Royale with Extra Cheese
- May 5
- 3 min read
And Why the Most Preposterous Modern-Day Bond Film is Still All Aces
***WARNING – SPOILER ALERTS***
We’re talking gun fights, machete fights, sex romps, vehicular rollovers, elevator drownings, foiled terrorist attempts, defibrillator shock pops, smackdowns in speedy gas trucks, rope-induced testicle torture (yes, you read that right), and a whale of a foot chase up, down, and around a crane chain at a Madagascar construction site.
Whew!
At the centerpiece of it all, we somehow have enough room in our viewing appetites for a wildly intense high-stakes poker game against a Montenegro backdrop.
Casino Royale is neither the most original nor grounded James Bond entry ever produced (it’s actually a reboot of its 1967 namesake), but it may very well be the series’ true jackpot.
Sporting a chiseled torso that would do Evander Holyfield proud, Daniel Craig’s debut as double-oh-seven is far from forgettable, even if he looks more comfortable in a speedo banana hammock than a Brioni tuxedo.
Once you’ve caught your breath from Act One’s nonstop action fervor, it’s time for a few rounds of good ‘ol Texas Hold ‘Em of the big-blind variety. The Montenegro scenes don’t arrive until the film’s hour-and-ten-minute mark but deliver the goods like a splendid halftime show.
It’s here that we reconnect with the villainous Le Chiffre, a fitting antagonist to the suavely seductive, martini-sipping Brit. Played effortlessly by Mads Mikkelsen, Le Chiffre is a reprehensible slimeball with a gift for the gamble and a tendency to weep blooddrops when things don’t quite go his way.
It’s Mikkelsen’s most vile, evil character to date, and keep in mind, he once played Hannibal Lecter in a TV series.
The tension soon rises in unison with the towering pot – Bond believes his nemesis is bluffing after detecting his tell – an index finger pressed against his throbbing temple. The good guy goes all in, believing his full house of kings and aces will take down the enemy and, ultimately, his terror circuit.
But that damn Le Chiffre, who keeps proving to be a genuine pain in the balls (literally), delivers the most cynical, hair-raising “oops” in movie history, just as he reveals he’s been sitting on four jacks.
In a span of a few minutes, Bond has blown the equivalent of Aaron Rodgers’ salary.
Oops.
Felix Leiter, the good-ol’ brother from Langley, steps in to save the day, secretly forking over the funds to keep Bond’s meter running.
But amidst a comeback surge, Le Chiffre’s main squeeze slips a mickey into Bond’s martini – and never had the phrase “pick your poison” seemed so relevant.
Narrowly escaping a brush with cardiopulmonary arrest, a miraculously refreshed Bond returns to the felt for one of the most improbable poker hands you’ll ever see – even by Tinseltown standards.
It’s hard to fathom how every player at the table holds a spectacular hand, but then again, this is the same movie wanting you to buy the diminutive Judi Dench as a special ops’ hard ass.
Bond again goes all in – forty million big ones – and the movie’s nail-biting suspense is at its climactic high.
With the call, each of the four players reveals his fate, and Le Chiffre has one-upped the ponytailed Asian and the Biggie Smalls lookalike with his lofty house of aces full of sixes.
That leaves only Bond to bare all and reveal the new owner of an astronomical, nine-figure fortune.
At this point, Bond has been duped, humiliated, sliced and diced, and flatlined into a near demise. There seems room for one last nut crush, doesn’t there?
But no, things feel different this time, as we sense that Rocky III scenario kicking in – and we’re predicting pain for the Albanian baddie.
Sure enough, Bond pays Le Chiffre back in spades, a straight flush (of 4 to the 8), making way for the heavy’s downfall and a somewhat anticlimactic third act.
Still, Casino Royale scores on almost every check, anteing up a cinematic windfall – even if it is as far from reality as Montenegro is from Texas.
T-Ballgame
