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Released: June 1989
Producer: Albert R Broccoli and Michael G Wilson
Director: John Glen
Written by: Michael G Wilson and Richard Maibaum
Plot:
When South American drug baron Franz Sanchez exacts revenge on CIA agent Felix Leiter, it’s his best man James Bond who goes rogue in order to dish out his own brand of justice. Stripped of his licence to kill, Bond heads for Panama, no wait, “Isthmus”, a country owned lock, stock and El Presidente by Sanchez. With ex-CIA agent Pam Bouvier and Q as back-up, 007 begins to ingratiate himself to the loyalty-obsessed Sanchez and undermine his operations.
Famous For:
Felix Leiter disagreeing with something that ate him
Pam Bouvier’s makeover
A young and menacing Benicio del Toro
THAT FACE, AGAIN
I thought I’d got my SOTDO (Sudden Onset Timothy Dalton Obsession) under control after The Living Daylights, but his second and final Bond outing continued to fan the flames of a 30-years-too-late crush.
Fire, though, is not the only element coursing through this film. It is balanced or even out-splashed by water - a conceit that whether intentional or not, ties Dalton back to those Byronic f***boys, aka romantic “heroes”.
In any 18th or 19th century-set period drama, the taciturn or abrasive character of the male lead is a signal that his steely exterior hides burning passions. To boost the visual metaphor, filmmakers literally douse them in water to cool off.
Mr Darcy (1995) in the lake:
A few seconds of screen time; a legend is born.
Mr Darcy (2005) in the rain:
Those puppydog eyes.
Mr Thornton (2004) in the snow:
It’s technically water.
Mr Knightley (1996) having ridden through the rain:
They’re always too chicken to show him actually in the rain, but it counts
Mr Smith (2008) in the sad rain:
This one is to get the nerds’ attention back.
As for Heathcliff and Wuthering Heights - the whole damn place was wet and cold. Frankly it’s damn impressive anybody could work up a passion for anything beyond a hot cup of Bovril.
The original hot beef injection.
Timothy Dalton himself has a bucket of water thrown over him in Jane Eyre because his bed was literally on fire.
Fired up for the D.
Look, what I’m trying to say, in as sophisticated a way as possible, with a well-researched position of which my university drama lecturer Professor Tompkins would approve (she’s still teaching, please somebody let her know what I’ve done with my arts degree), is that Timothy Dalton is wet… a lot… in this movie.
I never thought I’d fantasise about being a shirt, but here we are.
I don’t know why it stood out - it’s not like Timothy Dalton is the first Bond to get damp. About 95 per cent of Thunderball is Sean Connery in tiny shorts and deep water.
But notice it I did, and - to paraphrase those modern Brontë sisters Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion - I had to bring a bucket and a mop for that W-A-D.
Be very careful when Google Image searching the non-acronym version of this song title.
And to think, we could have had more of Timothy Dalton being sprayed down in the name of Queen and Country, were it not for the legal wranglings that engulfed MGM, United Artists and Broccoli’s holding company Danjaq Inc early in the new decade.
Originally titled Licence Revoked, the idea of Bond going rogue to carry his own personal vengeance fits right in with the 80s action movie aesthetic immortalised by the likes of Schwarzenegger, Stallone, Van Damme and their ilk.
It’s a tonal shift from the espionage thriller of The Living Daylights, and takes Dalton’s grittier tone a few more colour swatches darker with sadistic abuse and grisly murders.
Given the relative newness of a Bond revenge plot coupled with a testosterone-filled syringe the size of Florida, it’s no wonder the film received mixed and negative reviews at the time.
But it’s worth a rewatch if only to see Dalton lean further into 007, and to grasp at the incorporeal potential of his third film.
Also there’s an iguana:
Spring/Summer ‘89
Speaking of reptiles, Robert Davi’s Franz Sanchez is a compellingly creepy bad-guy, his air of relaxed superiority hiding a broiling lust for obedience at all costs. “Loyalty,” he tells his charmless marine researcher business partner Milton Krest, “…is more important than money”. He smiles often, but the curl of his lip never spreads to his eyes.
Sanchez is the villain from the get-go - this is a rare Bond film where the pre-title sequence not only crosses into the main body of the film, but where action picks up perhaps only an hour or two later.
It’s Sanchez’s arrival on US soil - to reclaim his runaway mistress Lupe and cut out the heart of her new lover - that activates the plot. Bond is on his way to be Felix Leiter’s best man when the CIA agent is told of the evasive Sanchez’s presence. Bond of course jumps into the action with Felix because a) he is also a cool spy and b) you’ve got to get the groom to the church on time.
