Actually I can’t fake it anymore. You’ve wheedled it out of me, blasted watercooler enthusiasm. I fell asleep.
In my defense are the following points: 1) I have never managed to stay awake through a Bond film, so had very little point of reference for this one. Pretty much all I know is the shooting, the ladies, the cars and the fact that every so often he regenerates into a different man, leading me to assume Bond is part Timelord.
2) That Adele song really is very soothing. 3) I’d had a moderately rich Ben and Jerry’s first.
4) Not to go all Hipster Victorian on you, but massive, implausible CGI action sequences just leave me cold. Well done on your clever computing and that, but I’m the girl who preferred the old The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe from 1988, where Aslan looked like a giant talking shoebrush. I like a little authenticity. As soon as anyone in a film has hung by their fingertips from a speeding anything and not immediately died, you have lost me.
5) I don’t particularly fancy Daniel Craig. I’m sure he’s a lovely man, and he’s certainly very good at doing The Exercise and getting The Muscles – but frankly, I like my powerful, world-saving male heroes to have a higher gawk factor (see: earlier Doctor Who reference).
6) It was warm. 7) It was after 8pm. 8) I was sitting down.
In case Sam Mendes is reading this and on the verge of snotty tears, I’d like to stress that these last three are definitely the main factors in Skyfall Snoozegate. I’d say I’ve been semi-conscious for about 37 per cent of all the films I’ve ever watched. High profile releases I’ve napped through include The Notebook, Star Wars II: Attack of the Clones, The Third Man, Casablanca, Withnail and I and at least half of the Harry Potters.
The most expensive nap I’ve ever had was during the 2008 remake of The Women, which I saw in Leicester Square at the princely sum of £11 WITH student discount – though judging by the 15 minutes of action I saw before The Land of Zs beckoned, I didn’t waste a penny.
My cinema sleepytimes aren’t dependent on quality of movie, however. More on the quality of seating, and whether or not there’s a High Inquisitor sat near me (“Who’s that? What’s she doing? Is he doing to die?”) that requires politely smothering with my coat/pillow first.
So it was no slight on you, Mr Bond. Or you, Judi. Or any of you, clever special effects folks, or you, lighting guys, or you, Daniel Craig’s official abs sculptor. Jolly good job, all of you. And I can say that with enthusiasm, because I’m feeling terribly well rested.