Adele’s theme for new Bond film Skyfall released

Track revealed on the 50th anniversary of James Bond’s debut on the big screen, but does it match up to the glories of the past?

The theme for the new Bond film, Skyfall, was revealed in full just after midnight – have a listen.

It’s performed by Adele, and co-written by the singer and Paul Epworth.

Initially, I found, the instinct is to react with excitement. A new Adele song! And with the added majesty and grandeur of the Bond franchise! Why on earth wouldn’t you be delighted about that?

But on the third or fourth listen, you can’t help feeling that it’s all a bit two-dimensional to get really worked up about. Not a bad ballad, but where's the magic? Sure, Adele can pull off an awkward rising interval (the jump in pitch between the syllables of “Sky-FALL” isn’t a particularly friendly one for a singer) with a panache that even Shirley Bassey might have envied (she had a similar challenge on the “fing” of “Goldfinger”). With the swooping strings and the low buzz of brass in the background as the song builds you can’t help but be aware that you’re in filmic territory, but I do miss the raw crunchiness that I associate with a good Adele song.

Perhaps I’m being over-analytical. Bond films and their themes of the last decade or so have all been a bit flat – enjoyable blockbusters, of course, but the iconic status the franchise enjoys is almost entirely based in a nostalgic harking-back to the Sean Connery days, rather than any modern glories. Casino Royale is the notable exception, being a genuinely good film (and as was pointed out to me on Twitter, a decent theme effort by Chris Cornell). Coincidentally – or perhaps not - it was also the least traditionally Bond-esque film for ages.

By keeping it quite simple Adele’s found a decent solution to a tricky problem, then. And as @EosChater points out, her estuary pronunciation of the film’s title is brilliant:

For good measure, here’s three other excellent Bond themes to get your Friday off to a good start.

Shirley Bassey: "Goldfinger" for Goldfinger:

Duran Duran: "A View To A Kill" for A View To A Kill:

 

Carly Simon: "Nobody Does It Better" for The Spy Who Loved Me:

Bonus track - Radiohead covering Carly Simon:

Adele. Photograph: Getty Images

Caroline Crampton is assistant editor of the New Statesman. She writes a weekly podcast column.

Marvel Studios
Show Hide image

In Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2, every other line reeks of a self-help manual

This lame sequel suggests the makers have largely forgotten why the original was so refreshing.

The 2014 romp Guardians of the Galaxy boasted the budget of a blockbuster and the soul of a B-movie. What that meant in practice was that audiences had to endure the same biff-pow battle scenes and retina-blistering effects as any space adventure, but they were rewarded with eccentric characters and tomfoolery for its own sake.

Despite the Marvel Studios imprimatur, the film showed the forces of intergalactic evil being fought not by superheroes, but by a ragtag band of bickering goofballs: Peter Quill (Chris Pratt), aka Star-Lord, a self-regarding rogue in the Han Solo mould; the green-faced alien Gamora (Zoe Saldana); Drax (Dave Bautista), a literal-minded hulk; Rocket, a racoon-like warrior (voiced by Bradley Cooper); and Groot, a piece of bark that says “I am Groot” over and over in the dulcet tones of Vin Diesel. Movies this odd don’t usually become $770m smash hits but this one did – deservedly.

Those characters return in Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 (the “Vol 2” reflects Peter’s love of mix-tapes) but the new film suggests the makers have largely forgotten why the original was so refreshing. Gags are rehashed; several sequences (including an interminable slow-motion section involving a laser-powered arrow) are dragged way beyond their desirable lifespan. Late in the day, Rocket tells his shipmates that they have too many issues, which rather pinpoints the problem with the screenplay by the director, James Gunn. Gunn has saddled his characters with unreasonable baggage, all of it relating to family and belonging. No matter how far into space they travel, all roads lead back to the therapist’s couch.

Peter, raised by his late mother, is delighted when Ego (Kurt Russell) materialises claiming to be the father he never knew. The old man makes grand pronouncements, only to undercut them within seconds (“’Scuse me, gotta take a whizz”) but, on the plus side, he has his own planet and pulls the whole “One day, son, all this will be yours” shtick. Gamora also has family business to contend with. Her blue-skinned sister, Nebula (Karen Gillan), wants to kill her: Nebula has never quite got over Gamora being Daddy’s favourite. To be fair, though, he did force them to fight one another, replacing parts of Nebula’s body with metal whenever she lost, so it’s not like we’re talking about only one sister being allowed to watch Top of the Pops.

The more Peter gets to know Ego, the less admirable he seems as a father, and soon we are in the familiar territory of having parenting lessons administered by a Hollywood blockbuster. The reason for this became obvious decades ago: the film industry is populated by overworked executives who never get to see their children, or don’t want to, and so compensate by greenlighting movies about what it means to be a good parent. Every other line here reeks of the self-help manual. “Please give me the chance to be the father your mother wanted me to be,” Ego pleads. Even a minor character gets to pause the action to say: “I ain’t done nothing right my whole life.” It’s dispiriting to settle down for a Guardians of the Galaxy picture only to find you’re watching Field of Dreams with added asteroids.

Vol 2 gets by for an hour or so on some batty gags (Gamora misremembering the plot and star of Knight Rider is an especially juicy one) and on the energising power of Scott Chambliss’s glorious production design. The combination of the hi-tech and the trashy gives the film the appearance of a multimillion-dollar carnival taking place in a junkyard. Spectacular battles are shot through scuffed and scratched windscreens, and there are spacesuits cobbled together from tin pots and bubble-wrap. This is consistent with the kitschfests that inspired the Guardians aesthetic: 1980s science-fiction delights such as Flash Gordon, Spacehunter: Adventures in the Forbidden Zone and The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension.

If only Vol 2 had mimicked their levity and brevity. Gunn ends his overlong movie with a bomb being attached to a giant brain, but this is wishful thinking on his part. He hasn’t blown our minds at all. It’s just a mild case of concussion. 

Ryan Gilbey is the New Statesman's film critic. He is also the author of It Don't Worry Me (Faber), about 1970s US cinema, and a study of Groundhog Day in the "Modern Classics" series (BFI Publishing). He was named reviewer of the year in the 2007 Press Gazette awards.

This article first appeared in the 27 April 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Cool Britannia 20 Years On

0800 7318496