Bond meets Lupe for the first time, fights Sanchez’s goons in his Sunday best, helps Felix and the DEA pull Sanchez’s plane out of the sky, and then parachutes with his longtime friend to his wedding. It’s utterly ridiculous, but completely fun.
The introduction has to be celebratory so it can set up Bond’s love for the Leiters (who give him an engraved lighter as a gift, a pun I shamefully did not pick up on until my podcast co-host Stuart Layt pointed it out), and justify his later revenge mission.
However it does mean there’s a bit of a grinding gear shift as the happy couple’s nuptial bliss is interrupted about nine hours’ in by murder and Selachimorphic maiming.
Yes, Sanchez escapes from prison with the help of the treacherous DEA agent Ed Killifer, who takes up Sanchez’s offer of two million dollar-dollar-bills y’all for his trouble. Sanchez is re-joined by his psychotic young protege Dario, a menacing yet baby-faced Benecio del Toro, and they feed Felix to one of Krest’s great white sharks for payback and funsies.
Bond, having made it to the airport before hearing of Sanchez’s escape, rushes back to the Leiters’ house to find Della dead in her wedding gown, and Felix legless in the bad way with a note pinned to his chest. The immortal line “He disagreed with something that ate him” was a Fleming witticism from the Live and Let Die novel, and I’m glad it gets an airing here because it’s a corker.
Bond recruits Felix’s other friend Sharkey to help find those responsible. He raids Krest’s warehouse and discovers it’s a front for a cocaine-smuggling operation.
But before Bond can move further, he’s herded to Ernest Hemingway’s house to be scolded by M for not travelling to his Istanbul assignment. M rescinds his licence to kill, Bond quits, throws down the suitably Hemingway-ish pun “A farewell to arms” then proceeds to kick everybody in the dick and escape.
Speaking of dicks, Hemingway himself was clearly a complex man beset by substance abuse and mental illness that affected his literary genius, but you certainly couldn’t accuse the man of being squeamish. On safari in Africa in 1933 he contracted a bad case of amoebic dysentery which caused part of his large colon to prolapse. Ernest had to wash and re-insert the colon himself before he was airlifted to a hospital. I mean, maybe it was karma for shooting African game, but still if anyone you know complains about a Covid nose-poke test, please relay this information.
Bond is now a SEXY ROGUE AGENT and you know what that means - he needs a FEMINIST 80s EQUAL.
That comes in the wide-eyed form of Carey Lowell, who is a lot of fun as ex-CIA agent turned pilot-for-hire Pam Bouvier.
American Bond girls do have a tendency to be a bit bland (looking at you, Stacey Sutton) or stick out like sore thumbs (we’re, ahem, coming for you, Christmas Jones), but Lowell manages to meld the sassy go-getter and romantic aspects well.
After a chance encounter at Felix and Della’s reception, Bond tracks her down to a seaside bar (he arrives by boat, because of-goddamned-course he does) and acts all machismo. Pam one-ups him though in the weapons stakes, and when Dario and his mates start a rumble, she’s more than able to save Bond’s life and assist their escape.
It’s notable that this is the first proper dirty bar brawl in a Bond film for a good while, if ever, and Dalton’s Bond looks right at home dishing out haymakers. Once he and Pam get out to sea in their conveniently low on petrol boat, they have a screaming match about exactly who was the hero, before agreeing to fly to Sanchez’s HQ in Isthmus together, and then making out.
I jest about Pam’s late-80s action feminism, but it is genuinely endearing to see a deliberate move by producers to inject a bit of Sarah Connor into a Bond girl. Pam is shot by Dario and it’s Bond who briefly panics, but the resourceful Pam was prepared with a Kevlar vest that funnily enough wasn’t so bulky to show under her fitted top. But swings and roundabouts. It’s still a Bond film.
Similarly when they land in Isthmus City (the whole country a fictional version of Panama), Pam demands to know why she has to be the “executive assistant” and is told by Bond that they’re south of the border now and it’s a man’s world, so Pam better go get some proper clothes.
The makeover concept was introduced so Carey Lowell could ditch the dodgy wig she’d been wearing and show-off her own gorgeous pixie cut. Why they couldn’t just start her with short hair is a valid question, but I guess it makes for a fun bit of “F*** you, James” when she strides into the bank where he’s opening up an account and introduces herself as MS Kennedy (not Miss, thank you very much).
Find someone who double takes at you like James Bond double takes at a woman he’s already bedded but now has cuter hair.
Bond’s strategy in turning up in Isthmus City and splashing $5 million in cash he stole from Milton Krest back in Miami at the city bank and casino is to get Sanchez’s attention.
The man has an army of loyal brutes to protect him, so Bond needs to get close enough to kill him, but not so close he might not have a chance of escaping himself. Bond wants revenge for the attack on Della and Felix, but also he’s James Bond, so he kind of needs to live on.
