The D is Silent: A Review of Django Unchained

Late 2011 when I heard that a Quentin Tarantino “remake” of Django was in the works I was not too happy. Why was I sceptical? Simply put I was afraid Tarantino would taint the iconic character that Django was to me. I had the pleasure of watching the two original Sergio Corbucci Django films starring Franco Nero as a kid – Django (1966), Django Strikes Back (1987), cult classics like so many other spaghetti westerns. What would Tarantino do I wondered? His rehash of Enzo Castellari’s Inglorious Bastards (1978) to Inglourious Basterds (2009) was fresh in my mind and while the latter was a fabulous remake of the original I just could not get my head around the fact that the movie revolved around a black slave! C’mon! Tarantino that is taking things too far! I screamed in my mind. But reading the screenplay and watching the film changed it all.

Tarantino’s Django Unchained tells its own story although he borrows the name “Django” and the revenge plot of the earlier films. So in other words Django Unchained is very much its own film. However, Tarantino turns a genre on its head where he features the avenging cavalier as a black ex-slave who goes about legally killing white folks who have done him wrong! I guess this is the kind of effrontery that has made Tarantino the director that he is.

Jamie Foxx shows up in the way only he can as he brings this remixed Django to the big screen. He plays his role quite effectively without any over the top acting. Initially he portrays a black slave just going along with the plans of his new master - a crazy white dentist-turned-bounty-hunter who is obviously “not from around these parts”. But as he becomes an equal partner he grows into his own man, a man who having removed the shackles of slavery wants his wife back and will kill as many men (white or black) in order to achieve his aim. Or is this all an act? Perhaps he only played the characters of angry, former slave/bounty hunter/One-eyed Charlie a little too well? You slowly realize that a black man born into slavery and only recently set free would have to put on a different persona from the one he is used to in order to survive his new found freedom and to fulfill his quest.

Dr. King Schultz played by Christoph Waltz was at his insidious best. The irony that a German doctor gives a black slave his freedom and helps him on his mission to rescue his lost slave wife in 19^th century America is not lost. Waltz portrays the foreign-dentist-turned-bounty-hunter with aplomb almost equal to but yet a  mirror image of his performance in Inglourious Basterds. He is once again sublime in his delivery and acting.

Leonardo DiCaprio as Calvin J. Candie gave a good performance as is with DiCaprio’s acting. Kerry Washington effectively played the damsel in distress. 

Now, Samuel L. Jackson’s Stephen was vintage Samuel L. Jackson! He played the part to a T so much so that a colleague remarked that he should not have gotten paid for the role!! I quite agree. Stephen’s loud talking, foul-mouthed, condescending Uncle Tom was just right. Seeing Jonah Hill had me in stitches his appearance was hilarious for some reason but he played his part well.

It was a great pleasure to see the original Django, Franco Nero in a cameo. The scene which was not in the original screenplay where he talks to Jamie’s Django asking if he could spell his name brought tears to my eyes. In that instant I forgave Quentin.

The film’s score and music was mad!!!! Right from the opening credits we are greeted with frequent Tarantino collaborator, prolific film scorer including numerous spaghetti westerns, and Academy Award winner Luis Bacalov’s “Django” which takes one back to when spaghetti westerns ruled the screens. The humorous “His Name Was King” reminds us that this is all just entertainment but Rick Ross’ anachronistic “100 Black Coffins” and the dialogue by Django and Billy Crash (Walton Goggins) leading to it was definitely one of the high points of Django Unchained; to say it was apt would be an understatement.

Filled with quite a few controversial themes and discussion points that could take days to discuss, in the end Quentin Tarantino’s Django Unchained is almost a hyperbole. Despite the usual generous helping of blood and guts we have come to associate with Tarantino's films, Django Unchained applies just the right amount of fantasy.  Indeed, all the characters are acting, some living a fantasy, some striving for one: from wanted outlaw Willard Peck who takes on the role of Sheriff Bill Sharp, to Django a slave who plays a free man, and to the house n***er Stephen who kowtows before his master when in character and then sits in his master's chair, sips his brandy and talks to him as an equal when out of character, Django Unchained (apologies to Spike Lee) is simply just a fantasy – what every damn good film should be. 

Why the Negro/African/Black Man/Nigerian is the Way He Is (Thoroughly Random Musings!)

I have often taken time out to try to understand why the black race or Negroes or Africans or Nigerians or what-you-will are the way we are. I mean we’re so backward while the rest of the world, even Asia, is far far ahead of us. I have had cause to almost regret being born African in this Dark Continent/Country where the ‘light’ refuses to ‘shine’. I’ve lived twenty nine long years in this country and in that period we have not been able to have uninterrupted power supply, potable water, smooth roads, etc.

