Friday, November 16, 2012

Details of my birth...

I was born in a crossfire hurricane.

Actually, that isn't true.  I'm the picture of an unreliable narrator.  I don't even know what a crossfire hurricane is.  Does it, for example, have to do with guns or weather?  And besides, the real objective here is to pay homage to the new Rolling Stones documentary on HBO titled "Crossfire Hurricane," not to actually give details of my birth.  To give it the cheese, if you will.

Just when you think you know just about everything about the Rolling Stones, along comes a film chock full of footage you've never seen and comments you've never heard.  It was lovely.  High recommendation.  Four and a half tongues.  Bravo.



And as good as Crossfire Hurricane is, it still isn't as good as Skyfall.  Which gets five stars.  Not just because it's an outstanding James Bond movie but because it's just an outstanding movie.  Period.  Good clean fun from start to finish.

Me?  I'm of the age where James Bond was someone I pretended to be while playing in the back yard.  And those early Bond movies were fabulous (to my mind at least).  And then they all turned to shit, basically, with the attention spent on (not so) amusing gizmos far outweighing things like plotting.  Or casting.  Or acting.  Invisible cars?  Please--what a load of crap.

This stopped, for the most part, when Daniel Craig took over.  Casino Royale was great.  A Quantum of Solace perhaps a bit less so.  But Skyfall, his third, is an absolute James Bond masterpiece.  Not to spoil things, but there comes a moment about half way through the movie (you can tell it's coming a mile away, so I'm not really giving out house secrets here) when he unveils his old Aston Martin DB-5.

And I swear, dear reader, I almost burst into tears it was such a lovely moment.

When was the last time you teared up in a James Bond movie?  Either I'm too sensitive or else I'm getting soft.

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