That night at the casino however, Bond makes a grave mistake.
He wears his hair like this:
It’s an error so egregious it almost derailed the SOTDO. Timothy Dalton has a pronounced widow’s peak, but normally his hair flops adorably across his forehead. This slicked back night-time look is the worst 80s fashion mistake of this film. It makes him look like a douchey Wall Street investment banker crossed with a sleazy Australian FM radio DJ at an industry awards night about three West Coast Coolers away from doing the Eagle Rock.
Of course these days Dalton gets to revel in being one of those respected, classically-trained British actors who gets paid a shit ton to be in big-budget, binge-ready TV shows. There’s still some carefully positioned front tufts but the high forehead has blended with the receding hairline to create a more flattering version of the widow’s peak.
I don’t know what a Doom Patrol is, I just know I 100 per cent wish I was this chocolate bar.
Bond starts by losing a bunch at blackjack, then winning a bunch at blackjack.
Pam is put on drinks duty, which leads to this rather humourous gesturing.
Sanchez is up in his private rooms, keeping an eye on his drug running scheme. The whole thing is fronted by a quasi-evangelical cult leader (played by Wayne Newton), who takes orders for cocaine via “pledges” to his cause.
Eventually Bond’s gambling peaks Sanchez’s interest enough that the villain sends down Lupe to deal, in an attempt to learn more. She turns up looking possibly the most devastatingly beautiful any woman has ever looked in the history of the world.
Not hyperbole. May I please look like this? Thank you.
Talisa Soto is a fine actor, but I do feel the Lupe role is slightly underwritten and doesn’t give her the best stuff to work with. This engagement with Bond over the blackjack tables is probably Lupe at her most intriguing - once she begins to run into Bond more and develop feelings for him, she becomes a bit more of a garden variety damsel-in-distress.
It’s a bit of a shame considering Soto plays Lupe’s early ennui well. She is a captive soul who’s given up trying to be free because she knows Sanchez will always possess her. Bond, of course, is the antidote to that lethargy, but the film chooses to interpret that as a regular love affair and set her up as an envy-inducing goddess for Pam to glower at.
Finally granted an in-person meeting, Bond pitches himself as a fixer to Sanchez, breezily insulting Sanchez’ existing henchmen and playing to the drug lord’s ego. Sanchez can’t help be intrigued by the Brit’s ballsiness, and the seed is planted.
Back at their hotel, Bond and Pam are on high alert after the receptionist announces Bond’s “uncle” has arrived and is in his room. Pam mysteriously removes the bottom half of her skirt in order to surrender her tiny garter gun to Bond, who’s deathly serious cocking of the weapon is beautifully played, and hilarious.
Of course the “uncle” is Q, who is nearly punched into oblivion by Bond, but who dusts himself off admirably to present his favourite spy with a bunch of crap he no doubt nicked from the back offices of Q Branch.
Bond’s attempt to assassinate Sanchez the following evening is undone by undercover Hong Kong narcotics cops, pissed that Bond almost wrecked their operation to find out how Sanchez has been smuggling his high quality coke to the masses. There’s also a mean-looking M16 agent there for good measure, ordered to drug Bond and take him back to Blighty.
When Sanchez blows the cops out of their hidey-hole, he finds an unconscious Bond and takes it as a sign Bond is a good assassin for hire to have on hand. Bond wakes up in Sanchez’ palatial mansion and is able to start ingratiating himself to the criminal, and sowing the seeds of doubt about the loyalty of his other staff.
Michael G. Wilson - who took over writing the whole script after Richard Maibaum had to stop due to the 1988 WGA writers’ strike - admitted he stole the concept of the villain undermining himself from the Akira Kurasawa film Yojimbo. It’s a good theft of concept, and Davi plays it believably. His paranoia grows slowly, starting with sleazy Milton Krest.
Bond, having ripped Krest off to the tune of $5 million and escaped by water-skiing behind a seaplane, climbing into it in mid-air, then tossing the pilots out over the ocean, knows it’s a very dodgy story to try to explain.
And so Sanchez’ desire to find a disloyal henchman comes to pass, and poor Milton Krest gets a very eye-popping end.
Davi gives a brilliant reading of the joke that follows the exploding head - asked what to do about the money that was in the hyperbaric chamber with the body, he shrugs and says “Launder it”. Delicious.
Bond winds up being taken out to Sanchez’s cocaine processing plant, concealed behind the front of the tele-evangelist wellness centre. It’s Lupe who tips Pam and Q off about this transfer; for a woman Sanchez risked the punishment of US authorities to retrieve, he doesn’t seem to give a shit about where she goes anymore. Having had passionate sexy times with Bond back at the mansion (literally a few doors down from Sanchez himself, but as I say, he doesn’t seem to give a shit), she bursts in to tell Pam that they must help James, because Lupe loves him very much.
