Bonding with history: Skyfall’s postmodern 007

[Warning: spoilers!]

We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

So recites Judi Dench’s M midway through Skyfall, quoting Tennyson’s ‘Ulysses’. As Thomas Newman’s soundtrack swells and Daniel Craig’s Bond tears on foot through Whitehall, it’s clear the text points to him as much as post-imperial Britain: like Ulysses, better known by his Greek name Odysseus, this film’s Bond is an aging sea dog come home, world-weary, after being lost in action, his kingdom fallen into disrepair. Skyfall, Bond’s own odyssey, is the franchise’s most strongly intertextual entry, classicist touches woven through its story. Even the famous Walther PPK, now fireable solely by him, is recast in Homeric terms, mirroring the bow only Odysseus is capable of drawing, proving his identity; Bond too is defined by his prowess as a marksman, not what it was since his exile – ‘Is there’, Javier Bardem’s villain asks during a shooting contest, ‘any of the old 007 left?’ – and it’s only in the film’s third act, when finally he regains his expert aim, that we know for sure Bond isn’t dead. (If the antique parallels seem contrived or unlikely, director Sam Mendes read English at Cambridge and co-writer John Logan penned Gladiator twelve years before.)

M’s speech namechecking Tennyson is itself a defence of old-fashioned, clandestine espionage. Earlier, as future successor Mallory worries MI6 are viewed as ‘antiquated idiots’, he admonishes her, ‘For Christ’s sake, listen to yourself. We’re a democracy, and we we’re accountable to the people we’re trying to defend. We can’t keep working in the shadows. There are no more shadows.’

‘You don’t get this, do you?’ M replies. ‘Whoever’s behind this, whoever’s doing it, he knows us. He’s one of us. He comes from the same place as Bond, the place you say doesn’t exist: the shadows.’ When interrogated at a government inquiry, she says this:

Today I’ve repeatedly heard how irrelevant my department has become. Why do we need agents, the double-0 section? Isn’t it all rather quaint? Well, I suppose I see a different world than you do, and the truth is that what I see frightens me. I’m frightened because our enemies are no longer known to us. They do not exist on a map, they’re not nations. They are individuals. And look around you: who do you fear? Can you see a face, a uniform, a flag? No. Our world is not more transparent now, it’s more opaque. It’s in the shadows. That’s where we must do battle. So before you declare us irrelevant, ask yourselves: how safe do you feel?

That Skyfall should be Dench’s final Bond film seems fitting, since this perfectly inverts the modernist aesthetic of the Pierce Brosnan era, in whose opener GoldenEye she first appeared. (Both films, incidentally, are named for Bond’s infant homes – in the latter case, the Jamaican house were Ian Fleming first conceived of him.) When Casino Royale rejigged the series continuity, depicting 007’s first mission, producers impressed by Dench’s M reportedly kept her on despite this complicating the timeline; to view her in GoldenEye and Skyfall side by side, it’s clear her two Ms are very different characters. On first meeting Brosnan’s Bond in 1995 that M – formerly a finance executive, dubbed ‘evil queen of numbers’ by Michael Kitchen’s Tanner – famously called him ‘a sexist misogynist dinosaur, a relic of the Cold War’, while the Craig era’s M has by contrast been a spymaster for decades, even declaring in Casino Royale that she misses the Cold War. By Skyfall M has come full circle from dogged forward progress to nostalgia, and so has the franchise.

Just as the First World War prompted literary modernism, so the USSR’s collapse prompted GoldenEye and films that followed – in a world where things had fallen apart, establishment and status quo crumbling in on themselves, they reached for innovation. Brosnan’s Bond wore a European businessman’s Brioni, wielded gadgetry more colourful than ever at the dawn of the online age and embodied the Blair governments’ fetish for New Britain: this 007 scaled the Millennium Dome, rappelled down the side of the Eden Project and worked at Vauxhall Cross, the new, nineties home of MI6, with Samantha Bond’s more PC Moneypenny, romantically emancipated and (in GoldenEye at least) dating someone else. In Tomorrow Never Dies and Die Another Day, Bond’s love interests (Michelle Yeoh and Halle Berry) were fellow agents from China and the U.S., whom he, filmmakers seemed overkeen to show us, was adept at satisfying sexually. As women of colour, in both cases, became his lovers, so MI6 grew interracial, Colin Salmon’s Charles Robinson replacing Tanner as chief aide to M.

