, no matter who’s wearing the suit, isn’t it?
No Time To Die arrives in theaters on October 8th