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Posts Tagged ‘Pierce Brosnan’

One major religion tells us that when we die, we are summoned before a senior spiritual personage and asked to justify our existence – what did we contribute to the common good? Did we leave the world a better place than we found it? The cynical suggest that this is just a myth made up to encourage the oppressed and down-trodden to lead lives of dubious virtue, keeping their noses clean and generally being obedient in the hope of receiving a reward in the next life.

The question, of course, is one of how you justify your existence, and surely this doesn’t just apply to people. The simple and reductive answer, as far as films go anyway, is to say that a film’s purpose is to make money for its producers. I’m not so sure about that. Possibly my prejudices are showing but I don’t think the fact that the various Transformers films have added umpty-tump million dollars to the bank accounts of their makers comes close to making up for all the misery and horror they are responsible for. Conversely, though – could it be possible for a film not to do all that well at the box office yet still have made a worthwhile contribution to the sum total of human happiness, irrespective of how good it is?

Which basically brings us to John McTiernan’s 1986 film Nomads, one which seems to be promising a lot but ends up delivering… Well. The film is set in Los Angeles, where we initially encounter young ER doctor Eileen Flax (Lesley-Ann Down), recently moved to the city. In the ward one night she meets another new arrival, Jean-Charles Pommier (Pierce Brosnan), although this is not immediately apparent, mainly because Pommier is a frothing, raving nutcase, who whispers in a mysteriously French manner in her ear before trying to bite her and then dropping dead. Zut alors.

Well, Flax is bemused by Pommier’s case, learning he was a distinguished and much-travelled anthropologist who recently settled in LA to teach in a university there. So what’s he doing turning up in ER, off his head and about to cark it? The answers, when they come, mainly take the form of strange visions which afflict Flax, allowing her to relive Pommier’s last few days and the strange mystery he uncovered that ultimately led to his death.

As everyone knows, you can’t trust estate agents and the house Pommier and his wife (Anna-Maria Monticelli) have bought was previously the scene of a horrific murder. As a result it seems to have become something of a magnet for the local weirdos, who dress like punks and goths and drive around in a big black van, never stopping anywhere for long. (One of them is played by Adam Ant, another by the cult actress Mary Woronov.) In the flashback, Pommier becomes fascinated by them (not, it must be said, for any particularly compelling reason) and ends up following them around the city. He witnesses them casually committing a murder and various other antisocial acts, and is disturbed to discover they don’t show up on film when he attempts to photograph them.

The answer is logical and obvious – it’s the 80s! They’re punks! They drive around in a van! They don’t photograph! They’re obviously vampires! Reader, mais non. (Although this might have been a better film were the answer mais oui.) Pommier eventually figures out, with the aid of a handy exposition-nun, that the gang of weirdos are actually evil Eskimo desert-spirits, infesting Los Angeles. Well, of course they are. It turns out you can have an Eskimo desert-spirit, you just have to be a bit flexible with your definition of a desert. And a spirit. And possibly an Eskimo.

The problem is that Pommier has now attracted the attention of the evil spirits (known as Einwetok, apparently), they are keen to claim his soul in order to maintain the secret of their existence. Can he and his wife escape them? (Anyone who’s been paying attention should already know the answer.) And will Flax’s own investigation imperil her life?

Nomads is, it must be said, a not especially good and honestly rather silly film, but it is clearly a second cousin to rather more impressive fare – it’s not a million miles away from other 80s fantasy-horror films, especially those with a James Cameron connection. There are various elements of this film which do recall The Terminator and especially Near Dark, even though it’s not anywhere close to the same standard. Elsewhere, it does incorporate all the things you would associate with a certain kind of laboriously stylish 80s movie – heavy use of drum machines and synth music, and indiscriminate slo-mo when you’re not expecting it.

All this, of course, is less noticeable to the average viewer than the fact that the film stars a fairly young Pierce Brosnan (this was his first lead movie role), playing a Frenchman. It is not entirely clear why McTiernan decided to make his protagonist French, but it certainly gives Brosnan a chance to have a go at an allo-mon-amee-ah-am-from-Paree accent. Now, I like Pierce Brosnan a lot; he was a very good James Bond and I find him to be a very likeable screen presence in general. But he does a convincing French accent about as well as he can sing. (And one has to wonder why the two French characters appear to spend most of their time speaking English to each other.) It is quite hard to get past the accent and assess the rest of the performance (one notes Brosnan was still young and keen enough to say yes to a nude scene, though it is tactfully lit and framed).

He kind of drops out of sight in the closing stages of the film, anyway, as the focus of the story switches more to Flax and Pommier’s widow. Again, one has to wonder what the merit is of the rather complicated flashback structure which McTiernan has opted to give the film – it doesn’t seem to be contributing much, cluttering the narrative rather than deepening it. I suppose it does enable the final twist of the movie (although this is using the word ‘twist’ very generously), but I’m not sure this is enough.

Nomads starts off showing signs of promise but unravels into incoherent silliness long before the end. You have to admire its attempts to be a gore-free piece of stylish, atmospheric horror-fantasy, but it just ends up being bemusing; it’s certainly not frightening in any way. Nor is it quite bad enough to be a fun slice of shlock. However – it got Pierce Brosnan started in movies, and that’s no bad thing, and apparently Arnie was sufficiently impressed by it to hire John McTiernan to  direct Predator (which in turn led to him doing Die Hard and other rather distinguished films). So while this may be a bad movie, it did eventually lead to some rather good ones.

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It was Friday night, and the lights were low (as you would expect, in a cinema). There were people everywhere – a sense of expectation hanging in the air. My impatience was slowly creeping up my spine and growing strong. Sitting there no-one could harm me. They just stared at me and wondered why.

As regular readers will be able to confirm, I can keep this sort of thing up indefinitely, but I expect you are more interested in hearing about Ol Parker’s Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again than in clumsily repurposed pop song lyrics, so let’s crack on with that. As it seems like the UK is currently experiencing a shortage of everything except shortages, cinema tickets are not quite big enough to accommodate that title in full, and so the ones we ended up with were apparently for a film entitled Mamma Mia! HWGA. By a strange coincidence, when I asked Next Desk Colleague if he wanted to come and see the film, his response actually was ‘Hwga!’, or at least a very similar sound. The same was true of nearly all my male co-workers when I broached the possibility with them – although there was one guy whose response of ‘I have a serious issue with the intrinsically non-diegetic nature of the musical as a cinematic form’ rather impressed me. Nearly all the distaff members of the office hurled themselves at the chance, though.

