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In my very first Chapter Two column, I set forth a brief mission statement of sorts concerning where I aimed to set my critical sights. With this week's installment and the two to follow, I hope to refine and expand upon this definition. Two of the three columns will consider the second entry in a pair of long-running franchises (each extending back more than 45 years) and the third will be a consideration of a film from the early 1990s whose critical and financial reception, although far from disastrous, set the course - by my thinking - for the notion of rebooting a series. I hasten to add that I dread using that word, although I am not sure what to choose that I wouldn't find so distasteful. As far as Hollywood seems to be concerned, it is a more than accurate turn of phrase. If there is a long-dormant series that could once again be turned into a profitable cash cow, reboot. If the latest installment of a popular entertainment isn't as successful as it might have been, it just needs a reboot. Shake the hard drive around a bit, whap the monitor once or twice. It almost seems as if now, some would-be franchises come out of the gate (G.I. Joe) as $100 million advertisements for the preordained follow-up.

I believe that no story needs to go on forever. To cross over to the world of television for a moment, it would be perfectly fine with me if there were a five-season limit imposed on series. Make enough to hit the 100-episode plateau plus some change and wend their way into syndication when all is said and done. Am I happy to have eight seasons of Buffy? Absolutely. Do I marvel at the longevity of The Simpsons and King of the Hill and Law & Order? Certainly. But I also think there is a point where all the stories that need to be told for a particular character or group of characters have been reached and everything past that point is, if I may bastardize Raymond Carver, not gravy, but just broth. British shows that run for anywhere from 12 to 24 episodes spread out over several years seem to have the right idea. But I can be contrary as well, and regular readers already know that I have an affinity for the Final Destination series and a part of me is very curious to see where the parties involved plan to go with that. So having made all those claims, how do I feel about a franchise that has lasted 47 years, gone through six actorly incarnations of the lead character and given us femme fatales with monikers such as Pussy Galore? Not too terribly conflicted, as it turns out.

His name is Bond. Jam... Oh, hell; you and I know his name, his preferred drink, the type of car he likes, his taste in women, probably the inseam in his trousers as well. Ten presidents have come and gone in the interim, but the prospect of a new Bond picture every one to three years has been fervently kept alive. The only gaps larger than this since Bond's inception in 1962's Dr. No have been the six years (1989-1995) between the Timothy Dalton and Pierce Brosnan eras and the four years (2002-2006) between Brosnan and Daniel Craig. I have seen every film in the Bond oeuvre (including Never Say Never Again, which some don't count, but excluding the 1967 spoof Casino Royale, which some do. I think I have consciously avoided that out of some perverse desire to deny myself very early cinematic Woody Allen appearances.) I was a young child in the early 1980s so Roger Moore will always be my first, and yes, favorite Bond, although I heartily acknowledge that most of his films are campy and crappy in equal measures. My favorite individual Bond missions are On Her Majesty's Secret Service, For Your Eyes Only, and Goldfinger.

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