Superspy Vs. Spheniscidae
This Year's Bond and Dancing Penguin go toe-to-toe.
BY GREGORY
Two heroes. Two missions. Two cold and dangerous milieux. One wandering protagonist is a sadistic human who gets
off on hurting people. The other is a dewy Emperor Penguin who can’t stop tap-dancing…
Welcome to this ÜberCiné Double Bill™: Casino Royale (’06) and Happy Feet.
On the “adult” side we have a very dependable and lucrative franchise, “rebooted” (as everyone loves saying -- “Dude,
it’s a total reboot!”) in exactly the same way that the Batman franchise was rebooted last year, i.e.: Rendered “dark,”
brutal and joyless.
On the “child” side we have original new material from a very dependable and really quite brilliant director (that’d be
George Miller) who not only knows his way around a cuddly fable (Babe), but almost single-handedly reinvented the
Handsome Pugnacious Hero mythos, about a quarter century ago, with the Mad Max franchise.
Let the comparative analysis begin!
First, it should be understood that both Casino Royale and Happy Feet are origin stories -- noting, of course, that Happy
Feet begins with the hero cracking his way out of his one-pound egg, whereas Casino Royale begins with the hero
cracking a scumbag’s skull through a breakaway urinal. Kinda different. At least…on the surface.
Our penguin hero is Mumble (voiced by Elizabeth Daily, then Elijah Wood -- who will probably milk "lost and confused"
until he's at least fifty) -- so named (?) by his future girlfriend, Gloria (Brittany Murphy, whose faux-soul-mama schtick
is a major liability and who sounds like she needs a lozenge), with whom he shares a bond (tee-hee) from birth. Although
Mumble’s parents (Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman, both solid) play by their peculiar society’s rules -- involving the
harmonising of personal Heart Songs, which inspire mating rituals to strains of “Kiss” by Prince (if ever an entertainer
could be defined as "a dropped egg"...) intermingled with Elvis Presley and gawd knows what else -- their son is
born…different. An Outsider. A Rebel. A Reluctant Hero.
Mumble cannot sing (he sounds remarkably like Chris Cornell), so instead he tap-dances his passion across the ice.
Our human hero is James Bond (Daniel Craig, shrug) -- who in this version of Casino Royale (which varies significantly
from the 1954 Climax! TV version with Peter Lorre, the 1969 spoof and even Ian Fleming’s first Bond novel itself)
arrives to us as a sort of rabid tabula rasa; he’s an adult (about as much as I am) but knows virtually nothing about
himself or his destiny (no comment). In fact, even his backstory (sidestepping the crop of “Young Bond” novels) is semi-
rewritten aboard a train by his shapely associate, Vesper Lynd (Eva Green -- who pretty much gave up everything in
Bertolucci’s The Dreamers, but does not here), who paints Bond as a confused orphan (he isn’t) then causes him to fall
instantly and madly in love with her simply by telling him that she finds his gluteal tissue attractive. Deep. Bond also
struggles somewhat with his Royal Secret Service mother figure, M (Judi Dench again), who is maternal in that she
threatens to have him killed for his constant insolence, but not so maternal in that she might actually do it. Thus, Bond
too is an Outsider. A Rebel. A Reluctant Hero.
Bond cannot forge meaningful relationships with people (he behaves remarkably like Kevin Federline), so instead he goes
around slaughtering mostly black people in extremely unpleasant ways.
Despite many surface distinctions, Happy Feet and Casino Royale actually share much in common. For example, both
involve outrageous stunts, with our respective heroes and others bounding through physically impossible obstacle
courses, the penguins’ made largely of ice and water plus the odd buoy (directed with astounding brio) and the humans’
made of towering girders, construction cranes and lifts (the biggest Bond action sequence is really only Donkey Kong),
and -- eventually -- one of those gradually sinking old buildings along the canals of Venice (defnintely this Bond movie’s
most imaginative sequence -- which, alas, ain’t sayin’ much).
