In 1965, saxophonist Rolando Alphonso, late of The Skatalites, rounded up several of his former bandmates in the recording den of Studio One in Kingston as The Soul Brothers to record their version of the “James Bond Theme.” Braced by Bryan Atkinson’s filthy bass, Lloyd Knibb’s whiplash drums and Lynn Taitt’s slinky guitar and accentuated with the steady piano beat of Jackie Mittoo and the infectious vocal percussion of ‘King Sporty,’ the song explodes with the brash, urgent, almost abrasive, horn section of Alphonso, ‘Dizzy’ Moore and Rupert Dillon.  The Soul Brothers pay homage to the brilliant, original tune while taking it from the quicksand of the bandstand to the sound systems of street level in the baddest cover of the tune to date.

Two years ago, a reverential Daniel Craig revived a turgid series as the retro Bond, and while he didn’t usurp the irreproducible Sean Connery, he brought back a wanton muskiness to the role that in comparison made Roger Moore harbor all the threat of Fred Grandy.  “Quantum of Solace” finds Craig even more menacing, chiseled and strapped.  It’s James Bond as Rude Boy.

Director Marc Forster matches Craig’s intensity with an earthy, gritty film which, befitting the shortest Bond film in history, spans three continents in a whirl of visceral action sequences interrupted with a modicum of extraneous dialogue and ludicrous gadgets.  Opening with a thrilling car chase through a central Italian quarry which leads into a thumpy little dirge of a theme song, and reemerging after the credits in a rapid-fire roof-top pursuit nicely juxtaposed with the Palio di Siena, “Quantum of Solace” from the offset mocks its title with an energetic, globe-trotting pace that is anything but soporific.

Quickly switching locales to Port-au-Prince, “Quantum”  unleashes fisticuffs evocative of the Bourne series, but that doesn’t make the sequences derivative, less thrilling or less astutely executed.  And the taint of Q couldn’t be further removed as instead of a yacht with a physics-defying propulsion system, Bond improvises on the Gulf of Gonave, jarringly maneuvering from power boated danger on a glorified, motorized dug out.

But the film doesn’t forsake the grand moments.  A superb set piece is fashioned during a modern adaptation of Tosca on the Seebuhne, the massive floating stage on Lake Constance in Bregenz, Austria.  Forster constructs a terrific juxtaposition between the escalating drama of the opera and the unfolding fortuitous discovery Bond makes in the 7,000 seat concert hall.  There is very little acute action in the scene, but through concise editing and clever sound technique, the tension is explicit. It’s exhilarating pomp amongst the happenstance.

Mathieu Amalric, whose expressive eyes were so integral to the compelling “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly,” plays villainous government puppeteer Dominic Greene, with understated menace, almost bemusement, in a performance reminiscent of Klaus Maria Brandauer’s in “Never Say Never Again.”

Judy Dench, a spunky, vital 73-years-old, has molded “M” into a formidable presence and has formed a complicated relationship with Bond which was lacking during the many years Bernard Lee claimed the role. While Dench is offered a part of ample opportunity, Jeffrey Wright, frustratingly one of America’s most underutilized acting talents, returns, slighted, as Felix Leiter, and while the character has always been an ancillary one in the series, the creative team should have expanded the role for his talent.  

Forster (“Monster’s Ball,” “Finding Neverland,” “Stranger than Fiction“) doesn‘t possess a resume which suggests a propensity to helm a venerable spy series, but he‘s an emboldened choice.  He ably meshes the action with a story of vengeance while adding an underpinning of pathos. In a nod to the Bond legacy, he even throws in a dark reference to “Goldfinger.“ 

Like Christopher Nolan earlier this year with “The Dark Knight,” Forster’s film works quite well in the quieter moments and more intimate battles but a few of the larger action sequences feel jumbled and disjointed.  An air battle is overlong and slightly cumbersome.  And the camera work by Roberto Schaefer — who has not only shot all of Forster’s films but is a frequent collaborator of Christopher Guest’s — is at times too tightly pressed up on the frenzy, and perhaps could have been improved by retreating from the action for a wider view.

But in an episode which highlights their success at capturing reflective moments, Forster and Schaefer present one of the more evocative sequences in the Bond canon.  As Bond and his comrade-in-harm, Camille (Olga Kurylenko), stride defiantly in the desolate Bolivian desert, the scene cuts to the townspeople of an impoverished village, who are clearly not professional actors, walking to wells run dry by Greene’s scheme, and then, for just a moment, the scene goes back to the grim pair in the desert before returning to the villagers staring at a spigot with just a single, mocking, lamentable drop falling into a bucket, the mesmerizing visuals bristling with the atmosphere of a party political broadcast from Evo Morales.

As the film concludes in Russia with a contemplation of the consequences of revenge, “Quantum of Solace” is a  film with no baccarat, nor Bacharach, nor excruciating banter, but instead is a testament to a franchise invigorated and a Bond with an attitude.