Skyfall

QUALIFYING STATEMENT:

There's no way I can give Skyfall the full BlogalongaBond treatment without giving away most of the film's surprises, so if it's all the same with you I'll save that for a few weeks. In the meantime, here's a spoiler-free review which contains no comedy captions or cock jokes.

Despite all the announcements to the contrary, Skyfall's Bond girl is not Naomie Harris as MI6 field agent Eve, who gets to give Bond a close shave while he wears nothing more than a towel. Nor is she the heavily-accented Bérénice Marlohe's Sévérine, who enjoys some nekkid shower fun with 007. It is in fact Judi Dench's M, who gets to drop the series' first F-bomb, effectively giving Bond the only proper fuck in his 50-year history.

Bond's relationship with M has been gently probed ever since Dench took over the role in GoldenEye, but it's so vital here that Skyfall might just be the first Bond Film that's actually an M Film. The result is an almost subdued entry, with the usual epic action sequences reduced to staccato beats of fights and explosions in favour of wordy exchanges about the inherent danger of misplaced trust and loyalty.

That's not to say that this is a 140-minute treatise on the nature of allegiances, patriotism and complex maternal relationships. Skyfall has plenty of action: the pre-title motorbike chase and train fight are classic Bond; a pursuit through the London Underground is both a rare example of a set-piece's location being plot-relevant and a satisfying setting for the most British of movie heroes; and the requisite final-act architectural carnage is both thrilling and symbolic. It's just that for once the dialogue isn't secondary to the mayhem; all the characters are allowed to breathe, rather than hurriedly spewing out exposition before the next building collapses.

While all this might sound like a return to the form of Casino Royale after the disappointing Quantum Of Solace, it's not. Not because Skyfall isn't as good as Casino Royale, but because it's a unique type of Bond film altogether. It's a curious mixture of old- and new-school Bond which succeeds for the most part but occasionally jars: Daniel Craig's delivery of a few weak one-liners betrays his own discomfort with them, while Thomas Newman's score tries to reinforce familiarity by crowbarring the Bond theme in at painfully obvious moments. It's elements like these that sit awkwardly with the more atypical ingredients: a Bond who's an unshaven shadow of his former self for the first hour; a villain who displays a surprising interest in 007; and a plot which, for the first time, unfolds mostly on British soil.

Despite the odd eyebrow-raising moment though, Skyfall is terrifically entertaining, and director Sam Mendes is to be congratulated for turning out such an unpredictable Bond film. Helped no end by a stunning contribution from cinematographer Roger Deakins and terrific work from Craig and Dench, Mendes more than capably handles the elements which could have been fumbled by a less assured director. The new Q is a pitch-perfect take on such a well-loved character, Bond's family history is treated with exactly the right amount of dignity and the final scene could well contain the most crowd-pleasing moments for Bond fans of all intensities in a very long time. Furthermore, Mendes has pitched the humour just right: a legacy-referring gag with the Aston Martin is probably the funniest thing in the entire series.

So while it's my duty as a Bond fan to identify the flaws in the diamond on an initial viewing (and there are more that I haven't mentioned), I have absolutely no doubt that repeat visits will ensure that Skyfall takes its place among not just the best of the Bonds but the best of all this year's films. And if nothing else, it's certainly the most unexpected.