I watched the Obama inauguration and marvelled at that nation called the United States of America. I watched the closing ceremony of the Beijing Olympic Games in 2008 and was tripped by the performance of the Chinese, a race of people we Nigerians mock but still a nation using its great population to make themselves relevant! So much so that they have now become a threat to the existing super power clique of economically-superior nations. A few years ago, Nigeria and Singapore were both termed ‘third world nations’…. Oops my bad! I meant to write ‘developing nations’. A few years later Singapore is now categorised as a ‘Developed Nation’, with Singapore Airlines winning best airline in the world twice in a row! I also understand that oil was discovered in Nigeria and the UAE around the same time… today Dubai is a tourist haven, an expanse of sand turned into paradise on earth. Nigeria? Go figure.

There’s a book “Capitalist Nigger: The Road to Success, a Spider-Web Doctrine" written by a Nigerian, Dr. Chika Onyeani which tries to educate the black man for the need to change his ways of thinking, his ways of seeing and doing things. Dr. Onyeani mentions "Blacks are economic slaves because they lack the "killer-instinct" and "devil-may-care" attitude of the Caucasian, as well as the "spider web economic mentality" of the Asian." The black man is said to be innately naïve – another word for ‘fool’; thinking that everyone has his best interests at heart being ready and able to dish out aid just because we are our brothers’ keepers!

For years the Negro has tried to live down claims of inferiority to these other races with some success – mainly in sports, music and entertainment in general. Whites and Asians do not have two heads, do they? So why are we at the bottom of the developmental ladder? A continent always on the look-out for international aid? A continent unable to carry out free and fair elections? A continent ravaged by war, disease and hunger? A continent whose people flee in droves in search of a better life? What has the black man achieved or contributed to the world? But that’s not the question I attempt to answer in this uneducated write-up. No, I seek to postulate two reasons as to why we are so underdeveloped socially, intellectually, culturally, financially, technologically, etc.

The Curse.

Personally, I believe that our problems as to why we are the way we are can be traced to the beginning of the Bible. Yes, the Bible. In Genesis Chapter 9 the story is told of Noah and his sons after the deluge. We are told that only Noah, his three sons - Shem, Ham and Japheth - and their wives were spared by God during his destruction of mankind. Now post-deluge, Noah plants a vineyard and upon harvest makes wine (probably the first distillery!) proceeds to drink his fill and promptly gets drunk ending up naked in his tent. Ham one of his sons happens along and spots his naked father in his stupor and laughs at the old man’s nakedness. To make matters worse he goes off to find his brothers to ‘tatafo’ to them. Shem and Japheth do not see anything funny and leave their disrespectful brother to tend to their father. The Bible says they took a sheet between themselves and walked backward so as to avoid seeing their father’s nakedness and covered him up. They probably cleaned him up too!

Waking up with a blinding hangover, Noah is told the events following his drinking binge and immediately dispatches curses and blessings among his sons. No points for guessing who got cursed! The Bible says in Genesis 9 v 24-27 in the New Century Version:

24 Noah was sleeping because of the wine. When he woke up and learned what his youngest son, Ham, had done to him,25 he said,
"May there be a curse on Canaan!
May he be the lowest slave to his brothers."
26 Noah also said,
"May the LORD, the God of Shem, be praised!
May Canaan be Shem's slave.
27 May God give more land to Japheth.
May Japheth live in Shem's tents,
and may Canaan be their slave."

And so in this way, Noah effectively cursed his son Ham for dishonouring him. Now guess what? The black man, the Negro or ‘Cush’ as written in the Bible is a descendant of Ham! Read your Bible it’s there in Genesis. Now gbam! Therein lies the cause of our congenital problem of underdevelopment! We were cursed due to an offence committed by our fore-father. Which race became the slaves of the white man ‘Japheth’ and his Asian brother ‘Shem’? (Abeg, make una no condemn me for this o! LOL). Yes, I admit that the link is a bit tenuous but the Bible does not lie! Or how else do you want to explain the reason we are the way we are and where we are? I invite you to try.

Living the Life of Riley in a Non-Hostile Environment.

This alternative reason as to why the black man is so laid back in his thinking and development was actually postulated by my boss (Dr. M. Nzeribe) following a discussion on the remote and direct reasons for our lack of self reliance. My boss likes to talk but his explanation was surprisingly short so I had the job of building on his premise.

Blacks as situated on the African continent have never had it so good. Relative to the hostile climate of Europe, Asia, Antarctica, Australia and the Americas ours is quite literally a stroll in the sun (pun intended!) He says that due to our clement weather the African never really felt challenged by his environment. The tropics were just ideal. It lacked the fierce colds of the temperate regions like Russia; the flood prone lands of south-east Asia; the biting heat of the desert day and the freezing cold of the desert night. In short, shelter and clothing were not a problem. He could live in trees like the apes and go about in a loin cloth without a care in the world.

