The spy who loved M

Skyfall is the latest James Bond film, as directed by Sam Mendes, which I felt I should make clear, as there is always so little pre-publicity around these releases. (You’d think the marketing people would splatter the poster on every bus and ensure every newspaper runs through every Bond Girl yet again, wouldn’t you? Pathetic.) But, now it has quietly sneaked up on us, is it any good? Yes, it is rather. It takes up the baton which Casino Royale proffered but Quantum of Solace dropped. By this, I mean although all the furniture is in place — the cars the gadgets the women the stunts the exotic locations — it further explores Bond as a fully-fledged character, and has emotional heft. Actually, something quite Freudian emerges. Bond, it seems, has mummy issues, with M emerging as a surrogate mother of sorts. Neat. Interesting. If I’d been asked to title this film, I’d have called it The Spy Who Loved M, but I wasn’t, and if you don’t ask you don’t get.