This, to be honest, is more a public service announcement than a review.

Casino Royale is in the curious (and unenviable) position of simultaneously being the latest entry in the long-running James Bond franchise and the first attempt at a Bond remake. The most insufferable of conditions, we might say, is to have one foot in the past and one foot in the present, and to be torn asunder by the two.

Martin Campbell’s reimagining of 1967’s Bond spoof Casino Royale starts out promisingly enough. The black-and-white prologue (even the studio logos, by the way, are monochrome) introduces us to the new James Bond—played by Daniel Craig, who physically resembles a young Sean Connery (including the ears)—as he has just been dispatched on his first mission as Agent 007. In fact, the Prague locale leads to the question: Are we even returning to a Cold War setting? Alas, the LCD readout in the elevator tells us something else is afoot.

Screenwriter Paul Haggis, fresh off his critical and popular successes with Million Dollar Baby and Crash, tries to work some of his magic in a noble screenwriting attempt. The first third or so of the movie, in fact, not only lives up to the promise of the opening sequence, it proves a literate commentary on the Bond-film genre as a whole.

The first major set-piece, for instance, calls for Bond to chase a terrorism suspect on foot through a construction site. As the hunt begins, the action is entirely plausible; as the suspect climbs higher and higher through the site, though, the stunts become increasingly improbable—and after he and Bond duke it out (without any real result) atop the site’s construction crane, they go… Down. Down, ridiculously (if entertainingly) down. And far quicker than one might imagine.

When the series has achieved all it can, the sequence seems to say, where else can it go but down? It’s an echo of the opening scene, in which Bond’s target observes that once you’ve killed your first man, “the second one is—”

What—Easier? Quicker? More dispensible? More forgettable? Haggis’ script, cocredited to Neal Purvis and Robert Wade, refuses to spell it out, preferring to let us draw our own conclusions.

Likewise, Treasury Agent Vesper Lynd advises Bond, “Just because you’ve done something doesn’t mean you have to keep doing it.” Right.

To be fair, Campbell makes a fair stab at reinventing Bond. Physically, Craig is a near dead-ringer for the type portrayed by Connery; in terms of disposition, humanness, and inhumanness, he’s more along the lines of Timothy Dalton.

But that may be where fans will find that Campbell stumbles. The last time someone had the temerity to make Bond less of a womanizer and more of a, well, agent, the fans spoke, and spoke loudly. Dalton was hardly anyone’s favorite Bond, lasting only one outing longer than the one-off George Lazenby. Craig’s Bond, for goodness sake, only beds two women—and actually falls in love with one of them.

Oh—and the credit sequence? No scantily clad women to be seen. Wassup with that?

And get this: Dame Judi Dench is back as M. That’s right. We’ve restarted the Bond franchise by going back to the series’ first story, yet we’ve carried over a cast member stretching all the way back to Golden Eye—the first of the Pierce Brosnan Bond flicks, also helmed by Campbell!

One foot in the past, one foot in another past, and a third foot in the present. Sounds more like a stool than anything, if you get my drift, and that’s pretty insufferable.

The sad part is that this Casino Royale is pretty enjoyable—as a movie, on its own (the Bond franchise, fan base, and tradition completely aside)—and Craig makes a fine Bond, maybe even the best yet.

But will film history ever remember that? I don’t know. Bond-film fans are likely to feel very much like they’ve been disenfranchised; there are plenty of the usual trappings completely missing. And Bond-avoiders (which I, on a non-professional basis, consider myself) may never even see it if they’re not dragged to it by a spouse, cousin, partner, or publicist.

Vesper Lynd’s astonishingly horrible eye makeup—and two or three false endings (and twenty minutes) too many—aside, that’s too bad.

For Bond fans, I’d suggest seeing Casino Royale with an open mind. For non-Bond action film fans, I’d suggest the same.

For fans of just plain great filmmaking, though, I’d say cast your net a bit wider. Haggis’ script is pretty savvy and self-aware, Campbell’s direction is competent, and Craig’s Bond is very compelling; but the whole affair is pretty transparent nonetheless. There should be better cinematic opportunities over the holidays.

Casino Royale is rated PG-13 for “intense sequences of violent action, a scene of torture, sexual content and nudity.” I found the sexual content and nudity extremely mild for a Bond film, and the action was more intense than the violence. This is no martial arts picture. The kicker is the torture scene. It didn’t bother me, particularly, but I imagine it will be a bit over the top for many audiences.

Courtesy of a local publicist, Greg attended a private press screening of Casino Royale.