The
World Is Not Enough
PG-13
Now Showing
www.jamesbond.com
James Bond is the Energizer Bunny of action heroes: Born of
Ian Fleming's pulp novels 37 years and 19 movies ago, 007
was saving the world before Schwarzenegger, Stallone and Van
Damme were old enough to purchase their first shaken, not
stirred martinis. It's fitting that as those stars' careers
slump, Bond is still going, and going, and going.
That said, 007 has become a victim of his own success:
The very things that we love about Bond movies--the fancy
cars and geeked-out gadgets, the hammy villains and gorgeous
sex kittens--are also what now make the series painfully
predictable. Since its inception with 1962's Dr. No,
the Broccoli family of producers (first Albert and now,
following his death, daughter Barbara) has stayed true--first
wisely, now foolishly--to Ian Fleming's original formula,
which the author once described thus:
"Give Bond the right clothes, the right background, the
right girl and set the story in the most glamorous and beautiful
of places, describing everything in minute detail while
moving the plot along so fast that nobody notices the idiosyncrasies
in it."
The World Is Not Enough follows the recipe precisely,
offering pleasures so familiar that they ultimately lull
us to sleep. Bond (Pierce Brosnan, in his third turn as
007) is first sent to Bilbao, Spain, to recover a heap of
stolen currency--a personal favor for his boss, M (Judy
Dench). When the loot explodes back at MI6 headquarters
in London, Bond begins a frantic crusade to stop international
terrorist Renard (Robert Carlyle) from kidnapping a beautiful
heiress (Sophie Marceau), sabotaging the Western world's
oil supply and unleashing nuclear catastrophe. You know,
a standard day's work for a spy.
More important to Bond geeks than the story, however, are
the customary devices. The story is peppered with a liberal
amount of high-voltage action sequences, the best of which
is a delirious speedboat chase down London's River Thames
that happens during the first 15 minutes (Bond films always
have great pre-credit sequences, and this is no exception).
James continues to earn plenty of frequent-flyer miles,
this time traveling to Spain, Scotland, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan
and Turkey. Naturally there are several time-outs for Bond's
effortless, suave brand of seduction: Be his targets arch-villains
or brilliant scientists, 007 remains an equal-opportunity
sexual predator. (For those of you tallying silly Bond-girl
names, the latest, annoyingly played by Denise Richards,
is called Christmas Jones.) And don't forget the gadgets:
The latest items in 007's secret-agent Sharper Image store
include a wristwatch with dual lasers and miniature grappling
hook, bagpipes that double as a flame-thrower, and a tricked-out
BMW that shoots missiles out of its headlights.
As 007, Brosnan exudes the same disarming, tongue-in-cheek
confidence that made Sean Connery and (to a lesser extent)
Roger Moore successful. But Brosnan can do little but window-dress
the Broccolis' conformity to the same old formula. Instead
of looking for new ways to spin 007's story, they turn away
from talented people with new ideas, like Quentin Tarantino,
in favor of those who will play their game. Take director
Michael Apted: He's easily the most talented filmmaker ever
to sign onto a Bond film, but the sensibility Apted has
shown in myriad documentaries (the 7-Up series) and
other fiction features (Gorillas in the Mist, Coal
Miner's Daughter) is suffocated by the rigid Bond blueprint.
He's simply a director for hire, wading his way through
a shoot-by-numbers picture.
It's no wonder that comedian Mike Myers has struck gold
by mocking Bond in Austin Powers. Myers makes Bond
look silly, exposing the Broccoli formula as an outdated
assembly line and raising hilarious hell inside the factory.
It's undeniable that the Fleming formula has worked for
decades. But if the Broccolis continue to simply interchange
explosions, girls and locales without shaking up their precious
franchise, they will ultimately do what Blofeld, Jaws and
Goldfinger never could--kill the world's greatest secret
agent.
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Willamette Week | originally
published November 23,
1999
|