So I eventually rocked up to the new film in the company of a bevy of women of various ages and nationalities, all rather excited and wont to emit vowel sounds at unexpected moments as proceedings got underway. Fortunately my Anglo-Iranian affairs consultant had also agreed to come, so I wasn’t the only possessor of a Y chromosome in the party and didn’t feel quite so much of a stranger in a strange land. (I was still a bit worried I might end up spending two hours doing the Peter Rabbit face, though.)

Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again, in case you have recently arrived from Neptune, is a sequel to 2008’s Mamma Mia!, an alarmingly successful contraption based around creatively-cast performers doing unorthodox cover versions of songs by ABBA, one of the greatest pop groups in the history of the planet. This recipe ended up making $615 million, somehow, and so inevitably a sequel has arrived.

The first thing we should say is – now, does this constitute a spoiler? It’s a plot point that’s introduced virtually at the start, so I’d usually say no, but at the same time it’s deliberately obfuscated in the trailer, so… Oh, what the hell (spoiler alert). So – some time has passed since the first film, and central figure Donna (Meryl Streep) has carked it in the meantime, though whether this was a creative decision or just the result of Streep not really wanting to do the movie I’m not sure; suffice to say that despite her prominence in the publicity, her actual involvement is minimal.

This opens up the film to employ a structure which will probably be familiar to fans of The Godfather Part 2, although quite how big the crossover audience between The Godfather and Mamma Mia! is I’m not sure. Basically, we have one storyline which is a prequel to the original film, in which a young Donna (Lily James, whose publicity material will probably now contain the words ‘has been compared to Meryl Streep’ in perpetuity) leaves Oxford University, goes travelling in Europe, and embarks on the regimen of random promiscuity which will eventually leave her a single parent in charge of a rather cruddy Greek hotel.

The other plot strand concerns Donna’s daughter Sophie (Amanda Seyfried), who is struggling to reopen the same hotel thirty years later, with the help of her mother’s friends and widower (Pierce Brosnan). It soon becomes clear that Brosnan is basically being kept locked in a shed, well away from any sheet music, in case he attempts to sing again. (We will return to this.) Also helping out is a new character played by Andy Garcia, named Fernando (which if you ask me is tantamount to cheating). Will the reopening of the hotel be a big success? Will Sophie’s other two possible-fathers (Stellan Skarsgard and Colin Firth) make it to the island in time? Will anyone get the chance to sing ‘King Kong Song’?

I am tempted to say that if you’re the kind of person who found The Greatest Showman just a bit too gritty and hard-hitting, Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again will probably be right up your alley, filled as it is with appealing young actors, some of the broadest comedy turns imaginable, and – of course – a selection of indestructibly great pop classics.

That said, of course, I suspected this film might face what I call the More ABBA Gold problem. Permit me to explain – ABBA Gold is pretty much an essential album for anyone interested in pop music, being literally all killer, no filler: perfect hooks and choruses, emotional resonance, immaculate production, and so on. Every song on it is deservedly famous. More ABBA Gold? Not so much. I mean, it’s still got songs like ‘Honey Honey’ and ‘Summer Night City’ on it, which are quite well known, but also things like ‘Cassandra’ and ‘So Long’ which I doubt I’ve ever heard. The question is this: are there enough first-rank ABBA songs left to fill up another two hour movie?

Well… they kind of try to dodge this issue, mainly by reprising some of the songs from the first time round. There’s another go at ‘Mamma Mia’ itself, a reprise of ‘Dancing Queen’, and a moment when one of the characters, in a French restaurant with a bust of Napoleon, finds himself reaching for a metaphor for defeat, leading to the inevitable production number (this was probably the first moment at which I found myself with my head between my knees in the cinema). But some of the songs are more obscure this time around – the first big tune, bizarrely, is ‘When I Kissed the Teacher’, which at least occasions a truly mind-boggling solo from Celia Imrie, while also popping up are things like ‘Andante Andante’, ‘Kisses of Fire’, and ‘Why Did It Have to Be Me?’ The film’s big climax comes when Cher swoops in, basically playing herself, and sings ‘Fernando’ to Garcia (though I have to wonder what Garcia’s character was doing carrying a rifle across the Rio Grande in 1959, when he would have been about twelve). (The soundtrack album features Meryl Streep’s version of ‘The Day Before You Came’, which I must warn you does not appear at any point in the film. Not that you shouldn’t stay till the end of the credits, though.)

Still, even an obscure ABBA song is most likely a masterpiece of composition and production, and overall the music passes muster. But I have to say that much of the charm, if that’s the right word, of the original film is that it’s basically about a bunch of randy middle-aged people on an island together launching unprovoked assaults on the highlights of the ABBA back catalogue. The focus here is much more on randy young people, and despite winning performances from many of the cast (and I have to say that if Josh Dylan, who plays the young Skarsgard, ever visits my workplace he will be beating women off with a stick, based on the reactions of my colleagues), it is somehow less mesmerically weird and exciting and funny than the original film.

We’re practically into the home straight by the time all the original characters reconvene on the island, and I have to say I can’t help feeling some of them are a little underserved. I didn’t go to Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again to listen to Lily James singing; I went there to listen to Pierce Brosnan not singing (and to watch Colin Firth not dancing, for that matter). Brosnan is permitted a brief reprise of his legendary version of ‘S.O.S’ but is otherwise restricted to doing choruses alongside other people, which if you ask me is just not fair.

Still, everyone was singing along with the choruses during the film, and we all emerged with big smiles upon our faces, so I suppose Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again really does the job as a piece of entertainment. It isn’t as riotously silly as the first film, but it’s still a case of a deeply spurious non-plot being deployed to facilitate as many wonderful tunes as they can possibly get away with, topped off with a lot of knockabout humour and even a few quite touching emotional moments. I expect it will end up doing very well for itself. It’s simple and it’s plain – why should I complain?

