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Although Flashbacks of a Fool is Daniel Craig's pet project – he's the film's executive producer as well as its star – it actually contains surprisingly little of the blonde hunk (though for the ladies out there, you do, admittedly, get to see his bum).

Craig plays Joe Scott, a movie star who has plenty of money and sexual satisfaction in his life, one which - when he is not indulging in coke-addled rumpy pumpy at least - is mostly spent looking out to the sea from his minimalist cliff-top pad.

Yet he has no real friends and seemingly no real future – "there's no role for you ANYWHERE," his agent tells Joe, a moment after he has seen his client throw his prized mobile phone out of a restaurant window.

As Joe begins to wonder what has happened to his life, we are taken back to his adolescent days of first love on the quiet English seaside, to discover what this Brit has in fact been trying to hide from with a life of debauchery and excess in LA.

Even a fan of this film should be able see why some might find it slow and slightly dull, as it does rely on the viewer sharing in a sense of glory in the mystical power of great records, the tragic romance of nostalgia and regret, and the theme of washed-up stardom.

Perhaps that provides limited scope for the film to garner a wide audience, but for those who can find true enjoyment from subtle portrayals of youth and humanity as much as from the more obvious merits of rapid plot progression that will matter little. The direction is superb, the script never feels rushed, and the wistful tone of someone looking back to their yesterdays to get on with their today is rare in its realisation of artistic vision.

There's no big finale, but that's not to say that the conclusion is anything less than perfect in its mood and its timing. A literate film that is there to relish on a quiet afternoon, Flashbacks of a Fool feels more typical of a book by Ian McEwan (though thankfully it bears little in common to the cinematic version of Atonement) than a film starring the current Bond. It could also have you listening to Roxy Music for the rest of your weekend, even if you've never before had the urge to sing along to Bryan Ferry in the bath - a pleasing added bonus.

There is nothing foolish about this film – watch it accordingly.

If, at the end of a romantic comedy, you leave the cinema both thinking that life is wonderful and also wishing your cheeks didn't ache from laughing so much, you can't really ask for anything more. Garden State easily fits into this category, and in ambitiously taking on the jobs of writer, director and star, Zach Braff, of 'Scrubbs' fame, has succeeded with aplomb in creating a film that is both heart-warming and hilarious.

Although this is a romantic comedy, thankfully there's no room for the kind of schmoozing Julia Roberts and her collagen-fed pink pet slugs normally get up to, and in this respect Garden State is much more in the mould of the similarly excellent Lost In Translation. Meanwhile, Braff's comedy is very direct, so if you're not into simply smiling knowingly for two hours, don't worry – after all, you can't get much more direct than a guide dog humping someone's leg… Along with Braff and his script, another reason to see this film and adore it is Natalie Portman. While playing the endlessly energetic and self-sure Sam, Portman also still manages to portray real sweetness and vulnerability, in perhaps the most polished performance of her career so far. Just how she was nominated for an Oscar for her role in Closer rather than for this comic masterpiece is a strange one.

Despite sometimes dealing with tricky issues, this is a truly excellent feel good film, which never feels contrived. While the ending may be a little sentimental, this for once doesn't seem too bad a thing, after the characters have earned your genuine affection. With the acting, the screenplay, and also the soundtrack all being of top quality, there is no reason not to see this film. So see it!

When asked if he wants his Vodka Martini to be shaken or stirred, we hardly expect James Bond to reply 'Does it look like I give a damn?' Prior to the release of Casino Royale much had been made of the expectation that Craig's Bond would be a more physical, more cynical, and much colder character. But did we ever expect the man who once regretted not spotting a villain for his ignorance of the rule of only having white wine with fish to have such disregard to his tipple of choice? Yes, this incarnation of Bond really is different, and the world around him has changed as well. The black and white film of the pre-credits scene is not the only reflection of noir in the most violent of the franchise yet (with the possible exception of Licence To Kill, still the only Bond film to break into the 15-certificate territory). Gone, for the most part, are the gadgets; something that is probably a blessing following on from the appalling idea to kit Bond with an invisible car – I mean, come on! – in Die Another Day. And perhaps best of all, Casino Royale actually tries to engage our emotions a bit more than the days of old. Say the words 'shower scene' with regard to Bond, and a repeat of the soapy but oh-so-clichéd shower sex of the finale of A View To A Kill come to mind. In Casino Royale, Bond finds his girl sitting in the shower sobbing at the murders she has just witnessed Bond commit. Normally this would provoke Bond to either give her a bit of a slap and tell her to pull herself together, or pick her up and tell her everything will be OK. Instead, he simply sits down with her in silence, and simply provides a shoulder to cry on, literally, perhaps the most tender, bittersweet moment in Bond history. The acting of Craig and Green here is good enough to grace any film.

Some things are still the same of course, particularly the villain's tears of blood, which match the traditional trend for physical abnormality in Bond's nemeses. Blofeld not only entered Bond's world with that horrific scar, but by the time he finally exited (being rather ridiculously dropped from a helicopter down a factory chimney in For Your Eyes Only) he was also wheelchair-bound; Scaramanga had that famous third nipple; and rumours abound that the reason Goldfinger needed such a big laser was that he needed to compensate for his lack of trouser-filling ability. Daniel Craig would seem to have no such worries of course, as while we're on the subject of Bond below the waist, we should recognise that the honour falls to Craig of being the first Bond to be told that he has a 'perfectly-formed arse.' Oooooh matron.

Is all this change for the good? Well, apart from the sad lack of traditional Bond theme music appearing in the main body of the film itself, yes – because the action is as good as ever (despite the surprising lack of a grand finale battle sequence of the scale we have become used to), and because Die Another Day really was that bad.

In that now seemingly long-ago childhood, before I cared about cricket, football or music, all I really cared about for any length of time were aeroplanes and Bond films. And if I want to indulge again in those days of kiddy-geekness, to be able to do in with something exuding style AND substance in such amounts as Casino Royale makes for happy reminiscing.