Transportation? No problem, as a three day stroll to the next major market would not kill him as the sun was friendly. Besides, he did not have horses so the idea of inventing the wheel did not occur to him, why should it? The white man had to think of ways to get to his destination faster because if he stayed out longer than necessary the elements would get him!

Food. The African had it good, with fertile soils, ample rains and good old tropical sun, he didn’t have to stretch himself to plant and harvest. The food simply grew and he simply harvested. Barns and storage sheds if any were basic as there was no need to construct elaborate structures to store grain.

Technology. Wetin concern tortoise with 5-bedroom mansion? There was simply no need for tools other than those used to hunt and gather. I still stifle a laugh whenever I read or remember that our fore-fathers sold their brothers as slaves for mere trifles like mirrors, glass, marbles, guns (without gunpowder), etc.

There were no real challenges that the African had to overcome; life was good as the gods had been good to him. And this he acknowledged by ‘blindly’ worshipping different gods. If one was sick, it meant that the gods needed to be appeased. No rain? Appease a different god. No children? Appease the god of fertility. Plague, pestilence or pillaging marauders? Appease the gods. So nothing was developed as the man refused to think for himself as everything that could go wrong was out of his hands, the gods were to blame! (Er, I think I’m just about guilty of this same attitude to our problems as explored in the first part of this write-up! Sheesh, talk about the apple not falling far from the tree!)

Meanwhile, the other races on the planet were fighting earthquakes so they built stronger houses; were fighting cold so they discovered ways to heat their homes; were fighting darkness so they developed electricity; were fighting disease and death so they discovered advanced medicine and drugs; were fighting oppression and conquest so they invented diplomacy and weapons (of mass destruction?); were fighting delays so they invented fast cars and airplanes; were fighting boredom so they went to the moon, invented the television, the radio, cinema and Facebook!

I ask again what has the African invented? Nothing, so "We've become a sheep-like consumer race that depends on other communities for our culture, language, feeding, and clothing. We've become economic slaves in Western (and now Eastern) society,” (quoting the good Dr Onyeani again!)

So where do we go from here and what might be the solution to our underdevelopment?

I haven’t the faintest idea (or maybe I’m just too damn lazy to think about it? : ) )


Copyright 2009 TJ O'karo

Why My Pastor Needs a Private Jet

Church: Halleluyah!!!!!!!!!

Brother: Actually I will be talking on the topic, "Why my pastor needs a Private Jet." I believe you have not exhausted your daily quotas of 'Amen' because you'll need to say 'Amen' repeatedly as we go along.

Children of God, it is time for global revival! The church in Nigeria is to carry this end-time message around the world and she needs tools! My Pastor needs a private jet to spread the gospel with teaching appointments in many countries and this work is far too important to be left to airline schedules.

You see, my Pastor needs a private jet to spread the gospel to (“Catholic”) Italy. Italy ranks 1st globally in Maternal Mortality. Just 4 women die in Italy in 100,000 births in a whole year. In Nigeria, about 50,000 women die due to Childbirth annually. In fact, Nigeria is 2nd globally with the highest maternal mortality rate and contributes 10 per cent to the world’s total maternal deaths. My Pastor needs a private jet from members without health care to go and teach the Italians how to live in health and deliver safely.

My Pastor needs a private jet to spread the gospel to (“liberal”) America. America ranks first in GDP globally, whilst Nigeria ranks 43rd through oil exports. My pastor needs a private jet from members who produce nothing to go teach hard work to the Americans.

My Pastor needs a private jet to spread the gospel to (“permissive”) Sweden. Sweden was top 3 in the last Corruption Index whilst Nigeria ranked 143 out of 182 countries. My pastor needs a private jet gotten from the proceeds of corruption to go and teach the Swedes how to be righteous.

My Pastor needs a private jet to spread the gospel to (“immoral”) Brazil. Brazil ranks 2nd globally in actualizing development goals whilst Nigeria ranks 90 out of 133 in making development progress. My pastor needs a private jet from a stagnant people to go teach Brazilians how to move forward.

My Pastor needs a private jet to spread the gospel to (“Shinto”) Japan. Japan ranks 2nd globally in life expectancy whilst Nigeria ranks 185 out of 202. My pastor needs a private jet from people who die needlessly, daily and before their time, to go pray for the Japanese to live long.

My Pastor needs a private jet to spread the gospel to (“communist”) North Korea. North Korea ranked 1st in Adult Literacy globally whilst Nigeria ranked 129th! My pastor needs a private jet from an illiterate congregation to go impart knowledge to the Koreans. (Cuba 2nd)

My Pastor needs a private jet to spread the gospel to (“atheist”) China. China ranks 1st in the world in High Tech Exports, whilst Nigeria ranks 90th. My pastor needs a private jet from members who work in Chinese companies to go teach the Chinese how to be productive.