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Current holder of the ‘Well, That’s Really Not At All What I Expected’ award is The Foreigner, one of those rather anonymously-titled genre movies you often find turning up direct-to-DVD or on streaming sites. My understanding is that this movie did get a theatrical release in some countries last year, which is doubtless due to the fact it has some proper stars in it – Jackie Chan and Pierce Brosnan – and is directed by the very capable Martin Campbell, who is arguably the director with the most consistently impressive track record in the Bond franchise. So you’re expecting a thriller, with these guys involved, but what exactly? Well, it’s clearly going to be some kind of buddy movie, isn’t it, with Chan and Brosnan possibly as superannuated spies brought unwillingly out of retirement together – Brosnan perhaps as someone a bit pompous, who’s gone respectable, and resents having to work with Chan, who comes across as a well-meaning oaf until it’s time to kick some heads in. Inevitably the two of them bond (no pun intended) through some crazy exploits, before a feel-good ending that leaves the door open for a sequel…

Amazing. Every word of what I just wrote is wrong (to coin a phrase). This is such a wholly different kettle of fish that it’s barely recognisable as a kettle of fish at all. Jackie Chan plays Quan, a single father who owns a Chinese restaurant in London (he and his family emigrated to the UK back in the 80s). His teenage daughter is his pride and joy, and so it is an appalling trauma when she is killed in a terrorist bombing just five minutes into the movie.

The bombing is claimed by the Authentic IRA, a rogue faction of the united Ireland movement, and pressure is immediately brought to bear on the political wing of the organisation to give up the men responsible for the atrocity. First in line for the squeeze is Deputy First Minister of Northern Ireland Liam Hennessy (Brosnan), who was a senior IRA man before – apparently – eschewing the way of violence. Everyone, including the media, assumes that Hennessy must know who planted the bomb, which brings him to Quan’s attention.

Everyone is a bit surprised when a fairly elderly Chinese dude turns up at Hennessy’s office in Belfast demanding to be told the names of the men responsible for murdering his daughter, but Quan is not to be dissuaded by veiled threats or fobbed off by the usual platitudes. However, their surprise turns to actual amazement when Quan sneaks off to the office toilets and fabricates a bomb out of lemonade and cigarettes, rather like a more violent MacGyver. He is clearly an aging restauranteur with a bit of a past, and he’s not going to take no for an answer…

So, yes, this is absolutely not a comedy film. Instead it is another of those Bus Pass Badass movies, this time starring everyone’s favourite Hong Kong-born knot of scar tissue in an entirely serious role. Well, I say ‘entirely serious’, but the film does require you to accept that Quan – who it turns out had some kind of special forces background during the Vietnam War – has kept up with his training over the last forty years. It’s a fairly big ask, but not an unreasonable one, as seeing Chan do his stuff is partly why you’re watching the movie in the first place. The film is, shall we say, carefully constructed so that Chan does not have to participate in a great many complex dialogue scenes in English, but his performance as a man who has basically had his emotions ripped away by an inconceivable tragedy is entirely believeable.

Also operating very much against type is Pierce Brosnan. Now, it may be that one of the reasons why this film didn’t get a theatrical UK release is that it ventures into some slightly ticklish areas – I don’t just mean the fact that this is essentially a fairly lightweight thriller which features multiple bombs going off in public areas, either (I’m never very comfortable when terrorist atrocities are treated as the stuff of genre entertainment, but maybe that’s just me). Brosnan’s choice of beard, glasses, and accent makes it pretty clear that his character is intended to be a kind of roman a clef version of the Sinn Fein leader Gerry Adams, and one suspects that lawyers had an interesting time ensuring this movie was not actionable – there are numerous mentions of the IRA throughout, but references to Sinn Fein itself are much less frequent and oblique.

Once you get your head around all this, though, Brosnan also gives a perfectly good performance in a somewhat tricky role – Chan is obviously the good guy in this movie, but Brosnan is playing a much more ambiguous figure, whose exact role in the plot is not immediately clear. The two of them have very little screen time together, though, which is a bit of a shame.

In fact, this rather feels like two quite different films which have been spliced together – there’s a morally ambiguous political thriller about Ulster politics and the connections between politicians and the men of violence, starring Brosnan, and then there’s a much more straightforward action movie with Chan in the lead role. I have to say I would have appreciated perhaps a little more of the latter, for the action sequences are where The Foreigner really comes to life – the film is puttering along engagingly enough in its opening section, then a bunch of IRA heavies turn up to Quan’s B&B to run him out of town, and suddenly we’re into a proper Jackie Chan action sequence with people flying out of windows and tumbling down flights of stairs. It’s a little more restrained and has a harder edge to it than you might expect, but it’s still exhilarating stuff.

In the end, though, this is still quite a dark film – apart from Quan, there are no significant good guys, and the British authorities are depicted as every bit as ruthless as their terrorist counterparts (we see prisoners tortured and executed). At the conclusion, there is a definite sense of closure, but not really that of a happy ending – the dead stay dead, no matter what, and no-one has come out of these events unscathed and untainted. It’s an unusual and downbeat note on which to end, but one entirely in keeping with the tone of the rest of the movie. This is a pretty decent thriller, once you get past the apparently peculiar casting choices for the two lead roles, and the two stars deserve credit for trying something different and working so hard to ensure it succeeds as much as it does.

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I know they say that youth is wasted on the young, but you know what? Sometimes, old age is wasted on the elderly. There was I with a free afternoon, so I decided to go and see a movie (just for a change). Not wanting to see SPECTRE or HG3B again, I took the plunge and went along to the Thursday afternoon Silver Screen promotion, hoping under-60s were allowed in unaccompanied. And what did I find? Only that the bloomin’ ticket was only £3, and included as many free biscuits as I cared to stuff in my mouth (having just had a traditional Chinese beefburger I partook only moderately).

£3 a ticket for a relatively new movie? Friends, I haven’t seen the like in twenty years. And yet, in the theatre itself, only four of us settled down to enjoy the movie itself – your correspondent, a slightly doddery old gent and two foreign students. See what I mean? Some of these old folk don’t know a good thing when they’re onto it.

Then again, maybe that week’s choice of movie had something to do with it – said picture was John Erick Dowdle’s No Escape (NB: title may not be literally true), a suspense-filled excursion into family jeopardy, bloody slaughter, and occasionally iffy acting. It opens with one of my least favourite narrative devices – a brief sequence of something shocking and arresting happening, followed by a caption saying ‘X Hours Earlier’. This seems to me to denote a film primarily aimed at a TV or in-flight audience.

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Well, anyway. The… prologue? Recap? Let’s call it a precap… the precap introduces us a to a country which strongly resembles but is definitely not Thailand, where the Prime Minister is entertaining an important foreigner and important doings are afoot. ‘Here’s to your new waterworks!’ cries the foreigner, thus indicating to the audience that either modern utilities are being put in, or the Prime Minister has just had some sort of surgical procedure. We do not learn which at this point, for on returning from seeing his visitor off, the PM’s aide finds his boss has been shot by sinister, heavily armed attackers. The aide takes no chances and has a good go at cutting his own head off in order to escape them.

