While walking into Sam Mendes' Skyfall, I figured that my lack of familiarity with Bond lore might actually put me in a good position. After all, when Casino Royale came out in 2006 and the series took 50cc's of Jason Bourne to the heart, Bond was no longer intended just for the nostalgists and Fleming-heads. Daniel Craig's vascular, snarling agent was meant to signal a return to the basics: instead of gadgets and corny jokes, we got mood lighting and manly tears. But on the 50th anniversary of Dr. No, one wonders which way Mendes might lean: sleek modernity or the cheesy Bond of yore? The answer, surprisingly, is a hefty dose of both.

I'm probably going to annoy some people by suggesting Skyfall starts pretty 
unimpressively. Nothing sets me on edge like bad CGI backgrounds and the 
opening Turkish chase sequence has its fair share. While I love both Bond 
credit sequences and Adele, I felt Skyfall's credits lacked the coherent 
vision of the last two outings. The whole package just felt...indistinct. 
Thankfully, it's a fairly quick ascent in quality from there. Following 
this sequence, we find Judi Dench's M going about her business, drafting an 
obituary for the supposedly dead 007 (though you'd think they'd just have a 
template ready by now). I'll be scant with spoilers but, surprise surprise, 
Bond isn't dead and he's soon back to work at a revitalized Mi6. I've heard 
complaints at the relative simplicity of Skyfall's plot but I think this 
was a wise move away from what we saw in Quantum of Pointless. The fate of 
the world may not be at stake, but the characters' souls might just be, and 
it's once this becomes clear that Skyfall becomes very very good indeed.

The director of American Beauty does himself two major favours. The first 
is genius cinematographer Roger Deakins, who gives the film a look that is 
both reverent and completely up-to-date. From the back-lit fight above 
Shanghai to the apocalyptic fires of the climax, Skyfall really looks 
better than a Bond film has any right to. In fact, it's one of the most 
beautiful action films I've ever seen. Mendes' second secret weapon is 
Javier Bardem, who completely steals the film. No Country For Old Men may 
have taught us that Bardem needs only a weird haircut to convincingly 
portray a psychopath, but the Oscar winner goes completely, wonderfully 
overboard in this role. Somehow channelling both Heath Ledger's Joker and 
Tom Hulce in Amadeus, his flamboyancy is amusing and shiver-inducing in 
equal measure. Besides, since about 90% of the script is dedicated to 
calling Bond outdated, gay panic seems like a pretty appropriate Achilles' 
heel.

Speaking of which, we return to the dilemma of the modern Bond director: 
reverence or innovation? Despite a shaky opening, Mendes and his writers 
balance both pretty masterfully, injecting humour and some rather epic 
legend-building without it feeling like fan service. The writing is slick, 
the cast is charming and there's just enough hints of darkness for 
discussion afterwards (kudos to the writers for the weird Oedipal subtext 
surrounding M and her agents; pretty subversive for a 12-rating). We end on 
a promising set-up for the future of the series, 007 having been 
legitimized for the second time in a decade. James Bond may be drinking 
Dutch beer and wearing a Swiss watch, but we proud Brits only need a 
well-timed Tennyson poem to win the day. God Save the Heineken.