Less than 24 hours ago I was writing here that Burn After Reading would make it hard for me to take Hollywood spy films seriously. And now here I am reviewing Quantum of Solace, the latest in the James Bond franchise.

Could I take it seriously? Well, more so than most Bond films, which I’m not really a fan of other than the Sean Connery ones, and even those I don’t consider essential viewing. As for the charge of espionage, it’s hard to view credibly since Jim spends most of the new film hurtling round the world like a football hooligan underwritten by the British tax payer to biff various dodgy foreigners for unspeakable behaviour.

Not a lot of tradecraft on display in other words, unless it happened while I was blinking: some of the edits were seriously fast. They’ve been like that since Daniel Craig took over the 007 role, in a blatant attempt to catch some of the considerable thunder of the more raw and credible Bourne films. Last time round, the emulation of Bourne was more than apparent. This time round, they’ve sneaked back in some older Bond elements so you can be sure which franchise you’re viewing.

Those vintage elements, in no particular order:

Dizzying change of location: in Quantum, Jim starts the story in Italy and travels to Haiti, Bolivia and Russia before he can stop for a piss.

Bond girls: barely has Jim had the chance to mourn Vesper (or was it Vespa, and in which case is she named after the scooter?) than he’s buddied up with babes Olga Kurylenko and Gemma Arterton. Nothing like a few nano-seconds of grief before getting your leg over again.

Megalomaniac baddies: in this case a Mr Greene, whose surname would lead you to believe his PR about environmental change, but is in fact a sinister power broker intent on controlling the world’s utilities. At least he’s not a dubious racial caricature with a physical disability, as so many of Fleming’s baddies are.

Hotel rooms: admittedly, recent job ads in the press suggest Her Majesty’s spies are not highly paid. But they make up for that with outrageous expense accounts. Bond is a globetrotter in the vein of Alan Whicker, only staying at the very best places.

Product placement: I wasn’t keeping up, but the number of times I’ve been exposed to advertising tie-ins in the last couple of weeks indicates the humungous scale of the marketing operation.

Gizmos: not much in that department this time round, but there was a very impressive computer data screen set-up clearly modelled on the one in Minority Report.

The perils of transport: whether he’s piloting a plane, driving an Aston Martin, or in charge of a motorboat, chaos and carnage is sure to follow Mr Bond.

In other words, business is pretty much as usual for Jim. Which is what you’d expect. The franchise has been given a much needed overhaul, but with that in place there are already signs that old habits are starting to return. The death of Bond’s lover from the British consulate in Bolivia, coated in oil to provide a crap red herring, was a blunt allusion to Goldfinger that didn’t make a whole lot of sense. And Jim sending Greene to die in the desert with a can of oil to drink by way of payback felt forced.

To sum up then, if you like this sort of thing, this is the sort of thing you’ll like. Personally I prefer the Bourne films, but as long as Daniel Craig is in the role of Bond I’ll be checking out what he’s getting up to, and not being surprised when I’m not at all surprised by the familiarity of it all.

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