Spectre stands as the exhausted entry in the James Bond franchise, certainly the most exhausted of the Daniel Craig era. The premise is tired, borrowing the same Big Brother theme from so many other, better spy movies of recent years. The director, Sam Mendes, after bringing an invigorating elegance to Skyfall, puts the movie on autopilot once he’s pulled off a showy opening single take during a Day of the Dead parade in Mexico City. And Craig himself, more gray than blond now, often has the look of high school football coach toward the end of a losing season. If you’re hoping Christoph Waltz might inject some life into the proceedings as the villain, you’re out of luck. He has a delectably shadowy entrance at an otherwise laughable global criminal investor’s meeting, but then spends the rest of the movie getting wounded and thwarted. The lone bright spot is Léa Seydoux (Blue is the Warmest Color) as the rare Bond woman who could also actually pass for a real person. She promises to be back for the next installment, but I’m not sure anyone else involved will be able to muster the energy.
