So You Noticed Casino Royale

So You Noticed

I have had something very flattering: a request. Juan Carlos has asked me for comments on Casino Royale.

C

asino Royale is very much in the vein of On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. While Craig has a career and is a much more professional actor than George Lazenby was, everything from the action to the plotting is tighter in order to compensate ⁠— as in OHMSS ⁠— for the lowering of the star wattage after a Connery or a Brosnan. What was in retrospect bumbling screenwriting they’ve turned into drama: No longer are Desmond Llellwyn and Roger Moore standing around in Bernard Lee’s well-heeled office for a cheerful chat, conjuring up the future spirit of Austin Powers’ Basil Exposition; instead, Judi Dench threatens to kill our man. And the superjet action setpiece, usually the climax of an action blockbuster, is wisely brought forward, strengthening the climax by having it be not computer-animated but character-driven as we discover Vesper’s predicament and see all her scenes in a new light.

Richard Branson’s brief cameo in the metal detector took me out of things, though producer Michael Wilson wasn’t so bad: he’s a tradition and looked just right as the police commissioner. The very Virgin model airplanes taking off repeatedly were irritating, the Ford rent-a-car ghastly, and the Omega watch unforgivable in that it actually made its way into the screenplay. Are there industry rules to product placement, so that the zoom on the logo must be very obviously extraneous? Ford did themselves no favours by having exciting music play as their tinny little thing rode gamely up to the hotel. As soon as he could, 007 ditched it for an Aston. Much better to have Fords be the cars that get bashed up as innocent byparkers, suggesting their ubiquity and inevitability (Diamonds Are Forever comes to mind).

I like how Vesper’s betrayal is telegraphed: James tells her he loves her (a big big deal in itself), saying it’s because she has no tell, telling us that she is in fact playing a hand. I like the twist with the car: instead of bristling daftly with missiles it’s a survival kit. I like how earnestly Vesper tells James that even if there was only a little finger of him left he’d still be more of a man than any other she’d known. I like how we see his competence right from the get go in the Africa scene. I like how despite the radical reload, signature 007 locations are worked in: Nassau, the south of France, Venice. All we needed was a detour to southern Thailand.

But can Craig do the one-liners? They are necessary. Indiana Jones has them, Schwarzenegger has them. All learned from Bond that wit is fundamental to top-flight action adventure. Now Bond may be eschewing it slightly, which is fatal. “So you noticed,” is very nicely done indeed, in response to Vesper’s shocking compliment to his behind, and that entire scene on the train seems to work despite Eva Green’s weirdly non-English English accent. But when the lines aren’t inspired Craig can’t do much with them. When Roger Moore flaps his tie and lets his interlocutor plunge to his death, there’s not much wit to “What a helpful chap,” but it feels witty nonetheless.

Asking if the fellow can do the one-liners is a polite way of still asking the same question that has dogged Daniel Craig from the start: He’s pumped himself up nicely, and his acting during the torture scene was really top crotch (I write this the day after the Oscars and wonder if he was considered even for a moment for best actor) but is this thuggish-looking fellow really James Bond?

The Trail

Wednesday, June 17th, 2026

Amit Segal, longer than usual for his It’s Noon in Israel newsletter, posits the perennial faultline in Israel politics: Jewish vs Israeli.

“Jewish” and “Israeli” are simply the two tenets of Israel’s self-definition as a Jewish and democratic state ⁠— not in open contradiction, since most Israelis hold both, but forever rubbing against each other. Like asking whether strawberry-banana yogurt is more strawberry or banana, Israelis are endlessly asked, in one disguise or another, whether they are slightly more Jewish than democratic or the reverse. Once you see it, most of the news in the country ⁠— most push notifications, most studio shouting matches ⁠— dissolves into that same question, with a thin veneer of fresh event on top.

Segal himself straddles the divide nicely, as does the society writ large, part and parcel of the fading Ashkenazi/Sephardi divide. In my thin slice of observation, secular Israelis who delight in eating swine abroad now light candles and recite more complete prayers at home for Friday night dinner than they used to ⁠— indeed holding Friday night dinner itself is the gateway. And there are so many gateways.

I do however take issue with Amit’s characterization of the Israeli/left side:

Of course we are Jewish, the left answers ⁠— the flag is essentially a prayer shawl, the emblem is the Temple menorah, every kindergartner comes home Friday with a challah ⁠— but that is the décor, not the purpose; the purpose is to be the only democracy in the Middle East.

Instead, it seems to me that people on this side, those of the “villa in the jungle” view, would rather just forget about the jungle; being “the only X in the Middle East” is merely apologetics, not identity. Rather, it’s about being a liberal democracy simply because that is the enlightened, obvious, natural thing to be; anyone with a Yiddisher kopf can see that. And as for the Right downgrading democracy to merely being the operating system, well, that’s what Judaism itself arguably is too, so being the OS is no small thing.

I don’t go to synagogue but the synagogue that I don’t go to is Orthodox.

David Ben-Gurion

Friday, June 12th, 2026

Francesco Parrino is getting the Benny and Björn spirit of things here with his piano cover of Super Trouper, probably my favorite ABBA song ⁠— though like with other covers of his I’ve listened to, I enjoy the first half of the track more than the second.