Yes, since these are both arguably action films, a few words about the direction. Although the Bond movie goes in for
some of that already-weary ‘90s shaky-cam’n’grainy-stock tomfoolery, director Martin Campbell (GoldenEye and, like
Miller, an antipodean) generally keeps the action clean and comprehensible -- if also very, very violent (this Bond movie is
definitely not for kids). I lodge a personal complaint that Campbell totally rips off the Adversaries Fighting In A Speeding
Truck stylee popularised in the ‘80s in films as diverse as Raiders of the Lost Ark and Brazil -- with a bow to Miller’s
The Road Warrior, of course -- but my audience didn’t seem to mind the hack-like redundancy (I yawned at that damned
truck, big-time). Being kind, I’ll give Campbell a point for Bond's car flipout, which is nifty. Meanwhile, Miller takes
Happy Feet -- a deceptively “cute” (and mostly computer-generated) movie -- to truly ecstatic heights of action and
excitement. If the guy sucked, I’d say so, but instead he and his many, many, many animators create a gorgeous icy
wonderland -- then populate it with creatures noble, goofy and vicious, rendered via angles and “camera”-moves that
constantly astound the eye. Bravo there.
As a side note, Happy Feet is the first CG feature I have adored.
Other similarities between the two projects include problems of greed and scarcity (in Casino Royale, money; in Happy
Feet, fish); weird opening titles (Casino Royale with a bunch of appropriate but unsexy card crap; Happy Feet
apparently on Mars?); sequences of capture and torture (relative torture in Happy Feet anyway; whereas I have no idea
how the Bond movie, with its seatless-rattan-chair-scrotum-whipping scene, squeaked through without a hard ‘R’ --
Dear MPAA, what if it contained a scene of a woman raping another woman? Smells like payola to me.); plus both
movies feature ardent -- if largely implied -- sexuality (hastily, in Happy Feet, the young Mumble and Gloria engage in
playful Soixante-neuf, Doggie and Missionary -- and no, I am not kidding).
The plots, however, these vary somewhat. The Bond movie is mostly concerned with showing off a range of Sony
products -- I don’t know what people are talking about when they say that this one doesn’t feature “gadgets,” because
virtually every scene includes either a VAIO or an Ericsson as a pivotal tool, usually held up to the camera as if featured
as a prize on The Price Is Right. Meanwhile, the subplot of the Bond movie is that a totally mean guy named Le Chiffre
(Mads Mikkelsen) goes around crying tears of blood out of his grody left eye and using an asthma inhaler (Ooh! An
Asthma Inhaler!) when he’s not money-laundering for the world’s terrorists. Once Bond beds (or, rather, floors – he’s a
rogue, y’know) his first babe (Caterina Murino and her delightful bosom; I like that she has wasted her chances for
happiness on retarded "bad boys"), and he saves Miami’s fleet of ostentatiously-placed Virgin Atlantic aeroplanes from
being near big-new-plane-almost-go-boom (see: Boring Speeding Truck Sequence), he is sent to Montenegro, to play
brief segments of cards against Le Chiffre and a Benetton spectrum of racially diverse counterparts (the Asian fellow is
named “Mr. Fuckyoutoo”?), in between which they keep taking “short, one-hour breaks” so that people staying at the
luxury hotel can attempt to kill each other. The objective, apart from showing off Sony products (ATTENTION
PRODUCERS: WHY NOT JUST CHANGE HIS NAME TO “JAMES SONY”?), is for Bond to win all of Le Chiffre’s
money and really piss him off bad, so that we can enjoy that lovely scrotum-whipping scene in Act Three.
