# World Is Not Enough, The (1999)

### reviewed by
David N. Butterworth

    THE WORLD IS NOT ENOUGH
    A film review by David N. Butterworth
    Copyright 1999 David N. Butterworth

    *1/2 (out of ****)

The most depressing thing about the depressingly pedestrian James Bond film "The World is Not Enough" is its final frame: white letters on a black background proclaiming "James Bond Will Return." Oh I certainly hope not.

With Pierce Brosnan in his third and reportedly last go-round as James Bond 007, "The World is Not Enough" is the best example to date that "'Enough" is enough.

In this, the 19th chapter in the seemingly-endless franchise featuring Ian Fleming's debonair British secret agent who likes his martinis--and his nemeses--shaken not stirred, the sub-inspired screenwriters have chosen to rehash all of the setups, stunts, and sexy encounters of the previous 18 Bond flicks rather than coming up with anything the slightest bit original.

We've got previously-used speedboat chases, ski chases, and sticky situations aboard nuclear submarines. We've got a couple of hot-to-trot babes without an ounce of acting ability between them. We've got a post-Cold War megalomaniac bent on world domination slash destruction (here played by a skinheaded Robert Carlyle with mean, lean panache). And, as has been the case since 1977's "The Spy Who Loved Me," we've got a plot that has nothing whatsoever to do with anything conceived by Mr. Fleming.

We've also got a main title song by Garbage to which, with very little effort, you can fit the lyrics to *both* songs from "Tomorrow Never Dies."

While originality was never the series' strong suit, the films were almost always fun, with at least some thought going into the nonstop stunts. I can't think of one memorable set-piece in the entire--and very dull--"The World is Not Enough."

In addition, Michael Apted (yes, the respected director of such films as "Coal Miner's Daughter," "Nell," and the "28Up" documentary series) takes embarrassing advantage of the full range of Bond clichés. You get the "talking killer" plot device--you know the scenario: the bad guy has the good guy at his mercy yet waxes poetic just long enough to die of old age. And you get a slew of high-priced assassins who can't hit a barn door at 20 paces: in the film's opening minutes (of an endless 128), Bond chases a sultry sniper along the Thames and the leather-clad lovely fails to hit Bond's souped-up "fishing boat" with a bazooka when he pulls within a few feet of her. Later, she takes off in a hot air balloon with Bond dangling from a guy rope beneath her but is still unable to take him out.

These reliable absurdities are more frustrating than usual since there are no distractions other than occasional ads for luxury automobiles, vodka, or credit cards.

In and among the rampant product placements, Brosnan grapples with Carlyle, "Braveheart"'s Sophie Marceau (as former kidnap victim slash heiress Elektra King; she's terrible), "Wild Things"' Denise Richards (as a nuclear physicist Lord help me; she's laughable), and Judi Dench as M. Dame Judi brings the only shred of dignity to a series that has long since jettisoned its self-respect (about the time Roger Moore inherited Bond's Walther PPK).

Brosnan goes through the motions with the grace and charm you'd expect of the former "Remington Steele" star, but even he has to be thinking there's more to life than an easy paycheck. He's given plenty of wiseacre asides to deliver, but only one of them--"I don't know any doctor jokes"--made me chuckle (although "I thought Christmas only comes once a year" is more in keeping with the series' penchant for grown-worthy puns).

            Face it, 007.  The World has had Enough.

    --
    David N. Butterworth
    dnb@dca.net

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