"You can't die alone, Ronnie..."
"Why not? We all do, you know."
The final episode, at last. As with previous episodes, it very much feels as though a single viewing is not enough to glean what lurks within these fifty crafted minutes. Most interestingly, though, is that this final episode barely goes through the motions of being a thriller, again introducing a variation f James Lovelock's Gaia theory- will we, as Grogan (coded as a villain) transcend our Earth and move to colonise the Solar System (perhaps less likely now than it may have seemed in 1985), or will our continued pillaging of our planet see our Earth mother strangle us in our cradle with the black flowers we see in the final shot? The answer is as uncertain as Craven's fate, but he is ultimately doomed. Are we? Emma's ghost seems to imply that humanity had a sapient predecessor, swallowed by thsoe black flowers.
We get to explore the personal complexities of Jedburgh here, but again we are not spoon fed. He's a man with a death drive, yes, but he is at once sensitive and intelligent while cynical and worldly wise. Is he an environmental idealist, deep down? It's left, I think, deliberately ambiguous. Just like the future, and just like the historical currents in this chaotic world of ours, where the twin false gods of Marxism and market fundamentalism have in turn tried to impose a determinism and teleology which does not exist.
It's a downbeat ending, one that refuses to be neat and makes clear, to Harcourt's shock, that the activities at Northmoor were always sanctioned by the powers that be. Nuclear power exists. We live in a plutonium world. How long we can last is up to us. This isn't as easy, pleasant or enjoyable to watch as previous episodes, but art doesn't have to be any of those things. Sublime.
Showing posts with label Joe Don Baker. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joe Don Baker. Show all posts
Sunday, 17 May 2020
Thursday, 14 May 2020
Edge of Darkness: Part 5- Northmoor
“To know is to die..."
The above quote, from the ever-mercurial and ever-unknowable Jedburgh, one of the most fascinating characters in television history, seems to illustrate a point: knowledge brings us death, whether the radiation thereof is literal or metaphorical. Shades of the myth of Adam and Eve there. Yet we understand why Craven's need to know exceeds his need to live- but what of Jedburgh, who knows this may be a suicide mission? While both seem to survive- Jedburgh with the plutonium- their life expectancy is likely to be much shortened.
This episode marks an extraordinary change of focus- yes, there are the scenes of the parliamentary committee to remind us of a wider, and contested, context, but the whole episode is shaped around our two protagonists retracing the steps of Emma (who doesn't appear- she no longer needs to?) and GAIA, while being tracked by those with no qualms about killing them. It's very much shot to emphasise the constant danger, discomfort and horror. Even the bunker, with its vintage wine and luxuries, feels like a cruel joke.
Interestingly, our protagonists are both acting, intentionally or not, on behalf of spooks on both sides of the pond. But ultimately this penultimate episode reveals less of the plot than expected, even as it reveals what is physically at Northmoor. Meaning and context can wait- but will the final episode give us that? Extraordinary and unpredictable telly, playing to no one's rules.
The above quote, from the ever-mercurial and ever-unknowable Jedburgh, one of the most fascinating characters in television history, seems to illustrate a point: knowledge brings us death, whether the radiation thereof is literal or metaphorical. Shades of the myth of Adam and Eve there. Yet we understand why Craven's need to know exceeds his need to live- but what of Jedburgh, who knows this may be a suicide mission? While both seem to survive- Jedburgh with the plutonium- their life expectancy is likely to be much shortened.
This episode marks an extraordinary change of focus- yes, there are the scenes of the parliamentary committee to remind us of a wider, and contested, context, but the whole episode is shaped around our two protagonists retracing the steps of Emma (who doesn't appear- she no longer needs to?) and GAIA, while being tracked by those with no qualms about killing them. It's very much shot to emphasise the constant danger, discomfort and horror. Even the bunker, with its vintage wine and luxuries, feels like a cruel joke.
Interestingly, our protagonists are both acting, intentionally or not, on behalf of spooks on both sides of the pond. But ultimately this penultimate episode reveals less of the plot than expected, even as it reveals what is physically at Northmoor. Meaning and context can wait- but will the final episode give us that? Extraordinary and unpredictable telly, playing to no one's rules.
Wednesday, 13 May 2020
Edge of Darkness: Part 4- Breakthrough
“Well, bodies kept turning up in the bunkers, and you needed air support to play out of the rough. Kinda puts you off your game."