From this charming scene we join the Dwyer family, nice Americans from Texas with nice kids and a nice plan to relocate to not-Thailand following some economic troubles. Dad Jack (Owen Wilson) is nice, mum Annie (Lake Bell) is nice, and I suppose the kids are nice too if you like that kind of thing. They are presented as so nice that you are instantly aware horrible things are going to happen to them.

The first of these is not meeting Pierce Brosnan, though he is on the same flight to not-Thailand as them. Brosnan is playing Hammond, a slightly suspect and boozy expat, but you know he will turn out to be more significant than he appears (mainly because he’s being played by Pierce Brosnan). To begin with, all he does is be amusing and boozy, and even gets a scene where he sings karaoke in a hotel bar. As any fule kno, Pierce Brosnan singing is not something to be missed, although on this occasion the great man restrains his vocal stylings so the movie doesn’t peak too soon.

Email and TV in the family hotel are not working, and so the next day Jack pops out into not-downtown Bangkok to buy a paper, only to encounter what’s basically a full-scale native uprising coming the other way (we are informed they don’t like the late Prime Minister’s new waterworks). With hordes of vicious rebels on the warpath, he beats a hasty retreat back to the hotel, only to find it offers little sanctuary from the heavily armed belligerents outside. Can he get his family to safety before their niceness quotient drops to an unacceptably low level?

The first thing I must say about No Escape is that, for what’s very much a low-budget movie by modern standards (only about $5m), it does a very good job of not looking like a low-budget movie. (No doubt filming much of it in Bangkok helped the money go a bit further.) The next is that, in many ways, this is an undeniably effective movie, if what you’re looking for is a fairly gruelling piece of survival-horror with a slightly dubious ‘realistic’ premise: the Dwyers’ initial disbelief and growing panic as the situation rapidly deteriorates are well put across, and to begin with at least, the film exerts a solid grip.

Long before the end, though, everything has gone a little bit cartoony, as it’s become clear that the family are simply going to stumble from one potentially-disastrous situation to another, with occasional lulls for slightly mawkish family-based interactions. And with this realisation I found myself wondering exactly what this film was about – is it making some genuine political point about the modern world? Or is it just a scaremongering piece of schlock about what happens to nice American families in horrid foreign countries? (It’s entirely understandable that this film has been banned in some parts of south-east Asia.)

I’m really not sure. It may in fact be both. Certainly the images of masked, club- and machete-wielding fighters swarming through offices and hotels intent on slaughtering any westerner they can find taps very effectively into all manner of contemporary fears, but I’m not sure depicting insurgents as the equivalent of the undead from World War Z makes a helpful contribution to the debate on modern world problems. Even here, the movie backs off from the obvious rationale, by not making its murderous antagonists radical Wahabists or whatever we’re calling them at the moment, but instead locals who are grumpy about the waterworks and the globalisation they represent. I’m not sure they’re fooling anyone with that.

This little nugget of plot gold comes courtesy of Pierce Brosnan’s character, who turns out to be an operative for (wait for it) ‘the British CIA’, according to Wilson’s character. Perhaps due to his noted past association with a different, rather better known spy character, Brosnan takes Hammond off in a very odd direction – this is one of those performances where it’s quite hard to tell what accent Brosnan is trying to so. Is he meant to be Cockney? Australian? It’s honestly a bit hard to tell. Hammond is much rougher around the edges than you-know-who, but Brosnan’s star power remains undiminished and the whole film honestly perks up a bit and becomes rather more fun whenever he’s on the screen – but again, you have to ask yourself, is unadulterated popcorn fun really appropriate for a film so uncomfortably near the knuckle in its depiction of terrorist violence?

Mind you, it’s not as though a lot of the rest of it isn’t in slightly dodgy territory too, for there’s a good deal of Hollywood nonsense before everything is resolved – a sequence in which Wilson and Bell earnestly hurl their children from rooftop to rooftop in slow-motion is particularly absurd. For all that the film is effective in summoning up a few primal fears, it never succeeds in incorporating these into a plausible or satisfying narrative.

I don’t think anyone will ever be in serious danger of mistaking No Escape for anything close to a great movie, although I should say that Lake Bell’s performance has very little wrong with it at all. That’s pretty much the only element of the film I can praise without qualification – as a suspense thriller, or an odd ‘realistic’ horror film, it works well enough, but it doesn’t really have the guts or intelligence to engage with the issues it raises on any but the most simplistic and sentimental level. It’s a decent piece of entertainment, but I doubt it adds anything at all to the sum total of human wisdom and insight.

 

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Hark! What’s that? Is it ‘a water buffalo’? Is it ‘the QE2 sounding its foghorn as it comes into dock’? Or is it simply ‘a wounded raccoon’?

Well, I think we’ll get back to the source of those alarming noises later. Let’s not beat about the bush here, readers: in an attempt to cling onto my current gainful employment, I have agreed to take on the running of the weekly film club, but rather to my disappointment some of my favourite films of recent years (Monsters, The Guard) have been met with a response varying from indifference to downright hatred. I have thus been obliged to break out some rather more mainstream, populist fare, and to be perfectly honest I am wondering if the extravagant remuneration is worth the pain of watching some of these films. On the other hand, these are the sorts of films I never usually write about so there is perhaps an opportunity here to broaden the blog a bit. In short: Mamma Mia! – if I have to watch the damn thing, then you’re going to have to read about it (actually, you don’t have to).

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Anyway, Phyllida Lloyd’s film came out in 2008 and has made over $600 million at the box office. (Yes, civilisation officially collapsed several years ago, and I’ll bet you didn’t even notice.) It is, as if you needed telling, practically the index case when it comes to the modern phenomenon of the ‘jukebox musical’, where a selection of hits from a well-known artist or group are strung together by a frankly dodgy narrative.

Mamma Mia! is almost entirely set on a remote Greek island, which plays host to a crumbling hotel run by Meryl Streep, with the help of her almost painfully perky daughter Amanda Seyfried. Seyfried is getting married to Dominic Cooper, but as various women intent on chewing the scenery and pratfalling descend on the place for the wedding (most prominently Julie Walters and Christine Baranski), the bride is not happy. She does not yet know the identity of her father, due to her mother’s (ahem) amatorial generosity around the time of her conception. However she has managed to narrow down the potential candidates to Pierce Brosnan, Stellan Skarsgard, and Colin Firth, and secretly invited them all as well. Naturally, the scene is set for…

…well, mainly some sentimental and very broad comedy drama, if I’m perfectly honest, punctuated with frequent dips into the back catalogue of the legendary Swedish pop titans. Whatever your opinion of the performances and dialogue in this film, you have to grant the writers some credit for coming up with a plot which crams in quite so many well-known ABBA hits without seeming utterly contrived. There’s definitely some sort of crossword-puzzle solving, Sudoku-completing mentality at work here.