As for Happy Feet (which also features a scrotal moment -- albeit a vastly cuter one), its plot mainly concerns The
Selling Of The Soundtrack Album, which doubtless contains a Moulin Rouge-like mélange of Pop Classics, Original and
Covered (most of which I really liked, although I don’t enjoy other people attempting to sing “Somebody to Love” -- we
already dealt with that in Ella Enchanted -- plus Jason Mraz totally sucks covering “The Joker," banished to the end of
the credits like a shamed child -- and no, I’m not an obsessive Steve Miller fan). Meanwhile, the subplot of Happy Feet
involves The Many Ordeals of Mumble. Foremost among these is being befriended by not one but two Robin Williamses
-- both spouting obnoxious ethnic caricatures that would get you sued if you used them in a restaurant. (This would be a
problem if Williams weren’t so blasted funny: I did not for one moment think, “Oh, Cheech and that Big Momma guy
could do this better.” And hey, how could Williams say no to a movie promising this much snow?) Cast from his flock
by the wizened Scotch-Puritanical leader, Noah (Hugo Weaving, along with “V” making two excellent voice-portrayals in
one year), Mumble bumbles with Ramon (Williams) and his shorter-penguin-species Latino Amigos (your demographic-
research dollars at work), then he takes a sky-high dive Bond couldn’t imagine in his wildest dreams to confront the
“Aliens” (us) who are (typically) overfishing the region (and, in metaphor, the entire planet).
You know, with its effervescent blend of rich characterisation, grooves, hilarity, thrills, (literal) chills and Planetary
Message, I have just decided that Happy Feet is a wonder, a true classic, one of the greatest motion pictures of all time.
There aren’t enough good words for it.
Happy Feet even gets a bunch of physiological realities right -- whereas the Bond movie mainly focuses on pornographic
grunting in the midst of rampant sadism, its "keepin' it real" ethos (whatever; it's James Bond) occasionally shattered by
ridiculous displays of superhuman skill.
As for the stuff of which movies are made, I found the supporting cast of Happy Feet (the aforementioned, plus Johnny
Sanchez, Miriam Margolyes, even the late Steve Irwin as an amusingly yucky elephant seal) far superior to that of Casino
Royale (Jeffrey Wright being the primary highlight -- and he doesn’t really get to do anything). The music of this Bond is
acceptable -- even though mostly it’s a retread of Eric Serra’s trademark chilly synthwork -- whereas Happy Feet’s
seamless and imaginative blend of lyrically incongruous pop songs (Beach Boys, Stevie Wonder, Dancehall, you name it)
and lush orchestration, frankly, blows it away. And design? Well, the Bond is good -- a little chilly Prague (curiously, in
black and white, so you know it's in the misty past of, what, 2005?), a little sweaty Madagascar, a little (natch) opulent
casino -- but Happy Feet, while in terms of setting stealing liberally from the Ice Age movies (and, ironically, not the
Madagascar movies!), achieves its own dreamy state of consciousness (from the opening storm and hallucinatory vision
of “The Great Guin” to the rousing marching-band-like climax) that somehow takes cold CG visuals and infuses them all
-- from eyeballs to icebergs -- with an artful and vital spirit.
As for the dialogue, it’s no contest. I don’t care about Paul Haggis, but if indeed it was he who put lines like “I can’t
resist waking you. Every time you look at me it’s as if you haven’t seen me in years. It makes me feel reborn,” into the
mouth of Vesper Lynd, I’d at least like to thank him for causing me to snicker quite loudly at the screen. See, that’s the
thing about this Bond outing -- I know everybody’s gushing about it right now, but once the adrenaline subsides (two
weeks, tops), most will see that it is obscenely underwritten, with nary a memorable line to be found. On Her Majesty’s
Secret Service is the best of the Bond films -- featuring an astute balance of action, adventure, intrigue, romance and wit.
But I prefer even cheesy Bond (Roger Moore with Tarzan yell) to this almost entirely witless Bond.
In this regard also, Happy Feet kicks tail. From Mumble’s father Memphis’ chagrin over his son’s zany dancing (“It just
ain’t penguin, okay?”) to Williams-Ramon’s constant commentary (“What he’s trying to do now is push her away; let’s
watch the fun”), this is a script. It is written. It knows what it’s doing.
Big applause for Miller and his co-scribes, Warren Coleman, John Collee and Judy Morris.
Thematically, as well, Happy Feet trounces Casino Royale. Mumble, lone penguin, does indeed push away his luscious
lady-love -- that he may triumph as an individual, even save his people. Bond, meanwhile, as aforementioned, instantly
loses his heart to a kind of pudgy-faced, moley girl with a low neckline -- just because she’s kind of nice to him for a
couple of days -- and then he proceeds to be a cruel hater of all humanity just because she dies because she’s stupid.