Pam is a bit shirty not much keen on Q’s consolation that as a field agent Bond has to use all opportunities at his disposal. “Bullshit!” she yells, and it’s delightful. Bond rarely has to sleep with anybody, let’s be clear, it’s just the perk of the job that seems to keep him engaged.
Meanwhile at Rancho Scammo, Bond is trying to keep anonymous because Sanchez’s bro Dario has returned. It took Dario a conveniently long time to get back to Isthmus after his bar brawl with Bond and Pam, allowing him to show up just at the moment when his dropping Bond in it will really raise the tension.
And that’s what happens. Dario fingers Bond (oo-er), Bond starts a lab fire which spreads, and Dario is left to dangle him precariously over a cocaine brick crushing machine. Thankfully Pam - who managed to seduce Reverend Creepy Wayne Newton to get in the compound - saves the day.
The final confrontation is an epic road warrior-style tanker takedown, in which Bond must stop four tankers full of Sanchez’s special brand of cocaine-laced petrol.
The stunts are wild, including the fact the stunt team led by Rémy Julienne beat up 16 eighteen-wheeler tankers to do the sequence, and Julienne himself managed to get one of them on its goddamn side, without the use of any trickery.
With Sanchez well and truly losing it, the final confrontation happens on the back of the last tanker, which plunges into a ditch, leaving Bond absolutely smashed up. Sanchez gets the drop on him with his machete, but Bond is able to make him pause by showing him the lighter from the Leiters. Even though Sanchez has no knowledge of Bond’s relationship to Felix, nor is the engraving on the lighter particularly easy to read from a distance of 1-2 metres, it makes Sanchez stop long enough for Bond to flick the flame and blow Sanchez to hell.
Later, Sanchez villa becomes party town, with an official reception I guess to honour the destruction of the cocaine plant and the many, many deaths of essentially innocent workers pressed into service by a uncompromising drug baron.
It’s something of a miracle Lupe lived to tell the tale - normally Bond girls in that particular role in the story end up dead, generally because they slept with Bond and ergo the villain must kill them because a) they betrayed them, b) they want to anger Bond or c) both.
Yet, there she is, Lupe all lovely in white, her reputation washed clean by Bond instead of being forever tarnished. She asks him to stay with her, but he thinks the President - once controlled by Sanchez but now free - would be a better match.
Bond then launches himself over the balcony and drops into the pool, where Pam has run to after seeing Lupe snog Bond. You see, she may be a KICKASS INDEPENDENT FEMINIST, but she’s only human, and Timothy Dalton is fiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnne.
He pulls her into the pool to join him, her dress the exact turquoise colour of the water. They splash and embrace, and finally, it’s WAP and WAD all over the place. The “P” and “D” definitely stand for “Pam” and “Dalton”. Definitely.
Yes, they’re going in dry and coming out soggy.
Licence to Kill could be accused of - or perhaps applauded for, depending on your preference - for being more of an 80s action movie than a Bond movie. It’s not perfect, with some underwritten characters and plot contrivances. It’s hinted that Bond’s focus on avenging Felix and his dead wife is sparked by his own loss of Tracy all those years ago, but it’s never fleshed out more. It’s understandable given how it’s always a bit awkward trying to explain the whole “How does he look so young when he’s been in the service for nearly 30 years?” but it’s still frustrating.
The Living Daylights remains my preferred of the two Timothy Dalton instalments, but Licence to Kill is way more fun than I remembered it, and there’s no denying Robert Davi’s menacing Sanchez is the stronger villain of the two films.
Dalton has said since he wanted to do a third Bond film and bring together the best elements of The Living Daylights and Licence to Kill. It could have been his Goldfinger, his The Spy Who Loved Me. Sadly it remains a beautiful might-have been.
But by the time Bond 17 got out of limbo, Cubby Broccoli told Dalton he couldn’t come back for just one more film, it would have to be more (likely three or four). Dalton stood down, saying he couldn’t commit to that much time.
And so we bid farewell to the man who surprised us all with how underrated his films were, the man who wore water better than any of them, and the man who for the past few weeks has had me making faces like this:
When we next see Bond, the world will have changed. The actor will have changed. But will the character?
Thank you for reading this instalment of the James Bond Retrospective! If you enjoyed it, you can sign up to support the series and my other writing/podcasting efforts via my Patreon page. Thanks to all of you who are already members; your support is truly invaluable. You can listen to the companion Raven Bond Licence to Kill podcast here:
Stu and I are also ranking the Bond films as we watch and podcast about them. Here’s how we stand:
See you next time for GoldenEye!