On the other hand, they don’t manage to squeeze in Fernando or Knowing Me Knowing You, let alone The Day Before You Came, which has to count against them, right? Plus there’s a definite cheat involved in only including Waterloo as a non-plot-related encore. In the places of these songs come some rather lesser known tunes like Our Last Summer and When All Is Said and Done, which certainly don’t feature on ABBA Gold (nor indeed ABBA Gold For The Ukulele).

I suppose even these lesser works are solid enough, but the last one in particular is difficult to fairly assess as it is delivered, if that’s the right word, by Pierce Brosnan, who gives one of the more remarkable performances in recent musical cinema. It is of course Brosnan whose vocal stylings have been likened to a raccoon, a buffalo, and so on, but to be fair listening to him yowl, yelp, and moo his way through songs like SOS and I Do, I Do, I Do is strangely entertaining.

This is just part of a peculiar alchemy going on somewhere in the heart of this film. On paper the plot is ludicrous, schmaltzy nonsense, and the general tone of the thing is so frothy and excitable it should really give the discerning viewer a headache. Watching it for the first time I got the rather grim sensation that all of the actors were having much more fun than I was: it’s a bit like arriving late at a party and finding yourself five or six drinks behind everyone else.

And yet, and yet… there are those songs. My God, Benny and Bjorn can write a great tune. Actually, they can write great tunes by the bucketful, all replete with perfectly-honed hooks, surging choruses, and just the right level of grown-up realism and melancholy about them. These songs are like adamantium, not even Pierce Brosnan can seriously damage them. Admittedly, the role-reversal version of Does Your Mother Know emasculates the song, and Streep’s histrionic version of The Winner Takes It All is absurd, but the film’s version of Lay All Your Love On Me captures the song’s mixture of near-spiritual intensity and implicit sexual frenzy perfectly.

All things considered, I would definitely rather listen to two or three ABBA albums back-to-back than watch Mamma Mia! again, because it really does have that air of being an out-of-control middle-aged hen party about it, and Dr K’s description of it as being close to A-list stars performing ‘drunken karaoke’ is, as usual, close to being spot on. But somehow it is impossible to thoroughly object to or even genuinely dislike this film. If nothing it is a testament to the power of… well one thing ABBA’s music isn’t, is cheap. I don’t really think this is the showcase ABBA really deserves, but in its own way the film does an outstanding job of showing just how good their songs are.

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Yet another new Vue this week, readers: I know, I know. I was all set to check out the Everyman on Baker Street, but then I had a couple of hours to spare, wandered over to Leicester Square, and found out that if I just spent the afternoon there I could enjoy a couple of new movies and a tasty Mexican-inflected burger-based meal. The only downside was that one of the movies had to be at the Leicester Square Vue, but there you go. This does at least seem to be as nice as any other Vue (which is to say, quite nice in most respects), and Leicester Square is a fun place to go to the cinema. I note that weird, costume-wearing Frenchies have already started queueing to see The Lone Ranger, a film so blatantly and painfully misconceived that it’s currently 50-50 as to whether I go to see it at all (and this is from someone who paid to watch Battleship and After Earth). Hey ho.

Anyway, the film I saw at the Leicester Square Vue was Edgar Wright’s The World’s End, his latest re-teaming with writer and star Simon Pegg (not to mention co-star Nick Frost). To briefly recap, after making an name for themselves in TV, these boys scored a bit of a hit with the 2004 zombie romantic comedy Shaun of the Dead – still pretty much the gold standard when it comes to funny zombie films – and also did rather well with the 2007 comedy action pastiche Hot Fuzz (a film I personally find somewhat less accomplished, but still bags of fun). Then Pegg and Frost went off to make Paul with someone else, a film which did quite well though it wasn’t particularly great, and Wright went off and made Scott Pilgrim Vs The World, a film which didn’t do very well even though it was quite good.

Now here they are again, with what’s being advertised as the final instalment of a trilogy – helps with the marketing, I suppose, because in terms of story the three films are completely separate, not even taking place in the same genre.

The-Worlds-End-poster

This time round Pegg plays Gary King, a highly dubious and unreliable character, who at the start of the film is intent on reuniting the gang of his teenage years. Frost plays his best friend Andy, while comprising the rest of the crew are Paddy Considine, Eddie Marsan, and Martin Freeman. Many years ago this bunch set out to complete an epic pub crawl in their home town, but failed: now Gary is insisting they give it another try.

However, the freewheeling teenagers of decades before have grown up to be lawyers, estate agents, and so on, and even getting everyone back together is a challenge. Slowly the realisation dawns that Gary himself hasn’t appreciably grown up at all, and the question of exactly what his motivation for this reunion is becomes increasingly pressing.

Several pubs into the crawl, of course, things take a rather different and unexpected turn, as does the tone of the film. This does rather come out of nowhere, if you haven’t seen the trailer anyway, but suffice to say that, as usual, what started as a comedy turns into a different sort of genre movie entirely…

I seem to recall being instinctively well-disposed towards Shaun of the Dead when it came out in 2004, mainly because I’d met Simon Pegg the year before and he turned out to be one of the good guys. (Pegg’s rise to something approaching bona fide moviestardom since then has been gratifying.) I find myself equally inclined to say nice things about The World’s End, but again I am unsure whether this is simply due to the quality of the film, or the fact it seems precision-aimed at me as its target audience.

Because this is essentially a film about looking down the barrel of forty, realising your youth is all but over, and coming to terms with the fact that the past is past. All the characters have done this except Gary, and the emotional arc of the film is about how this affects their relationships. There is inevitably a good deal of nostalgia for the late 80s and early 90s, which is reflected in one of the most evocative and memorable soundtracks I can recall: Blur, the Stone Roses, the Soup Dragons, Suede, they are all here.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, this story winds up hitting a few emotional notes you wouldn’t necessarily expect to find in a mainstream comedy film, but I found this just made the film more engaging. Certainly, I went to see The World’s End looking forward to the genre element of the story, but found myself enjoying the character-based comedy-drama much more. In addition to sharp and witty dialogue, there is also some well-executed slapstick and a brilliant gag about the plague of homogenous gastro-ification sweeping British pubs.