My, this is getting very deep indeed in terms of plot, psychology and subtext. Nothing I say here will do much more than scratch the surface, but suffice to say that this is masterfully crafted stuff.
Craven is back at home, and almost killed by McCroon, the suspect, for banal reasons of revenge. Yet there's more to this, and not just in one way. Yes, there's the fact that someone gave McCroon the information and resources he needed, but there's also the dirty tricks that took place in Northern Ireland, and Craven's own hands are very much dipped in the blood; he personally recruited informers who were subsequently dropped and allowed to be offed by the Provos. This is, to say the least, no less dishonourable than the other political games going on.
There's the genuine question over Craven's mental state, as much is driven by the presence of Emma's ghost inside his head. Then there's the mercurial Jedburgh, whose entire outward personality is a performance. Who is he, underneath? He's not just eccentric- he seems extraordinarily sanguine about the apparent recent death in El Salvador (the series oozes with '80s current affairs), and his loyalties may not just be to his CIA employers. Are we convinced by the explanation he gives Craven for co-founding GAIA?
Eventually, in a very exciting sequence, Craven gets to hack a very 1980s IT network and get a little more information- not least a map of Northmoor. He also gets Godbold to spread the beans- and, while hopelessly in hock to the nuclear industry, he was in fact Emma's man on the inside- and lets slip that the killers almost certainly suspected Craven of fulfilling that role. This is already a complex web, and a compelling one. Plus, it seems, Craven and Jedburgh are going to retrace Emma's terrorist steps.
Excellent stuff. I raised an eyebrow, however, when Craven was told that you "don't say no" to a Commons select committee or "they lock you up". Someone should tell that to Dominic Cummings.
My, this is getting very deep indeed in terms of plot, psychology and subtext. Nothing I say here will do much more than scratch the surface, but suffice to say that this is masterfully crafted stuff.
Craven is back at home, and almost killed by McCroon, the suspect, for banal reasons of revenge. Yet there's more to this, and not just in one way. Yes, there's the fact that someone gave McCroon the information and resources he needed, but there's also the dirty tricks that took place in Northern Ireland, and Craven's own hands are very much dipped in the blood; he personally recruited informers who were subsequently dropped and allowed to be offed by the Provos. This is, to say the least, no less dishonourable than the other political games going on.
There's the genuine question over Craven's mental state, as much is driven by the presence of Emma's ghost inside his head. Then there's the mercurial Jedburgh, whose entire outward personality is a performance. Who is he, underneath? He's not just eccentric- he seems extraordinarily sanguine about the apparent recent death in El Salvador (the series oozes with '80s current affairs), and his loyalties may not just be to his CIA employers. Are we convinced by the explanation he gives Craven for co-founding GAIA?
Eventually, in a very exciting sequence, Craven gets to hack a very 1980s IT network and get a little more information- not least a map of Northmoor. He also gets Godbold to spread the beans- and, while hopelessly in hock to the nuclear industry, he was in fact Emma's man on the inside- and lets slip that the killers almost certainly suspected Craven of fulfilling that role. This is already a complex web, and a compelling one. Plus, it seems, Craven and Jedburgh are going to retrace Emma's terrorist steps.
Excellent stuff. I raised an eyebrow, however, when Craven was told that you "don't say no" to a Commons select committee or "they lock you up". Someone should tell that to Dominic Cummings.
Tuesday, 12 May 2020
Edge of Darkness: Part 3- Burden of Proof
"I don't believe in the conspiracy theory of history."
This episode may perhaps be, again, less obviously artistic than the first and even more so than the second and, by now, deeply engrossed and, indeed, engrossing in the unravelling of the complex yet clearly narrated plot, but that is achieved without sacrificing either characterisation or verbal wit. This is still extraordinary, even sublime television, three episodes in.
Bob Peck is again, well, deservedly BAFTA-winning in how he portrays deep emotion and bereavement in a restrained man. Craven may be seen, by the end, by his boss as in need of help over his seeming obsession with deeper conspiracies behind Emma's death, but he is simultaneously seen by Harcourt and Pendleton, those nebulous spooks, as a credible witness for their plans to somehow nobble Bob Bennett, whom they suspect of killing Emma. Craven refuses them, of course, being the decent father that he is, but this goes to illusrate that things are not as they seem. The Texan act of the ever-thinking Jedburgh is, as H and P point out, an act. He's a fascinating, deep and nuanced character, hiding beneath both a stereotype and a supposed political standpoint, yet according to Clemmie he co-founded GAIA, an environmental organisation he now loudly derides as terrorists? With him, there are layers to unpeel.