Folks, I love a tragedy as much as anyone, but where exactly is the pleasure in this dry nothingness?
As for flaws, I only spotted one in Happy Feet: During Mumble’s first encounter with the hawks, his little grey “bow-
tie” marking is curiously absent in one of the shots. But this is nothing compared to Bond's countless facial lacerations
healing, repeatedly, within seconds. Anyway, the main flaw of the Bond movie lies in its overall obviousness and
kowtowing to trends -- which sinks it. Happy Feet may not be entirely original -- call it Moulin Rudolph or Tundra
Footloose -- but its reworking of familiar elements certainly qualifies as Fresh. Whereas "Bond 21" (or whatever -- I say
the fun Never Say Never Again counts) is merely trading on a franchise that hasn't made sense in decades. Without
actually involving risk, it's a Junk Bond.
Obviously it is a bit absurd to liken these two movies, but these opinions derive not at all from a personal taste for life-
affirming entertainment over show-offy nihilism (I enjoyed, for instance, The Crow). It’s just that this Bond movie --
apart from perhaps one minor character twist -- is thuddingly predictable and insultingly formulaic: I can almost hear the
Broccolis sitting around their hangar full of Brosnan-money, intoning, “We gotta go dark, we gotta go hard.” Bo-ring. On
the other hand, this other hero’s story, Happy Feet, sets tried-and-true themes to an irresistible beat, drops a dozen
surprises per minute and gives corporate entertainment a soul. To that, I can groove.
Casino Royale (’06)
Entertainment Value: 4/13
Style: 6/13
Philosophical Insight: N/A
The Bottom Line: Shitty Shitty Bang Bang.
Happy Feet
Entertainment Value: 13/13
Style: 13/13
Philosophical Insight: 13/13
The Bottom Line: Yowza!
-Gregory Weinkauf, 24 November, 2006
This Year's Bond and Dancing Penguin go toe-to-toe.
BY GREGORY
Two heroes. Two missions. Two cold and dangerous milieux. One wandering protagonist is a sadistic human who gets
off on hurting people. The other is a dewy Emperor Penguin who can’t stop tap-dancing…
Welcome to this ÜberCiné Double Bill™: Casino Royale (’06) and Happy Feet.
On the “adult” side we have a very dependable and lucrative franchise, “rebooted” (as everyone loves saying -- “Dude,
it’s a total reboot!”) in exactly the same way that the Batman franchise was rebooted last year, i.e.: Rendered “dark,”
brutal and joyless.
On the “child” side we have original new material from a very dependable and really quite brilliant director (that’d be
George Miller) who not only knows his way around a cuddly fable (Babe), but almost single-handedly reinvented the
Handsome Pugnacious Hero mythos, about a quarter century ago, with the Mad Max franchise.
Let the comparative analysis begin!
First, it should be understood that both Casino Royale and Happy Feet are origin stories -- noting, of course, that Happy
Feet begins with the hero cracking his way out of his one-pound egg, whereas Casino Royale begins with the hero
cracking a scumbag’s skull through a breakaway urinal. Kinda different. At least…on the surface.
Our penguin hero is Mumble (voiced by Elizabeth Daily, then Elijah Wood -- who will probably milk "lost and confused"
until he's at least fifty) -- so named (?) by his future girlfriend, Gloria (Brittany Murphy, whose faux-soul-mama schtick
is a major liability and who sounds like she needs a lozenge), with whom he shares a bond (tee-hee) from birth. Although
Mumble’s parents (Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman, both solid) play by their peculiar society’s rules -- involving the
harmonising of personal Heart Songs, which inspire mating rituals to strains of “Kiss” by Prince (if ever an entertainer
could be defined as "a dropped egg"...) intermingled with Elvis Presley and gawd knows what else -- their son is
born…different. An Outsider. A Rebel. A Reluctant Hero.
