Bond. Nice, but no superlatives.

I saw Skyfall today. It was diverting, occasionally exciting, had some rather lovely scenic shots and was worth the £4.90 cinema ticket.

And that’s about it.

Other bleaches are available.

No superlatives. No hyperbole. It was just quite good. I enjoyed it. But I’ve forgotten much of it already. Well, I shan’t forget Bardem’s badly bleached hair and eyebrows. Neither shall I forget his character’s dubious motivation.  And his intelligence and logic so easily floored by actions that even I could’ve anticipated. Oh, perhaps the excessive bleaching had affected his cognitive abilities? Is that possible? And why hadn’t he bleached his facial growth and hand hair to match? Were we to suspend our belief and think this man naturally blonde? Or assume he had plenty of time to bleach his roots in between learning everything about computers (though only ever demonstrating he knew where the Enter key is located), and planning dastardly deeds? And, if so, wouldn’t you think a man who’d had a brush with hydrogen cyanide would want to stay away from the nasty chemicals? Hm?

You see where I am with this film? It was fun. But flawed. The film was ok. Not brilliant. Not awesome. Not the best Bond ever. Fun. It was fun.

This isn’t the best sunset I’ve ever seen. (Photo by me.)

Yes, I wrote ‘fun’ thrice in that last paragraph. Intentionally. It was in an effort to convince you I’m not curmudgeonly, though that I went out of my way to attend a cinema screening costing a bargain £4.90 may suggest otherwise. I’m just tired of superlatives. Or, more precisely, I’m tired of people not preserving superlatives for when they are truly warranted. I’m tired of superlative abuse. I’m not exhausted, you understand, I’m tired. Well, not even that, truth be told. I’m a tad weary.

Tell me a cake you’ve just eaten was the best thing ever and notice how my pursed lips smile weakly, because it’s too much effort to pull apart your evident exaggeration and explain that it’ll now be difficult to convince me of something you’ve done that truly warrants awe. And notice how I reciprocate by waxing poetic about potatoes. Instead of sharing with you something that has truly touched me.

Bond? It was ok, yes? But do me a favour and cease wantonly bandying your hyperbole about this film. If you could, that would be fabulous.

Oh. Did I say fabulous? I meant quite nice.