The urge to modernise was, in the end, what alienated fans and almost tanked the series – particularly via 2002’s CGI-laden, bullet-time-ridden Die Another Day. Bringing Bond and his setting up to date meant bringing it away from Fleming, whose hero was an anachronism even at the time of his invention. Bond is an Eton old boy and naval Commander, pitched in Live and Let Die – written in the prelude to the U.S. civil rights movement – against criminally violent black people, and against cat-eating Koreans in Goldfinger. (‘Bond intended to stay alive on his own terms’, Fleming writes. ‘Those terms included putting Odd-Job or any other Korean firmly in place, which in Bond’s estimation was lower than apes in the mammalian hierarchy.’) He is the gamekeeper, as Den of Geek’s James Peaty writes, of an Empire whose absence his creator gravely mourned, and which is being fast deserted by the world around him. With his colonial instincts, ‘corrective’ seduction of Pussy Galore – her name originally refers not to what she has, but what she gets – and rage at fifty years of female emancipation, Bond is written as a man out of time, or steadfastly refusing, at least, to move with it.

The same could easily be said of him in Skyfall, which makes a point of its heroes feeling out of date. ‘You know the rules of the game’, M tells Bond. ‘You’ve been playing it long enough.’

‘We both have,’ he replies. ‘Maybe too long.’

It’s not just MI6 here which faces being deemed antiquated. Bond himself is older and slower than when we saw him last, ‘made weak by time and fate’ like Ulysses, struggling to stay in what Mallory calls a young man’s game. He is matched, moreover, against Bardem’s technoterrorist and with Ben Whishaw’s millennial Q, who chides him as a mere triggerman in the age of cyberwarfare. Bond’s argument, M’s, and the film’s as a whole is that triggermen today are needed; that as espionage and global conflict post-9/11 have been individualised (Silva, the film’s villain, rigs national elections from his solitary lair), so shadowy, individual cloak-and-dagger spies have become relevant again. Where keyboard warrior Q is tricked by Silva, after all, it’s Craig’s low-tech, antediluvian 007 who finally undoes him. The Brosnan era argued Bond could be modern, keeping up with a world turned on its head; now that the world has turned again, and late nineties modernity itself seems dated, Skyfall suggests Bond is needed because he’s old-fashioned.

It’s not by accident that this film uproots all its own most contemporary elements. At the outset, M and Tanner (now played by Rory Kinnear) supervise Bond in Turkey from Vauxhall Cross, all flatscreens and gizmos – the same gizmos, it turns out, which allow Silva to access MI6’s computer network and destroy the building, prompting a change of scene to underground Churchillian bunkers of 18th century origin. Bond only gains the upper hand, in the film’s third act, by isolating himself and M on a Scottish moor, no servers or cables in sight: between the restoration era house of the film’s title, the 1964 Aston Martin unearthed to journey there and the family rifle with which Bond finally shoots straight, nothing in Skyfall’s climax belongs to the present. Here, too, Dench – sole remaining cast member from the Brosnan years – is written out, replaced by Ralph Fiennes’ Mallory, whose gender and background return us to Fleming’s M. Like Tennyson’s Ulysses, declaring ‘Some work of noble note may yet be done’, Bond returns to adventure at the film’s close, finding himself back in M’s oak-panelled, leather-doored office of old. (HMS Victory even hangs in painting on the wall, touching multivalently both on Bond’s and MI6’s revival – the ‘grand old war ship’, in Q’s words, may not after all be ‘ignominiously hauled away to scrap’ – and the vessel which ‘puffs her sails’, calling to Ulysses in Tennyson’s poem.) Eve, previously a field agent in the vein of Brosnan’s leading women, is revealed to be Miss Moneypenny, seated at the familiar desk to flirt with 007.

