Casino Royale
(2006)
(SPOILERS) Despite the doubts and
trepidation from devotees (too blonde, uncouth etc.) that greeted Daniel Craig’s casting as Bond, and the highly cynical and low-inspiration route taken by
Eon in looking to Jason Bourne's example to reboot a series that had reached a
nadir with Die Another Day, Casino Royale ends up getting an
enormous amount right. If anything, its failure is that it doesn’t push far
enough, so successful is it in disarming itself of the overblown set pieces and
perfunctory plotting that characterise the series (even at its best), elements
that would resurge with unabated gusto in subsequent Craig excursions.
For the majority of its first two hours, Casino Royale is top-flight
entertainment, with returning director Martin Campbell managing to exceed his excellent work reformatting Bond for the ‘90s. That the weakest sequence (still good, mind) prior
to the finale is a traditional “big” (but not too big) action set piece involving an attempt to blow up a new
super airliner is testament to how well writers Purvis and Wade and Haggis (perhaps
surprisingly, the former duo deserve the majority of the credit, devotedly
refashioning the Ian Fleming novel) have produced a screenplay that is heavy on
narrative and character progression and reliant on action only to the extent
that it integrates with and furthers those elements.
But then the picture stumbles, and
unfortunately it’s Haggis who rewrote and crashes the climax. His actions aren’t
enough to destroy the earlier fine work, but the last 20-odd minutes throw
audiences a bone of a big, generic set piece in a sinking Vienna edifice. It’s
the most obviously budget-guzzling part of the movie, and easily the least
involving. Maybe the producers lost their nerve at the last moment, worried
that they were being too mould
breaking, and something more succinct and localised that concluded the plot
between Bond and Vesper Lynd (Eva Green) just wasn’t enough. Even Campbell doesn’t
seem as assured in the construction of the sequence, and Stuart Baird’s
otherwise crisp editing is notably less precise.
Playing it safe can be seen in other areas
too; the producers most definitely did not
want Tarantino’s proposed ‘50s set version of Casino (curiously with Brosnan), and they opt to bring back Dame
Judi. Who is fine, except that by now the Oscar-drenched luvvie has become a
parrot on Bond’s shoulder, with Eon determined to soak up the kudos of having her shoehorned into the proceedings wherever possible.
Another point of note is that, for a Bond
earning his stripes in the opening sequence (played out in black and white,
perhaps a nod to Tarantino’s conception of the picture), he’s a bit of a late
bloomer. Craig was 37 when he began filming, which is young enough compared to
his two predecessors, but should put him out of the running for earning his 00
status. It’s no wonder he’s feeling a bit over-the-hill in only two movies
time, which says very little for the selection process of this incarnation of
the secret service. Henry Cavill may have been too young for the part at the
time, but the producers would be fools not to do a Brosnan and get second dibs
whenever Craig’s departure is announced (his performance in The Man from U.N.C.L.E. is practically an extended Bond screen-test).
M: Any thug can kill. I need
you to take your ego out of the equation.
I’d credited Craig with being moody and
dour in the role from the off, but I’d forgotten how good he actually is with
the humour here. The key is to make it germane, rather than douse him in
traditional bad puns (notably, when he gives a standard riposte to the villain,
the one about starting to weep blood being a sign he’s nervous, tumbleweeds
invade the casino floor; likewise the gag about Le Chiffre dying scratching his
balls isn’t exactly Bruce Forsyth). It’s also about the delivery. Craig makes
the line that Vesper is to assume the identity of Stephanie Broadchest work, not least because
it’s a sly dig at the tradition of suggestive and objectifying names for Bond girls (Exhibit A: “Vesper”).
