Casino Royale

I'm a big girl and I like to think that I can admit when I'm wrong.

I was wrong.

About Daniel Craig.

Very wrong.

Oh so wrong.

Five minutes into Casino Royale, I knew I was wrong.

In the G-rated spirit of the Holiday Season, I will simply say: he's a very attractive gentleman.*

Maybe it's the Bond mystique. Or the Bond tux. Or the Bond grey T-shirt. I dunno.

To all the critics who complained that the poker game scene is too long, I say tish and pish. I love on-screen high-stakes poker playing and I loved all of that part of the movie. Did I mention the tux?

What really did bother me in that scene, though, was Giancarlo Gianini's play-by-play to our Shakesperean tragic heroine, i.e. the Bond girl. The way Giancarlo kept telling her (and us) "the pot is at 24 millions dollars" or "the pot is 115 million!". Oh shut up with the exposition. We don't care about the exact amount of the pot, and this chick is supposed to be an accountant, and you're telling me she can't keep track of the wagers. Please.

Best line: "That last hand. It almost killed me." Oh James, darling, you are so amusing.

Another gripe, and this is a typical Bond gripe for me. The whole plot was dumb. So when governments are trying to track down the source of terrorist funding, they arrange a $10 million stakes poker game in Montenegro? MI6 and the CIA have a gambling wing? No wonder we are losing the war of terrorism. What about the rest of the people at the table, were they all spies too? How could they know the very fat black guy wasn't going to win the whole pot?

Another gripe. (Spoiler alert) Bond's recovery time after being horribly tortured in the genitals was awfully quick. I couldn't believe he was already getting amorous when frankly he should've barely been able to walk, much less...well, you know.

I know, I know. He's James Bond.

This is not to say I didn't enjoy the movie. It made me want to go to the Bahamas and Montenegro and Venice. Thumbs up.

(*Translation: What a hot man!)