It’s March 2 today. He has turned 49. He stares with a cold, hellish glare. He can handle the gun-load pretty well, scram away from a hellish spot where a despot’s just been assassinated in no time at all. There’s no trace of a bullet. Just splattered blood everywhere and the sleuth’s vanished. A tension ensues. Panic builds up. You realise these are hallmark build ups of a classic James Bond action.
And what’s more?
And boom! The legendary spy appears. The word’s out there that the man can screw a woman quite well. Part-lethal, part-suave but, pure dynamite, Daniel Craig’s been James Bond’s most hellish avatar yet. And also the sassiest, meanest seducer of women; babes he simply lays down with for a time space that’s called a fling.
But, sadly speaking, he’s run out of turns to spray that charismatic whiff of a fragrance called style that only he brought out in James Bond
In the movie kingdom, James Bond is a franchise that’s known to exult some style and dare one say, some ruthless, cold-blooded extravagance. Bond movies are a hedonist, expensive liquor that subtly turn tables over murky, run-of-the-mill action movie franchises. Bond is not just a name, it is an empire today. Standing amidst the hubris of mercenaries who would only kill and dare, ruin and slain. Standing in front of the ills of a world flustered by global terrorism and frenzied by geopolitical unraveling, James Bond is the hercules meets technological warfare. In an age of digital disruption!
And giving the new age James Bond a behemoth of volcanic energy was the irrepressible Daniel Craig, not just a sleuth but a vulpine looking killer. Not just a trained assassin but a clinical removal of mightiest of thorns in ‘Her Majesty’s’ way.
Perhaps mighty as Her Majesty’s kingdom; the indomitable and honourable British Empire; Bond’s exultations on big screen are a sugary rush of enticing action for espionage movie buffs.
So it was only sensible that a new 007 emerged on the horizon. Daniel Craig was the answer
Through Daniel, movie buffs rammed into a savage, new-age Bond; a tidal wave of electric energy underlining all high class virtues you’d expect from a bloke who drinks, , sleeps around, drives, kills and implodes intrinsically- at all this time with a class and reticence emanating from a wandering monk who becomes a savage killer. When needed. When it comes to spreading legs on the bed, wide and across, soaking up heavy panting of diminutive, swelteringly hot beauties- Daniel made it seem an art form. Doing it with class and substance. In none of his movies, physicality has been depicted as raw machismo. It’s part of aesthetics that make James Bond more than just a convoluted and often, cocked up killing machine. Rather, a bloke who can tight-walk terse emotional territory between falling for a femme fatale and fatally injuring his nemesis. It was as if Daniel Craig’s Bond was an expensive, rich screwer! Not some cheap . Remember! It’s shaken, not stirred!
If the 70s and 80s were about gentle, languidly-walking killers- Sir Sean Connery and Roger Moore, who at best grunted post administering a kill, then Daniel Craig’s bond only ruthlessly smiles.
And, in here lies the enigma and layered glories that Daniel Craig’s fetched the changing fortunes of James Bond
He has done it all the time. From the expensive settings of Casino Royale to the murky undercurrents signifying a gothic horror of SkyFall. From the arid charms of Quantum of Solace to the deft, horrors of a shadowy world that Spectre unveiled. Implicit in the conduct of arguably the most lethal James Bond ever is a gait, a very nuanced style of approaching targets, judging a situation going out of hand and, then his own endless run-ins with damage control.
Daniel Craig’s 007 is more than just a secret agent. Not since Craig or before him have we seen another sleuth hunting so much in the shadows, hiding in the darkness that this very grim shadow becomes his lair, his habitat and, philosophically-speaking- an orbit of blackness where invisible boundaries contain human interaction, preventing one to get overwhelmingly closer to speak with a soul who knows he is but a mortal sans his Walther PPK, his weapon of choice.
To top it up, there are the unafraid eyes, an unflappable nature, the untroubled gait as if no bomb around him ever exploded, as if no one fell from the top floor of a looming skyscraper meeting fatality. Bullets flying like popcorn in adrenaline spiking adventures from Casino Royale to what was earlier said to be Bond 24 have unfurled a troubled killer, an unruffled assassin who drops down on his knees for women as frequently as he rises to settle scores with England’s enemies. It only adds to Craig’s spy being as much an explosive cannon as he’s an tireless foot soldier about to splinter down some firing aces at anyone who plans to thwart his plan or botch his move.
All that said, Craig’s Bond traversed across a thorny, testing journey, enduring everything in the wake of Bonds’ successes- emotional upheavals of losing out on his love, the only he ever had, bearing even the insurmountable loss of M, accommodating some fight in a badly splattered body- until his final destination reached a marvel called Spectre.
And finally, as Bond met his ultimate match, Spectre’s Oberhauser, a haunting, intimidating, an almost senile top cat of doom- sparks flew threatening to wreck 007’s alley. His might questioned, his honour probed and, his class nearly outclassed, for fans and critics alike- Spectre was an insatiable, almost occultist thrill-ride with manic anger and ostentatious flair. It is both utterly painful that Craig’s hanging of his tuxedo as MI6’s best is both an end to a sensational run at the box office and a spiral downfall from adrenaline-inspiring moments, that were both hauntingly captivating and breathtakingly beautiful. Hail, the mighty Daniel Craig.