It's odd, and disturbing, to learn of Craven's intimate, touchy-feely interrogation techniques with Lowe, but then it's established that he's a sex offender. Godbolt again pops up, looking anxious to deny things And Terry, Emma's erstwhile boyfriend, is murdered in the bath after giving Craven a clue. The plot thickens, as always. And there are far too many nuances to recount the plot. Suffice to say, I'm gripped.
If this all reads as the work of a drunk person, well, I'm forty-three today, and I've just finished a bottle of rather good Chilean Cabernet. Burp. Stay at home. Beat coronavirus with good wine. That is all.
This episode may perhaps be, again, less obviously artistic than the first and even more so than the second and, by now, deeply engrossed and, indeed, engrossing in the unravelling of the complex yet clearly narrated plot, but that is achieved without sacrificing either characterisation or verbal wit. This is still extraordinary, even sublime television, three episodes in.
Bob Peck is again, well, deservedly BAFTA-winning in how he portrays deep emotion and bereavement in a restrained man. Craven may be seen, by the end, by his boss as in need of help over his seeming obsession with deeper conspiracies behind Emma's death, but he is simultaneously seen by Harcourt and Pendleton, those nebulous spooks, as a credible witness for their plans to somehow nobble Bob Bennett, whom they suspect of killing Emma. Craven refuses them, of course, being the decent father that he is, but this goes to illusrate that things are not as they seem. The Texan act of the ever-thinking Jedburgh is, as H and P point out, an act. He's a fascinating, deep and nuanced character, hiding beneath both a stereotype and a supposed political standpoint, yet according to Clemmie he co-founded GAIA, an environmental organisation he now loudly derides as terrorists? With him, there are layers to unpeel.
It's odd, and disturbing, to learn of Craven's intimate, touchy-feely interrogation techniques with Lowe, but then it's established that he's a sex offender. Godbolt again pops up, looking anxious to deny things And Terry, Emma's erstwhile boyfriend, is murdered in the bath after giving Craven a clue. The plot thickens, as always. And there are far too many nuances to recount the plot. Suffice to say, I'm gripped.
If this all reads as the work of a drunk person, well, I'm forty-three today, and I've just finished a bottle of rather good Chilean Cabernet. Burp. Stay at home. Beat coronavirus with good wine. That is all.
Wednesday, 6 May 2020
Edge of Darkness: Part 2- Into the Shadows
“It’s an anal disease. Marx has trouble with his bowels...”
A less poetic episode this time, perhaps. The camera lingers less and we have a greater focus on the unfolding mystery. There's a lot of plot, although masterful scripting means both that it's easy to follow and the exposition follows naturally from character.
So the subtle recap at the start comes from the faces of the appalled investigating officers as they hear a tape recording of Ronald Craven's testimony- and I shall start calling him Craven rather than Ronnie; it fits his world. And the world of the spooks- not just Pendleton but Harcourt, his eccentric "other half", played by a young Ian McNeice- is one of exposition, certainly, but also of contrast- southern as opposed to northern, wit and eccentricity as opposed to Craven's sober stillness.
Then there's Emma's shifty boyfriend Terry, played an extraordinarily young Tim McInnerny of the same age as when he first played Percy in Black Adder II. He's a man of apparently strong political views but of dodgy loyalties- a police informer and sleeping with another girl before Emma is even buried. He is, I think, very much a type you'll see in the various organisations of the hard left, some of them rather rapey and all of them full of big fish playing their little games in small pools. Craven doesn't like him and, as we see everything through his eyes (including his daughter in his mind's eye, which continues to humanise him), neither do we.
But by this point we know that Emma led a raid on a nuclear facility at Northmoor. And we, and Craven, learn much more when we meet the fascinating figure of Jedburgh, who hides considerable depths beneath that Stetson hat and brash, Republican, Commie-bashing exterior. He and Craven bond unexpectedly over Willie Nelson, and we discover more juicy little details.