He also brings a very determined
physicality to the part, not just with those massive man tits on display in his
Ursula Andress-esque beach-and-trunks moment, but also the sense that he’s a
real bruiser, as time and again he’s called upon to get down and dirty. There
are even laughs to be had in this area, but of a passing kind; during the
superlative chase of parkour bomb maker Mollaka (Sebastien Foucan) Bond plunges
to the ground, pausing to shake his jowls before setting off in pursuit once
more, as if this is a Warner Bros cartoon. Later during the same sequence, he
bursts through a “wall” (a bit of plaster, so he’s not quite Robocop, even if they
do share a chest size).
M: I knew it was too early to
promote you.
James
Bond: Well, I
understand double-Os have a very short life expectancy, so your mistake will be
short-lived.
Craig also nails the cocky SOB side of
Bond, the guy who cheerfully breaks into M’s apartment, and embraces the
character’s essential sociopathy. The opening sequence sees him disposing of a
duplicitous MI6 section chief (Malcolm Sinclair), and it’s made very clear that
Bond hasn’t yet earned his stripes, which, down to its unvarnished brass tacks,
means he needs to kill two people. Except he dispatched number one already, in a
toilet on the way there. So he responds coldly and coolly with “Yes, considerably” on shooting Dryden, who has just suggested of the next one, “The second is…” When
Vesper questions him on this, if it bothers him killing people, he responds
matter-of-factly (“Well, I wouldn’t be
very good at my job if it did”). This cavalier manner is just what the
series should be doing with Bond, rather than nursing introspection.
M: You don’t trust anyone, do
you James?
James
Bond: No.
M: Then you’ve learnt your
lesson.
There is a nagging feeling that bringing Bond fully into the ruthless killer mode, as chaperoned by M, is a bit
trite, as are the repetitive remarks about his ego getting in the way (more
integrated than the misogynist stuff in Goldeneye,
though), but it’s refreshing that his Bond embraces the ice cold killer, when Bourne, which provided the base line, has
a hero attempting to make amends for past deeds. Brosnan, in his first Campbell
outing, was ill-advisedly troubled by the things he had done; Casino Royale is still attacking an
aspect of the character that can only stand so much interrogation, but at least
it largely works this time. If the “lesson” is a bit simplistic, the actual
portrayal of Bond, prone to slip-ups but ultimately making good, works for the
plot, yielding a much more invested, high stakes tale.
M: In the old days, if an agent
did something that embarrassing he’d have the good sense to defect. Christ, I
miss the Cold War.
Bond's decision to shoot the bomb maker is
rash, but it makes for a classic surprise moment. This recklessness also sees
him give tail and get spotted by his target on two different occasions
(although not as disastrously as his colleague during the bomb maker
surveillance), get the girlfriend (Solange, played by Caterina Murino) of one
of these tails (Simon Abkarian’s Alex Dmitirios) killed and bring that
crashing ego into the room on repeated occasions (such as announcing himself as Bond
rather than his cover identity at the casino, on the grounds that someone with
the connections of Mads Mikkelsen’s Le Chiffre would have found out who he was
anyway). But he's hoisted by his own petard. During the game of Texas hold ’em, Le Chiffre misleads 007 by
fabricating a tell (“You must have
thought I was bluffing, Mr Bond”), leading to a setback for which Vesper
scolds him (“You lost because of your ego”).
Bond’s failures make the victories more
vital; particularly with the card game (in which, interestingly, we’re used to
seeing high cards win yet the makers don’t go that route, possibly confusing viewers
unfamiliar with the rules). And lines like “Do
I look like I give a damn?” when asked if he wants his vodka shaken or
stirred don’t feel entirely frivolous because they instruct the character (I’m
less convinced of the need to wheel out the Aston Martin, particularly when
they are holding off on the iconic theme until the end of the picture).
When it gets to the point of the renowned
(in the novel) torture scene, where Bond’s testiacles (as Vic and Bob would say)
come under duress, his bravado is definitely to be celebrated. Not only is he
not willing to give up the password for the girl, but he’s happy to make jokes
about his forlorn balls (“I’ve got an
itch, down there. Would you mind? To the right”).
Vesper: I’m the money.
