FRIDAY, december 1, 2006
arts
Shaken or stirred; I really don’t care
19
Armed with a new body and personality, James bond comes to the 21st century in Casino Royale. Casino Royale Martin Campbell EON Productions
Ah, if it isn’t Mr. Bond — the super-suave secret agent who sucks up vodka martinis like a well-dressed shop vac, nails every woman within a five-mile radius, causes explosions that give penguins nosebleeds and uses his licence to kill as if it were a play-all-day pass. This, of course, qualifies him to be the best agent at MI6, a covert British intelligence agency that makes the CIA look like the Make-A-Wish Foundation. No other series prompts one to suspend disbelief so completely, and for whatever reason, I’ve always enjoyed watching this arrogant lunatic outrun vehicles, make nigh-onto-impossible shots while flying through the air, and keep his impeccable hair neat and shiny the entire time. Has Bond ever hawked hairstyling products? Casino Royale is the 21st James Bond film, in which our hero (played by Daniel Craig) is remodelled for the 21st century. Nobody appreciates impossible stunts these days, so the filmmakers are sure to keep 007’s antics counterbalanced with plenty of ho-hum nonsense like playing poker against some guy who must be evil, as he bleeds from his eyeballs. Seriously, there’s a list — I think bleeding eyes is #79, scarred face is #34, and do yourself a favour: watch out for women in hooker boots. “Actually, you know what? People appreciate heaps of grit, too.” “Let’s have Bond drown someone in a sink!” “Hmm … not enough.” “Well, we could (courteous refrain from movie spoilage) as well.” “I knew there was a reason I kept you around. Now go get me some Skittles.” Daniel Craig is an interesting Bond for a number of reasons, although I’m woefully unqualified
Courtesy IMDB
Actor Daniel Craig as the new British super spy, James Bond, wet, shirtless and ready for action...again to compare him to previous actors. My conception of 007 is Pierce Brosnan; Sean Connery is Indy’s dad to me. Anyway, Craig’s Bond is a hardboiled jerk whose face, when lovingly smashed with an iron shovel, would leave the same impression every time. If you flicked his ear, he would turn and snap your neck. Pet his dog, and he’d blow your head off. He’s such a killjoy, in fact, that the opening credits are silhouettes of men fighting in a netherworld infused with card symbols — where in God’s name are the women? Granted, there are a few fantastic action se-
Finding happiness in the holiday cold
For the typical UW arts snob, the month of December is always a time of heartache. An intense, passionate relationship with Dana Porter fostered during the exam period will end abruptly, and the pining arts snob will be torn violently away from his mistress as the holiday break begins. He will retreat from the campus, a broken man. At night, he will dream of study carrels and weathered book spines, often waking in a sweat and struggling to fall back to sleep through the tears. His agony will only intensify as December 25 approaches. On that infamous day, he will be forced to remember, as all arts snobs must, the tragic passing of Romanian artist and poet Tristan Tzara. This year marks the 43rd anniversary of the founder of the ‘Dada’ movement’s death; he remains one of the most revered figures in art, in spite of the anti-art philosophy that made him famous. Plus, Tzara was totally doing the emo cut before it became fashionable (honestly, search for him on Wikipedia). On December 31, the arts snob will sigh as he realizes another year has ended, with his intellectual soul drifting further away from the past he reveres so. Deeper and deeper he falls into a future of short attention spans and Paris Hilton demigods, losing sight of a time when universities were filled with elitists and the streets were paved in cobblestone. Every holiday season, the arts snob must fight to fill a massive void in his heart. The good news is that this year might not be so bad. For one, Montreal band The Dears are scheduled to play at the Starlight Lounge on December 9. Perhaps Murray Lightburn,
with his Morrissey-like voice, will help the arts snob by administering the healing power of Canadian indie rock. On another front, Sufjan Stevens has released a compilation of holiday music in a five-disc set entitled Songs for Christmas. In his fantastic brand of pop folk music, Stevens draws from a multitude of influences, ranging from jazz pianist Vince Guaraldi to academic minimalist Steve Reich. His interpretations of “Silent Night” and “Little Drummer Boy” are a godsend for those tasteful few terrified by the prospect of Il Divo and Mariah Carey monopolizing Christmas music. On December 15, McSweeney’s will publish The Berlin Years, a collection of prints by Winnipeg artist Marcel Dzama. This book is a must for the weakened, desperate arts snob, with Dzama’s delightful ink portraits of lions engaging in knife fights capable to combating the ghosts of a tortured mind. The arts snob will also be able to keep himself occupied by attending a series of gallery exhibits throughout the holiday season, reaffirming the fact that — despite the emotional weight that accompanies Tzara’s death-day anniversary, — artists around the world continue to create. Of particular interest to UW students, the Society of Fine Arts continues its exhibition of student ceramic works at the Artery Gallery in Kitchener until December 14. On December 5, East Campus Hall will host The Light at the End of the Tunnel, an evening event featuring film screenings and DJ performances. For the hungry arts snob, it is important to notice that the latter event offers “free treats.” This year it seems, December may actually be a time of joy and happiness, as opposed to the usual tragedy and heartache. Dear readers, do not despair over Dana Porter…You can return to her in January. In the meantime, keep busy! But never forget Tzara. Never. Godspeed this holiday season. cmoffat@imprint.uwaterloo.ca
quences, the best one involving Bond chasing a man all over a gigantic construction site, like Mario chasing Donkey Kong. Credit should also be given to the actors, who are permitted to exercise their dramatic muscles when the madness subsides. Should you see the new James Bond movie? Well, that may depend on whether or not you’ve seen Stranger Than Fiction, which could steal Bond’s girlfriend and teach her the Charleston atop a piece
of dental floss — in heels. Or, perhaps you would prefer to see dancing penguins? ’Cause that is an option, you know. Either way, you won’t see an Aston Martin screaming away from a solar-powered laser beam this time around. This 007 prefers gambling — and the sauce! Expect him to attend AA meetings in Bond 22. — Andrew Abela