While GoldenEye will always be remembered as the bridge between the
Cold War thriller and the challenges of the 1990s in the James Bond franchise, Tomorrow
Never Dies will be remembered as the film that squarely introduced Ian
Fleming’s character into the earliest version of the world we know today: a
world shaped by mass media and satellite communication, with computers and
cellphones increasingly dictating our lives, and with the distinction between
what is real and what is fake becoming increasingly difficult to discern.
Directed by Roger Spottiswoode, the film is remembered for its energy and
non-stop pacing. Editors Dominique Fortin and Michael Arcand had little time to
deliver the movie and ensure the December 1997 slot promised by the producers
to MGM’s Kirk Kerkorian, who was well aware that Bond was Leo the Lion’s most
valuable asset. On the film’s audio commentary, Spottiswoode reveals that he
edited the movie in his mind to lend a hand to the editors, instructing the
cameramen which unnecessary moments were not worth shooting.
This energy is first witnessed in the moment we’ll be focusing on today: the
film’s pre-credits sequence, which is perhaps the most satisfying opening ever
made for a Bond film.
Right after the gun barrel sequence, the story begins at “an arms bazaar on
the Russian border,” crowded with people with unholy intentions. Next, we are
given the first insight into an element that would make up much of the film: a
small camera, capturing all the elements that turn this no-man’s-land into a
threat that concerns MI6. The action moves to the Ministry of Defence, where
M’s Chief of Staff, Charles Robinson, gives everyone an exposition of the
elements we see: American rifles, Chilean mines, German explosives, Russian
mortars… essentially a terrorist’s supermarket. The people in there, codenamed
“pawns,” are high-profile terrorists: Satoshi Isagura, a chemical expert wanted
for the subway attack in Tokyo and now serving Zairean insurgents, and Henry
Gupta, a Berkeley radical who “practically invented technoterrorism” and sells
his politics for cash.
Tomorrow Never Dies puts the focus on international terrorism. The
enemies don’t belong to a nation like GoldenEye’s General Ourumov or Die
Another Day’s Colonel Moon, nor are they linked to corporations like
banker Lachaise, counting dirty money. They gather in Russia, but they are
united in mayhem and don’t live under a flag. In parallel, the MOD’s situation
room –crowded with wall monitors and computers, cutting-edge stuff of the
analog era– also shows a clear post-glasnost
alliance: next to MI6’s M and Robinson, we see Royal Navy Admiral Roebuck and
Russia’s General Bukharin. This reinforces the same notion: the allies
represent the civilized world (the United Kingdom and Russia), while the
enemies are those who commit atrocities for cash or “pagan” causes (terrorists
from the United States, Japan, and everywhere in the world).
The operation conducted inside the situation room of the MOD is planned like
a chess match. The codenames are based on chess pieces: the terrorists are
“pawns,” Roebuck is the “Black King,” and the man MI6 has infiltrated into the
place –guess who?– is the “White Knight.” The players of the civilized world
are planning the best strategy to neutralize the activities there, thinking of
all possible moves and countermoves. But the metaphor will soon turn against
them: the people moving the pieces cannot see what the White Knight sees from
the board itself. The analytical mentality of M, the accountant-turned-Head of
Intelligence, and her man Robinson clashes with Roebuck’s headstrong decision.
He dismisses the role of British Intelligence and considers a military
operation. Bukharin refuses to send troops to the borders of his country:
elections are coming, and losses of his countrymen are unacceptable. The Black
King then orders a cruise missile strike to eliminate half of the world’s
terrorists. M’s protests are in vain: “My man hasn’t finished.” Roebuck tells
her that his job is over, showing complete contempt for MI6’s talents – he was,
earlier on, unsure of Bond’s ability to get through the terrorist camp.
This moment takes us back to GoldenEye’s dilemma. In the 1995 film,
it was M who trusted analysis and data over the man in the field (“You don’t like
me, Bond. You don’t like my methods. […] You think I’m a bean counter.”). By Tomorrow
Never Dies, M has adopted Bond –the White Knight– as “her man,” fully
trusts his capabilities, and knows that whatever they’ll have to do, he has the
strategic ability to get the job done while preventing major catastrophes. The
Admiral, on the other hand, prefers to trust today’s ballistic technologies (a
cruise missile) over the man in the field.
