Spottiswoode, current altar boy for the revered 007 movie franchise, has boldly gambled
on saving the redundancy-mired series by reinventing one of its most sacred elements:
the Bond Girl. Michelle Yeoh, familiar to Hong Kong movie fans as the diminutive,
razor-wire action goddess from the Heroic Trio and Police Story series, is radically
unlike any of the pillowy vinyl love dolls who've preceded her in this role. But
goodgodalmighty is she a welcome change! As Chinese Col. Wai Lin, Bond's uneasy collaborator
in his latest world-saving adventure, she becomes what none of his other female costars
have been: a true sidekick and rival, not just a receptacle for his gin- and vermouth-infused
bodily fluids. Bond (Brosnan) hooks up with Wai while pursuing a power-mad media
baron named Elliot Carver (Pryce) who's trying to start a war between China and the
Western alliance. Using his foreknowledge of the events, Carver (a chimerical blend
of Rupert Murdoch and Bill Gates) plans to dominate the breaking story with his worldwide
satellite news network. That's right; in our post-Cold War era, ìthe mediaî is now
a global menace beside which the supervillains of S.P.E.C.T.R.E. are lowly bush leaguers.
Before Yeoh's arrival on the scene, Tomorrow cruises on languid autopilot, breezing
past the inevitable touchstones of exotic opening titles, socko action intro, Q's
new gadgets, etc. It's far from unenjoyable, but the dank shroud of the overfamiliar
lies heavy over all, kind of like watching an Elvis concert circa 1976. Brosnan,
visually perfect as he is for the role, can't break through the gathering ennui alone.
Though he's able to register a few emotions previous Bonds couldn't or wouldn't (boyish
glee for one), he lacks a certain vital spark. He's just a bit too debonair, I guess
I'm saying. Almost as troubling -- and this is said in total deference to the virility
of spy cinema's ultimate mack daddy character -- he sometimes runs like a girl in
those slick-soled Italian shoes of his. Yeoh changes the whole dynamic, though. With
her electrifying physicality, no-bull persona, and athletic eroticism (a fully clothed
shower scene after one long chase scene is one of the sexiest moments in any Bond
movie), she adds a hot gush of estrogen energy to every frame she's in. Her presence
opens new stylistic vistas for Spottiswoode, who stages some gonzo action dustups
that Ringo Lam or Stanley Tong might appreciate. Best of all, even pretty boy Brosnan
looks and behaves like a different man around her. By the end of the film, he's flailing
around, caked in sweat and blood with his hairy pecs bristling from a ripped shirt.
Spent shells are flying from his machine gun, blood squibs are erupting in crimson
symphony and a sort of idiot action bliss suffuses everything. And when he and Yeoh
(yes, it's pronounced yow) finally exchange the traditional end-credits kiss, you
may even find yourself actively looking forward to the next installment in this revitalized
series.
3.0 stars
--Russell Smith
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