While the James Bond film franchise remains one of the most acclaimed, successful, recognizable and marketable movie series in history, there was a time when the mighty Mister Bond had some stiff competition at the box office: himself.
Everyone bemoans the remake, the bastardization of their memories, of something they hold dear. But times are constantly shifting, and our heroes cannot exist in a static universe. Without proper reinterpretation, would our pop icons still be relevant?
Now that The Artist gave the Golden Globes a distinctly French flavor, and Meryl Streep fueled the controversy in the British camp, a simultaneous rapprochement and tension defines the relationship between the European and American film industry.
A lot of production, distribution, and marketing companies spent a lot of time and a lot of money to air ads for movies that are six months away. Which ones will make them a lot of money instead of costing exactly that?
Bond (Daniel Craig) seems done in by the notion that M is indeed his maternal superior, and so he must please her, or at least pretend that he's playing by rules that he and she and all the rest of us know he disrespects from jump.
In past years, Hollywood purposely counter programmed these renowned Cineplex dog days, trying to offset the perception that cinematic scraps were all the studios had to offer. From the look of this lame list, it's apparently back to the filmic fridge for some patently warmed over offerings.
When Truman quite gleefully describes his plan to use 'fictional techniques' to tell his nonfiction story, to shape the Clutter murders as an emblem of cultural malaise, Nelle insists on a knowable distinction between fact and fiction.