My Pastor needs a private jet to spread the gospel to (“unchristian”) Israel. Israel has the world’s most developed R&D sector, whilst Nigeria ranks 90th globally in Research. My pastor needs a private jet from members who discover and develop nothing to go teach the Israelis divine inspiration

My Pastor needs a private jet to spread the gospel to (“Buddhist”) Thailand. Thailand has an unemployment rate of less than 1% of its population, whilst in Nigeria it’s as high as 40%. My pastor needs a private jet from a jobless congregation to go teach the Thais how to be gainfully employed.


Yes, my pastor needs a private jet, to take to the world what he has been unable to accomplish at home

(Look at my life, look your life, na who e clear say dey serve God? If we apply that philosophy here, all pastors will sit at home and pray for Nigeria which indeed is in dire straits. You cannot take coal to Newcastle, nor Sugar Cane to Brazil nor Christ to the very people that gave him to us).

Author unknown.

GIVING BIRTH TO JUST GIRLS...If Obama Was Truly African by ENA OFUGARA

GIVING BIRTH TO JUST GIRLS...If Obama Was Truly African by ENA OFUGARA

Seeing Obama walk up the stage with his two lovely daughters had me imagining things and laughing yet saddened... saddened that till date, women who, through no fault of theirs, gave birth to just female children suffer still.

I just imagined that Obama's mother was African. Suspend belief for a while and go with me down this lane. If you are Nigerian, the following conversation between Michelle Obama and fictional Mama Obama and Barrack Obama will be easy to relate to.

This is probably happening to a woman (and man) you know.

ENJOY...or think.

LOCATION: WHITE HOUSE. INT: NIGHT

Mama Obama wakes Michelle up and calls her into the sitting area

Mama Obama: Ehen Michelle, how body

Michelle: I am fine ma.

Mama Obama: Na your turn. Now you ask me how my own body

Michelle: What is wrong ma? Are you sick? Do you want money? What is it?

Mama Obama: You dey ask me abi? As you see Barrack Marry so, u no like am?

Michelle: I do not understand ma.

Mama Obama: If to say I no born boy, who u for marry? If to say na only girl pikin I born. Tell me

Michelle: Ma...

Mama Obama: No "ma" me there. Ma ma ma, your first pikin done reach to born and still I never see boy pikin wey go inherit this white house. As George Bush son inherit him papa post come become president, e no good?

Michelle: But Ma, we do not have a choice as to the sex of the child God gives to us. If we even believe science, it is Barrack as the man that determines the sex of the baby, if it will be a boy or a girl. It is he that has the Y and X chromosome.

Mama Obama: eh eh eh. Hold am there. You mean say my pikin "ameoma" (semen) no strong reach to born boy?Naim U dey talk????????

Michelle: It is not by strength of semen. It is God's choice

Mama Obama: So na me sin so tay God dey punish me say I no go carry pikin go circumsize abi? U dey call me sinner. (Shouts as she ties her head tie around her waist and calls Barrack Obama. Barrack comes out, tired from perhaps plans to bomb Iran)

Barrakiii, Barrakii, come hear wetin your wife dey talk. She say me I be sinner. She say your sperm no strong reach to born boy. She want make your papa name die. yeh yeh yeh yeh

Barrack Obama: Mama what is it again? I told you to please let this matter die. "Omotejokwo". A girl is a person as well.

Mama Obama: Ebabo!!! Me ta ro. I said it. I talk am say Michelle done use juju for you. I talk am. (Turns around and begins to pray in Mountain of fire style) Blood of Jesus. Blood of Jesus!!! Holy Ghost Fire!!! Burn them, burn them.Anybody that has used juju on my son,die! die!! die!!!

Barrack Obama: Mama, nobody used Juju on me. Bill Clinton has only one girl called Chelsea. I have two. What do u expect Bill's mother to do?

Mama Obama: (To Obama in a softer voice). Omo me. My pikin. You no dey hear wetin people dey talk? Them say you and Clinton na Illuminati. say na una boy pikin una take do the jazz wey make una president.

Barrack Obama: And u believe that nonsense?

Mama Obama: You know world people with their dirty mouth wey dem no dey brush. But no be say u do am oh. Just try born boy wey go inherit this big fine White House.

Barrack Obama: mama, this is not my house. In a few years I have to pack out. It is for the president of the United States.

Mama Obama: You see! If your boy pikin become president e bad? You know see Bush Pikin?

Barack Obama: What stops any of my girls from being presient if they work towards it? Hilary Clinton is someone's daughter and she will likely be the next president. My daughters are brilliant girls

Mama Obama: No dey put word for my mouth. I tell you say dem no brilliant? I say make u use one boy support them two make mind rest.

