In 2005, when Barbara Broccoli announced that a blond, blue-eyed, relatively unknown actor named Daniel Craig would be the next James Bond, the internet practically exploded. Fan forums crashed. Petitions with hundreds of thousands of signatures demanded his removal. Websites like “danielcraigisnotbond.com” popped up overnight. Tabloids called him “James Blond.” Craig himself was publicly booed at the press conference. Even Pierce Brosnan’s former co-stars questioned the choice.
But Barbara Broccoli, the iron-willed keeper of the Bond legacy since her father Cubby passed the torch, didn’t flinch. She had seen something in Craig’s raw intensity in films like Layer Cake and Munich that convinced her he could reinvent 007 for a post-9/11 world: colder, bruised, more human.
The doubters only got louder when the first official photo dropped: Craig emerging from the ocean in tiny blue trunks. “Grandma’s Bond,” they sneered. Bookmakers offered odds on how quickly he’d be fired.
Then Casino Royale hit theaters in 2006. It brutally, brilliantly rebooted the franchise. Critics raved. Audiences lined up around the block. It grossed over $616 million worldwide on a $150 million budget, instantly making Craig the most profitable Bond since Connery.
Still, the hate lingered. Every new film faced pre-release backlash. Quantum of Solace (2008) was criticized for its messy editing, Skyfall (2012) arrived like a thunderclap.
Directed by Sam Mendes and shot by legendary cinematographer Roger Deakins, Skyfall wasn’t just a Bond film; it was a cinematic event. Adele’s haunting theme song won an Oscar. The movie shattered records, becoming the first Bond film to cross the $1 billion mark, finishing with a staggering $1.108 billion worldwide. Adjusted for inflation, it remains one of the highest-grossing films in UK history.
Suddenly the forums went quiet. The petitions vanished. Daniel Craig went from punching bag to the most celebrated 007 of the modern era, eventually named the highest-paid Bond ever and knighted in spirit by fans who once wanted him gone.
Barbara Broccoli never gloated. She simply said in interviews: “We don’t cast for the loudest voices. We cast for the story we want to tell.”
That single decision didn’t just save the franchise; it redefined it. Craig’s Bond bled, grieved, aged in real time. He turned 007 from untouchable playboy into a haunted civil servant, paving the way for the emotional depth we now expect from blockbuster heroes.
Fifteen years and five films later, No Time to Die (2021) gave Craig a billion-dollar send-off number two. His era grossed over $3.8 billion total, more than any previous Bond.
So the next time a studio caves to online outrage and recasts on impulse, remember Barbara Broccoli in 2005: stone-faced, unflinching, betting everything on her gut while the world screamed she was wrong.
She laughed last. And she laughed all the way to a billion-dollar bank.
