Bond’s break-in to the Ocean Club’s security office may be the most uninteresting scene in Casino Royale. This moment consists of Bond looking at conspicuously-branded Sony technology products and matching timestamps, a silly demonstration that the Bond of 2006 is hip enough to know his way around the tech of its era. This all over-complicates and draws out what should be a straight-forward version of a “Bond identifies his target” narrative beat, offering us little visual or narrative pleasure to distract us from such tedious questions as “How did Bond know exactly which security camera would show him his target?” and “Why wasn’t the GPS signal Bond pulled from M’s laptop be sufficient to identify Dimitrios?”
The film thankfully bookends this brief scene with more interesting moments. Bond trashing the Goldfinger-lookalike’s car delivers some welcome levity (particularly when punctuated by Bond’s “I don’t give a damn” car key toss), and the scene that follows the break-in offers our first glimpse of this Bond’s roguish charm. Despite the character’s savagery, Craig’s Bond frequently displays extraordinarily good manners, at least in verbal terms (if you need confirmation, look no further than this oddly hilarious clip compilation).
The way Craig draws out the word “compelled” in his exchange with the desk clerk serves as a good example of Craig’s occasional playfulness in regards to dialogue. Craig’s Bond generally has a more muted approach to language; he’s a quiet, internal, intense character in general, and his speech has more efficiency than elegance. His witticisms and puns, when he does deliver them, do not have the same spirited quality that characterized the more memorable puns of Connery or Moore. This tends to keep the focus on Bond’s physical presence, rather than his sound. But every once in a while, Craig draws out a single word and really sinks his teeth into it (see also the way he delivers the word “skewered” when talking with Vesper on the train).
The Craig films do not celebrate Bond’s promiscuity the way the classic films do, preferring to punish and scold Bond for his callousness and detachment. However, as much as these films frown on Bond’s approach to women, they also glamorize it, uncomfortably applying the same have-your-cake-and-eat-it-too approach that often characterizes’ the Craig films’ approach to violence. The weaponized, warped masculinity that defines Bond-as-killer feeds directly into his seductions. Craig’s Bond seduces women with the same force of will with which he dispatches his enemies, relying on displays of strength and intensity that, particularly in the latter films, cross the border from flirtation into overtly threatening, bullying behavior. In Casino Royale, he’s a bit more restrained. He wins over Solange primarily by staring her down while smirking.
In a somewhat misguided attempt at a “Lady Godiva” moment, Solange rides (awkardly) along the beach on horseback, clad only in a bikini. This is but a preface to the real spectacle, when Bond emerges from the sea, clad in absurdly-tiny baby-blue swim trunks, and catches her eye. This recreation of the famous Honey Ryder moment from Dr. No (one that was also homaged in Casino Royale‘s predecessor, Die Another Day) demonstrates one of the key shifts that occurs within the Craig era: Bond becomes the films’ primary sex object.
Indeed, no prior Bond has ever had such a gratuitously-sculpted physique, and the Craig films make sure to show it off with great regularity. Even when Bond remains clothed, his clothes are tailored in such a way as to draw attention to the musculature underneath (even his suits will seem painted-on at times, straining to contain that large chest and biceps). The women in these films get showcased, no doubt (Casino Royale, in particular, has two moments where it enjoys the spectacle of beautiful women walking in beautiful dresses), but there’s a comparative chasteness to how they’re presented when you look at the treatment of women in the prior Bond films. Take, for example, Bond’s brief interactions with Solange in his bungalow: she remains clothed in an attractive dress, but his shirt’s unbuttoned, and the camera lingers on his abdominal muscles. Even if you only go as far back as the Brosnan films, the emphasis tends to be the opposite.
Naturally, this all ties right back into the Craig era’s emphasis on posing, fixating on Bond’s movement and posture. This, incidentally, sustains the film’s numerous card-playing sequences, the first of which occurs during Solange and Bond’s second meeting. There lies little drama in cards shifting and changing across green felt (though Casino Royale does its best to manufacture it by creating preposterously “epic” poker hands around which the course of the film’s poker games pivot), but there lies some drama in watching Craig carefully adjust and shift with each new turn in these card games. Martin Campbell, in cooperation with Baird, does a marvelous job of paying close attention to these subtle changes and how they reflect the shifting power balances throughout the games. Here, as Bond plays with Dimitrios, Craig’s body language expresses Bond’s calm control as he goads Dimitrios into humiliating himself.
Dimitrios has little to define his character beyond an ill-temper and an apparent affection for classic cars. Likely due to the creative mandate to scale Bond back after the excesses of Die Another Day, there seems to be an apprehensiveness about making things too colorful and bizarre, so outside of Le Chiffre himself, most of the supporting villains lack a little flair. (Early drafts of Casino Royale did more with the character; Dimitrios was originally a version of Krest from Fleming’s short story “The Hildebrand Rarity,” a wife-beater preoccupied with a rare fish, and Bond killed him by stuffing said fish down his throat.) At any rate, the film at least situates Dimitrios in fairly well-built scenes, and his two direct encounters with Bond (both the card game in Nassau and their lethal confrontation in Miami) are highlights of this section of the film.
Solange’s character template has recurred throughout the Bond films as a cornerstone of the Bond movie formula: the sacrificial lamb who aids Bond and pays the price. Never before, though, has a Bond film lavished so much attention on it as a dramatic pivot. Casino Royale frames Bond’s dalliance with Solange as part of a behavioral pattern, illustrative of his recurrent use and abandonment of those around him. Bond serves as a vessel of death for both his foes and his allies.
The banter between Bond and Solange leaves much to be desired (consider this lamentable exchange: “Why can’t nice guys be more like you?” / “Well, because then they’d be bad”). Casino Royale, and the subsequent Craig films, will really struggle to give Bond and his cohorts genuinely clever repartee. Thankfully, in this film at least, Craig is mostly able to work his way around the clunkers. Bond’s initial interactions with Solange does give us one rare display of Craig’s Bond simply having a bit of boyish fun, both by playing a light joke on Solange and by briefly taking his newfound prize–the iconic Aston Martin DB5–for a spin.
Aside from that moment, the impression one gets from this scene is that Craig’s Bond indulges pleasure only when it doesn’t distract from his mission. When he finds out that Dimitrios is on the move to the Miami, he quickly tosses Solange aside (though not before ordering her a parting gift of caviar and fine champagne), and speeds off. Sex doesn’t offer as much of a thrill as the hunt does.