Skyfall is a truly postmodern Bond film, a metafiction about the series’ own continued relevance, by far its most thematic and thoughtful entry. Ironically, I wonder if as a standalone film on its own terms, this stops it working as successfully – if in its reliance on the intertextual, it sacrifices self-sufficient storytelling. Did I, for example, want or need particularly to find out about Bond’s childhood home? Isn’t he, on a certain level, more interesting as a killer with no clear provenance? It’s a wonderfully indulgent moment as a fan, moreover, to rewatch Bond, M, Tanner and Moneypenny in the courtroom sequence, Fleming’s most familiar lineup reunited in a pitched gun battle, but I also have to wonder: what were Eve and Mallory doing in this film, other than awaiting unveilment in more famous roles? Aren’t we, by suspecting this, perhaps distracted on some level from their self-contained characterisation, just as we might have been had Sean Connery, as considered at one point, played groundskeeper Kincade instead of Albert Finney? Just as the elements of classic Bond here – the DB5, say, or M’s office – feel somehow hollow in diegesis, stripped of their meaning in the series’ broader context, these characters never quite seem fully formed and immersive, as did Eva Green’s Vesper Lynd in Casino Royale and her interplay with Craig’s Bond. Likewise, Silva’s relationship with him never seems quite as real as that of Mads Mikkelsen’s blood-weeping Le Chiffre.

Where some knocked Royale as a great film but unsatisfying Bond film, I wonder if the reverse applies to Skyfall. (I’ve a great deal of time for both, and more regard than most for the much-derided Quantum of Solace in between, but still think Royale edges ahead.) How will the old-school aesthetic re-established by the close of Sam Mendes’ film serve Bond 24 on his directorial return? How will the new-old world of oak panels, secretarial flirting and mission dossiers stamped TOP SECRET serve its plot, when these things’ purpose is no longer just semiotic? I’m not sure. One thing is certain, though: after reflective, thought-provoking Skyfall, I trust that Mendes can deliver.




  1. says

    I have not much to add to such an excellent dissertation on Bond. I can only ask, were you as swerved as I was when Ralph Fiennes turned out to not be the villain?

  2. says

    Actually, no – I’d followed the rumour mill, I’m afraid, so expected him to be M. I also think, however, that (if this is the role that guided your thinking) Michael Fassbender and Terence Stamp would both have been superior Voldemorts.

  3. says

    You’re adding this post to your clips file, right?

    I enjoyed much of Skyfall for the reasons you mention here. The one bit I didn’t care for, that came close to ruining the movie for me, was a throwback to the old Bond. That was Silva’s freakishness. I found Sean Bean’s version of “I am the monster you made me” in Goldeneye much more compelling.

    Some of that is because old Bond’s henchfreaks have never worked for me. I didn’t see the movies contemporaneously until Brosnan’s Bond, and the movies never managed to capture the idea that it was Bond’s xenophobia involved rather than the moviemakers’.

    The other reason I didn’t care for it in Silva was that I felt it undercut the tension between M’s service and the civil servants who wanted to take over. “Accept these monsters because there are worse monsters lurking in the shadows” didn’t work for me. “You can only see that we’re monsters because we tell you so. They won’t tell you. Yes, we’re monsters, but we’re your monsters” works for me much, much better. It forces an awareness on the representatives of “nice” society that the other doesn’t. If the threatening evil in the world looks like Silva, accepting the evil of a Bond is compromise, not taking responsibility. It’s a flinch that’s out of place when looking at Craig’s Bond.

  4. says

    My ‘clips file’?

