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Some movies leave me with only one reaction: “What the hell did I just watch?” It’s a response usually reserved for arthouse films—those abstract, symbolism-heavy pieces more focused on provoking thought than providing a straightforward narrative. The kind of films you watch in film school, followed by the inevitable question: “What was the director trying to say?” Occasionally, horror films wander into that same territory. But never in my life did I expect a James Bond movie to land there too.
At one point, someone other than Cubby Broccoli held the rights to “Casino Royale“, giving them the rare opportunity to make a James Bond film right at the peak of the franchise’s popularity. What a golden ticket. You’d have to work hard to screw that up—and yet, somehow, they did.
Normally, I’d summarize the plot here, but this movie doesn’t really have one. “Casino Royale” is a chaotic patchwork of disconnected scenes awkwardly stitched together. It’s astonishing how much and how little happens over the course of more than two hours. Apparently, multiple directors were brought in, each filming their own storyline with no idea what the others were doing. All of it was then mashed into one incoherent, head-scratching mess.
On paper, spoofing a James Bond movie doesn’t seem all that difficult: start with a clever opening scene, throw in a bombastic theme song that parodies the classic Maurice Binder intros, and build it around a Bond-style plot ripe for satire. “Casino Royale” does take a few jabs at the franchise, but for the most part, it’s an incoherent and painfully unfunny mess.
The film is completely bonkers—and at 131 minutes, it seriously outstays its welcome. What makes it all the more frustrating is how promising it looks on paper. The cast is stacked with legendary actors, and it features more glamorous women than your average Bond flick. In a bit of stunt casting, they even brought back the original Bond girl, Ursula Andress, in a major role. But none of these elements are enough to redeem the film—not even close.
The completionist in me is glad I finally watched this movie—but I’m also certain I’ll never watch it again. “Casino Royale” is easily one of the worst films I’ve ever seen, and I’ve sat through some real disasters. It’s pure chaos, a jumble of disconnected storylines crashing into each other with zero cohesion. The first 20 minutes feature things like David Niven shooting at rockets disguised as clay pigeons, then suddenly we’re with Woody Allen dodging a firing squad, and before you know it, you’ve stumbled into what feels like an entirely different movie starring Peter Sellers. His storyline—facing off against Le Chiffre in a game of Baccarat—is the only part that even remotely resembles the original book.
About halfway through, I hit a point where I just stopped caring. The film kept throwing absurdity at me, and my only reaction was a tired, “Yeah, whatever.” A few gags land, the set design is impressive enough to prove the budget was there, and the women—plentiful and stunning—do their best to distract from the mess. Barbara Bouchet as Moneypenny might just be the most attractive actress to ever take on the role; she’s certainly the only one who turns the screen red with passion during a kiss.
Simply put, “Casino Royale” is “So That Just Happened: The Movie.”
