Die Another Day...or James Bond 20: This time it's dreadful.
There's something annoying about Pierce Brosnan. It might be the fact that his face looks as though it's been belted by a flat iron and flattened beyond recognition. It might be because he sounds permanently bored and would rather spend an evening contemplating his navel from inside his own colon than bothering to make a good film. It might just be that all the women I know who are over fifty think he's gorgeous. What the bugger is that all about? Either the government ought to re-establish free eye tests for sad, lonely old housewives approaching middle age from the wrong side, or presumably frying pan features were all the rage back in the 1940s.
Whatever the case Die Another Day is even further up its own arse than Brosnan's head. The film is littered with references to previous Bond films and whilst trying to hunt them down is a damned sight more entertaining than the film itself most of them are so obscure that you'll find yourself watching the Wombles the morning after and saying things like, "Those two spots on Madam Cholet's nose are reminiscent of the birthmark on Domino's ankle in Thunderball. I wonder if that's one of the references?" Who cares? The film is wank.
Long gone are the sick, if not basic, one liners such as "I think he got the point" and "Positively shocking" when Bond casually assassinates somebody. Instead we're now treated to the sort of shit and obviously staged innuendoes that would have had the scriptwriters for the Carry On films reaching for their editing pens. "I trust Mr Bond has been explaining his Big Bang theory to you?" "Yes, he's given me a thorough pumping." "Did you suck his cock as well?" "No...the bell end was all flat on one side as though somebody had smacked it with a frying pan."
The only saving grace to this multi-million dollar slither of celluloid excrescence is Madonna's not-at-all-Bond-like theme song, which appears to be about her attempting to delay an orgasm. All she had to do was watch the film seeing as it continually fails to stimulate, is about as exciting as a rainy day in Skegness and seems incapable of reaching any sort of entertaining climax. Alternative she could have just gone to bed with Pierce Brosnan.
Die Another Day? Fair enough...we have you booked in for tomorrow at two o'clock Mr Bond. Please bring your own coffin.
