An espionage caper whose sequence of events is so cartoonishly absurd that we expect to find ourselves waking up in bed when it's over. We would then have no hesitation about characterizing the experience as a nightmare. Sample sequence: the ex-con cat-burglar hero (Bruce Willis, looking even more pleased with himself than normal -- and what's normal for him is quite abnormal enough for anyone else not in a padded cell) regains consciousness in the back of an ambulance. A couple of Mafia goons loom over him. He smashes one of them in the face with a box of syringes (pointed ends upwards), turning said face into a pincushion. The gurney on which the hero has been lying rolls out the rear door and, still connected to the ambulance by a sheet, is dragged along on a toll bridge. A passing motorist flicks a cigarette butt out the window and our hero catches it, takes a puff, throws it away in disgust: "Menthol!" And so it goes. James Coburn, one of a small army of criminal masterminds of indeterminate affiliation, is included in the proceedings as if to evoke the Flint movies (Our Man... and In Like...) as a standard of Le Carré-esque realism in relation to this latest mutation in the subgenre of James Bond spoofs: in other words, a spoof of a spoof of a spoof (at the very least). Danny Aiello, Andie MacDowell; directed by Michael Lehmann. (1991) — Duncan Shepherd
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