Okay, here's the deal. There are some things in this world that you just can't Websterize. For you unlearned souls out there, to "Websterize" something is to define a thing, no matter how complicated or complex, in six words or less. The brainy folks at the dictionary factory are great about summing up everything known to mankind to make it fit into those tiny columns and even squeeze in an occasional line drawing to boot.
Poets have scribbled lifetimes devoting their art to defining love. Free verse, sonnets, epic sagas, you name it, they've written it, trying to capture the spirit, the magic, the essence of love. It takes Ol' Webby four words: "powerful attraction to another." Then they take it down even further, to just two words: "warm concern." To me, "warm concern" sounds more like being so scared of something that you wet your pants, not love. "Powerful attraction to another" could be love, hate, magnetism, static cling, Post-Its, or Krazy Glue.
Let's face it, folks. Some things cannot be described. Like "James Bond cool."
James Bond Cool is there for the world to see. You can name the characteristics, but you just can't put your fingerprint square down on it. It's a well-known fact that Sean Connery had it. Still does. George Lazenby didn't get time to catch it. Roger Moore had it for two movies, then dropped it down a sewer grate, becoming so wormy and cheeky that he was better labeled as the "Mad Magazine" Bond. It still leaves a smolderin' stench on my little world. Timothy Dalton wanted James Bond Cool desperately, and faked it for a while, but his formula never rang true.
And, folks, I'm pleased to report that Pierce Brosnan is catching James Bond cool. He's not there yet, but he's close. And in the new James Bond movie, Tomorrow Never Dies, he gets a fantastic new spark that, hopefully, will push the series back to greatness and allow Brosnan become the rightful heir to the crown of Cool King: Bond, James Bond.
It seems there's this power-crazy broadcasting mogul named Elliot Carver (Jonathan Pryce, playing Ted Turner on speed). He's ready to launch his new 24-hour satellite news channel, but he needs a kicker to get the ball rolling. So, what does he come up with? Start a war between Britain and China. Hey, look what a nice little war did for CNN, right?
Enter Bond to save the day (of course), with some help from some lady friends (of course), namely, Carver's wife Paris (Teri Hatcher), who also was once a, uh, ahem, close friend of Bond a few years back, if you get my drift, and a lovely Chinese intelligence agent named Wai Lin (Michelle Yeoh).
The plot summary goes no further. Does it really need to? Screenwriter Bruce Feirstein follows the formula to a tee, even allowing our loveable maniacal bad guy to explain the entire evil scheme to Bond before trying to kill him, so Bond will know exactly what to do to call a halt to the nastiness. Feirstein also leaves a lot for granted when it comes to characterization for Brother James. Brosnan is a very capable Bond, but we could've used a little more scripting and fewer suggestive one-liners. Brosnan needs to make Bond his own, tailor the character to fit his personae. And, boy, do I wish we could get demolish this product placement crap, with the branded telephones and BMW 750's and all that. Let the series be commercial, don't turn it into a commercial.
Pryce seems strangely sedate for a 007 film baddie. Oh, yeah, like any Bond villain, he's nutty as an Almond Joy, but far too businesslike, harkening back to Drax in Moonraker, one of the more boring contenders for world domination. He has his moments, but they're few and far between. Good Bond baddies are scene-stealers. They have bionic hands. They cheat at cards. They have extra nipples. Sorry, Jonathan, back of the class. Hail, hail Dr. No! Long live Goldfinger! Up with Scaramanga!
I refuse to believe that Teri Hatcher was voluntarily cast in this movie, or any other movie for that matter. Apparently, director Roger Spottiswoode lost a bet or something. While Hatcher is indeed a wonder to the eyes, she's a major Jenny One-Note when it comes to acting. Her insipid TV performances helped to Schumacher the whole Superman myth, and her emotional range is ridiculous itty-bitty. Teri, dear, peaked eyebrows is not emotion. Fear, lust, excitement, anger, these are different things, ma'am. Maybe she should quit acting, and go write for Webster.
The angel in this Cool World is Michelle Yeoh. Yeoh is already a legendary action hero in her native Hong Kong, where her films rival Jackie Chan's for outrageous and death-defying stunts and non-stop mayhem. She's still trying to sell at the American store, but after her appearance in Jackie Chan's First Strike and here in Bond 18, she's proving she can ski the big slope. She throws a spark into the Bond formula that hasn't been there since the unforgettable Pussy Galore flipped Connery-Bond on his keister in the horse barn. She's not a Bond girl to be dallied with and patted on the fanny. Here's a Bond girl who could rip off your appendage if she was crossed. Not that I think it would ever happen, but I'd love to see the Suits to keep Yeoh in the series, the way they keep bringing Felix Leiter into the picture.
In the grand scheme of things, this addition to the legend will rank, perhaps, around the same as The Man With The Golden Gun. It's above average, with potential for future greatness. New hero, still finding his way into the character, some experimenting with humor and the like, bringing in a tough new girlfriend for impact. It's not the best Bond movie, not by a long shot. (That title is, was, and always be held by Goldfinger.) But as Brosnan grows into the role, the movies will improve. Personally, I'd love to see what some of the "A" list directors today could do with the series. (Can you imagine a Scorsese Bond movie? Or a John Woo Bond movie? Or, my lawz, what would a Tarantino Bond look like?) But, for now, while it's a bit uninspired, it still tops the Roger Moore/Timothy Dalton parade of pablum. And that's cool enough for me.
Copyrighted image courtesy of MGM/United Artists.
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in for observation