This is clever, controlled, deeply human and a fascinating glimpse into the psyche of 1985. I'm utterly addicted.
A less poetic episode this time, perhaps. The camera lingers less and we have a greater focus on the unfolding mystery. There's a lot of plot, although masterful scripting means both that it's easy to follow and the exposition follows naturally from character.
So the subtle recap at the start comes from the faces of the appalled investigating officers as they hear a tape recording of Ronald Craven's testimony- and I shall start calling him Craven rather than Ronnie; it fits his world. And the world of the spooks- not just Pendleton but Harcourt, his eccentric "other half", played by a young Ian McNeice- is one of exposition, certainly, but also of contrast- southern as opposed to northern, wit and eccentricity as opposed to Craven's sober stillness.
Then there's Emma's shifty boyfriend Terry, played an extraordinarily young Tim McInnerny of the same age as when he first played Percy in Black Adder II. He's a man of apparently strong political views but of dodgy loyalties- a police informer and sleeping with another girl before Emma is even buried. He is, I think, very much a type you'll see in the various organisations of the hard left, some of them rather rapey and all of them full of big fish playing their little games in small pools. Craven doesn't like him and, as we see everything through his eyes (including his daughter in his mind's eye, which continues to humanise him), neither do we.
But by this point we know that Emma led a raid on a nuclear facility at Northmoor. And we, and Craven, learn much more when we meet the fascinating figure of Jedburgh, who hides considerable depths beneath that Stetson hat and brash, Republican, Commie-bashing exterior. He and Craven bond unexpectedly over Willie Nelson, and we discover more juicy little details.
This is clever, controlled, deeply human and a fascinating glimpse into the psyche of 1985. I'm utterly addicted.
Tuesday, 5 May 2020
Edge of Darkness: Part 1- Compassionate Leave
“Stop playing by the rules, Ronald."
I'm going in cold; unlike several old classic BBC dramas I haven't seen this before. And first impressions are that, gosh, this is good. Moody, griping, atmospheric, well directed and all of that from the very start. Even the music is effective and evocative with Eric Clapton's guitar singing with emotion- and I say this as someone who can appreciate Clapton's talent (even Hendrix really rated him), but really isn't a fan of the sort of slickly produced, show-offy guitar wanking that he'd become known for by this point, a kind of Mark Knopfler with a more impressive past.
And mood is central here. Oh, there's compelling mystery and conspiracy here aplenty- Ronnie, a Yorkshire police inspector, is investigating a somewhat menacing and dodgy Trade Union official (or Labour MP; it isn't clear) who is, I suspect a red herring. His daughter is a charismatic political activist who is suddenly shot dead by a gunman who may have been aiming for him. So he heads down to London on leave to investigate her death, only to be told by a spook that she was some sort of "terrorist". That is, I suppose, more or less the plot.
But this episode isn't really about any of that at all. It's about Ronnie's immense pain of bereavement- he lost his wife to cancer and has now lost his daughter- channeled through a very masculine, very English and, indeed, very Yorkshire stiff upper lip concealing swirling depth of emotional ferment, conveyed with extraordinary stillness by Bob Peck. It's also about the close and emotional relationship between a father and the daughter he never fully knew- something which has a powerful force for any father of a daughter. Her ghost speaks to him in his head throughout, showing us what a strong bond they had after his wife's death- and crucially humanising this undemonstrative man.
It's in searching Emma's bedroom that Ronnie finds a folder full of artifacts relating to something she seems to have been investigating- a map, a gun, a Geiger counter- but the scene is about more than plot. It's about Ronnie putting Willie Nelson's "Time of the Preacher" on the record player and the song mirrors his action, moods and desires- ending with it quite clear that he's on a mission of revenge.
One brief scene hints at some men, one of them a Stetson-sporting American, who seem to have been in on whatever Emma was up to, but we follow Ronnie down to the alien, unsettling world of London and the south of England, where things become even more murky.
There are glimpses of political issues throughout- early environmentalism; nuclear weapons; the corruption of the old Trade Union establishment- but it's striking how soft left Labour MP and future Environment minister, the late Michael Meacher, gets to do the large part of what looks like a stump speech.
I don't know where this is going yet. But I know how it feels, and so far it's wonderful.
