Let the man cook.
Seriously. Denis Villeneuve is one of the hardest-working, most talented directors in Hollywood right now—and The Hollywood Reporter really wants us to believe he’s not qualified to direct a James Bond film because he’s not funny enough?
Get the hell out of here.
This is the guy who turned Dune—a notoriously dense, slow-burn sci-fi novel with more internal monologue than action—into a cinematic experience that had people cheering for sandworms like it was a Marvel movie. The guy who gave us Blade Runner 2049, a sequel that somehow didn’t suck, and in fact elevated the original. And let’s not forget Prisoners, one of the most gut-wrenching kidnapping thrillers of the last decade, or Sicario, which absolutely oozes the kind of moral ambiguity and deadly precision that would suit Bond’s world perfectly.
If you need proof Villeneuve understands the emotional complexity of violence, espionage, and consequence, just watch Benicio del Toro’s Alejandro in Sicario. That character is practically a rogue 00-agent in everything but name—and he has more tension in a single stare than most franchises generate over an entire runtime. So no, Denis doesn’t crack jokes. You know what else doesn’t crack jokes? High-stakes assassinations, international black ops, and intelligence agencies with body counts higher than their budgets.
But somehow, the Hollywood Reporter took issue with Villeneuve’s lack of a comedic track record. They basically implied—gasp—that a Canadian might not have a sense of humor. First of all, as someone who calls himself a first-generation Canadian-American (thanks, Mom), I take offense. Sure, we’re a little polite, a little dry, but we’re not humorless robots out of Ex Machina. And Denis, though technically French-Canadian, still gets honorary Maple Leaf immunity from that lazy stereotype.
Besides, when exactly were we expecting a Bond film to be a stand-up set? Villeneuve isn’t directing Deadpool. This is 007. Spies. Suits. Suppressed trauma. And if you’re still clinging to the Roger Moore-era of Bond—the one with laser battles in space, pigeon double-takes, and villain names ripped straight from Austin Powers—then maybe you’re the one who needs to move on.
The piece in THR seems like it’s nostalgic for the campy days of Moonraker, Octopussy, and villains with steel teeth or literal hat-based murder weapons. Which—fine. That was a moment. But not every Bond film needs to feel like a Saturday morning cartoon. And it’s clear Denis Villeneuve wouldn’t go that route. If anything, he’d probably lean more into the Pierce Brosnan or Dalton era of Bond: still stylish, still confident, but more grounded. You know—an actual spy who kills people, not a fashion-forward action figure with a pun quota.
Let’s not forget, GoldenEye remains one of the best Bonds ever made, and it struck that perfect balance between intensity and wit. If Villeneuve gave us a Bond that lives in that space? We’d be lucky. And yes, Brosnan’s era had The World Is Not Enough, where Bond ends up banging a nuclear physicist named Dr. Christmas Jones (played by Denise Richards) and caps the movie with, “I thought Christmas only comes once a year.” So clearly the franchise isn’t against having a little fun—but fun and funny are not the same thing.
Humor in Bond is about sharpness, not slapstick. It’s about dry wit in a deadly moment. It’s about delivering a line with a smirk after someone falls off a building—not cracking one while it’s happening. Villeneuve doesn’t need to make Bond a clown to make him work. And he doesn’t need to change his entire style just to appease some columnist worried there aren’t enough dad jokes in a spy thriller.
If we’re lucky enough to get Denis Villeneuve’s take on 007, we should be excited. Because that’s the kind of director who understands stakes, mood, pacing—and how to deliver a world that feels real enough for its violence to matter. And frankly, if that’s not enough for you, go rewatch Moonraker and let the rest of us enjoy Bond finally evolving again.
So once again, and I say this with full chest: back off Denis Villeneuve’s nuts, Hollywood Reporter. Let the man cook.
Hollywood After Dark 