SPOILERS: Reboot, Soft Reboot: How Skyfall and James Bond do reboots right

"Ah, Britannia, never change...or should you?"

This shouldn't be news, but the Bond franchise has been doing reboots right for 50 years. The travesty is that most movie studios don't adhere to their basic "monkey see, monkey-do" nature and follow the lead of one of the most successful film franchises in history. With billions in box office receipts, the Bond franchise is clearly doing something right in maintaining its franchise. Meanwhile, the studios, particularly those in charge of comic properties like Spider-Man and Superman, are rebooting franchises to diminishing returns (adjusted for inflation, yes, but still diminishing).

With Skyfall, the Bond franchise nearly perfects the soft reboot. Rather than reinventing the wheel from scratch and tossing it at audiences, Skyfall organically, thoughtfully introduces a new era to the Bond franchise while honoring the staid legacy of the series. Without revealing too much, the denouement of Skyfall reinvigorates Bond's supporting cast and gives the Crown's top agent renewed focus as he darts forth into an age of espionage that is far muddier than it has ever been. Skyfall effectively and ably does for the Bond franchise what Amazing Spider-Man and Superman Returns should have done for their respective franchises. It makes the old new again without sacrificing the craft in its storytelling, much of which is due to Sam Mendes' able direction and a plot that is, thankfully, less byzantine than Quantum of Solace.

Interestingly, Skyfall apes the structure of the sequel to one of the most successful reboots in years, Nolan's The Dark Knight--confirmed explicitly by director Sam Mendes--to create an entry that is  highly effective as a point of entry for new and old audiences alike. Skyfall succeeds as much because of its easy-to-follow plot as the amazing villian at its core. Bond 23 is built around Javier Bardem's Silva, who is every inch the anti-Bond, and his vendetta against M, a point that was broached with 006 in Goldeneye. Silva is effete and desperately opposed to physical activity, yet he is cunning and seemingly ten steps ahead of Bond, M (the ever reliable Judi Dench), the audience, and much like Heath Ledger's Joker, the plot. Just as the Joker was a walking plot monkey wrench that sent the franchise into the stratosphere, Silva is one of the key draws in an entry that has already broke box office records around the world by sticking to the basics, both in terms of story and mythos, and easing the audience into transition rather than foisting it upon them.

Transition is a cornerstone of the Bond franchise, and it is one that has been ably managed by the Broccoli family to mostly positive effect. To date there have been six actors to play the role, and rarely, if ever, has the revolving casting door ever prevented the audience from connecting with the character. Sure, there's some occasional grumbling from the outliers when anybody who isn't Sean Connery takes the role--especially poor Daniel Craig, who was apparently too thuggish and blond to receive 00 status--but generally most of the audience rolls with the punch and accepts the Bond of the moment. Contrast the generally positive public response to the changing face of Bond with the outcry from critics and fans about the new Spider-Man/Peter Parker, Andrew Garfield. Many critics felt he was too smarky and harsh to embody Peter Parker's earnest everyman qualities, while others were convinced his aggressive geekiness would sink the franchise. It didn't, but the fact that Sony made kind of a big deal about a new Spider-Man may have had a lot to do with those responses. Conversely, nobody is complaining about the Bond franchise being derailed after Daniel Craig took the mantle. In fact, most have applauded the change in direction.  It is a testament to the Bond series, and its producers, willingness to move forward without making a ridiculous amount of hubub.  Instead, the Broccolis keep calm and carry on, as does the series. As a result, the James Bond of Casino Royale, Quantum of Solace, and Skyfall is your father's Bond, yet he is not, and few moviegoers have a problem with it.

SPOILER ALERT

Skyfall capitalizes on this ever-forward movement by installing new faces in old roles with amazing finese. Most folks know that there is a new Q this time around, but Mendes manages to introduce a new M and Moneypenny, not to mention an arch-villian, in a way that personally and profoundly connects them to Bond and the mythology of the series. Essentially, Skyfall becomes an origin story, albeit the origin of an era rather than a character, plopped right into the middle of a franchise. What's inherently brilliant about this new origin story is that it was unadvertised. There are faint clues that most smart viewers will pick up on early, but truthfully, there is very little made of the transition. It happens, and we are invested because we experience the transition rather than being told to simply accept the new status quo. There's also a reverence in Skyfall that acknowledges the past as it transitions to the future, complete with pretty on-the-nose nods like the return of the DB5 Aston Martin and a pit of komodo dragons. Yet, Mendes does not harp on this reverence the way Bryan Singer did in the undeservedly assailed Superman Returns. By nodding to continuity but not making it critical to the storytelling, Mendes embraces the loose approach to continuity that has defined the series but without making the narrative a slave to continuity.

This is a lesson that movie studios that deal with comic properties and long-running franchises are learning the hard way: respect history, but don't be enslaved by it. The other half of the lesson--the part the studios aren't quite grasping--is that reboots, or transitional entries, needn't exist outside of narrative. In fact, organically integrating soft reboots, as opposed to hard reboots that radically reorient a series, into a strong narrative, which it goes without saying should be paramount, can help ease audiences into a transition and garner a greater appreciation for the changes. With franchise filmmaking becoming Hollywood's primary focus these days, it is imperative that they become as good at executing reboots as possible, and the best way to do that is to incorporate reboots into transitional narratives that can stand independently as solid works of art while moving the mythology of a franchise forward.