Barrack Obama: Mama, I have always supported women to be equal to men in the working place. It is this kind of behaviour that is making Chinese people to be commiting foeticide,

Mama Barrack: Fwety wetin

Barrack Obama: Foeticide. This is the killing of a foetus. In China you are allowed only one child and since a lot of parents prefer boys, they do scan to determine the sex of the unborn child and if it is a girl, they terminate the pregnancy. The girl-child is as important as the boy child. It is our battle in Pakistan and all over the world and what we are trying to achieve that girls be treated no different. It is why the whole world condemned the shooting of Malala Yousufza by Muslim extreemists. All this girl wanted was for girls to have education just like boys. thank God her life was spared. Mama, a girl can be whatever if you give them same opportunities.

Mama Barrack: (Hand on head) EGBELUGHE!!! You say boy pikin and girl pikin na the same? You no hear say for Benin na only boy dey inherit Igiogbe which is the house a man stayed? You want make other people inherit all this your property abi???

Barrack Obama: I am a lawyer just like my wife. I know the Benin tradition. If a man does not want his son to inherit his house, he can sell the house while alive to any of his children and pack out and rent a flat. If the house is not his at time of death, it cannot be inherited by a stupid son.

mama Obama: So na this one i send you go law school go read abi? All the garri I fry take train you, na how u no go take born boy you dey plan abi?

Michelle: Mama, we did not plan not to have boys. I believe in what God has given me. The children are gold to me

Mama Obama: (to Michelle) As I never turn face you, you no go quiet abi? If you use the book wey them say you know well well take born boy e bad???

Barrack Obama: mama, I have a country to run, I need to sleep. You are disturbing us seriously

Mama Obama: Me dey disturb you? For how many days I done dey here wey I take dey disturb you??? No be your sister dey take care of me since? You, I never come your house reach one week, you done dey drive me. Meanwhile you wife mama dey come here stay one year.

Barrack Obama: It is because you never let my wife rest.

Mama Obama: I talk am. Your wife na weeeeeeensh. She done turn you against me. Me wey before you come outside wey I dey born you, this your "ogo" for you back head nearly tear me into two. You wey I leave all your sister dey carry, me wey make sure say na ur money many pass wey you dey go school. Na me no fit stay your house abi? meanwhile your sisters dey take good care of me...sisters wey i leave concentrate on u.

barrack Obama: We all know girls take better care of their aging parents. It is why I wonder at the silliness of insisting on and preferring a male child. If it is the name, i can make sure the girls add "Obama" to their names as women are doing on facebook all over the world. nevertheless mama, I will try my best to take care of you...

Mama Barrack: If you want try your best, carry Michelle enter room now make una gimme boy pikin. If the third time no work, Mama Kipketer get one fine girl. her name na "ogwoguvwevwi" (meaning wrecker of homes). we call her "Oghwo"for shot. You can call her "oghwo darling". I go bring am come make she do housegirl for Michelle. If night reach, na u know how u go dey creep go her room. I hear say Terminator abi na Commando abi na Arnold Swarchzenneger do like that with one woman. That na calabar style.

Michelle: Mama, I can wash all the plates. I do not need a housegirl

Mama Barrack. Okay, Michelle no worry. I no go bring am come your house. iBarraki, when you dey come Kenya? I go keep the girl wait you. No worry, I go take care of am. na just make u dey carry this your private jet abi na AirForce One come Kenya on code come "brokware". that is all.

Barrack Obama: Mamaaaaaaaaaa

Mama Obama: Eh. I done pack my load. I dey go house tomorrow. If I chop your wife food, she fit go poison me
. I done buy bread keep for my "osumabe". (To Michelle) Michelle abi na Michellin tire,, if u no go born boy, ready to pack comot. Next time i come, na with all him sisters and you will pack your load and go in Jesus name. AMEN!!!

Barrack Obama: You keep screaming GOD GOD and never missing Church and yet you are not showing love and understanding to my wife. You are not doing unto others as you would have them do unto you. I know a lot of the money I send to you, you give it as "seed" for me to have a male child or for my wife to pack out. Mama, i am satisfied with all God has done for me. It was his will that a black man like me become president in a country where many people still see you as no better than a monkey. If it is his will that I have only girls, I embrace it gladly. "OMOTEJOKWO", a girl is a human being.

The above was published with the permission of the author Ena Ofugara.

Please leave your comments below for the author.

“M” is for “Mother” – My Review of Skyfall

Finally! I got to see the 23^rd James Bond movie, Skyfall and I was not disappointed. Directed by Academy Award winner, Sam Mendes (American Beauty) and written by the usual suspects Neal Purvis and Robert Wade, together with John Logan, Skyfall marks a half century of Bond movies, and quite naturally my expectations were high, especially following the debacle that was Quantum of Solace.

Once again, just like Licence to Kill and Die Another Day, it was personal. Bond was not out to just save the world but was also on a mission of a personal nature, made personal by the real threat to his surrogate mother, M and her MI6 family.  And just like in The World Is Not Enough he has to rescue and protect M from a villain who blames her for his suffering at the hands of Britain’s enemies. We get to see Daniel Craig grow into the role of Bond; he is less cocky and made more aware of his mortality. Bond seems tired yet determined as he comes back from retirement to serve his queen (read as mother) and country.

