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Dying seems to be the only thing for which there is no time in this unreasonably long movie. The inclusion in the end of a Jack London turns out to be is unwittingly ironic; “I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them. I shall use my time." Director Cary Joji Fukunaga uses and abuses his time, for no apparent purpose other than to prolong the film as much as humanly possible.
That’s a shame, because No Time to Die's biggest issue is that it's too much of a good thing. The movie looks great, the action sequences are spectacular, and the seamless CGI – but need I say more? After all, the words 'seamless' and 'CGI' are, more often than not, mutually exclusive; that they aren’t here is nothing short of a miracle.
The filmmakers could have learned a thing or two from the hero, who comes across as a kill-two-birds-with-one-stone kind of guy; I mean, when a dude takes his current girlfriend on a trip to the same quaint Italian town where his former girlfriend is buried, you know he ain’t ****ing around. This little village, by the way, is so picturesque that, while fleeing a horde of enemies, Bond must navigate not only a procession, but also a flock of sheep.
In this sequence, Bond drives his motorcycle up a conveniently ramp-shaped wall and onto an elevated square or something; this would be incredibly reckless if it were physically possible, but who cares? It’s cool and looks as real as one could possibly hope for, and you’re too busy marking out (to use a pro wrestling term) to wonder or even care how they did it.
In general, though, it's bad news when the cinematography (by Linus Sandgren) and editing (by Elliot Graham and Tom Cross) outshine the direction and the script and, for that matter, the acting. It will surprise absolutely no one that the best scenes, and these can be counted on the fingers of one hand, are the ones Craig shares with Ralph Fiennes — just the two of them and no one else.
Outside of this, Christoph Waltz is wasted in a glorified cameo in which he is forced to recycle the hackneyed Dr. Lecter/Heath Joker routine; Lashana Lynch as Nomi, a new agent, is disappointing, not because she's female and black, but because these are precisely the only two characteristics that set her apart (it's appropriate that she be given the old Bond number, because she's completely interchangeable); Ben Whishaw puts the 'Q' in queerbating; and, worst of all, whoever thought Rami Malek could pose a credible threat to Daniel Craig should just take a 12-step holiday.
NO TIME TO DIE
Dying seems to be the only thing for which there is no time in this unreasonably long movie. The inclusion in the end of a Jack London turns out to be is unwittingly ironic; “I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them. I shall use my time." Director Cary Joji Fukunaga uses and abuses his time, for no apparent purpose other than to prolong the film as much as humanly possible.
That’s a shame, because No Time to Die's biggest issue is that it's too much of a good thing. The movie looks great, the action sequences are spectacular, and the seamless CGI – but need I say more? After all, the words 'seamless' and 'CGI' are, more often than not, mutually exclusive; that they aren’t here is nothing short of a miracle.
The filmmakers could have learned a thing or two from the hero, who comes across as a kill-two-birds-with-one-stone kind of guy; I mean, when a dude takes his current girlfriend on a trip to the same quaint Italian town where his former girlfriend is buried, you know he ain’t ****ing around. This little village, by the way, is so picturesque that, while fleeing a horde of enemies, Bond must navigate not only a procession, but also a flock of sheep.
In this sequence, Bond drives his motorcycle up a conveniently ramp-shaped wall and onto an elevated square or something; this would be incredibly reckless if it were physically possible, but who cares? It’s cool and looks as real as one could possibly hope for, and you’re too busy marking out (to use a pro wrestling term) to wonder or even care how they did it.
In general, though, it's bad news when the cinematography (by Linus Sandgren) and editing (by Elliot Graham and Tom Cross) outshine the direction and the script and, for that matter, the acting. It will surprise absolutely no one that the best scenes, and these can be counted on the fingers of one hand, are the ones Craig shares with Ralph Fiennes — just the two of them and no one else.
Outside of this, Christoph Waltz is wasted in a glorified cameo in which he is forced to recycle the hackneyed Dr. Lecter/Heath Joker routine; Lashana Lynch as Nomi, a new agent, is disappointing, not because she's female and black, but because these are precisely the only two characteristics that set her apart (it's appropriate that she be given the old Bond number, because she's completely interchangeable); Ben Whishaw puts the 'Q' in queerbating; and, worst of all, whoever thought Rami Malek could pose a credible threat to Daniel Craig should just take a 12-step holiday.