Oh, the gritty realism!
. . . So it’s a little late for a review of Quantum of Solace. (Short form: it’s good, not quite as good as Casino Royale, well worth seeing, and while I’m happy enough with the narrative direction of these two movies, I hope they move on to a less downer vision of Bond while maintaining the grittiness of the reboot.)
Of the reviews you might already have seen, I’m betting half of them have made the now-obligatory Bourne-joke. As in “You almost expect him to introduce himself as ‘Bourne. Jason Bourne.’”—which I must have read in five separate reviews. The Bourne influence is unmistakable. And welcome. Rock ‘em/sock ‘em style blockbusters basically follow one of two courses now: the Bourne style or Matrix-y motion-capture acrobatics. As for the Evil, call me Bourne-again.
Shit—no, never mind. Don’t. That’s awful.
But every time I see a jerky-camera, gritty chase and/or fight scene, I have to marvel: would anyone ever have imagined that The Bourne Identity would become the most important action movie of the last ten years? A spy thriller featuring Matt Damon, for God’s sake, whupping up on bad guys? Would you have put money on that?
The only parallel I can come up with is how Weezer of all bands became the most influential 90s-era rock group. The whole emo thing sprang from Rivers Cuomo’s loins, right? I like them well enough, but no one betting in, say, 1995, would have imagined you’d turn on the radio now and hear band after band knocking Weezer off.
Personally, I would have put my money on Fastball.