They don't make them like James Coburn any more; compared to the likes of him, modern Hollywood leading men seem like fairies suited to play nothing more than Tinkerbell in Peter Pan remakes.
Here, Coburn plays the plethoric, three-doses-of-everything Derek Flint. Four girlfriends (up to five at one point as we learn in the sequel), able to stop his heart, master of combat techniques, uses two wolfhounds and a GSD to greet guests and escort them in (dog lovers, note the GSD's silver colouration, a rare combo with black in the US -- and note that a black and tan GSD is used in the sequel), forensic science genius, private jet owner, philosopher... the list goes on.
This is a fun film with plenty of outright silly moments. No more or less silly than James Bond films or even The Saint, the difference being Connery and Moore's characters appear to take themselves and their work much more seriously than Coburn's Flint does -- and with good reason. His clothing, made of fibres not found in nature on this planet, is at least three sizes two small; his pantlegs are configured for an imminent flood; his hairstyle rivals that of any British Invasion band member; his attitude toward women is similar to that of Alexis Zorbas (special albeit frail creatures that must be respected and loved); his shrieks and cries during hand-to-hand combat make Bruce Lee sound like Caruso.
Recommended!
Here, Coburn plays the plethoric, three-doses-of-everything Derek Flint. Four girlfriends (up to five at one point as we learn in the sequel), able to stop his heart, master of combat techniques, uses two wolfhounds and a GSD to greet guests and escort them in (dog lovers, note the GSD's silver colouration, a rare combo with black in the US -- and note that a black and tan GSD is used in the sequel), forensic science genius, private jet owner, philosopher... the list goes on.
This is a fun film with plenty of outright silly moments. No more or less silly than James Bond films or even The Saint, the difference being Connery and Moore's characters appear to take themselves and their work much more seriously than Coburn's Flint does -- and with good reason. His clothing, made of fibres not found in nature on this planet, is at least three sizes two small; his pantlegs are configured for an imminent flood; his hairstyle rivals that of any British Invasion band member; his attitude toward women is similar to that of Alexis Zorbas (special albeit frail creatures that must be respected and loved); his shrieks and cries during hand-to-hand combat make Bruce Lee sound like Caruso.
Recommended!
