It’s tough, really, to look back and pinpoint the absolute nadir of the venerable James Bond franchise. Was it 1985’s A View to a Kill, where a rickety Roger Moore apparently needed a stunt double to walk down the stairs? 1989’s License to Kill, which featured Wayne Newton as a bad guy? 2002’s Die Another Day, with the invisible car and ice hotel and erudite villain who wore a Captain Power electro-super suit? Whatever your personal poison, even the most ardent of fans would have to admit that following the exploits of 007 hasn’t always been the most pleasurable of assignments.

Speaking as one of the aforementioned diehards, it gives me great relief to say that Casino Royale is good. Really, really good. Maybe, in fact, the best entry since 1969’s On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. What’s more, this may be the first installment—courtesy of a smashing lead performance by Daniel Craig—to capture the rock-hearted, alligator-blooded nature of Ian Fleming’s literary character. No offense to St. Connery is intended, but, man, Craig has it down cold.

For once, director Martin Campbell (GoldenEye) and scripters Neil Purvis, Robert Wade, and Paul Haggis (yeah, the Crash guy) have stuck fairly close to Fleming’s premise, in which a newly Double O Bond is assigned to keep tabs on a card-crazy international financier of terrorists. Complications arise, as they often do, with the appearance of a luscious fellow spy (The Dreamers’ Eva Green, more than holding her own against Craig’s blunt thuggery). It’s a relatively small-scaled plot (for once, the fate of the world isn’t at stake), which ends up paying large dividends. Aside from a dazzling, District B13-inspired setpiece, actually, what’s most impressive about Royale’s take on the mythos is how relatively low-tech it is. (A torture scene involving nothing more than an innocuous wicker chair should cause Pier 1 stock to plummet.) There are, admittedly, a few nits to pick here and there (most notably a slight case of third-act bloat), but overall, it would be hard to think of a more enjoyable, dizzy-grin-inducing reboot. Honestly, this is the first time in years where the post-credit promise that James Bond Will Return hasn’t carried a bit of a bitter taint. And, just like that, drinking and shooting and driving fast and screwing are cool all over again.