Casino Royale (aka Bond Begins)
dir. Martin Campbell
2006

"Retaining the male has not even the dubious purpose of reproduction. The male is a biological accident."

- Valerie Solanas, The SCUM Manifesto

There are few characters in film or literature as identifiably male as James Bond.

As gender roles and identity shifted and swam throughout the 70s and 80s, Bond became hazier, blurrier, more anachronistic and ultimately slid into self-parody.

What did it mean to be a playboy spy in the age of safe sex, shattered glass ceilings, ascendent monogamy, environmental responsibility and general sobriety? Two words: Timothy. Dalton. Shudder.

In the 90s, the series reinvented itself as generic action. Masculinity had returned to the screen over the years in the likes of John McClane and Martin Riggs and Bond followed rather than led in the person of Pierce Brosnan, who could jump a shark with the best of them, even if the shark had a frickin' laser on its head.

But the soul had gone out of the franchise, and we all knew it. Michael Myers' Austin Powers haunted the halls of MI-5 like the ghost of Yorick reminding us all that not much (living) daylight could pass between Bond and high camp.

But now, Casino Royale takes Bond where Bond needed to go.

It's a visionary reimagining, but there were weather vanes pointing in the right direction.

First, Craig Daniels, despite all early anxiety from the geekosphere, is perfect for the role.

There's a reason why Connery is far and away everyone's favorite Bond. Not because he originated the role, but because he's not a freakin' overgroomed pretty boy.

So, good play number one: find another Connery, not another Moore.

Second, dispense with the evolved, politically correct Bond (Dalton) but don't replace him with a borderline satire (Brosnan.) Neither of these criticisms applies to the actors, but to the writing.

Note the chemistry change between Dame Judi Dench and Bond. In the Brosnan movies, she was a scold and schoolmarm, chiding Bond for his out-of-date sexual politics and general naughty boy attitude. In this film, against a Bond of greater substance, she takes on a maternal, nuturing role.

In this film, Bond comes close to revealing M's true name, expressing surprise that 'M' actually stands for...

...well, she doesn't give him a chance to say, but I'm betting it rhymes with 'Honeypenny.'

So, good play number two: instead of reforming Bond, or lampooning him, make his lack of enlightenment a serious character flaw. Use it. What we love about him is what he hates about himself.

Third, understand that you are reimagining a cliched, corny premise, and embrace it not as camp nor as self-serious pretense, but as serious storytelling. If it's good enough for Battlestar Galactica, it's good enough for Bond.

Good play number three: make the FIRST Bond movie, not the twenty-first.

Finally, when the villain is torturing Bond, have him just repeatingly bash him in the nuts. You don't need any Rube Goldberg lava dipping machines to get a guy to talk.

Four stars, Jason Bond sez: go all in.