I'm going in cold; unlike several old classic BBC dramas I haven't seen this before. And first impressions are that, gosh, this is good. Moody, griping, atmospheric, well directed and all of that from the very start. Even the music is effective and evocative with Eric Clapton's guitar singing with emotion- and I say this as someone who can appreciate Clapton's talent (even Hendrix really rated him), but really isn't a fan of the sort of slickly produced, show-offy guitar wanking that he'd become known for by this point, a kind of Mark Knopfler with a more impressive past.
And mood is central here. Oh, there's compelling mystery and conspiracy here aplenty- Ronnie, a Yorkshire police inspector, is investigating a somewhat menacing and dodgy Trade Union official (or Labour MP; it isn't clear) who is, I suspect a red herring. His daughter is a charismatic political activist who is suddenly shot dead by a gunman who may have been aiming for him. So he heads down to London on leave to investigate her death, only to be told by a spook that she was some sort of "terrorist". That is, I suppose, more or less the plot.
But this episode isn't really about any of that at all. It's about Ronnie's immense pain of bereavement- he lost his wife to cancer and has now lost his daughter- channeled through a very masculine, very English and, indeed, very Yorkshire stiff upper lip concealing swirling depth of emotional ferment, conveyed with extraordinary stillness by Bob Peck. It's also about the close and emotional relationship between a father and the daughter he never fully knew- something which has a powerful force for any father of a daughter. Her ghost speaks to him in his head throughout, showing us what a strong bond they had after his wife's death- and crucially humanising this undemonstrative man.
It's in searching Emma's bedroom that Ronnie finds a folder full of artifacts relating to something she seems to have been investigating- a map, a gun, a Geiger counter- but the scene is about more than plot. It's about Ronnie putting Willie Nelson's "Time of the Preacher" on the record player and the song mirrors his action, moods and desires- ending with it quite clear that he's on a mission of revenge.
One brief scene hints at some men, one of them a Stetson-sporting American, who seem to have been in on whatever Emma was up to, but we follow Ronnie down to the alien, unsettling world of London and the south of England, where things become even more murky.
There are glimpses of political issues throughout- early environmentalism; nuclear weapons; the corruption of the old Trade Union establishment- but it's striking how soft left Labour MP and future Environment minister, the late Michael Meacher, gets to do the large part of what looks like a stump speech.
I don't know where this is going yet. But I know how it feels, and so far it's wonderful.
Thursday, 24 August 2017
Tomorrow Never Dies (1997)
"You always were a cunning linguist, James."
I know, it's been a while since GoldenEye. But it took a while before I could face another Bond after that, and it was with all due trepidation that I sat down to watch this. It's a relief to say, then, that Brosnan is better, if still hardly my favourite Bond, and that this is a good if not great Bond film- it says a little in the middle, perhaps, and the whole thing is an extremely formulaic Bond-by-numbers but done well enough, and I think that's what's required at this stage. This is only the second film after a large gap, and there's a need to re-establish all the many tropes.
So we get a notable return to tradition after GoldenEye's sometime iconoclasm, with a notably less spiky relationship between Bond and Judy Dench's M. But we get a decent pre-titles- the Russians are goodies; it must be the '90s- and a mildly disappointing theme tune from Sheryl Crow, and off we go.
This film's Bond villain is the media mogul Eliot Carver, played with splendidly scenery-chewing relish by Jonathan Pryce as he arranges conflict between the UK and China purely to make money. He gets lots of zeitgeisty speeches about the power of the media that date the film enormously; it won't be long until the Internet starts to topple the likes of him off their perches. And I notice that Bond has his first mobile phone, although from the dependably sarky and now octogenarian Q, who has been there since From Russia with Love.
We get a splendid cast as usual, even with the likes of Jason Watkins, Julian Rhind-Tutt, Gerard Butler and Hugh Bonneville with small parts as naval officers. This is hardly one of the greats, but Bond is back on track.
So we get a notable return to tradition after GoldenEye's sometime iconoclasm, with a notably less spiky relationship between Bond and Judy Dench's M. But we get a decent pre-titles- the Russians are goodies; it must be the '90s- and a mildly disappointing theme tune from Sheryl Crow, and off we go.
This film's Bond villain is the media mogul Eliot Carver, played with splendidly scenery-chewing relish by Jonathan Pryce as he arranges conflict between the UK and China purely to make money. He gets lots of zeitgeisty speeches about the power of the media that date the film enormously; it won't be long until the Internet starts to topple the likes of him off their perches. And I notice that Bond has his first mobile phone, although from the dependably sarky and now octogenarian Q, who has been there since From Russia with Love.
