On a certain level, this overgrown boy doesn't begrudge such regressive pleasures, but it must be said that, even for 007 devotees, The World Is Not Enough is not nearly enough: The action is slack and sporadic, the villains are utterly devoid of kinks, and Richards's Dr. Christmas Jones (who doesn't come but once a year, natch) isn't nearly as alluring as Holly Goodhead, Kissy Suzuki, or Xenia Onatopp (you know I'm not making these up). Even the technofetishism of this World is oddly passé. (Of course James Bond has Internet access!) And while every 007 installment since Live and Let Die has naturally mourned the loss of Sean Connery, Brosnan's Bond here musters all the intrigue of an actor computing his box-office percentage points en route to the hotel.
Still, as the politics of the Bond market clearly extend beyond the screen, the only review that matters may be Bill Clinton's. After all, tomorrow never dies, and neither will 007. But more important, now that his final term is almost up, can Slick Willie lay a pipeline that stretches from here to Azerbaijan?
Enough is enough: Pierce Brosnan and Sophie Marceau in The World Is Not Enough