James
Bond: Every
penny of it.
One thing I’m not entirely convinced of
however, and I know most people claim it as one of the movie’s crowning
achievements, particularly as it provides Bond’s entire motivation for the next
picture, is the love story with Vesper. There’s a wealth of good material here,
and Green’s (who is excellent as always) introductory “reading” scene on
the train is a classic of its kind, deftly castigating Bond’s approach to the
ladies (“You see women as disposable
pleasures rather than meaningful pursuits”, and his riposte that she’s not
his type not because she’s smart but because she’s single) in a manner Goldeneye made a meal of, while
arranging some reverse objectification (Craig’s “perfectly formed arse” is surprisingly feted above his massive man
tits). But my response to their ill-starred relationship ends up very
much as it is on their first meeting; “Apparently,
we’re very much in love”.
James
Bond: I have
no armour left. You stripped it from me.
Much of Bond and Vesper’s interaction is choice
and witty (his reaction to the tailored dinner jacket waiting for him, Vesper
treating him the way he treats her; also nice that David Arnold very nearly
breaks into the Bond theme when we
first see him wearing it), and the scene where she is sobbing in the shower
ends not with a customary shag. But I don’t buy that Bond is in love, not the way Lazenby
(in no way shape or form as strong an actor as Craig, or even Roger Moore) sold
it in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service;
Craig can’t make us believe the “Whatever
I am, I’m yours” as, despite his swollen balls, he doesn’t come across as
vulnerable or in need.
Maybe part of that is there’s always the
sense we haven’t got the full story of Vesper (she’s the only one without a
tell), but their relationship plays out more as plot than as romance. As such,
the loss of Vesper lacks the profound impact of the loss of Tracy at the end of
OHMSS; the preparatory work isn’t
sufficiently affecting (Bond going from “Job’s
done. The bitch is dead” to realisation that she made a deal to save his
life, and even sent him a clue to track down what ultimately turn out to be “the architect of all your pain”... but
let’s not go there).
Le
Chiffre: Well,
Mr Beach. Or is that Bond, I’m a little confused.
James
Bond: Well,
we wouldn’t want that, would we?
In stark contrast to most of the Brosnans, Bond once more incarnates a really
strong villain, courtesy of Mikkelsen as leaky-eyed, asthmatic (upholding the
dubious tradition of associating villainy with physical disability) Le Chiffre.
There are so many plusses about this character, but most of them come down to
his being appropriate to the material in terms of scheme and activity. He isn’t
a super villain, he’s “the private banker
to the world’s terrorists”. The most winning aspect of his persona (and
again, this is something, like the action scenes, no one seems to have learnt
since), is that a villain works best when you are interested in them, and if they
have troubles of their own. This was even true of the briefly appearing General
Ourumov in Campbell’s Goldeneye.
Obanno: Not a word of protest. You
should find a new girlfriend.
Le Chiffre is engaged in a very dangerous
game, investing money from men even nastier than he is, so when his ruse to
make money from put options on Skyfleet, then blowing up their new airliner, is
thwarted by Bond he’s really up against it (curiously, this plan foregrounds
one of the 9/11 conspiracy theories, which maintains that put options on United
Airlines stock were placed prior to the attack on the Twin Towers; M even
references this directly). Thus, when Ugandan warlord Obanno (Isaac De Bankole)
arrives demanding his money (I know you have to get your actor’s worth, but
would he really rock up in person to sort Le Chiffre out?), we are suddenly in the place of concern for the bad guy. And his girlfriend, threatened with
loss of limb (Ivana Milicevic of Banshee,
making an impression in a fairly nondescript role).
Le Chiffre, the pro, initially outwits Bond
(who should have taken notice of Vesper when she warns “He knows you’re reckless”), and when he can’t outwit him he resorts
to plain brutality. Notably, Bond is under orders to bring in Le Chiffre alive,
because he can give the goods on what will eventually be reconvened as Spectre.