A flawed agent, Bond has to do battle with another flawed agent and former but elder brother-at-arms (Alec Trevelyan in Goldeneye, anyone?) who was also nursed at M’s breast, a former MI6 agent, Raoul Silva. Silva played excellently well by Javier Bardem at long last gives us a villain worthy of facing Bond. The previous three (not counting Le Chiffre) were poor poor villains. Raoul Silva – bleached blonde hair and all – very quickly reminds you of The Joker, Max Zorin and Jaws in one particular scene, but where they appear almost comical and crazy like, Silva is not. He is a very intelligent man and like a son betrayed unto death by his mother, he sets out to exact his vengeance. His Spanish-flavoured English lends a certain appeal but also has a dangerous edge to it. Indeed, Raoul Silva is a man to be fearful of.

But why doesn’t Bond ever crack or betray M? In Die Another Day he was left at the hands of the North Koreans and was tortured for over a year; in Casino Royale, Le Chiffre almost emasculated him. Where most agents would have held a grudge against the Empire, Bond never ever does even when his wife was killed by Blofeld. So what makes James Bond so faithful and loyal? I daresay he is a mama’s boy. Bond is M’s favourite who sees his mother as imperfect but in the end she knows best.

Truth be told, Skyfall is rather formulaic and borrows plot lines from previous Bond movies. Revenge. Betrayal. And the villain practically giving himself up to gain access to the new MI6 headquarters (hmm.... reminds me of a certain superhero movie). Initially hampered by budget constraints ($200mm), Skyfall still ekes a beautiful production. It boasts great cinematography and visual effects. The cityscapes of Shanghai, the rooftops of Istanbul and London are eye catching and lovely to behold. The action scenes are done just right with just the right amount of intensity for they never go over the top.  

The acting is quite good by everyone and a special mention goes to Javier Bardem. However, the chemistry between Bond and Eve (Naomie Harris) is not quite there but perhaps this was deliberate as this relationship is one that is never meant to be “quite there”. I also noticed that this time the focus was a lot less on Daniel Craig as Bond but it was rather on Bond as Bond. After the first 30 minutes I stopped trying to second guess myself as to whether Daniel Craig was still a good Bond.

Skyfall very successfully reintroduces Bond to us by providing more details into his past, what is must have been like for him growing up at Skyfall, the almost Bruce Waynesque loss of his parents, and his coming of age in the tunnels of his boyhood home. Both the audience and Bond himself are reintroduced to a new quartermaster, Q (Ben Whishaw) who promises to be one for the new millennium, nerdy, techie but cool.  

Another reintroduction is that of the iconic Aston Martin DB5 used in Goldfinger; and Moneypenny, M’s secretary and James’ almost-girlfriend and lover in a brilliant twist at the end of the film. Quite naturally, I expected Ralph Fiennes to have a bigger role and the man once touted to be the “next Bond” does. *wink*

So as the curtain falls on Dame Judi Dench’s M, we applaud and say goodbye to a strong woman, an efficient leader who faced danger with every step, and took the hardest and toughest decisions; the only woman to perhaps match Bond himself, and chronology notwithstanding, the first Bond girl, his mother “M”.

PS: Skyfall has grossed $321mm worldwide since its October 29, 2012 premiere.

Vote for your favourite Bond actor below.

I also added a brief history of James Bond via the guys at CableTV.com, click on the graphic to hyperlink/maximise:

Via: CableTV.com

If You See the Trek Wey I Trek This Morning!

If You See the Trek Wey I Trek This Morning eh! Una go pity me! 

I woke up early enough considering it was the first workday after a 4-day weekend, thanks to our Muslim brothers. I had shared a bottle of  wine at a friend’s last night so falling asleep was meant to be easy but no thanks to a noisy neighbour who hasn’t realised that he is no longer at the university, it took longer than planned.

So I woke up early and got to the major road a good fifteen minutes before the staff bus’ scheduled arrival at Ajah. But lo and behold there were no okadas in sight! Ten minutes later, na so I begin dey panic. Missing the staff bus would not be funny at all! Instead of me to enter keke jeje I was still forming. You see I don’t like kekes, to me they are like tortoises who think they are rabbits. In my mind, they appear a lot more fragile than the okadas. Irony eh? Besides the kekes take longer to get to the Ajah junction/roundabout than the okadas that can squeeze through two Toyota Sequoias on a good day. Please note that it takes the average car 40 minutes to get from Badore to Ajah junction/roundabout, no thanks to traffic caused by the abysmal slow pace of work on the Lekki-Epe express road by our beloved Hi-Tech Construction Coy. So I held out for an okada. I buzzed my guys on the bus; they were about to pull out of Ajah. Chei! And I was counting on the early Monday morning traffic to slow the bus down. Oh well, shit happens. I told them to go and that I would take public transport aka danfo to work. I waited another ten minutes before I got an okada. The fare of N150 automatically became N200! I tried to bluff the okada man but he called it, so I quickly said no problem and I got on. I got to Ajah in no time and handed the man N1,000. He began to vex asking where he would get change from this early Monday morning. I quietly handed him N150 in change. He looked at me and with a grumble and went to look for change. He came back shortly and handed me my change. 

