Like expensive wine and Harrison Ford, the finest things in life only improve with age. The James Bond dynasty is no exception. After 40 years, 20 feature films and five bodily reincarnations, Bond still reigns supreme in the world of high rollers, big explosions, fast cars and faster women.
Bond flicks are traditionally political; true to form, Die Another Day centers on our Asian buddies in the, uh, "axis of evil" (still referred to in some circles as North Korea). In accordance with MI6 operation protocol, I am unable to reveal the particulars of 007's mission in Die Another Day. Not that it matters. Half of you just want to see Halle Berry naked. Half of you want to see Pierce Brosnan naked. Anyway, even the average moviegoer couldn't understand the plot if it came down from a massive satellite-mounted solar-powered weapon of mass destruction, wiped out a North Korean demilitarized zone and kicked him in the ass.
Of Brosnan's four Bond flicks, only this one lives up to the standards set by 1995's Goldeneye. Tomorrow Never Dies fizzles, The World Is Not Enough plays like a schizophrenic puppy on speed, but Die Another Day serves up the old girl-gadget-car standbys in a surprisingly coherent little package. A word to the wise: Observe the limits of Bond-dom. Take this stuff at face value. The same critics who squeal about inadequate character development are also unable to appreciate the difficulties one encounters while riding an Arctic tidal wave to freedom while balanced on the wreckage of a rocket-powered drag-racing sled.
Three thumbs up for an all-star cast. Judi Dench, "M," rules British intelligence like a natural. Halle Berry is the hottest Bond babe yet, even overshadowing has-been Denise Richard's uncanny aptitude for hot pants and nuclear physics. On a more serious note, this is the first Bond film since the death of Desmond Llewelyn, gadget-man "Q" in the last 18 films. John Cleese of Monty Python fame fills the role admirably, but Llewelyn's absence still leaves a void.
After 20 films, Bond is still the man. A little grizzled and worn, but like that old velveteen bunny of yore, he's been well-loved. My poor James, with your slick impersonality and little-boy insecurities. Would that I could tame your wild, wild ways. You cut to the heart like a 7.65 mm Walther PPK.
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