No, it's an Omega.

On the day after Thanksgiving, my family does what I believe is the traditional activity of most American families. We shop, and/or we go to the movies. This year, after my father and grandmother defected to see Babel, which I felt would make me want to die (never good before finals week), I went to see the newest James Bond film, Casino Royale at Buffalo’s biggest cinema. I am consistently shallow.

Other than my immediate family, not many people are aware that I’ve seen almost every James Bond movie. In sixth or seventh grade I watched most of them with my little brother, who, predictably, likes James Bond more than I do. I like the slickness of Bond films, their predictable violence, their clothes and cars and horrible sex scenes. One year my friends and I watched James Bond on Valentine’s Day and made fondue. I forget what film it was, but I remember laughing hysterically at some overt racism, or at a flock of pigeons, or something. But when I was younger, I really loved the movies and their simple villains, and Cold War fears. However, I never got into the Pierce Brosnan Bond, who I felt was too slick, too charming, and fairly lame. Though watching huge explosions and elaborate chase scenes was all well and good, late nineties Bond dealt with the same issues as his predecessors even though times and wars and espionage were increasingly different. The new Bond, Daniel Craig (who was fantastic in Layer Cake) brings a completely new aesthetic with his assumption of the 007 moniker. Instead of spending money on designing pointless yet glitzy gadgets, the producers decided to spend their money on a scriptwriter, which helps to make Casino Royale a good film (though whether this makes it a good or bad Bond film is certainly debatable). The script conscientiously eschewed our perceptions of Bond (“Shaken or stirred?” “Do I look like I give a damn?”), and this Craig has piercing blue eyes and a sculpted, brutish physique, but his charm is much less sleazy than Brosnan’s. He is not obviously handsome, but I found his Bond much more attractive.

And unlike previous Bond movies, Casino Royale deals with our contemporary anxieties in a more meaningful way. Scenes take place in airports and crowded museums, not just exotic beach locations or perfect snowy mountains. Our own problems are also problems for Bond. Every time a cell phone rings or beeps, something bad is about to happen. He wrecks his brand new car, has crippling emotional issues, and is kind of an ass in the face of failure. He is needlessly reckless and hopelessly unpleasant. And the Bond girl, played by Eva Green, is marginally more equal to him than any Bond girl of the past—she is legitimately witty and can be horribly prickly, just like Bond himself (though she continues to look amazing in evening wear. My little brother said at one point, “See? She even looks good without make-up on!” I assured him that she was in fact wearing make-up, though the fact that Green at least briefly appeared vaguely natural is to the film’s credit). Though her character is brutalized and made tender by the violence of the film, so is Bond. Casino Royale has real characters, witty moments, and actual development. It was too long and I’m sure a lot of fans of the series will be disappointed, but this grittier Bond is better for our time and our (or maybe just my) insecurities, and for that I’m pretty thankful.