As such, the role of Mr White (Jesper Christensen, veteran of three Bond movies as a baddie, pretty first
rank as far as the series goes) is significant. Bond doesn’t even get to bring in
the Big Bad, as Mr White finishes him off (“Money isn’t as valuable to our organisation as knowing who to trust”).
In retrospect, I think the decision to allow
the tentacles of Quantum Spectre to extend throughout the Craig era was
a mistake, one that has limited its variety and scope, but it can’t be said it
hasn’t individualised his era. The problem is, this path quickly allowed the
slate cleaning of Casino to introduce
its own set of encumbrances.
The wayward Bond here who has a tracker
implanted “so you can keep an eye on me”
has changed so little that the pale imitation of nano blood is introduced (to
little effect, and failing to capitalise on the Surveillance State them of the
picture) in Spectre. Generally, the
gadgets here are sensible, if as fortunately crucial to Bond’s pickles as ever;
the defibrillation sequence is one of several classics to avoid excess in favour of plot-first excitement in a manner the series
immediately drops. Alas.
James
Bond: I’m
sorry, that last hand… nearly killed me.
The movie is very keyed into Bond using his
wits straight off the bat, such that even when it comes to physicality
(pursuing Parkour guy) he has to calculate how to make up for his lack of speed
and agility through taking shortcuts. It’s a great set piece, simple yet elaborate,
and if the last 20 minutes are mostly superfluous, the first 20 are absolute
dynamite.
Further great but unshowy sequences follow,
such as Bond struggling with Dimitrios for control of a knife at the Body
Works exhibit, and the brutally effective fight on the casino stairwell,
complete with machete. Campbell’s understanding of where to place the camera
for such action is so good, it makes you wonder why his non-Bond movies have usually been less than
altogether satisfying.
Yet he handles the drama of the card game, and the
psychological warfare between his players, just as adeptly. It’s easy to see
why baccarat was replaced with the more skill-conscious Texas hold ‘em. If
anything, the makers might have made even more of the game playing, although I
appreciate this can be difficult to sustain, hence the need to break the
tournament up with fights and poisonings.
The casting is generally spot-on. Jeffrey
Wright is a great addition as Felix Leiter, but has been disappointingly
ill-served subsequently (the CIA is less mocked than in the Brosnan era, and “Does it look like we need the money?”
is Leiter’s boastful response when Bond asks if they want the winnings back, since he
staked him).
Populating the picture with so many non-Hollywood faces helps lend
Casino Royale a strong personality, including
the likes of Giancarlo Gianini, Richard Sammel and Tobias Menzes. The biggest
laugh-getter is Ludger Pistor’s ebullient Swiss banker, bursting into peals of
laughter when Bond asks if he brought any chocolate (“I’m afraid not!”)
They “attempted” to reel in the product
placement for this one, apparently, but it’s still very obvious where the Fords
and Ericssons and Richard Bransons are. Still, the choice of
songsmith for the theme may not have been as traditionally or commercially-minded
(Soundgarden’s Chris Cornell) but it works in context. It’s also shown
off to one of the very best title sequences in the series’ history, courtesy of
Daniel Kleinman, as pre-Mad Men
styled figures shoot and are shot by playing card symbols (in keeping with the
picture’s rising bruiser tone, and very male vocals, the ladies are in short
supply here, limited to Vesper’s face on a card).
So Bond
21 ended up far far better than anyone might reasonably have expected of a
series hitherto floundering desperately and looking over its shoulder for pointers.
It also improved on the box office of its predecessor (which was no slouch,
whatever the critical brickbats it received), making more than $100m more
globally even accounting for inflation (fourth for its year too, only Skyfall at second would top that). The
legacy of Casino Royale may be that
it’s at least, if not mostly, the source material that made it so good, rather
than the Bourne-esque physicality and
grit. Certainly, subsequent Craig efforts, while avoiding the rot that set into
his predecessor’s work, haven’t come close to this.
