There’s camp. There’s satire. There’s surrealism. And then there’s Casino Royale (1967), a film that tries to do all three at once and ends up detonating in its own confusion. It’s a spoof, technically, but calling it a comedy feels generous. It’s less “ha-ha funny” and more “what is even happening right now” funny.
This one’s a 2 out of 5 for me. I didn’t like like it. There are moments that sparkle, some ideas that could have been brilliant, but the execution is an incoherent mess. It’s a film that feels like it was made by committee, none of whom spoke to each other. Ever.
Plot: A Thousand Plots All Screaming at Once
Trying to describe the plot of Casino Royale (1967) is like trying to summarize a fever dream. The basic premise is that the original, “real” James Bond (David Niven) is brought out of retirement to combat SMERSH, the evil organization causing chaos across the globe. To confuse the enemy, MI6 decides to name everyone “James Bond.” Hijinks ensue. Sort of.
There are subplots involving baccarat, clones, flying saucers, trained seals, and a cowgirl spy who turns into a Native American stereotype. That sentence alone should tell you how unhinged this movie is. It doesn’t build toward anything. It just keeps throwing glitter and hoping something sticks.
David Niven: The Gentleman Ghost of Bond
Niven is technically the lead here, but he disappears for large chunks of the film. When he is on screen, he brings a posh, aristocratic vibe that plays like an intentional rebuke of Connery’s roguish take. He’s not terrible, but he’s not given anything to do other than walk through elaborate sets and speak in dry British tones.
The problem is that Niven’s Bond belongs in a completely different movie. He’s trying to be charming in a film that is actively falling apart around him.
The Many, Many Other Bonds
Peter Sellers, Ursula Andress, Woody Allen, Orson Welles—this thing is stuffed with talent and yet no one seems to be in the same movie. Sellers plays Evelyn Tremble, a baccarat expert roped into impersonating Bond. He’s funny in short bursts, but apparently clashed with Welles so badly they were never filmed in the same shot together. That energy, or lack thereof, is all over the film.
Woody Allen’s turn as Jimmy Bond, the neurotic, would-be supervillain, feels like a completely different brand of comedy. He’s doing his usual schtick, and the movie just lets him ramble. It’s awkward and not in a good way.
Visuals and Style: Gorgeous, if You’re Not Paying Attention
One thing I’ll give this film—visually, it’s not boring. The production design is lush, colorful, and completely over-the-top. The sets look like someone dared the art department to use every pattern and fabric available. There’s a certain 60s pop-art charm to it, like a Bond film got swallowed by Barbarella.
And the soundtrack by Burt Bacharach? Genuinely good. “The Look of Love” is legitimately lovely and deserved better than this chaotic circus of a film.
Tone: All the Jokes, None of the Timing
This movie wants to be a spy spoof, but it doesn’t understand what makes spy movies fun to parody. It doesn’t poke fun at the tropes—it just tosses them in a blender and hits purée. There’s no sense of timing, no consistent tone. You’ll have a clever moment of satire followed by five straight minutes of pratfalls and unfunny nonsense.
At times, it feels like Casino Royale (1967) is trying to out-Monty Python Monty Python, years before Monty Python existed. But without the wit or focus.
Third Act: Chaos in Technicolor
The ending is pure anarchy. There’s a shootout in a psychedelic casino involving cowboys, dancing girls, fake priests, and literal exploding roulette tables. The film devolves into an acid trip of bad slapstick and unearned absurdity. Characters die, come back, and then the whole cast just… goes to heaven?
By the time flying saucers are involved, your brain will likely have tapped out. And not in a fun, “what a ride” way. More like a “how much longer is this?” way.
Final Verdict: All Style, No Spy Sense
Casino Royale (1967) is what happens when too many cooks spoil the spy. There are pieces here that could have worked: the satire, the cast, the visuals. But the movie doesn’t know what kind of comedy it wants to be, and it never figures out how to tell a coherent story.
It’s a curiosity, for sure. A relic of a time when studios thought throwing stars and money at a recognizable brand was enough. It’s not.