If you don't know his name by now, you've clearly been living in a cellar.

Look at those faces. No one's having any fun. The 22nd Bond flick is the Bond-without-funny-business Bond. How little funny business? The villain's name is Dominic Greene. The Bond-Girl's name is Camille. See a pattern? Any time now, Bond's going to announce his resignation from MI6 and decision to become a real estate agent rather than a secret agent.

Seriously, though. Quantum of Solace (and I repeat my previously stated opinion on the title and the lack of revision it should experienced) is continuing the pattern of stripped-down Bond that Casino Royale started. The stupid dialogue is gone. This Bond is a bit less interested in sex and more capable of killing someone with his bare hands or a box of paperclips.

Roger Ebert lamented the lack of colorful villain, colorful Bond-Girl name, and the traditional "Bond, James Bond" line. How many times does a line have to be repeated? If you don't know his name after 22 films, then perhaps it's necessary to have your hand held as you walk across a parking lot. We know his name, but we'd like to move onto the action.

What does this movie have? Quite a lot of action, a female lead who doesn't sleep with dear James (shocker!), a fantastic sequence involving many martinis and a bartender saving us all from cliche, a CIA agent who wants so badly to be Phillip Seymour Hoffman in Charlie Wilson's War but can't come near Phillip's brilliance, and an interesting closing sequence that brings up questions about Canadian Intelligence (??).

It's a bit lacking in story, but for the second time, a Bond film has distanced itself from the tired cliches that have dragged it down for the last several years. Some people, such as Ebert, mourn that loss, but I celebrate it. I think if the Bond franchise is going to survived the next decade, it needs to shed some of the expected turns and surprise us with its originality.

Sadly, evil villains with henchmen in matching jumpsuits isn't particularly original anymore. Breaks my heart, but I suppose I'll live with an environmentalist gone bad.

Let's hope the 23rd Bond film gives Bond a reason to smile on the poster.

Dancing Queens

Be kind. Leave the men at home. I've heard reports of men volunteering to watch Phyllida Lloyd's Mamma Mia!, and truthfully, these aren't men I'm related to. This movie is an estrogen-fest. Singing, dancing, sighing, and unless the man in your life always wondered if Pierce Brosnan could sing, just say no. Protect the mental health of the males in your life.

The movie starts off with sweet Amanda Seyfried as Sophie, on the eve of her wedding in Greece. While she is young and has the rest of her life ahead of her, getting married now is top priority, because she has a very important guest list.

The list includes three possible fathers - three because her single mother Donna (Meryl Streep) had an active social life twenty years ago, which leaves young Sophie's paternity in question.

All three possibilities show up and the movie continues from there, with a lot of choreography in between. Words don't do the musical scenes justice; I recommend a youtube search. The "Dancing Queen" sequence was my favorite, with Greek women around the town dropping their work to join in. Women of all sizes and ages, real women, all having a grand old time waving their arms and singing.

Their are several intersecting plotlines, involving the fathers, the past, and Donna's feelings about her daughter's marriage, but let's face it. The plot is a vehicle for the musical sequence to follow.

If you like Abba, singing, dancing, platform shoes, sequined jumpsuits, Greece, cheese, and have a large tolerance for estrogen - induced silliness, then this movie is for you. If you prefer for things to blow up (and I'm not talking arguments, I'm thinking pyrotechnics and destruction), try The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor, which includes not only explosions but yetis.

Trust me. I really wasn't kidding about the jumpsuits.