Double-Oh Yeah.

Non-spoiler alert: Skyfall is just damn near perfect. 91% positive Rotten Tomatoes reviews don’t lie. Roger Ebert calls it “a full-blooded, joyous, intelligent celebration of a beloved cultural icon” for the 50th film-iversary of James Bond. Skyfall has dark moments, to be sure, but I have to agree with the Ebes: it’s joyous.

Pretty much everything you’d want in a Bond movie: international intrigue, stylized fight scenes that let Bond kick ass in ways we haven’t quite seen before, an absolutely delicious villain, plus gadgets! girls! cocktails! cars! tuxedos! twists! Just the right amount of action, with no look-away gory-ness or video game campy-ness. Flashy and spectacular, but also subtle and smart. If you can overlook the glaring misogyny (ha. there’s a statement), it’s kind of the perfect entertainment package.

Let’s do the math: James Bond = Don Draper + guns & gadgets.

Right?! James Bond in general just drips with 60s cool, and Skyfall seems to have a particular affection for the past. We get glimpses of Bond’s backstory — childhood and early agent-hood. We ponder the tensions between access & anonymity in modern life, technology & human intelligence in modern warfare. We go on a throwback ride in Bond’s old-school Aston Martin. Even the score has a few moments of surf-rock guitar so classic, we almost think Sean Connery must be lurking just out of frame.

So basically I’m developing a healthy-sized James Bond obsession. I ordered my first Ian Fleming novel today. Things are getting pretty serious. I’m shaken AND stirred…

On that note, let’s talk about Q. After all, no review of Skyfall would be complete without a little gushing about Ben Whishaw

I only have eyes for Q…

For your consideration: Tall. Skinny. Glasses. British. Hair. Style. Wit.
And I am now human pudding. Dictionary reference for “SJ’s Perfect Man,” to the point of absurdity. Seriously, though. I’d let him hack my firewall and decode my encryptions…if you catch my drift…(perhaps the nerdiest innuendo ever)…which is how Q would want it, obviously.

(Q image found here. Homegirl loves her some geeks.)
(holy shit. Human Pudding = accidental Full House reference.)

only yesterday was the time of our lives

Adele, you guys.

Adele. Oh, girl. Listening to “Someone Like You” is like picking a hangnail. It hurts, but I just can’t help myself. When the opening piano notes come on the radio, I have to make the conscious choice: yup, I’m going to cry in my car right now. Do this to me, Power 96.5. I’m a writer. Depression keeps me interesting.

Sad songs should get endorsement contracts with wine companies—like country songs and beer. Isn’t catharsis an under-explored marketable emotion?
Sex sells. As do sports. But so, I argue, might sadness.

Or not quite sadness…
Those oddly spelled emotional states I dabble in from time to time…

Products, we’re told, will fill our needs. But what if I want products to just be with me in my moment of emptiness; not filling, not solving, just being there? (And yes, I get it. I like my marketing like I like my men…) But could that be more powerful?

If, say, Maybelline were to pitch Adele’s message, “sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead…” I might say, DAMN RIGHT, IT DOES! Pass the lip gloss!

I have to wonder, what would Don Draper say…
“You think young women want to feel sad, Peggy? You think they want their lip gloss to remind them they’re alone? You can feel that way in some coffee shop in the Village, if you want, but when you’re here, you sell the happy ending.”

He might say that (I kind of love writing with Don Draper’s voice in my head, ps), but I know he doesn’t believe it. Don more than anyone needs for Adele to sing him a song about how sometimes life isn’t okay (but it’s okay).