J/K: There's no way to spoil this dungball.
FIFYevan price wrote:They go through all this setup to introduce Ernst Stavro Bloefeld. Then he gets maybe 20 minutes of movie time, and we find out 007's entire re-booted career and the entirety of the last four movies has been about nothing more than a whiny little boy with daddy issues, and comes off with a letdown ending.
In this movie, Goofy Blofeld is the Diet Coke of evil. Mini-me was more menacing. And Syndrome did less monologuing in The Incredibles.
Bond blows him up with a farking wristwatch, and takes out his entire secret lair with a couple of well-placed shots from an AK-47, fer crying out loud.
That's not a Bond mission, it's a script for Melissa McCarthy. Or Pauly Shore.
Sam Mendes should have shown the door, and the reins for this one given to someone completely new.
If there's ever been a reason to establish a new blacklist, someone needs to put every writer on this craptastic hunk of excrement on the top of that list.
And Daniel Craig should have quit one movie earlier, and his Bond legacy would have been complete.
As it is, he's essentially shit on everything he did in all four movies, and short of the next director having him awaken from a nightmare with Judi Dench still there as "M", he may as well kill himself rather than try another one. Which he should do anyways, for cinematic crimes against humanity.
Bonus points if Sean Connery, George Lazenby, Roger Moore, Timothy Dalton, and Pierce Brosnan come over to his house to "help" him cut off his own head.
So essentially, this was just Craig and Sam Mendes insuring that he can never, ever ever be James Bond again.
And they've made further parodies of spy movies impossible, because the bar for same is now set at bathyspheric depths.
If Craig were to kill Sam Mendes instead, and then publicly grovel and beg forgiveness for this POS, I might be inclined towards clemency.
Otherwise, he did for Bond movies what Heath Ledger did for westerns.
And he was sober.
At least Charlie Sheen can blame his career self-immolation on coke and alcohol.
I would henceforth refer to this flick as Chitty Chitty Bond Bond, but even Ian Fleming and United Artists had the good sense to use Dick Van Dyke for that flick, and not Sean Connery.
Just when things were looking better this year, Hollywood finds a new way to totally expel its bowels on it's own cinematic legacy.