Spectre (2015)

James Bond returns and so does another “B” name guy in “Spectre,” Daniel Craig’s fourth 007, starting were 2012’s bloody “Skyfall” ended, with Sam Medes again as director. We open on Mexico City on Dia de Muertos with Bond, silent, glaring, and donning a skull mask as he stalks a man in a white suit. A religious parade blares on the street as Bond creeps on rooftops. “Godfather, Part II” vibes bounce hard. Bond takes his shot. Boom. Shit hits. Roll song. It’s down hill after. The song’s a shrieky-dude bust, and the movie that follows has great moments –- Craig fights a silent, giant killer (Dave Bautista) aboard a train as in “Russia With Love,” but when we get to the big bad in this big data flick, “Spectre” turns into a goddamn joke. And Christoph Waltz -– he of “Inglorious Basterds” fame –- is the punchline. He plays He Who Should Have Remained Unnamed with the lamest motive I’ve seen in years. It’s not “Quantum of Solace” or some other series duds –- what’s the one with Halle Berry? -– but this one flick trashes four. Even new-era champ “Casino Royale.” B-