Skyfall

I'm conflicted over Daniel Craig's tenure as James Bond. On the one hand, Craig's done a fine job making Bond his own. Unfortunately, the films themselves have been forgettable. True, after the absurd Pierce Brosnan era a more grounded approach was welcome. But Casino Royale and Quantum of Solace more resemble Jason Bourne and Christopher Nolan's Batman than 007. Mix lame villains, nauseating shaky cam and irritating faux-"realism" and you have generic Hollywood action product.

Skyfall is a welcome improvement. Sam Mendes' installment suffers from lazy, inconsistent plotting. But it's got a few elements unquestionably right. The action is comprehensible, Bond is a more compelling, rounded hero - and best of all, there's a worthwhile villain.

James Bond (Daniel Craig) narrowly survives a mission in Turkey, where M (Judi Dench) orders another agent (Naomie Harris) to fire at an enemy regardless of risk to Bond. Bond lives incognito for a time until a terrorist attack on MI6 headquarters brings him back. Bond tracks a ring of hackers to China, where he uncovers Silva (Javier Bardem), an ex-MI6 agent with a grudge against M. M herself is blamed for the loss of several agents, with a Defence Ministry official (Ralph Fiennes) breathing down her neck. Bond and M go on the lam, goading Silva into a showdown at Bond's family estate.

Over everything else, Skyfall feels like a Bond movie. It delivers the requisite action, humor and thrills, though is fairly light on sex. Unlike previous films, the character development proves interesting: Bond cautiously reveals back story and vulnerability, while M battling bureaucracy grounds the movie better than epileptic camera work. Nods to Bond mythology abound, not least the introduction of new Q (Ben Whishaw) and Moneypenny. Indeed, two set pieces - a fistfight in a komodo dragon pit, Bond target-shooting with Silva - seem more authentically Bond than anything else in the Craig era.

Sam Mendes seems an odd choice for a Bond flick but proves surprisingly adept. He makes brilliant use of locations, with photographer Roger Deakins providing distinct looks: crowded Istanbul, flashily-lit in China, foreboding moors in Scotland. The action scenes are wonderfully straightforward, shot and blocked in classic, unrestrained style. CGI aside, the final farmhouse siege is one heck of a set piece.

Skyfall suffers mainly from lazy storytelling. The second half begins with a profoundly tiresome trope: Silva allowing himself to get caught. After The Dark Knight and The Avengers surely this has lost any cleverness or surprise. The first half builds up slow-burning intrigue with Silva exposing MI6 agents and undermining world security. This vanishes as Silva shifts gears to a personal vendetta, the mastermind becoming a mindless thug. Fortunately, Skyfall is entertaining enough to overcome these shortcomings.

Daniel Craig continues his fine work. Bond's as indestructible as ever, surviving a shot to the shoulder and 50 foot fall with effects seemingly only on his aim. But Craig relishes the chance to express some depth: his increased emotional strain, old-fashioned patriotism and testy relationship with M. We also see, for the first time in years, Bond reveal something of his background. He's the best Bond since Sean Connery and finally has a film worth his performance.

Judi Dench gets an excellent sendoff: she's been M since 1995's GoldenEye and excelled even in her weaker movies. Dench reveals a proud woman whose cold professionalism catches up with her. Ralph Fiennes, fine actor though he is, doesn't inspire confidence as her putative replacement. Feisty Naomie Harris (Pirates of the Caribbean) and droll Ben Whishaw make strong impressions as future MI6 mainstays. Albert Finney has an hysterical cameo as Bond's estate keeper.

It's Javier Bardem though who steals the show. From his marvelous introduction scene on Bardem personifies the classic Bond villain: frosted hair, greasy charm, sexual ambiguity, grisly deformity. His motivation is simplistic but Bardem's colorful menace proves far more interesting than Mads Mikkelsen or Mathieu Almaric. It's nice to see Craig up against a worthy opponent.

Skyfall remains a flawed movie, namely through awkward plotting. That said, it's easily the best Daniel Craig installment yet. Here's hoping when James Bond returns, he'll continue in this vein.

Your Classic Movie SUCKS #6: American Beauty

The word pretentious has a bad rap. Overused by web dwellers and faux-cineastes, it's certainly apropos for movies that profess significance while delivering nothing. Rarely is such approbation more deserved than with American Beauty (1999), an irredeemably hollow piece of garbage.

Lester Burnham (Kevin Spacey) is going through a midlife crisis. His menial job is in jeopardy, his marriage with status-obsessed Carolyn (Annette Bening) is on the rocks, his daughter Jane (Thora Birch) will barely speak to him. But when he meets Jane's friend Angela (Mena Suvari) he suddenly becomes rejuvenated. Lester gets in shape, quits his job and befriends videographer/pot dealer Ricky (Wes Bentley), son of an oppressive Marine Colonel (Chris Cooper). Lester finds contentment, even as Carolyn cheats on him and Jane falls for Ricky. Of course, his transformation won't be complete unless he seduces Angela.

Critics and audiences love American Beauty: it won Best Picture, and currently has an 88 percent on Rotten Tomatoes. Loaded with obvious symbolism and pointed "themes," it's an easy film to dissect and defend. This viewer found it thoroughly facile, a live-action cartoon loaded with self-indulgence.

Let's start with Lester. Presented as a repressed Everyman, he's a seriously warped character. His myriad neuroses could, in better hands, make for a fascinating story, if recognized for what it is. Instead, the movie celebrates his descent into puerility as righteous rebellion against "the System." Watch Lester tell off his wife while jerking off! See him blackmail his stuffy boss! Marvel as he contemplates statutory rape! What a guy. Maybe next he can beat up Brad Pitt and fashion bombs out of soap.

Director Sam Mendes and writer Alan Ball don't help by surrounding Lester with contrived caricatures. Ricky is the worst, a voyeuristic creep presented as a pop philosopher. Angela is equally ill-conceived, a faux-nympho with a laughable "revelation." The homophobic Colonel and materialistic Carolyn are convenient strawmen to kick around. None are remotely believable except as tools to elevate Lester's moral status.

Beauty's phoniness extends beyond its characters. Ball presents stilted sitcom dialogue as barbed wit. All of the character arcs and story threads come together with deadening predictability. Will a homophobe be outed? Will Lester get to publicly shame his philandering wife? Will the "bad girl" turn out to be all talk? Where did Beauty come up with such fresh, original ideas? No wonder it won five Oscars.

Mendes and legendary photographer Conrad Hall craft a slick-looking product, beautifully shot and visually crafted. But too often the visuals are either contrived or skull-crushingly ostentatious. The rose petal motif becomes tiresome through overuse. Then there's the plastic bag, an empty symbol apropos of nothing.

Here lies the crux of the problem. If Beauty were a broad satire, or had a scintilla of self-awareness, it would be easier to swallow. Instead, it postures as a deep, penetrating drama when it's really vacuous nonsense. Its targets are easy, its "symbolism" subtle as an H-Bomb, its message celebrating irresponsible narcissism.

Kevin Spacey tackles an impossible role with aplomb. His performance is certainly daring and I'd be apt to praise it, if I could buy Lester for a second. Other good actors fare even worse: Annette Bening plays a one-note shrew, Chris Cooper's (The Town) character is thoroughly fake, Allison Janney catatonic, Thora Birch somnambulistic, Wes Bentley (The Hunger Games) an eyebrow-slanting pervert. Then there's poor Mena Suvari, mixing smut talk with an unbelievable last-minute transformation.

American Beauty sucks. That this won Best Picture over The Insider is a crime worthy of prosecution by the Hague. Heck, I enjoyed Orca more than this overstuffed compost heap.