SKYFALL

Great Caesar’s Ghost!  Hornswoggled again!  Primed for sirens, adrenaline and mayhem, I was  sorely vexed when Bond Inc. delivered 007 in a dour Scandinavian mood.  In this faux-Freudian installment, Judi Dench’s M seems to stand for Mum, her agent offspring are Bond and nemesis Javier Bardem.   Fine, let’s go.  Cue the hotties, the baddies and the masterfully choreographed demolition.  Certainly there’s plenty of destruction and crunching of kneecaps, but apart from a very few instances, there’s no joie de vivre.  Skyfall takes no delight in hedonism.  Fight scenes lack grace, love scenes aren’t fiery and the whole seems imbued with a Protestant air of disapproval.   I didn’t love Quantum of Solace, but this film makes it look like Octopussy in comparison.  The plot is flimsy, but it’s a trend towards angst that spells real trouble.  Bond’s become a clone of Jason Bourne.   Adele’s title sequence is good.