This is not to say that the other stuff is by any means bad, of course: it’s smartly written and immaculately assembled, with some superbly inventive action choreography along the way (even if the unarmed combat skills displayed by virtually every character seem a little implausible). But by the climax, one almost gets a sense of the film itself having had a couple of pints too many – things become just a touch out of control and silly, though not enough to spoil proceedings. (It’s definitely a stretch to claim the film is on some level an homage to Wyndham or Youd, as some publicity materials are claiming.) The conclusion, though fairly logical, seemed to me to be distinctly odd and tonally rather at odds with the way the rest of the film had been going.

Nevertheless, this is still a quality piece of work, as you would expect from the assembled talent involved in making it. Given the A-Team of actors involved, the only real surprise is Nick Frost’s continued ability to steal scenes apparently without effort. Doing that when you’re sharing the frame with Simon Pegg, Paddy Considine, Eddie Marsan and Martin Freeman (often all at the same time) is a really remarkable talent. Frost might also want to consider branching out into action movies: he shows considerable potential in this department. Rosamund Pike and Pierce Brosnan also pop up in key roles: there’s something weird about the fact that not much more than a decade ago it was perfectly okay for the two of them to get it on in a movie, but now he’s being cast as her former schoolteacher. Typically strange cinema attitudes to ageing, I suppose.

The World’s End is very much of a piece with the two other Wright/Pegg/Frost films in the way it combines comedy-drama with genre pastiche, but it isn’t afraid to try some new things – the roles played by the two leads are effectively reversed, while there’s less of a focus on their relationship and more of an ensemble feel to the film. For the most part, this works, and if this really does turn out to be the last time these three work together, they are concluding their relationship on a high. The World’s End is consistently very funny, frequently moving, and often rather exciting. A great piece of intelligent entertainment, and one of the best films of the summer so far.

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In recent times we’ve had to become accustomed to the Bond franchise taking mini-breaks on a fairly regular basis (mainly due to the travails of movie studios and the occasional row about creative direction) but for nearly thirty years it was one of the most reliable series out there, with never a break of more than three years between films. So the non-appearance of any new Bond for half a decade in the early 90s was a bit of a shock. Coupled to the relative underperformance of the ill-liked Timothy Dalton films, and some fairly major geopolitical upheavals occurring in the same period, and some observers were even heard to suggest that time had finally run out and the fabled licence to kill had expired.

So when the production of Martin Campbell’s GoldenEye was finally announced in 1994, I was a little relieved, even if the casting of Pierce Brosnan as Bond wasn’t something I was over the moon about. This was a movie which would inevitably have big expectations upon it, and for me Brosnan was really more of a light comedian or romantic lead, just a bit too smooth and lightweight for the role. (I always say that everyone has the right to be wrong sometimes, and as you can see that’s an informed opinion.)

As it turned out, of course, GoldenEye emerged as a new kind of Bond film and the most entertaining in a very long time. To begin with, it’s not afraid to be resolutely traditional, with a lengthy teaser depicting Bond and fellow agent Trevelyan (Sean Bean) infiltrating a Soviet weapons facility. The mission goes bad and only Bond escapes.

Nine years and the collapse of the Soviet Union later, Bond happens to be in the area when an experimental helicopter is stolen by the beautiful but rather psychopathic Xenia Onatopp (gotta love these Bond movie names), a breakthrough role for Famke Janssen. However, Bond’s boss (Her Majesty Judi Dench) doesn’t consider this very significant, which turns out to be a mistake as said chopper is used almost at once to steal the control elements of a Russian satellite weapon codenamed GoldenEye.

(Bond swot points will, of course, be awarded for knowing that the title GoldenEye is ultimately derived from the name of Ian Fleming’s holiday home. Really ridiculous swot points will be further be awarded for knowing that the holiday home in question appears to have been christened in turn after a breed of duck.)

Apparently out of a general disapproval of this sort of thing rather than any particular British strategic interest, Bond is sent to Saint Petersburg to find the stolen weapon and sort out the criminals involved. Along the way there are, inevitably, a couple of dodgy helpers (Robbie Coltrane and Joe Don Baker), a devotchka in distress (Izabella Scorupco), an exploding pen and a watch which shoots laser beams.

One doesn’t often get the chance to say this about a Bond film but GoldenEye is a very intelligent movie, mainly in the way it’s aware of the audience’s expectations and is extremely diligent about meeting them. It works very hard to establish Brosnan as Bond from the start, sticking him first in the Aston Martin from Goldfinger and then in a succession of stock Bond situations – the car chase, the incidental shag, the casino sequence, sparring with the bad guy. The end result is that you don’t have much choice but to accept Brosnan as the character – who else could he be? It helps a lot that both actor and script willingly embrace the essential absurdity of Bond and don’t try to make him all edgy and realistic.

That said, one of the things that makes Pierce Brosnan such a great Bond is the way he manages to strike a balance between so many different elements and synthesize them into a single characterisation. In the past I’ve said that Brosnan is well aware he’s playing an icon and treats the part as such – he has some of Connery’s swagger and some of Moore’s unflappability, and even occasionally some of Dalton’s intensity. He is the composite Bond par excellence, even if in this film he hasn’t quite got the look of the character right (hair too long and some dodgy wardrobe choices near the start).

One of GoldenEye‘s concessions to modern sensibilities is in its attempt to at least make a token exploration of Bond’s character from a vaguely realistic point of view. ‘You’re a sexist, misogynist dinosaur,’ M tells Bond quite early on, which is quite a brave move given this is the kind of criticism the character’s always drawn. No attempt is made to rebut these charges, of course, as there is obviously some truth to them! And later on there’s a scene in which we see Bond deep in thought as he ponders the fact he’ll soon have to kill a former friend, which leads to a moderately earnest discussion of his reluctance to really get emotionally close to people. This scene does hit a bit of a bum note – on first viewing, the friend I was with leaned over and whispered ‘Here we go, New Man Bond time’ before it had even got started – and this may be why this sort of thing didn’t reappear in the other Brosnan films.

The first half of GoldenEye may be extremely deftly made, with enormous skill and wit, but it is still really just karaoke Bond for the most part, and knowingly so. It doesn’t take the character or the series anywhere genuinely new. All this changes when James Bond climbs into a T-54 tank and, in pursuit of the bad guys, proceeds to demolish large areas of Saint Petersburg. This whole sequence is bursting with a sort of boisterous delight in its own destructiveness and takes place on a scale not seen in a Bond film for many, many years. Political relevance and character insights are nice things to have around, but these movies are really about action, wit, and guilty pleasure and the tank chase delivers them in spades, demonstrating exactly why there was still a place for Bond at the heart of popular culture.

