Such praise comes in part because of, not in spite of, his relative obscurity. Unhampered by preconceptions or beloved previous roles imprinted into public consciousness, Craig was able to inhabit the character with the kind of intensity and attention-to-detail then unfamiliar to a franchise that preferred broad brush strokes and light satire to complex characterisation. 

Through Craig (plus a few determined modernisers including Crash writer Paul Haggis and Skyfall director Sam Mendes), we discovered the man behind the muscle: weighed down by childhood trauma, wounded and repressed, yet capable of and desperate for love. Would we have taken him so seriously if we saw him refracted through the lens of a Baltimore drug lord or a lycra-clad superman? Of course not. 

Such is the fundamental false economy of the who-will-be-the-next-Bond hype machine. Because the thing is, Broccoli will never choose someone remotely famous enough to generate the sort of odds that proper speculation requires. It will most likely be someone the majority of casual film-goers have never heard of or at best, a name familiar only from the very periphery of celebrity culture – someone like Kingsley Ben-Adir or Dev Patel.

The Bond franchise doesn’t need to hire a star when it can so easily make its own, which is why Elba is probably lounging at home right now, working on the fabric for his next designer sandal and waiting for the storm to pass. He knows Broccoli is messing with you. The next Bond will surprise us all.