Mumble cannot sing (he sounds remarkably like Chris Cornell), so instead he tap-dances his passion across the ice.
Our human hero is James Bond (Daniel Craig, shrug) -- who in this version of Casino Royale (which varies significantly
from the 1954 Climax! TV version with Peter Lorre, the 1969 spoof and even Ian Fleming’s first Bond novel itself)
arrives to us as a sort of rabid tabula rasa; he’s an adult (about as much as I am) but knows virtually nothing about
himself or his destiny (no comment). In fact, even his backstory (sidestepping the crop of “Young Bond” novels) is semi-
rewritten aboard a train by his shapely associate, Vesper Lynd (Eva Green -- who pretty much gave up everything in
Bertolucci’s The Dreamers, but does not here), who paints Bond as a confused orphan (he isn’t) then causes him to fall
instantly and madly in love with her simply by telling him that she finds his gluteal tissue attractive. Deep. Bond also
struggles somewhat with his Royal Secret Service mother figure, M (Judi Dench again), who is maternal in that she
threatens to have him killed for his constant insolence, but not so maternal in that she might actually do it. Thus, Bond
too is an Outsider. A Rebel. A Reluctant Hero.
Bond cannot forge meaningful relationships with people (he behaves remarkably like Kevin Federline), so instead he goes
around slaughtering mostly black people in extremely unpleasant ways.
Despite many surface distinctions, Happy Feet and Casino Royale actually share much in common. For example, both
involve outrageous stunts, with our respective heroes and others bounding through physically impossible obstacle
courses, the penguins’ made largely of ice and water plus the odd buoy (directed with astounding brio) and the humans’
made of towering girders, construction cranes and lifts (the biggest Bond action sequence is really only Donkey Kong),
and -- eventually -- one of those gradually sinking old buildings along the canals of Venice (defnintely this Bond movie’s
most imaginative sequence -- which, alas, ain’t sayin’ much).
Yes, since these are both arguably action films, a few words about the direction. Although the Bond movie goes in for
some of that already-weary ‘90s shaky-cam’n’grainy-stock tomfoolery, director Martin Campbell (GoldenEye and, like
Miller, an antipodean) generally keeps the action clean and comprehensible -- if also very, very violent (this Bond movie is
definitely not for kids). I lodge a personal complaint that Campbell totally rips off the Adversaries Fighting In A Speeding
Truck stylee popularised in the ‘80s in films as diverse as Raiders of the Lost Ark and Brazil -- with a bow to Miller’s
The Road Warrior, of course -- but my audience didn’t seem to mind the hack-like redundancy (I yawned at that damned
truck, big-time). Being kind, I’ll give Campbell a point for Bond's car flipout, which is nifty. Meanwhile, Miller takes
Happy Feet -- a deceptively “cute” (and mostly computer-generated) movie -- to truly ecstatic heights of action and
excitement. If the guy sucked, I’d say so, but instead he and his many, many, many animators create a gorgeous icy
wonderland -- then populate it with creatures noble, goofy and vicious, rendered via angles and “camera”-moves that
constantly astound the eye. Bravo there.
As a side note, Happy Feet is the first CG feature I have adored.
Other similarities between the two projects include problems of greed and scarcity (in Casino Royale, money; in Happy
Feet, fish); weird opening titles (Casino Royale with a bunch of appropriate but unsexy card crap; Happy Feet
apparently on Mars?); sequences of capture and torture (relative torture in Happy Feet anyway; whereas I have no idea
how the Bond movie, with its seatless-rattan-chair-scrotum-whipping scene, squeaked through without a hard ‘R’ --
Dear MPAA, what if it contained a scene of a woman raping another woman? Smells like payola to me.); plus both
movies feature ardent -- if largely implied -- sexuality (hastily, in Happy Feet, the young Mumble and Gloria engage in
playful Soixante-neuf, Doggie and Missionary -- and no, I am not kidding).