I walked over to the bus stop. Chei! See crowd! No bus! At this point it was 7am. I called my only friend in Ajah to find out if he and his Kia Rio had passed that point already. He picked and said that he had just gotten to VGC where he was about to pick up some of our friends. I quickly told him I would look for an okada and join him. For where! I no see ONE okada! He had to continue his journey. At this point I decided to walk forward hoping to catch a danfo to Sand fill/Maroko. No such luck. After about 20metres I got a bus to Lekki Phase One for N200....nothing spoil for I could still get an okada from the other side of the road to my office in VI.

The bus picked some secondary school students with the conductor screaming that he would not take less than his advertised fare. The students still got on with full mind and along the way declared that it was N150 that they had. Conductor screamed and threatened. Bus driver joined in. Students screamed back. Bus driver parked his bus and opened the boot for the students (six in number) to get down. Nigerian standoff. Eventually, the students handed over the required fare, but not before cussing out bus driver and conductor. Bus dropped us at Phase One; time check 7:45am. I got to the other side and lo and behold where there were supposed to be okadas at New Market, I saw none! I decided to wait with a bunch of other people. A few okadas came around but none was willing to go my way, except one and he demanded N400! Try as I may, my Warri mind refused to part with that amount of money. It would not, never give in to another man’s greed or exploitation of my misfortune! The government might fuck me in the arse but not an okada man! Never! So after waiting another five minutes in the early morning sun, I decided to trek.

Omo see trekking sha! I walked o, went through Oniru estate. I did not feel too bad as I was quite sure that I would get to the other side way before the traffic-snarled vehicles I walked past. I trekked o, all the while thanking God that I wore my slapping-friendly shoes. My thoughts turned to how I would reward them with a fine coat of polish and myself with a bottle of Lucozade Boost. I got to the other side of Oniru and I spied a solitary okada coming my way. I promptly stopped him. He charged me N150. I did not blink. I got on and arrived at the office at 8:30am, sweaty but in one piece.

As I got into the lift all I could think of was “You better wake up thirty minutes earlier son, ‘cos Fashola no send you!”

N.B.: To the uninitiated "okada" is a commercial motorcycle, and "keke" is an auto rickshaw.

My Name is Bond....

When I was kid I wanted to be James Bond. Yes! He of the “My name is Bond...James Bond” fame. And why exactly did I want to be like Ian Fleming’s super-spy creation? Perhaps it was the guns, the uber cool cars, the charm, the suave dapper of the iconic character, or maybe the not so subtle hints that women fell at his feet (including the female villains who wanted a taste of the man before doing away with him!) So I prayed that by some twist of fate I would find myself working for the British Secret Service or MI6, where I would be trained as a super-spy  imbued with a wide range of skills from being a sharpshooter to an excellent skier, diver and skydiver capable of manning any land, sea vehicle or aircraft known to man including space ships. I would always look sharply dressed in the best that Savile Row had to offer, while saving the world, necktie and cuff-links still in place. Sigh.

However, by the time I hit 16 I gave up on my dream, with reality biting me in the right places.

And just how did my love for the world’s most iconic fictional character begin? I was about six when I saw my first Bond film. I had the unforgettable pleasure of watching Goldfinger at my uncle’s house in Warri. Many would agree that there is no better Bond movie to begin the series with than Goldfinger, which went on to become the template on which all the subsequent Bond films were based. My uncle had about four Bond films in his collection of VHS cassettes. I am willing to bet that James Bond was the reason he named his last child, my cousin, James.

Having been bitten by the bug in Warri, I discovered that my new neighbour back home had a collection of Bond films. In addition, a cousin and her family moved down the road from ours, who had all the Bond movies that my neighbour did not. I was in heaven. My weekends and holidays were filled with watching and re-watching the films I had access to. Thus, my love for James Bond and everything he stood for grew.

And what exactly did James Bond stand for? Even in my young mind, I understood that he was that emblem of huMAN freedom, a bastion against the enemies of freedom and liberty. He was the good guy, a veritable weapon against the axis of evil (East or West). He never dies; he kills the bad guy and gets several women on the way. He was a man’s man. So confident in his abilities that he rarely used an alias: “The name’s Bond....” I mean what kind of spy goes around telling everyone who he is?! A super duper spy, that is!

