The new Bond picture, Quantum of Solace, is pitched as the latest action film, but I went to see it not just for entertainment.

For someone like myself, who first got into Bond as a boy of 10, a sequel 45 years later is a touchstone to see how my tastes have changed.

In one sense, I’m a tough audience. Like many middle-aged men, Sean Connery remains for me the truest Bond. Somewhere deep, I still hope he’ll reprise the role, the way Beatles fans once dreamt the four would get back together. I doubt it will happen since Connery last played Bond 25 years ago and is now 78.

Still, there’s a comfort in seeing a new Bond flick. It’s a rare constant through decades of change, and not just because it’s the same franchise. It’s this: Though Bond actors may be different, they dress and act the same.

That’s not true with most heroes, who change with the times. When I see old film of baseball greats in the 1970s, it’s a bit odd to see their long hair and sideburns. But Sean Connery in the 1960s and Daniel Craig today seem to have shared the same barber, tailor and manner. That’s partly why men relate to Bond. During a half century when we’ve had to adjust to shifting male roles, from John Wayne to Alan Alda to uncool dad, it’s good to know there’s at least one timeless icon whose composed style has always felt right.

As the film opened, I briefly thought back to Dr. No, the first of the 22 in the franchise, and realized Bond hasn’t aged a day since then. How did I get to be 55? Was it really 40-plus years ago when Bond looked at master gadgeteer Q as they stood by his special-issue sports car, and said, “An ejector seat? You’re joking.” To which Q frowned sternly and said, “I never joke about my work, 007.”

That made it comforting to see a descendent of that same Aston Martin in the opening chase of Quantum, though I was sad that so classic a Bond car was wrecked by crashes and gunfire. Its door was even torn off. But as Daniel Craig stepped out of it, at least his tie was still straight.

That’s no small part of the Bond mystique. We have come to a time of casual Fridays at the office — casual everydays really, which most folks welcome. Yet on some level, it’s reassuring that Bond has not lowered his standards to that. I can’t picture him in a collared Izod and Gap jeans. I find it almost civilized that when tackling a nemesis on a rooftop in a gymnastic battle that would seem only possible in an acrobat’s lycra suit, Craig is wearing a classic gray ensemble from Savile Row.

For years, Bond reported to M, a proper Brit admiral who headed Her Majesty’s Secret Service. The new M is Dame Judi Dench, and decades ago, I would have considered it sacrilege had someone suggested a woman in that role. To my surprise, I’ve evolved. I find her dry, gray-haired authority just right. At one point, she is beside herself that 007 keeps turning suspects into dead bodies, but here’s how she reprimands him:

“Bond, if you would avoid killing every possible lead, it would be deeply appreciated.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says.

Her stone-faced response: “I’ve heard that before.”

I was surprised by another response I had to the movie. It almost has too much action. It’s as though they decided they needed 10 brawls and five fiery vehicle chases and stitched a plot around them. But that, too, is a reflection of changed times. If truth be told, when I’ve rewatched early Bond films, not all of them hold up. Parts seem slow. Today’s producers are smart enough to know that the America brain has been retrained by everything from music videos to instant messages to need quick, dramatic cuts. If we’re to stay engaged, our entertainment has to keep moving.

So here is a key difference between then and now: Sean Connery’s 1960s Bond conveyed style by the way he ordered a martini. Daniel Craig’s 2008 version has been asked to impart it more as a stunt player. Times change.

Craig got me thinking about a final reason men like Bond.

At one point in Quantum, an ominous motorcycle pulls behind him as he speeds along in a car driven by a female cohort. She looks in the mirror.

“Friend of yours?” she asks.

“I don’t have any friends,” he says.

Men relate to that. At heart, we like the idea of the lone cowboy. In that sense, Bond was — and is — nothing new in cinema. He’s still Gary Cooper, the solitary sheriff in the 1952 film High Noon, transplanted into the British Secret Service. Still today, that’s the man men want to be.

Which brings me to a closing confession. Although I now get mailings from AARP and worry about my pension, I had the same thoughts leaving the 2008 Bond movie as I did leaving the one when I was 10.

As I took the escalator down to the food court, I scanned the crowd for enemy agents. Just in case, I reached inside my tuxedo to make sure my Berretta was waiting in its shoulder-holster. With a cool smile, knowing I had a license to kill, I readied for battle.

mpatinkin@projo.com