Ideally, Hollywood would abandon franchise moviemaking and focus on creating original stories that move us. However, with the landscape resting under a cloud of rationalized fear, there is little chance Hollywood will wholeheartedly embrace a return to making tentpoles and potential blockbusters based on wholly original ideas anytime in the very near future. That said, it may be best to brace for the continued onslaught of reboots and franchise watering that is bound to greet us at our local cinemas by encouraging the studios to be a bit more thoughtful and artful when introducing these glorified cash grabs. Hopefully, the assured success of Skyfall will show Hollywood that it is possible to reboot without rehashing and alienating audiences, all while crafting a solid, engaging narrative that spins a good yarn while pushing a mythology ever towards the breach.

Review - Wrath of the Titans

Grade: D

Not long after the 2010 remake of Clash of the Titans was released star Sam Worthington apologized for “let[ting] down some people” and promised to act “f**king better”.

After seeing the sequel to Clash, the more appropriately named Wrath of the Titans, one thing is clear about Sam Worthington: he has shown tremendous improvement in his acting abilities because that was one heck of an empty apology.

Jonathan Liebesman’s, the poor soul in the middle of Michael Bay’s efforts to destroy the legacy of the Teenage MUTANT Ninja Turtles, Wrath is as turgid and uninspired as the first remake, minus the kernel of trite fun that tempered the overwhelming last’s overall crappiness. This time Worthington’s dour Perseus is called into battle by his absentee father, Zeus (Liam Neeson), in an attempt to stop Zeus’ father, the child gobbling embodiment of time and lord of the pre-Olympian Titans, Cronos. Content to live out the rest of his life as a better father than his ever was, Perseus refuses until the sickest--and not in the hip way--looking manticore committed to celluloid threatens his son, Helius (John Bell). Spurned by the near loss of his only family, Perseus leaves his son behind to join warrior princess Andromeda (Rosamund Pike) and his half-cousin Agenor (Toby Kebbell), the cowardly son of Poseidon. Together the three must brave cyclopes, four-armed whirling dervishes, labyrinths, and minotaurs in before they can stop Hades (a disenchanted Ralph Fiennes) and the rebellious Aries (Edgar Ramirez) from unleashing the Titans and eradicating the Greco-Roman Pantheon. Very little wrath is executed.

Liebesman does nothing to enliven the Titans franchise or bring anything remotely unique to the table. The flick still tracks more as big-screen video game with a progression marked more by achieving objectives and reaching checkpoints than any kind of meaningful narrative or emotional thrust. Sure, the characters all have some semblance of motivation, but those motivations are so thinly sketched that it’s hard to develop any level of investment in any character. Even without some degree of investment in the characters, the audience never has to worry about any danger befalling the character because Liebesman never establishes any stakes or tension. Rarely are Perseus and his crew ever in true danger because there’s sure to be some random god or weapon around to help them out of any remotely challenging predicament. The absolute lack of tension or character investment not only reflects poorly on the film but on Liebesman as a director who appears to have no fundamental understanding of how craft a compelling story.

Despite a promise of improved acting, the performances do little to elevate the flick above its D-level quality. Worthington fails to act “f**king better” and opts for his trademark glower instead of anything resembling human emotion. Neeson and Fiennes show up; dote and sneer, respectively; and collect a paycheck. Pike looks positively lost, and seems only slightly less engaged than Gemma Atkinson did in Clash. Toby Kebbell tries his best to be entertaining as a scheming ne’er do well, but a stream of bad jokes and radical eleventh hour change in his character, which comes out of nowhere and makes Kebbell seem either like a victim of script machinations or a man possessed with multiple personalities, easily undo his noble effort. Bill Nighy is also on hand in an extended cameo as Davy Jones mad ancestor, who actually seems scripted to be possessed by multiple personalities.

Between the performances and the uninspired direction, it’s surprising that Wrath even made it out of production and beyond the editing bay and Netflix instant streaming to the silver screen, but, in truth, it’s not that surprising. Warner Brothers knows they have an ace in the hole this summer with the Dark Knight Rises (DKR). Since DKR will likely put Warner deep into the black for 2012, they probably figure they can throw anything at the audience to keep them satiated until July 20. Sadly, they may be right, but throwing tripe like Wrath at audiences is just straight up disrespectful, and as an audience, the best thing to do is avoid Wrath like the plague and maybe prevent Warners, and the other studios, from pumping crap like Wrath into the multiplexes. Maybe.

The Yin and the Yang of it

Yin: Thin on plot, character, and any other essential element of a solid narrative. Derivative of almost any other historical/mythical action epic, right down to the amorphous glob of lava and rage that escaped from a longer, better video game like shadow of the colossus.

Yang: A few moments of quality 3D and decent creature effects.

In-Between: Wrath of the Titans is seven minutes shorter than Clash of the Titans.