    And mm, compelling. I felt that in the case of Silva’s disfigurement, we were invited to sympathise rather than feel disgusted; if anything that scene made me suspicious and disgusted toward M, rather than him – and advanced the theme of her sacrificing agents willingly in the line of duty. It didn’t strike me as being quite the same as the classic films’ presentation of deformity, which in fact I’m not sure ever intended only to convey Bond’s personal disgust. This being said, the staging of the ‘reveal’ did feel somewhat stare-at-the-freak, and of course, privilege goggles could very possibly be prompting more charity in my response than it deserves.

    In general, I felt Silva was shown more as a tragic villain than anything – certainly, I felt far more sympathy in principle for him than I did for M. Actually, imagine if she hadn’t been killed off (making him, by the way, the first Bond villain whose plan succeeds): would we have been able to view her as one of the goodies in future films? Probably viewers could forget, of course, but I’m not sure how much we’re actually supposed to sympathise ethically with her actions or MI6’s.

  5. says

    Have you ever seen the 1960s comedy send-up of Casino Royale? Frankly, it’s a hot mess of a movie, and the comedy doesn’t hold up well at all (not even Woody Allen as Little Jimmy Bond can save it). The premise is that MI6 has created a veritable army of James Bonds, 007, as a smokescreen for their “real” activities. Anyway, the big reveal [spoiler alert for a 45 year old movie] is that the real James Bond is played by David Niven (Fleming’s original choice for the films), who is every bit the unreconstructed imperialist bigot that Fleming created. It’s probably the only joke in the film that remains funny.

    You might also enjoy this 1954 live-TV kinescope of Casino Royale from the American show Climax!. Bond is made into an American CIA agent in this version, but apart from that (!), it’s a reasonably faithful adaptation. Also, Le Chiffre is played by Peter Lorre, who is as awesome as ever. Plus, it’s live, and it feels more like a stage play than a movie.

  6. says

    Yes! Seen both. One thing I will say about Casino Royale ’67 is its score – Burt Bacharach, Dusty Springfield, Herb Alpert – is pretty excellent. The theme, I think, was used in Mad Men at one point.

  7. says

    The deformity was part of it, particularly with the reveal, as you mention. More of my feeling that this was supposed to be one of those villains, however, came from his clinging, pawing adoration of the people he was trying to destroy. Both that and the reveal could have been played much more subtly if they’d wanted to go for tragedy. I don’t think it would have interfered with what they did with M either. It probably would have heightened that sense, as the villainy would have looked more directly attributable to her actions instead of a weakness in his character. As it was, particularly with the Bond franchise history, I read it as “Look at the freak!”

  8. says

    I see that, yes. This is one point where I feel the film’s reliance on iconography and intertextuality doesn’t help – it’s difficult to come to any self-contained reading of Silva’s character, so as to evaluate the writing behind it, because it doesn’t feel like there’s much beyond his being a Bond Villain™ (i.e. a set of received tropes, if very well executed) which we can go on to construct that kind of reading.

  9. left0ver1under says

    GoldenEye and Skyfall side by side, it’s clear her two Ms are very different characters. […] By Skyfall M has come full circle from dogged forward progress to nostalgia, and so has the franchise.

    Along with the franchise, so has the tone and storytelling. With “Casino”, the telling returned to Deighton and Le Carre-style of espionage, more realistic and dark, not the cartoonish aping of Tom Clancy crapfests that Brosnan appeared in.

    Most Hollweird “action movies” suck because their “heroes” are indestructable, you know they’ll win. What made “Die Hard” a classic was the main character’s vulnerability, you were never sure he was going to survive. In Bond movies, Connery’s Bond of “Dr. No” was vulnerable, and so is Craig’s Bond in all three movies. We know it’s “Bond” and that he’s going to win, but there’s still the sense that the bad guys can get to him, can threaten him, that makes us care. Who wants to watch a film with a boring, inevitable conclusion?

  10. left0ver1under says

    Addendum: Richard Burton’s “Little men” speech from “The Spy Who Came In From The Cold” would have been over the top in “Skyfall”, but not by much.


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