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ArrowBig Baby Brown
Buffalo Mayor Tramples BEAST Publisher

ArrowThe Vilsack Buzz
As the nation looks to ‘08, excitement is high
Matt Taibbi

ArrowCut -N- Fun!
2 dimensional fathers better parents, say experts

Rich Herschlag

ArrowDialing for Santorum
My last-ditch heroic effort to save the GOP’s holiest hatchet man
Matt Taibbi


ArrowAn Important Message from our Fearless Leader
Paul Fallon

ArrowBeast Product Review
Buffalo Rising Magazine


ArrowThe Beast Page 3
Featureless Internet Kitsch

ArrowKino Korner: Movies
Casino Royale, Déjà Vu, Stranger Than Fiction, Bobby, Tenacious D in: The Pick of Destiny, Happy Feet

As divined by your ethereal guide

Arrow[sic] - Letters
[sic]entology, Xenuphobia, Russian Says Get Out, Kill!, Castrate! and more

Kino Korner


Casino Royale | Déjà Vu | Stranger Than Fiction | Bobby
Tenacious D in: The Pick of Destiny | Happy Feet

Casino Royale

Casino RoyaleOver the past few years I’ve come to the realization that you can’t count on anything forever. On some level I’ve always known this and in most cases I’ve even come to expect it. Water heater taking a crap—no problem! Getting blown off for some specific event—but of course! Some no-talent shitbird hitting the big time because they haven’t gotten a haircut since last semester and they dress like they’re using brain damage as an excuse—I’d expect nothing less. But there are the things you never expect to see. At least not in your lifetime. Things like daylight never coming to fruition on a particular day in a location other than that weird part of Alaska. A devout vegan ravenously devouring a turkey club sub with orgasmic relief and no remorse whatsoever. And a James Bond movie devoid of any and all gimmicks, rooted in substance and isn’t afraid to say this is how it’s gonna be and if you don’t like it go hang out at the Spy Outlet instead, ya pud!

Then I saw Casino Royale. It was like having a conversation with someone effortlessly speaking backwards and looking at you like you’re the crazy one as you speak left to right. I felt as if it was raining upwards. I had one of those moments that happen to me every seven years or so where my reality is completely shattered. Where do these heathens get off casting some soccer hooligan that looked more like a Bond villain than Bond himself? And where the hell are the gadgets? How can you have a James Bond movie without a changepurse that shoots darts or pours a cup of tea? Speaking of which, what happened to the doughy old white man that arms Bond with this crap anyway? And what I want to know is where is the marginally attractive secretary who thinks all the innuendo and playful flirting is going to one day pay off? And how about the over-the-top evil-doer with plans of global domination through a fairly competent but not too well thought out plan that he reveals just so Bond can thwart it? Where’s that guy? And where’s his hot assistant for Bond to sleep with and violate? What the hell is a 007 movie without all that stuff?

Truth be told, a hell of a lot better. Fucking incredible, were the exact words used by an elderly couple walking in front of me as I left the theater. The husband recalled seeing the first Bond film, Dr. No. He talked about how the filmmakers shit the bed forty-four years ago and have been rolling around in it ever since. The Old Man continued to talk about how Bond wasn’t supposed to have sex appeal and he read the books to forget he was married, not to have to drag his wife because she thought Sean Connery was “a dish.” He said that making Bond good-looking was like making golf especially appealing to women. He used the words contraption and gimmick a lot then eventually started complaining about the government and that he couldn’t find his George Jones records in the basement. I want to say he was sick of poached eggs too, but I’m not completely sure on that one.

For as much as I initially rolled my eyes at the idea of a James Bond prequel and the producers of the series ditching Pierce Brosnan, I happily admit that I was wrong. Not just wrong, but So Incredibly Wrong. The Casino Royale Bond is a whole new animal.

This new Bond was like Dirty Harry on PCP. He’s not about laying on the charm and trying to steal your girlfriend away from you to get at you. He’ll just beat the crap out of you! This Bond gets his junk assaulted and laughs in your face. With any other 007 movie, women wanted Bond and men wanted to be Bond. With this turn, I’m pretty sure he’s scared the shit out of everyone.

And I pray to God they keep Bond’s anger up. If it involves sticking new Bond Daniel Craig in a solitary confinement cell somewhere and poking him with a cattle prod, only letting him out to film new Bond movies, so be it. Shortly after I saw Batman Begins I erased every other incarnation of Batman from my memory and I felt that particular film had done it so incredibly right that my only option was to wait for the next film. After seeing Casino Royale the same holds true. The thought of anyone except Daniel Craig playing Bond is an outrage and I’m using my copy of Goldeneye as a coaster. This film was amazing and if you’re still not convinced, take these two things into account: 1) I’m not that big a Bond fan, and 2) I didn’t say one smart-assed thing about it throughout this review.




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