a sense of Sunday
There are some people I'd like to e-mail today, but the Hotmail server is playing hard to get. I may have to break down and pick up the phone.
Tonight I see BNL live. WOO! Apparently I'm getting a free seat upgrade, too, from up in the nosebleeds to down on the floor. Double WOO! Not sure how I scored that, but I suspect moving my single behind was an easy way to fill in a one-seat gap. Let's hear it for flying solo!
I saw Casino Royale, the new James Bond movie, on Friday. Doube-OMG! BEST! BOND! EVER!!
Daniel Craig's Bond seems to be more brawn than brains. He sweats. He bleeds. He lusts, loves, loses. He's befuddled by the idea of a tailored tuxedo. He screws up monumentally, not just once but several times. He does not care how you prepare his martini.
This particular chapter in the saga shows us Bond as a newly promoted 00 agent, still very rough around the edges and not yet grown into the suave, sardonic groove Sean Connery and Pierce Brosnan typify. Craig's Bond is very physical, almost animal, from the dirty grace of his running and fighting to his feral growls under duress. No need to guess what kind of shape he's in, either; the camera takes ample advantage of his sculpted physique, from the swimming scenes to a nude one. (Need more emphasis on physicality? One scene even takes place in a Body Works exhibit.)
Bond's boss M refers to him as a blunt instrument early on. But watching his transformation from diamond in the rough to sparkling jewel in Her Majesty's crown is more like watching a sword being forged: he's folded in upon himself and pounded mercilessly until there's nothing left but keen sharpness. And there's no doubt that he's a weapon in M's hands.
Now that we've seen where James Bond comes from, I really want to see where he's going next.
Tonight I see BNL live. WOO! Apparently I'm getting a free seat upgrade, too, from up in the nosebleeds to down on the floor. Double WOO! Not sure how I scored that, but I suspect moving my single behind was an easy way to fill in a one-seat gap. Let's hear it for flying solo!
I saw Casino Royale, the new James Bond movie, on Friday. Doube-OMG! BEST! BOND! EVER!!
Daniel Craig's Bond seems to be more brawn than brains. He sweats. He bleeds. He lusts, loves, loses. He's befuddled by the idea of a tailored tuxedo. He screws up monumentally, not just once but several times. He does not care how you prepare his martini.
This particular chapter in the saga shows us Bond as a newly promoted 00 agent, still very rough around the edges and not yet grown into the suave, sardonic groove Sean Connery and Pierce Brosnan typify. Craig's Bond is very physical, almost animal, from the dirty grace of his running and fighting to his feral growls under duress. No need to guess what kind of shape he's in, either; the camera takes ample advantage of his sculpted physique, from the swimming scenes to a nude one. (Need more emphasis on physicality? One scene even takes place in a Body Works exhibit.)
Bond's boss M refers to him as a blunt instrument early on. But watching his transformation from diamond in the rough to sparkling jewel in Her Majesty's crown is more like watching a sword being forged: he's folded in upon himself and pounded mercilessly until there's nothing left but keen sharpness. And there's no doubt that he's a weapon in M's hands.
Now that we've seen where James Bond comes from, I really want to see where he's going next.
posted by Jugglernaut at
10:03 AM
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