Found it.
The remake of
Casino Royale is absolutely riveting, and an unusual Bond film in a number of ways. For one thing, it’s an anachronism: The story is supposed to take place at the outset of Bond’s career, some of it even before he’s been granted 00 status, yet the cell phones and laptops place us squarely in current time.
There’s a noticeable lack of gadgetry, perhaps because there is no Q (Desmond Llewelyn died some time ago, and John Cleese, who followed in Q’s footsteps, doesn’t appear in this one). Most significantly, there are no wisecracks. This script takes Bond to a grimmer, darker, even more violent place than usual.
And Daniel Craig gives us something we’ve never seen before: a working-class Bond who’s only too happy to rip off that tuxedo jacket and kill a man with his bare hands.
The tiny, tight smile Craig permits himself after blowing up an enemy is the most emotion you’ll see him betray.
It’s hard to pick a favorite among the actors who have played 007, as each one brings something different to the part. Sean Connery’s Bond wins for sheer virility, though Timothy Dalton may well be the best-looking of the group. Roger Moore is undoubtedly the wittiest, lightest Bond, mugging his way through every film. Pierce Brosnan’s version feels the most human. Even George Lazenby, widely considered the least popular choice, hands in a credible performance as Bond-turned-bridegroom.
Craig reminds me forcefully of a young Steve McQueen—same grit, same bad-boy swagger, same chip-on-the-shoulder mix of defiance and vulnerability, not to mention their marked physical resemblance.
You imagine him drifting into the espionage game less from devotion to queen and country than as an outlet for his considerable personal violence. Even his blocky build runs counter to type—all the other Bonds are well over six feet; Craig stands just five ten.
The initial chase sequence, set on a construction site in Uganda, has some of the most heart-stopping stunt work in the whole Bond canon; you don’t learn that brand of athleticism on the cricket pitch at Eton.
It’s a wild ride from there all the way through to the atypical ending. Rather than the classic scene of Bond riding/sailing/driving off into the sunset with the Girl du Jour, it’s more a foretaste of things to come.
If you thought the best Bond movies had already been made,
Casino Royale may just change your mind.
Regards—
