Making a Spectre of Ourselves

Craig's 17th selfie request

I've been to a few film premieres in my life, but nothing could compare with James Bond's Spectre here tonight. It was the Americas premiere and given the city's spectacular role in the opening sequence, no expense was spared: 7,000-seater Auditorio Nacional, massive red carpet, Day-Of-The-Dead dancers and giant skeletal puppets, searchlights, Aston Martins and pretty much the entire cast, plus director Sam Mendes, producers Wilson & Broccoli, even Sam Smith (who'd actually just performed in the same venue a few weeks ago).

A couple of chancers

Liz and I turned up in in Cesar's small Toyota, for some reason ignored by the paparazzi. Nevertheless, for the first and probably last time in our lives, we got to do the red carpet. There were screams as we negotiated the steps trying to look cool, but it was probably for the wardrobe assistant. We then hung around to bathe (at a distance) in the glow of some real stars. Lea Seydoux, Christoph Waltz, Naomi Harris, David Bautista, Monica Bellucci... 
And the film?  The film was OK. I'm a Bond fan so easily pleased. There are some great moments, particularly the Mexico City opening, but some fairly pointless bits too, not least Monica Bellucci's fleeting appearance which just about gave Craig enough time to bed her, but was otherwise negigible (negligeeble?). A waste of talent. Similarly, the first ever Mexican 'Bond girl', Stephanie Sigman, never made it beyond the opening titles. Seydoux was good, Waltz a bit hammy, Fiennes dour and Craig was fine. There were the usual car chases, helicopter acrobatics, explosions, fights on trains, exotic locations (and the usual grey, wet London), droll humour, and even Blofeld's white cat (uncredited). Maybe I was expecting more.