The plots, however, these vary somewhat. The Bond movie is mostly concerned with showing off a range of Sony
products -- I don’t know what people are talking about when they say that this one doesn’t feature “gadgets,” because
virtually every scene includes either a VAIO or an Ericsson as a pivotal tool, usually held up to the camera as if featured
as a prize on The Price Is Right. Meanwhile, the subplot of the Bond movie is that a totally mean guy named Le Chiffre
(Mads Mikkelsen) goes around crying tears of blood out of his grody left eye and using an asthma inhaler (Ooh! An
Asthma Inhaler!) when he’s not money-laundering for the world’s terrorists. Once Bond beds (or, rather, floors – he’s a
rogue, y’know) his first babe (Caterina Murino and her delightful bosom; I like that she has wasted her chances for
happiness on retarded "bad boys"), and he saves Miami’s fleet of ostentatiously-placed Virgin Atlantic aeroplanes from
being near big-new-plane-almost-go-boom (see: Boring Speeding Truck Sequence), he is sent to Montenegro, to play
brief segments of cards against Le Chiffre and a Benetton spectrum of racially diverse counterparts (the Asian fellow is
named “Mr. Fuckyoutoo”?), in between which they keep taking “short, one-hour breaks” so that people staying at the
luxury hotel can attempt to kill each other. The objective, apart from showing off Sony products (ATTENTION
PRODUCERS: WHY NOT JUST CHANGE HIS NAME TO “JAMES SONY”?), is for Bond to win all of Le Chiffre’s
money and really piss him off bad, so that we can enjoy that lovely scrotum-whipping scene in Act Three.
As for Happy Feet (which also features a scrotal moment -- albeit a vastly cuter one), its plot mainly concerns The
Selling Of The Soundtrack Album, which doubtless contains a Moulin Rouge-like mélange of Pop Classics, Original and
Covered (most of which I really liked, although I don’t enjoy other people attempting to sing “Somebody to Love” -- we
already dealt with that in Ella Enchanted -- plus Jason Mraz totally sucks covering “The Joker," banished to the end of
the credits like a shamed child -- and no, I’m not an obsessive Steve Miller fan). Meanwhile, the subplot of Happy Feet
involves The Many Ordeals of Mumble. Foremost among these is being befriended by not one but two Robin Williamses
-- both spouting obnoxious ethnic caricatures that would get you sued if you used them in a restaurant. (This would be a
problem if Williams weren’t so blasted funny: I did not for one moment think, “Oh, Cheech and that Big Momma guy
could do this better.” And hey, how could Williams say no to a movie promising this much snow?) Cast from his flock
by the wizened Scotch-Puritanical leader, Noah (Hugo Weaving, along with “V” making two excellent voice-portrayals in
one year), Mumble bumbles with Ramon (Williams) and his shorter-penguin-species Latino Amigos (your demographic-
research dollars at work), then he takes a sky-high dive Bond couldn’t imagine in his wildest dreams to confront the
“Aliens” (us) who are (typically) overfishing the region (and, in metaphor, the entire planet).
You know, with its effervescent blend of rich characterisation, grooves, hilarity, thrills, (literal) chills and Planetary
Message, I have just decided that Happy Feet is a wonder, a true classic, one of the greatest motion pictures of all time.
There aren’t enough good words for it.
Happy Feet even gets a bunch of physiological realities right -- whereas the Bond movie mainly focuses on pornographic
grunting in the midst of rampant sadism, its "keepin' it real" ethos (whatever; it's James Bond) occasionally shattered by
ridiculous displays of superhuman skill.
As for the stuff of which movies are made, I found the supporting cast of Happy Feet (the aforementioned, plus Johnny
Sanchez, Miriam Margolyes, even the late Steve Irwin as an amusingly yucky elephant seal) far superior to that of Casino
Royale (Jeffrey Wright being the primary highlight -- and he doesn’t really get to do anything). The music of this Bond is
acceptable -- even though mostly it’s a retread of Eric Serra’s trademark chilly synthwork -- whereas Happy Feet’s
seamless and imaginative blend of lyrically incongruous pop songs (Beach Boys, Stevie Wonder, Dancehall, you name it)
and lush orchestration, frankly, blows it away. And design? Well, the Bond is good -- a little chilly Prague (curiously, in
black and white, so you know it's in the misty past of, what, 2005?), a little sweaty Madagascar, a little (natch) opulent
casino -- but Happy Feet, while in terms of setting stealing liberally from the Ice Age movies (and, ironically, not the
Madagascar movies!), achieves its own dreamy state of consciousness (from the opening storm and hallucinatory vision
of “The Great Guin” to the rousing marching-band-like climax) that somehow takes cold CG visuals and infuses them all
-- from eyeballs to icebergs -- with an artful and vital spirit.