I was awed by the gadgets and the cars provided by Q Branch. I mean, a CAR EJECTOR SEAT!! A car that transformed into a boat!! A wristwatch with lasers! Little wonder he never dies! His fighting skills until recently were a form of art, from Sean Connery to Roger Moore, he never seemed to break a sweat while in the throes of danger. Pierce Brosnan’s Bond brought a lot more physicality to the role but he still never seemed to get a hair out of place! Bond’s fighting was like ballet (don’t touch me! Don’t “dirty” my shirt!), and like a certain Argentine with a football at his feet, it seemed effortless. Daniel Craig’s Bond on the other hand is Bond with the rough edges, before the smoothing out and touching up. With him Bond is brutal and hard. Efficient. Real. However, he still looks good doing it! In the preview of Skyfall, there is a clip that shows Bond following an explosion, jumping into a dissected train carriage and yet still taking the time to adjust his shirt cuffs and jacket before walking off! SWAG! Come on!!

Indeed, each and every actor who had the good fortune of playing 007 brought his own interpretation and unique qualities to the role. 

Roger Moore, the third Bond as my fellow Bond aficionado and friend Tosan would say was a comedian and an “ashawo”, which in Yoruba refers to a man that likes and chases women a little too much. I mean Bond is the consummate lover but Moore’s Bond seemed to enjoy the women a lot more than the rest, with the way his baby blues would light up upon seeing a beautiful woman. Moore’s funny innuendos and double entendres were unforgettable, in this regard only Pierce Brosnan came close. 

Tim Dalton, the fourth actor to play Bond, was easily the most business-like of them all. His Bond did not have time for flirtations. He was grim and serious, a cold blooded superspy. 

Daniel Craig, the actor who introduced Bond to a new generation of movie watchers is in many ways like Timothy Dalton. Critics and James Bond experts agree that both of them closely resemble in character Ian Fleming’s description of 007. Dalton’s Bond is not judged to be the most popular but he is well appreciated by the critics. It is important to note that Dalton’s Bond movies: License To Kill and The Living Daylights marketing were hampered by budget constraints suffered by Eon Productions. In all the Welsh man did a very good job.

George Lazenby the least known Bond is just that, the least known Bond, and maybe the handsomest of the lot.

Pierce Brosnan looks like he was born to play Bond. The Irishman certainly looked and played the part so well that when Goldeneye was released we kinda forgot that other actors had played the role before him. Goldeneye (sans the opening airplane-catching scene) was a very good reintroduction of Bond and some real British superspy intelligence to fans who had been starved for six long years.

But the Bond of them all is Sir Sean Connery. Don’t get me wrong, he is not "the best Bond" neither is he my favourite Bond, however he as the blueprint very successfully introduced Ian Fleming’s James Bond to the big screen. Just imagine if Dr. No, From Russia With Love and Thunderball had been crap (please note that Thunderball, released in 1965, is recorded as the most financially successful Bond film.) we probably would not have gotten as many Bond movies as we now have. So if Roger Moore was the playboy, Dalton the grim one, Brosnan the fine yet skilled one and Craig the rough one, then Connery was all in one, the complete Bond who had all the characteristics aforementioned.

And it is these characteristics that made me want to be Bond. In my mind he was the complete man: super smart, sexy, a gentleman, a playboy, a great lover, a fighter. James Bond, who achieved the rank of Commander in the Royal Navy, speaks several languages, dresses better than Prince Charles, Tony Blair and Puff Daddy combined, can man numerous vehicles and aircrafts, skis, bungee jumps, skydives, water dives, dates numerous exotic women (without catching an STD!), kills the bad guy no matter how the odds are stacked against him and always saves the day! That is my definition of a man, the man deep down inside I still want to be.

So as the world celebrates 50 years of the original super spy, Ian Fleming’s James Bond “007” and 23 great movies, we say thank you to Mr. Fleming, Albert R. Broccoli, Harry Saltzman (who bought the rights to the Bond books) Barbara Broccoli and Michael G. Wilson for continuing to make us happy, Eon Productions, Monty Norman for the iconic theme, John Barry for the music over the years, the various scriptwriters who weaved fantastic plots, and actors who played the unforgettable villains –Auric Goldfinger, Ernst Stavro Blofeld, Jaws, Mr. Scaramanga, Le Chiffre, Dr. No, Max Zorin, Mr. Kananga etc, the actresses who played the beautiful Bond girls – Honey Rider, Pussy Galore, Jinx, Domino, Solitaire, Kissy Suzuki, Teresa di Vicenzo aka Mrs. Bond, Tiffany Case, Xenia Onatopp, Wai Lin, Paris Carver, Anya Amaosva, Holly Goodhead, Mary Goodnight, May Day, Kara Milovy, Elektra, Vesper Lynd etc, Miss Monneypenny, Q the Quartermaster and finally to Sean, George, Roger, Tim, Pierce and Daniel.

Thank you guys, thank you!

And oh yeah....Daniel Craig is my favourite Bond! :)