The movie opens with film footage of Ian Fleming explaining that when he created his internationally known spy character, he wanted an anonymous name. He had a book he used to identify birds in Jamaica. The author's name was James Bond, and Fleming thought that suited his spy well. It's a great opening for a film about the burden of sharing a name with the world's most famous fictional spy.

We meet about ten different men named James Bond. Most were born before it became clear that the movies were Fleming's never-ending legacy to the world. There was quite a bit of talk about the jokes they have to endure ("shaken not stirred" seems to be the commonest), but a more interesting - perhaps I should say "horrifying" - one is interactions with the police. Imagine telling the police your name is "James Bond" on the day you forgot to carry your ID with you. The consequences aren't pretty.

The director has a decent ear for weird stories. "Gunnar James Bond Schäfer" in particular kind of creeped me out. He's a Swede who's father abandoned the family when he was very young, and he became obsessed with this icon of masculinity - to the point of changing his name, always dressing like Bond, going on holidays in Bond movie shooting locations, and running a Bond Museum.

James Bond Jr. is another strange case: he was accused of killing someone, and his story would probably have been in the news once ... except for his name, which the media enjoyed plastering in headlines across multiple states for months. Which directly affected the livelihood of another James Bond who ran an outreach organization for children (that involves guns in the woods ... hey, they live in Texas).

The resulting movie is intermittently fascinating. I didn't love it, but it definitely presented a strange picture of the legacy the name has created for those who don't play him on the movie screen.