It’s such a great sequence that the rest of the film seems slightly disappointing as a result, something of a return to the Bond formula. But this is only relatively speaking, of course. The film continues as solidly as it started, eventually arriving at an appropriately pyrotechnic conclusion. If the mention of Guantanamo Bay in the closing seconds seems a little jarring, well, that just shows that the world keeps changing even if Bond himself stays largely immutable.

There are so many other good things about this film, from Martin Campbell’s direction – it’s easy to see why they brought him back to introduce Daniel Craig’s Bond – to the supporting performances. Robbie Coltrane is obviously enjoying himself a lot, while Joe Don Baker appears to simply be reprising his performance as CIA loose cannon Darius Jedburgh from Campbell’s Edge of Darkness. The only element of the film which seems questionable is Eric Serra’s soundtrack – clearly Serra’s been employed on the strength of his work on Leon, and the music here bears a resemblance to that score. He treats the Bond theme as something to be tinkered with and deployed in different forms, almost like a motif, which brings variable results, and sticks a fairly objectionable soft-rock ballad over the closing credits on which he himself provides the vocals. It’s not entirely surprising David Arnold was brought on board for the next film.

As I’ve mentioned before, GoldenEye is probably my favourite of the Brosnan Bonds, which as time goes by seem more and more to occupy their own niche in the history of the franchise. In the earlier films there’s a continuity of style, up to a point, even when the lead actor changes, with the films evolving without a great deal of self-consciousness. But with GoldenEye the series suddenly seems to become aware of its own traditions and staples and even cliches, and also its reputation and iconic status. The defining characteristic of the Brosnan films, for me, is the way that they’re so knowing about these things in the way that they meet them, play with them, and occasionally subvert them. Coupled to Brosnan’s constantly entertaining lead performance, the result is a set of films of a consistently high quality, and at least as rewarding to watch as any in the history of the franchise.

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From the Hootoo archive. Originally published November 28th 2002: 

For me there are few greater pleasures in going to the movies than watching a white circle pan across a jet black screen, simply because that means that Britain’s, and the cinema’s, greatest hero is about to start doing his thing again. And so it proves with Lee Tamahori’s Die Another Day, the 20th James Bond film, released in the year of the franchise’s ruby anniversary.

Typically, a stunt sequence most action movies would be glad to use as their climax is deployed here simply as an appetiser. Our hero (Pierce Brosnan, as ever flawlessly embodying Bond the icon) is in North Korea, as ever pursuing his own uniquely pyrotechnic brand of international relations. But when the dust settles there’s a shock in store for all concerned: rather than having it away on his toes and then having it away with, well, whoever he feels like, Bond is nabbed by the Koreans and slung in the clink. Bond spends the title sequence being tortured by his captors (the audience is particularly inclined to sympathise, as they spend the title sequence being tortured by Madonna).

It’s over a year before he gets out, a startling plot development but a very clever one. The usually invincible, immaculately turned-out Bond is grounded in reality as never before – unkempt, unshaven, and treated as damaged goods by his own superiors. And the film continues in the same gritty, realistic vein for some time, drawing you in, making you believe, making you care about the characters. And then, inevitably, once it has you, it soars off into a ludicrous realm where DNA transplants and invisible cars are entirely commonplace, taking you with it, well aware that reality has suddenly become a twinkling dot in the far distance, but really not caring at all.

There’s been much talk of how this new film contains knowing homages to many of the previous Bond films – and this is true. But, let’s face it, there are rarely more than cosmetic differences between these films anyway, and this one boils down to another retread of Bond Plot No.2: villain uses weapon in space to cause mischief. Along the way are all the things you’d expect from this franchise – girls, explosions, gadgets, girls, designer clothing, cars, spectacle, explosions, one-liners, girls, explosions and girls (quite properly, Bond does not let the malnutrition, brutalisation and psychological trauma of his prison experiences get in the way of his usual regime of conspicuous consumerism, chauvinism and carnage).

To be honest, the female characters are rather underwritten – Halle Berry rises above this through sheer force of personality and by virtue of being so damn easy on the eye, but Rosamund Pike struggles to convince. The villains have had much more thought put into them, however – there’s a great henchman in Rick Yune’s Zao, and Toby Stephens gives a fine, multi-layered performance as the oily Gustav Graves. One of the best things about the Brosnan Bond is the way the role of the chief villain has been played with – after making the villain a friend of Bond’s, and then the Bond girl, they now take the next logical step and – in a manner of speaking – make the villain Bond himself. A wonderful idea, but one wonders where they can go next without repeating themselves. The Bond regulars – Judi Dench, John Cleese, Samantha Bond and Colin Salmon – carry out their roles with customary aplomb, and there’s a cameo from Michael Madsen (an actor I’ve always had a soft spot for since Reservoir Dogs).

The only previous film of Lee Tamahori’s that I’ve seen is the brutal domestic drama Once Were Warriors, which brought both the director and Temuera (Jango Fett) Morrison to international attention, and to be honest I couldn’t see why the Bond producers had given him this assignment when I first heard he’d got the job. But they clearly recognised that talent is talent: this is the most stylishly directed Bond movie to date, with entirely novel techniques and flourishes being utilised throughout. Even more impressive is his command of pacing and tempo – starting the big set piece sequences small and controlled, before slowly building them into some of the most frenziedly exciting, over-the-top action scenes seen in recent years. Only some unconvincing CGI lets him down – also the fact that the film feels like it peaks too soon, the actual climax seeming a little routine and mundane given some of what has preceded it.

But these are quibbles. This is a stunning piece of pure entertainment, with the swagger and wit of the very best Bond movies. When the franchise is on this kind of form, it’s almost irresistible, and it’s barely credible that a film so rooted in tradition and formula can seem so vital and fresh. As far as action-adventure movies go, nobody does it better.

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My opinion is usually a fairly intractable thing, but when it comes to the issue of Brosnan-era Bond films it has, in the past, been almost embarrassingly inconstant – certainly as far as the vexed ‘which is best?’ question goes.

