Ah, is it that time again? Have we all become a little wearisome of camp debauchery? Apparently so - and when film analysts come to examine our socio-economic mindsets long after we're all dead, I'm sure the glut of the Iraq conflict and post-9/11 lethargy will be determining factors as to why these nittier, grittier origin stories like Batman Begins and latterly Casino Royale proved financially viable. The times they are a changin'. In 1995 James Bond was "a relic of the Cold War"; now his ballsier, script-doctored boss bemoans a time when conflict was a little simpler than all of this. The audience feel the same way.

It's not that the numerous psychoanalyses inflicted upon our touchy-feely hero aren't welcome (that through line has been prevalent throughout the Bond series, no matter what they tell you) they're just a tad unbridled. The unceasing pseudo-playfulness of both Bond (Daniel Craig, beefy) and the austere Vesper Lynd (Eva Green, ravishing) quickly become nullified by the extinct want to sexy up a bland narrative only satisfying dual purpose: give that sexist, mysoginist dinosaur some emotion now and -hey!- we'd better not dedicate the second act of an action movie to a few rounds of Texas Hold 'Em.

That's not to belittle Casino Royale. There's much to like. A sprinkling of Euro stars and Jeffrey Wright are certainly preferable over a cross-dressing director, an invisible car, a moot Halle Berry and Madonna.

****THIS REVIEW WILL BE COMPLETED SOOOOOOOOOOON. SO DON'T NOBODY GO NOWHERE. *****