Brexit Movie Reviews 01: Spectre (2015)

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Your reviewer

Ah, there’s nothing more British – more English – than James Bond, an arrogant white bloke with an English accent who drinks a lot and punches people. No doubt once they get rid of Daniel Craig they’ll cast some bloody foreign disabled vegan lesbian and they’ll make her all touchy-feely and politically correct. Grr, don’t get me started on political correctness. Want to be rude about foreigners? Want to make a funny joke about them? No chance mate – the bloody Sharia police will be round to arrest you and send you to the re-education camps like they all do in foreignland.

Speaking of which, why does James Bond have to go to all these different foreign places all the time? Why can’t he stay in Britain? We’ve got lots of dramatic looking shit that’d be alright in a film – Cheddar Gorge, Wookey Hole. Coventry. And if you want a brilliant car chase there’s the bloody M6 mate. I mean, I haven’t seen Spectre – don’t need to to have an opinion on it, do I – but it seems to me it would be a much better film if Bond just stayed at home and got pissed and punched wankers like a proper Englishman.

And I’ll tell you what else: why do you never get to see the Bond girl’s tits? This isn’t a Carry On film, it’s a sophisticated piece of adult entertainment about a man with a biro that turns into a jet-ski, so let’s see some hoobly jooblies. Idiots. Did I tell you I used to be in the SAS?

FILM: Do Not Do Dying (2020)

Promotional material for James Bond film Do Not Do Dying (2020)
Promotional material for Do Not Do Dying

Craig David returns as James Bond in his latest high-octane adventure, the follow-up to 2015’s disappointing Skidmark. After his license to kill is reduced to a license to maim after a pre-credit sequence involving three nuns, a sledgehammer and some poor judgment, 007 is forced to team up with beautiful independent CIA operative Feisty Whoppers (Jill Woman). Together they are ordered to take out a cunning international badger baiter known only as Le Master Baiter.

Smashed off his man-tits on Martinis and cheap cider and popping pickled onions like pain pills, Bond travels the world somehow visiting places he’s never visited before in an attempt to catch Le Master Baiter before he blows up every badger on Earth with his orbiting satellite debadgerisation laser. Can 007 punch enough things, sleep with Feisty Whoppers before she’s arbitrarily murdered, and still find time to look inwards in an attempt to humanise himself for an audience asked to root for a professional killer? Find out in seven months if you haven’t died from coronavirus (124 minutes).