As for the dialogue, it’s no contest. I don’t care about Paul Haggis, but if indeed it was he who put lines like “I can’t
resist waking you. Every time you look at me it’s as if you haven’t seen me in years. It makes me feel reborn,” into the
mouth of Vesper Lynd, I’d at least like to thank him for causing me to snicker quite loudly at the screen. See, that’s the
thing about this Bond outing -- I know everybody’s gushing about it right now, but once the adrenaline subsides (two
weeks, tops), most will see that it is obscenely underwritten, with nary a memorable line to be found. On Her Majesty’s
Secret Service is the best of the Bond films -- featuring an astute balance of action, adventure, intrigue, romance and wit.
But I prefer even cheesy Bond (Roger Moore with Tarzan yell) to this almost entirely witless Bond.
In this regard also, Happy Feet kicks tail. From Mumble’s father Memphis’ chagrin over his son’s zany dancing (“It just
ain’t penguin, okay?”) to Williams-Ramon’s constant commentary (“What he’s trying to do now is push her away; let’s
watch the fun”), this is a script. It is written. It knows what it’s doing.
Big applause for Miller and his co-scribes, Warren Coleman, John Collee and Judy Morris.
Thematically, as well, Happy Feet trounces Casino Royale. Mumble, lone penguin, does indeed push away his luscious
lady-love -- that he may triumph as an individual, even save his people. Bond, meanwhile, as aforementioned, instantly
loses his heart to a kind of pudgy-faced, moley girl with a low neckline -- just because she’s kind of nice to him for a
couple of days -- and then he proceeds to be a cruel hater of all humanity just because she dies because she’s stupid.
Folks, I love a tragedy as much as anyone, but where exactly is the pleasure in this dry nothingness?
As for flaws, I only spotted one in Happy Feet: During Mumble’s first encounter with the hawks, his little grey “bow-
tie” marking is curiously absent in one of the shots. But this is nothing compared to Bond's countless facial lacerations
healing, repeatedly, within seconds. Anyway, the main flaw of the Bond movie lies in its overall obviousness and
kowtowing to trends -- which sinks it. Happy Feet may not be entirely original -- call it Moulin Rudolph or Tundra
Footloose -- but its reworking of familiar elements certainly qualifies as Fresh. Whereas "Bond 21" (or whatever -- I say
the fun Never Say Never Again counts) is merely trading on a franchise that hasn't made sense in decades. Without
actually involving risk, it's a Junk Bond.
Obviously it is a bit absurd to liken these two movies, but these opinions derive not at all from a personal taste for life-
affirming entertainment over show-offy nihilism (I enjoyed, for instance, The Crow). It’s just that this Bond movie --
apart from perhaps one minor character twist -- is thuddingly predictable and insultingly formulaic: I can almost hear the
Broccolis sitting around their hangar full of Brosnan-money, intoning, “We gotta go dark, we gotta go hard.” Bo-ring. On
the other hand, this other hero’s story, Happy Feet, sets tried-and-true themes to an irresistible beat, drops a dozen
surprises per minute and gives corporate entertainment a soul. To that, I can groove.
Casino Royale (’06)
Entertainment Value: 4/13
Style: 6/13
Philosophical Insight: N/A
The Bottom Line: Shitty Shitty Bang Bang.
Happy Feet
Entertainment Value: 13/13
Style: 13/13
Philosophical Insight: 13/13
The Bottom Line: Yowza!
-Gregory Weinkauf, 24 November, 2006
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