Even while emerging from Tomorrow Never Dies I was declaring to anyone who’d listen that it was far superior to Goldeneye. Then, in accordance with my ‘every Bond’s third film is his best one’ thesis (since recanted, by the way), I spent some time promoting The World Is Not Enough as the Irish Bond’s finest two and a bit hours. And, despite (or possibly due to) its general ridiculousness, Die Another Day also got its moment in the heart of my affections. Ironically enough, these days I’ve mostly reverted to the view that Goldeneye is the best one. Is there a moral for us here? I think there isn’t.

I say ‘mostly reverted’, because every time I watch The World Is Not Enough I catch myself wondering if this isn’t the best Bond of its period, and one of the best of the lot. Directed by Michael Apted, it’s in many ways the antithesis of its immediate predecessor: where Tomorrow Never Dies had a straightforward, even mechanical storyline, which moved urgently from one slick and lavish action sequence to the next, TWINE has a convoluted and slightly baffling story which – I think – makes sense if you can be bothered to unravel all the details, but the action beats are – well, they’re not actually bad, they just feel a little incongruous and perfunctory given the tone of the rest of the movie. (Exempt from this criticism is the splendid opening speedboat chase up the Thames, which – regrettably – was as close as the Dome ever came to coolness.)

In many ways this is a film which feels ahead of its time, in that the plot revolves around a bitter struggle for the control of oil supplies, touches on the spread of terrorism in central Asia and the near East, and concludes with an attempt at nuclear suicide bombing. On paper it looks very much like standard Bond stuff, albeit not adhering to any of the classic plots, as terminal headcase Renard (Robert Carlyle at the height of his fame) targets a family of British-based oil tycoons, specifically beautiful heiress Elektra King (Sophie Marceau). With the head of MI6 feeling partly responsible for the situation, Bond is sent to protect the woman. But not everyone or everything is what they appear to be…

Bond movies have a somewhat-deserved reputation for thin characterisation and formulaic stereotyping, but it’s in this department in particular that TWINE is something special. Anyone who’s seen a few of these films knows the stock characters: the Girl, the Master Villain, the Local Ally, the Heavy, the Bad Girl (the last two are occasionally omitted or conflated). Things are much less clear-cut in this film. It’s more than edges simply being blurred – characters initially appear to be one thing then unexpectedly turn out to be something quite different. This would be fairly unexceptional in a standard thriller but for a Bond film it’s noteworthy (possibly a symptom of the perceived problems which the Casino Royale reboot was intended to alleviate). And there’s some very odd, twisted stuff going on here, too – Renard has performance anxiety and worries about Bond being better in bed than him, for instance. (You never got that kind of thing from Christopher Lee or Donald Pleasence.)

However, if there’s a weak element to TWINE it’s in the (thrusting) person of supporting girl Christmas Jones, played by Denise Richards. Yes, this is a brilliant nuclear scientist, an expert in many fields and a speaker of multiple languages, so who have they cast? Denise Richards. The word ‘vapid’ immediately springs to mind, along with ‘unconvincing’, ’embarrassment’ and ‘no wonder she couldn’t sustain a top-echelon career for more than a couple of years’.

Apart from Denise Richards, this is a great film, which manages to walk the razor’s edge between Bond-dom daftness and grown-up movie credibility with great aplomb. There are some good gags and nice character moments, the villains’ scheme is credible yet entirely deserving of Bond’s time, and Robbie Coltrane and John Cleese get to come on and have some fun. Desmond Llewellyn’s swan-song as Q is also, in retrospect, a lovely, poignant moment. Quite why Eon decided to go, relatively speaking, off the deep end with the very next film I’m not really sure: but if they’re still looking for a template which merges the hallmarks of the franchise at its best with adult credibility and depth, they could do much worse than take another look at The World Is Not Enough.

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I nearly always remember the first time I saw a film: not just the when, but also the where – not just whether it was on TV, DVD or VHS, or at the cinema, but also in which house or theatre. Not just which multiplex, either – I can usually take a pretty good stab at recalling which actual screen I watched it on. Sometimes, of course, I have better justification for this borderline-freakish ability than others.

 Coming out of Tomorrow Never Dies in 1997, for instance, I was in the company of a good friend who I’ve since lost touch with (he has one of those annoyingly common names which makes him almost impossible to locate on Facebook). I don’t think he’d actually seen a Bond movie on the big screen before, and as we emerged into the car park his expression was one of slightly boggled amusement. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘those people certainly aren’t afraid to stick to a formula, are they?’

By this, of course, he means that Tomorrow Never Dies is a movie which feels no compulsion whatsoever to innovate or push the boundaries of the Bond formula in any way. Indeed, it never resembles anything else. The story is a low-key combo of Bond Plots No 1 & 2, with media mogul Elliot Carver (Jonathan Pryce) intent on using stolen satellite gadgetry to foment a war between China and the UK. His actual reason for this is to secure the satellite TV rights for the region, which is an exceptionally silly motivation for causing a major war, even for a Bond villain. As a result the film skates over the whys and concentrates much more on the whos, hows, wheres, and what withs. As you would expect, British intelligence sends in their top man to stop him (once he’s finished knocking off his language teacher), and the rest is…

Well, it’s almost exactly what you’d expect, with director Roger Spottiswoode clearly revelling in the possibilities of a modern Bond film with a $110 million budget. The action sequences are lavish and relentless, with the film bounding from fight to car chase to stunt with only the minimum necessary exposition and character development allowed to interrupt the flow.

The problem with this, of course, is that you end up with a film with a very thin story and characters. To some extent this isn’t a problem, as Pierce Brosnan always opts to play Bond as an icon rather than an actual person, but the grace notes of humanity he attempts to bring to him in this film seem a little perfunctory. The fact that everyone in this film seems to communicate solely via double entendres or snappy one-liners gets wearing well before the end.

(Additional, marginal annoyances include the rather bland theme song, especially given that David Arnold and k.d. lang’s much superior offering has been bumped to the closing credits. They also forget or overlook the fact that Bond studied Oriental languages at university in the name of a weak joke.)

I think it may be worthwhile to compare Tomorrow Never Dies (Brosnan’s second film, following a massively successful debut directed by Martin Campbell) with Quantum of Solace (Daniel Craig’s second, also following a Campbell-helmed debut). What’s interesting is that Quantum seems almost ashamed to be a Bond film, including only the barest minimum of the series staples, but giving serious attention to character and credibility. Tomorrow, on the other hand, does its absolute utmost to tick every Bond box, credibility be damned. Neither of them is a very good film, I would say, but Tomorrow Never Dies is a considerably better Bond film and a lot more entertaining. The people at Eon might want to bear that in mind as work on Bond 23 gets underway.

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