Maybe it's the time it spends in train stations or MI6's new premises in old underground London. Maybe it's the venerable British thespians in support. Or that our our hero - orphaned as a child, we discover - must face his tech-wizard nemesis in a crumbling country pile. Maybe it's the bit with the dragons (yes, really).
And maybe, well certainly, I'm flailing about trying to find something vaguely original to say about 007, part XXIII.
It's had so much said about it already and got itself branded the dark, psychological Bond, the reinvented-for-the-21st century-but-origin-story Bond, and, the best Bond since Daniel Radcliffe - whoops, Craig - first got those very nice suits tailored.
But the admittedly lateral thought that this Bond curiously resembles a gun-happy, jet-setting Harry Potter movie took hold while it was still on. And in a Bond movie, you really shouldn't be given time or inspiration for random thoughts about other Brit blockbuster franchises.
Because it just might indicate that Skyfall, with the energy generated by real-world seriousness rubbing up against the formulaic preposterousness, can actually get a bit boring. Especially as it heads into the last half-hour of a film which matches Craig's debut, Casino Royale, for duration as the longest Bondflicks.
