Skyfall

In a breathtaking, action-drenched prologue that boosts the heart rate and then brings it to a sudden, chilling halt, James Bond adventure “Skyfall” triumphantly vanquishes the bitter aftertaste left behind by the enduring M16 agent’s previous escapade, the chronically arse-numbing “Quantum of Solace,” and boldly promises that great things are to come. It’s an audaciously extravagant opening, rivalling the Madagascar-set parkour chase from “Casino Royale” for thrills and energy, as Daniel Craig’s 007 pursues a mercenary who has stolen a precious computer hard drive from a field agent in Istanbul.

It’s a complex pursuit: it begins on foot, moves onto a motorbike, onto a speeding train and then finally inside a digger on top of that train. As the chase nears its conclusion, Bond’s accompanying, deliberately unnamed agent (Naomi Harris, “28 Days Later”), who watches from afar through a rifle lens, finds herself faced with a dilemma: either she risk losing the hard drive or risk losing Bond. I shan’t say what she chooses, but her decision packs a hard-hitting punch and provides a sumptuous set-up for a riveting tale of vengeance and betrayal. This is Bond at his brilliant best, and indeed, “Skyfall” is arguably the best of all the Bond films.

We have three Oscar-winners here and one man who should be an Oscar-winner. Directing is Sam Mendes, whose Best Picture-snagging “American Beauty” rightly earned him the Best Director prize in 1999. Judi Dench (Best Supporting Actress for “Shakespeare in Love") returns as the cold and blunt M, head of MI6, this time given a much more hands-on role than in previous instalments. Javier Bardem (Best Supporting Actor for “No Country for Old Men”) is villainous, blonde-locked cyber-terrorist Raoul Silva. And the man who should be an Oscar-winner (though he’s been nominated nine times) is Roger Deakins, the master cinematographer whose richly vibrant and hauntingly atmospheric digital photography makes “Skyfall” a succulent feast for the eyes — in 50 years, Bond has never looked so luxurious.

I say that, but for most of the first act Craig resembles an unmade bed. Scruffy, unshaven and baggy eyed, he’s not the suave and ravishingly handsome Bond we’ve come to know and love. This is a broken, more vulnerable Bond whose physical fitness has taken a kicking, who is a shameless alcoholic, who can barely shoot straight and who must rebuild himself and prove himself worthy of his position in M16. The script — scribed by series regulars Neal Purvis and Robert Wade along with Oscar-nominated screenwriter John Logan (“Hugo”) — makes frequent references to Bond’s age, that he’s an old, tired dog in a young pup’s game. The film ends on the note that Bond may be old, but his fierce, undying determination means he will prevail and he will live on.

About that hard drive. In it are the identities of every undercover agent currently embedded in terrorist organisations all over the globe. With it in the wrong hands, those agents are now in great danger. M, who headed the disastrous mission in Turkey, is pressured by Intelligence and Security Committee Chairman Gareth Mallory (Ralph Fiennes, “Coriolanus”) to resign while her dignity is still intact. She stubbornly refuses, which is probably for the best: it soon transpires that a murderous madman, now the owner of the hard drive, is not only leaking the agents’ names via YouTube, but is also after M’s head.

Bond, returning from what could be considered a vacation, is tasked with finding this madman and bringing him in. His mission leads him to Shanghai, where the Bond of yesteryear is strongly evoked: he sips cocktails in casinos, has sex with a mysterious prostitute inside a swanky sailboat, and — in a winking homage to Roger Moore’s infamous crocodile hopping in “Live and Let Die” — uses a komodo dragon as a stepping stool. In one suspenseful scene that combines the franchise’s age-old glamour with its recent grit, Bond engages in a fistfight with an assassin inside a glass skyscraper. Deakins shoots this in one unbroken take as Bond and the assassin are presented as stark silhouettes projected against a glowing, neon-lit backdrop.

Speaking of one-takes, Bardem — truly frightening as unstoppable hitman Chigurh in “No Country for Old Men" — is granted an instantly classic villain’s entrance as the scary-haired, lip-licking Silva. As Bond watches from the foreground, tied to a chair, the towering figure of the Hispanic super-hacker exits an elevator in the background and slowly but surely strolls 20 ft towards our hero, waving his hands and wagging his finger while reciting a soon-to-be-relevant parable about rats in a barrel. Bardem has a manic, almost campy menace, greeting Bond by caressing his legs and undoing the top buttons of his shirt. Silva is a 21st century villain, his base of operations not a fortress by a smoking volcano but a grubby warehouse lined with stacks of computers that grant him direct access to any computer in the world. He calls to mind WikiLeaks’ Julian Assange — the garish hairstyle certainly helps.

Both Silva and Bond are presented as momma’s boys, their momma being M (who callously betrayed Silva years ago). Here, the emotional core of “Skyfall” rears its head in the form of Bond’s relationship with his bitchy boss. Theirs is a relationship built on dependency, as shown in Bond’s return to her from an assumed death and her decision to reinstate him when he fails every test he undertakes. They spend precious time together when Silva comes gunning after M and when Bond assigns himself her sole protector. Their vicious verbal sparring remains, but there’s added weight and depth this time: they may mercilessly banter, but as two forces on the same team they need each other.

Things come to a fiery, booby-trapped end in a stirring third act set in the gorgeously framed Scottish Highlands. This is unlike any climax to a Bond film you’ve seen before; unexpectedly bringing the franchise into the home-invasion genre, it bizarrely resembles Sam Peckinpah’s disturbing, blood-splattered classic “Straw Dogs” or — dare I say it — Chris Columbus’ “Home Alone.” It also does what no other Bond film has done before, strongly hinting at the nature of Bond’s troubled childhood and what ultimately made him into the man he is today. Yet neither of these two elements feel out of place within the film itself: this is a new Bond who inhabits a new world, who sweats when he fights and who bleeds when you prick him, and whose perilous adventures have a newfound emotional resonance to them.

This is Mendes’ first time helming a Bond film — with luck, it will not be his last. “Skyfall” is a sensational spy flick and a fabulous 50th anniversary present from a franchise that keeps surprising and hopefully has more to offer. It is a Bond film that moves forward while nostalgically peering over its shoulder to the unforgotten, well-trodden past. It is a Bond film unlike any other, but it is still a Bond film; about that there is no doubt. Once again, the end titles promise that “James Bond will return.” We look forward to seeing you again, Mr. Bond, in whatever form you please.

10/10