We get a splendid cast as usual, even with the likes of Jason Watkins, Julian Rhind-Tutt, Gerard Butler and Hugh Bonneville with small parts as naval officers. This is hardly one of the greats, but Bond is back on track.
Thursday, 5 May 2016
GoldenEye (1995)
I saw and enjoyed this film at the pictures back when I was an 18 year old student at Liverpool University, briefly: I ended up dropping out and getting my degree later. I must admit, though, that disappointed as I am on a second viewing I can't entirely blame this film.
So why did GoldenEye disappoint this time round? Well, to a large degree it's Pierce Brosnan. He really is shockingly rubbish, just phoning in his performance and displaying no charisma whatsoever, something which is not the case with his non-James Bond career.
But it's more than that: it's the script. It feels as though, after a six year gap, they've forgotten how to do James Bond. Only Desmond Llewelyn connects this to any previous film, and really does suddenly look so shockingly old. And the attempts to make ironic references to Bond's inevitable sexism- his combative relationship with the new female M and the new Moneypenny's flirtatious mention of "sexual harassment"- just aren't as clever as the film thinks they are.
Where are the glamorous locations? Yes, it's the '90s, and Russia is fleetingly friendly if also incredibly corrupt, but Siberia is no place to set a Bond film, and brief scenes in St Petersburg and Cuba don't make up for that. Xenia Onatopp is a genuinely brilliant and very Bond character- a female assassin who kills her victims by squeezing them with her legs and a delightfully Freudian nightmare for men- but there's not much else here that's brilliant.
It's hard not to compare this with the Austin Powers films- and unfavourably- given the conscious contrast between the social mores of the '60s and '90s, respectively. And you can tell it's the '90s when bond starts the film with a bungee jump. But this is a slow, ponderous film that takes ages to get going and just lacks oomph. Not their finest hour. In fact, I'm so underwhelmed that I'm going to press pause on watching the Bond films for a bit.
Oh, and we have the bizarre absence of the proper Bond theme tune at the very start. Legal reasons?
Monday, 25 April 2016
The Living Daylights (1987)
Before I go on to praise this splendid film... I may get one last blog post out tomorrow on the train- we will see- but after that there won't be anything more until after my big exam on Tuesday 3rd May. It's a week of hardcore revision for me to look forward to. Still, expect a flurry of new blog posts in the couple of days after the exam, probably.
Anyway, I loved The Living Daylights even if it didn't feel much like a Bond film when watched in context. It's a strange thing to say for a series of spy films, but Bond hadn't done a proper Cold War thriller before and only now, in 1987, the very last opportunity there would ever be, do we get one. And yes, I know we have an American chief baddie as a fig leaf so they can deny that this is a straight ahead Cold War spy film with the Russians as the baddies so as not to offend the real world USSR but, well, they're fooling nobody.
And so we have a tale of defections, crappy police cars, secret police arresting pretty girls in the exotic surroundings of, er, Bratislava, and that classically Cold War locale that is Vienna and a Ferris Wheel that immediately evokes The Third Man. Mind you, nothing has dated quite as much as showing the Afghan Mujahideen as the good guys. I'm no useful idiot, far from it, but Najibullah (not a nice man but no one deserves to die like that) was much better for Afghanistan than what came after.
Timothy Dalton... let's actually mention him, shall we? He's obviously a fine actor, easily the best so far, far more technically competent and nuanced in his portrayal than Connery or Moore. I like him. And yet... he's genuinely charismatic, yes, but less so than either of the two aforementioned, both of whom oozed it, and for me he doesn't quite convince as a ladies' man- well, womaniser. He's too sensitive. Still, a promising debut.
Maryam d'Abo makes a good, and refreshing Bon-bimboesque, Bond girl, and we get good performances from John Rhys-Davies, Art Malik and the ever-reliable Desmond Llewelyn, in a good film for the gadgets.
This is the best film of the '80s so far, let down only by a mildly disappointing theme song from a-Ha, even if it isn't as awful as Shirley Manson of Garbage notoriously said it is. After the problems of A View to a Kill we now have a younger Bond and a witty script, and as a result there's not a lot wrong.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)