Casino Royale

Casino Royale (Daniel Craig, Judi Dench) – It sounds like Bond.  It feels like Bond, Its fabulous settings are definitely Bond.  The cars are almost Bond (well, one of them is a product placement Ford).  The acting is most certainly Bond (meaning mediocre).  I’m old enough to have seen every Bond movie on the opening weekend, and, Mr. Quayle, this is most distinctly not Bond.  It’s long; it’s contrived; it’s ponderous; it’s almost boring.  Oh yes, Daniel Craig is fine as a pre-Sean Connery Bond —  cocky, self-assured, arrogant, irresistible, cold, and oddly caring.  There is a reason that Albert Broccoli didn’t do Casino Royale during the Connery era; it simply isn’t that compelling.  Instead of Baccarat, we’re stuck with Texas Hold ‘Em.  Instead of “shaken, not stirred,” we have “Do I look like I give a da__?”  The worst Bond song in history runs along the worst opening credit sequence in the Bond series.  And, if this is a “prequel,” presumably when Bond became 007, then why is it set in the 21st century?  There are two redeeming elements of the movie – the special effects and Judi Dench – maybe in that order.  When you get tired of looking at Craig’s pecs, you can focus on the scenery, then on Dench taking herself seriously.  It’ll be well down the list before you decide to try to follow the plot or fall in love with the less-than-gorgeous Bond “girls,” or God forbid, the villain with the bleeding tear duct (yes, it bleeds, but no one knows why).  I guess you can tell that I wasn’t impressed, and it is only worth it if you have nothing to do on a weekend afternoon, in which case, I’m sorry.