“Whatever is left of me. Whatever I am. I’m yours.”

It's Casino Royale! Not Royal!

When I first heard that a bunch of Americans were going to portray decidedly very English characters in a certain fantasy movie about a powerful ring and little people who don’t wear Nike shoes I was incensed. No offence people (all you Americans, you know I love you all) but somehow English actors have a certain air (read: snooty, nose up in the air, humour drier than a desert) about them that no one has. I don’t have it, the only air I have comes from the south. But I was completely blown away when I saw the movie. All was forgiven. Except for one thing I still don’t quite agree, chiefly why the hell did Liv Tyler have to talk like she was a pseudo ethereal woman dying of boredom and why, in the name of all that is good, is Sam Gamgee a fat hobbit?

Then there was the terrifying-looking Dobby, the house elf from Harry Potter. I imagined Dobby to be like the batty-looking creature from a cartoon. You know, big floppy ears, huge eyes that glistened every time he recalled a sad story and basically looking like a cuddly, cute elf. But when I first laid eyes on the final product my expression was that of a guy who swallowed too many oranges at one go. It was hideous. It looked more like an imp, at first you think it’s harmless and wouldn’t harm you. Think again, it has claws. It has an evil-looking snout for crying out loud! It looked like it was going to drag you into depths of Hell, and make you watch reruns of Charmed for eternity.

So you see it all depends, sometimes your expectations can be shattered into a million pieces or you could leave the cinema with a smile on your face. Daniel Craig is by no means a metrosexual’s man. His face is craggy, the lines as thick as spaghetti and of course, the blond hair which is more brown than anything and is someone you can be friends with. But gosh damn he’s brutal. Pierce Brosnan is too much of a gentleman and is simply not as intense as Craig. That’s why he’s the best Bond since Sean Connery.

This is a Bond that is both soft and cold as steel all at the same time. There’s none of that swaggering stiff upper lip when he orders his martini and he doesn’t give a damn if it’s stirred or shaken. It’s just a very human Bond and a pair of very fitting Speedos. It’s probably the only Bond that I sort of feel for, a man so sure of himself that he needs to be sarcastic all the time so that people don’t make a mistake by calling him short. I also liked the fact that the villain wasn’t a diabolical, stark raving mad psycho bent on world domination. He’s just a darn good poker playes who weeps blood and has a thing for ropes with knobbly ends. Eva Green simply smokes, ‘nuff said.

I must point out that if you do watch this here in Malaysia, you’ll be sure to thank the censorship board for their much injudicious and downright potong steam (mood destroying) snip-happy fingers. And I also must add that the theme song from Chris Cornell is the best Bond song, period.

This review is pretty much superfluous, so just go and watch it now. It’s definitely worth it. I am looking forward to the next one. Till then, I’d love a martini shaken!

PS: German cars are too German, if you know what I mean. There’s nothing sexy about them. It’s Teutonic efficiency at its finest. Italian cars on the other hand are too sexy, lines slenderer than Heidi Klum’s silhouette and isn’t masculine enough. Therefore, Aston Martin is the perfect car for James Bond. It is quintessentially British, sleek yet not silky smooth, powerful but not overwhelming, and is gorgeously mean. What more can a man ask?