Cine Beaverhausen: SPECTRE

No worries, this review contains no spoilers.

SPECTRE is that nasty international organization that James Bond has been battling, I believe, since You Only Live Twice (1965). It's directed by Sam Mendez, who directed the fabulous Skyfall, and brings back its rebooted characters (M, Miss Moneypenny, Q), the famed Aston Martin, sexy Bond girls, exotic locales and plenty of action and drama.  It may not quite be the gem that Skyfall was, but it's thoroughly entertaining and enthralling with Daniel Craig as superb a 007 as ever.

At 2-1/2 hours, it can get a little taxing on the derriere, but it nonetheless will hold your interest throughout and is well worth seeing on the big screen (it's in IMax) with a box of popcorn in hand. It's certainly on par with, say, Casino Royale ('05). (Can you believe Craig has been Bond for 10 years now? He looks none the worst for wear.)

Blofeld is back, now played by Chrisoph Waltz (last seen in Tim Burton's Big Eyes). Ralph Fiennes has his own battles to save Her Majesty's Secret Service. Even Miss Moneypenny (Naomi Harris) gets into the action.

Sam Smith sings SPECTRE's theme song, "Writing's on the Wall," which I found a bit lackluster. Cinematography and special f/x work are outstanding.

SPECTRE is like an ode to the entire Bond series: a big bouquet of excitement and perpetual motion for fans. Holding out for a hero? No problem -- Bond is here. James Bond. Now at theaters everywhere. Rated PG- 13 foes sex and violence. Released through Columbia Pictures.

The Five Most Fabulous Men Under My Christmas Tree

The Rockerfeller Center tree is up and New York City is aglow with more lights than usual because it's holiday season. Such a happy time of year but equally tragic when all the lights and decorations are taken down shortly after the new year.  I am currently reminded, however, that as tomorrow is December 1st, it's time to compose my Christmas list for that hunky Mr Santa Claus, envisioned by moi as seen above. Love the sparklers, and I hear he's got a big roman candle to boot!

As for presenting dear Santa with my Christmas list, I so so so want the Joan Crawford and Mommie Dearest wallets from Rainbows & Triangles in Chelsea (pictured amongst the collection at right). But, modestly priced, I could easily purchase them myself; no need to bother Mr Claus.

There's the pricey little leopard-skin print Christopher Radko-designed Cyndi Lauper Christmas ball at Bloomingdale's that would be perfect for my tree. And there's the sexy John Varvados scarf for $248 plus tax that I'm qvelling over. Of course, Santa, since you won't be staying after you've tasted my cookies and milk (busy guy that you are, going up and down my chimney), you could always leave me one of my five currently most fabulous men, tied up with a big bow on top.

Well, there's the tall, Irish-looking, redhead personal trainer (I imagine, since he's always wearing spiffy athletic gear to work with no apparent change of outfit) with the humungous sneakers. And there's the Slavic guy with chiseled features, stubble and sexy dark eyes who always wears fatigues and a trendy scarf this time of year. I usually see at least one of these hotties on my morning commute. Unfortunately, I can't Google their images for the prurient interest of my gentle readers. But, Santa, you know who I mean and should add them as Fabulous Men numbers 6 and 7, thank you.

But now, I turn to more well-known men to comprise the Top 5 on my Christmas List:

#1: Channing Tatum.

'Nuff said.

#2: Zeb Atlas. I may have spoken ill about his ability as a disco divo http://djbuddybeaverhausen.blogspot.com/2011/09/zeb-atlas-in-discoworld.html
but that doesn't mean I'd kick the big lug out of bed, Santa!

#3: Daniel Craig. 007? Yes. Stirred, not shaken. Is that a pistol in his pocket or is he just happy it's Christmas? He could make the earth move under my sheet... and the sky fall! Good to see him back in action (on the big screen, I mean) with buns as hard as steel. Surly, scruffy British guys are my weakness. Well, one of my weaknesses!

#4: Cheyenne Jackson.

I really don't have to explain him, do I?

#5: Ricky Martin. He looks better with age and even sexier since coming out.

Hot stuff for cold weather.

So, if anyone reading this wants to be my secret Santa and send me one (or more) of these five Fabulous Men, please feel free in the crazy spirit of the season. Any of the above would be the gift that keeps on giving. Hopefully! Please include a magnum of quality champagne and flutes (glass, not plastic). Otherwise, the John Varvados scarf and Radko Christmas ornament will do nicely.

Merry Christmas. I love you, Santa!

In conclusion, I'll turn things over to The Weather Girls in their 1983 video:

Cine Beaverhausen: Skyfall

More than a ladies' man

"So it looks like James Bond may be more than a ladies' man," says this week's National Enquirer, claiming Daniel Craig (married to Rachel Weisz) was caught kissing a "smoking-hot guy" in a parking lot outside Roosterfish, a Venice, California gay bar, in 2010.

As Bond, James Bond, Craig (my favorite star to assay the role since Sean Connery) winds up tied up, subjected to super-villain Javier Bardem's bisexual whims, taking what was previously homoerotic/sado-masochistic subtext, in all the Bond films, out of the celluloid closet and onto the screen. So his Roosterfish experience may have prepared him for this cinematic outing (in a manner of speaking).

Directed by Sam Mendes, this is Bond with brilliance, beginning with Daniel Craig's booty. Craggy Craig (no pretty boy, but with ruggedly masculine features that I certainly deem handsome) has an ass that won't give up as it shakes, rattles and rolls in tight trousers that -- despite all the intensive jumping and running -- never split at the seams. This bodacious butt goes from Turkey to Singapore to London, Macao and the Scottish Highlands; just follow the bouncing buns.

Skyfall is also one of the best scripted Bond films as well as one of the most sumptuously cinematic and beautifully filmed (by Roger Deakins). The typical 007 set pieces are delivered with aplomb from the start, even before Adele sings one of the all-time truly fabulous Bond theme songs over the opening credits. Believe me, this is one action flick that gives you more kiss-kiss bang-bang for your buck.

The question posited from the start of Skyfall is: When will James get his mojo back throughout all the Heineken product placements? (Heini helped finance the film.)

After a near-death experience, 007 is swingin' again with indiscriminate sex and liquor, just the way we like it. But he and M (Judi Dench) find themselves, and Her Majesty's Secret Service, to be social dinosaurs in light of a new age of cyber-terrorism.

Oscar-winner Bardem, as the sinister Silva, plays his part expertly with just the right twist of camp. Craig, Dench, Albert Finney and Ralph Fiennes all give sterling performances. Even CNN's Wolf Blitzer shows up in a cameo as himself!

The villain debuts mid-way through the movie. Blonde, bisexual, all touchy-feely with Bond's face and pawing the agent's hot thighs (in those aforementioned tightly tailored pants), Bardem dominates the flick from that point onward. He makes his entrance on a freight elevator (a'la Tim Curry in Rocky Horror Picture Show), touching ground with a grand soliloquy.  Has any previous Bond super-villain been this Oscar-worthy or made an entrance befitting a classic movie grande dame?

Bond ends up in Silva's frisky hands after the traditional cat-and-mouse game in the nefarious casino. The casino sequence climaxes in a thrilling fist fight in the komodo dragon pit. (Don't ask.) Bond girls are pleasantly represented by good girl Eve and bad girl Severine, in the genre's requisite madonna/whore roles.

Part of what's so great about Skyfall, though, is how it humanizes and deepens both James Bond and M's characters. Faced with computer-era terrors, ultimately all the classic 007 elements fall back in place by film's end.

And, then, there's Bardem's great line reading regarding M: "Mommy was very bad." Worth the price of admission alone.