It's Casino Royale's opening day, and in true Bondian fashion, new 007 Daniel Craig appears to have emerged unscathed from the threat of the eviscerating laser beam trained squarely on his manhood by his many internet-enabled detractors since his casting was first announced. Did they expect him to fail? No, Mr. Craig: They expected you to quit, and cede the role to a more debonair, less pigment-challenged actor. But it's he who is getting the last laugh, as his reviews have been raves, singling out for particular praise the ultimate secret weapon he's been hiding under his tuxedo jacket all along: A rippling, inflated torso that just begs to be ogled. (Even the Queen threw on her slinkiest number to meet the generously manboobed object of her affections.) Giggles The Guardian like a schoolgirl:
In re-enacting the Andress pose for a generation that has learned to love the male body with almost as much unashamed joy as the female, Craig has made himself iconic in the most familiar way. He is simply demonically sexy.
The frame of the movie where he emerges from the sea in those clinging trunks is so scorchingly hot I feel embarrassed watching it, even when alone. It has been used as the key piece of pre-publicity on the movie, and with good reason. Good film directors recognise gold dust when they see it. This is the kind of image that even straight men can't peel their eyes from.
Indeed, poor Eva Green has found herself in the unenviable position of being the first Bond girl expected not just to play a subordinate role to the lead, but who's been required to wear a variety of neck-to-ankle-covering 1920s bathing suits and Little House on the Prairie-inspired dresses, in order to guide the audience's thirsty gaze away from the French beauty and keep it squarely trained on the featured beefcake attraction.