Then, Bond appears.
He first appears in silence, talking to Robinson via satellite. We don’t
hear him, but we know he insists on something and disobeys a direct order – fleeing
the place as a missile is about to strike. “You will not wait! That’s
an order!” yells Robinson to the White Knight. It is clear to us that Bond,
from the shadows, has seen something the MOD didn’t.
Unlike the gritty atmosphere of the GoldenEye pre-credits sequence,
a clinical operation held in 1986 at a nerve gas plant in the Soviet Union
where 007 and 006 had broken contact with MI6, Tomorrow Never Dies
introduces the late 1990s by having Bond in live and direct contact with his
superiors. Bond is literally the chess piece the players are moving, but he’ll
be a rebellious White Knight because he has assessed the play from the
chessboard and not from a distance. He has the pawns directly in front of him
and can feel them breathing, acting, and reacting.
His eyes detect Soviet nuclear torpedoes mounted on a MiG jet (actually, an
Albatros). This says it all – if the cruise missile hits the place, it will
trigger a nuclear catastrophe. In the words of Bukharin, there is enough
plutonium there “to make Chernobyl look like a picnic.” For Roebuck, it is too
late to abort the missile.
Bond has two options – leave the place or avoid the catastrophe while
risking his life.
The White Knight makes his triumphant appearance, showing total independence
and brilliant strategic judgment in avoiding the catastrophe. No real or
virtual hand guides him. Like a sentient version of the chess piece that moves
in an L-shaped pattern, he knocks out one of the terrorists, drops a grenade,
and opens fire against the terrorists. The firepower that could have been fatal
for the Russian army is no match for Bond: he avoids the bullets of the Gatling
gun and the bursts of the Kalashnikovs and, with clear precision, heads for the
MiG, knocks down the pilot and the back-seat driver, and sits in the cockpit.
He flies away just as the missile makes impact, going through the blazing wall
of fire. MI6 loses contact with him, communication is broken, and they assume
the worst.
The agile mind of director Spottiswoode and editors Fortin and Arcand is
seen as 007 springs into action. The pace of urgency not only responds to the
needs of the filmmakers to deliver the film in time, but also to a fictional
element: the effect of immediacy through the idea of Bond being monitored live
and direct, and the imminence of the missile about to strike the place. More
than in any of the other Brosnan-era pre-credits sequences, Bond has to think
and move fast.
Although the film is an answer to the best blockbusters of the season (even
Pierce Brosnan noted the overabundance of pyrotechnics), Bond never goes on a
killing spree. He’s not Rambo. He knows exactly where to go and which threats
to neutralize and eliminate. The explosives are placed in the right places, the
bullets go toward the most strategic adversaries. The man has complete dominion
of the arena. The scene reminds us that we are looking at a secret agent, not a
random action hero. A skeptical Roebuck is surprised at how Bond broke his
cover and went from the most discreet silence to the most strategic action:
“What the hell is he doing?” he asks. “His job!” affirms M, cementing that
“come back alive” moment from GoldenEye that would be reinforced in The
World Is Not Enough after the death of Sir Robert King.
Amidst the agile editing, Spottiswoode takes a moment to show the sorrowful faces
of M and Robinson, thinking that Bond has perished in the flames and that the
disaster wasn’t avoided. But the audience is well aware that our White Knight –the
chess piece, but also the hero who always defeats evil– is alive and well, as
the MiG has successfully avoided the cloud of fire. David Arnold’s sublime
musical piece enhances the majestic nature of our hero, with the right touches
of the James Bond Theme to underline Bond’s heroic cheating of death.
But the danger is not over yet. Bond is being followed by another terrorist
in another MiG, determined to hunt down the secret agent. At the same time,
Bond’s back-seat driver wakes up from unconsciousness and proceeds to strangle
him with a wire. Bond has to pilot the plane, avoid the enemy missiles, and
find a way to get rid of his unwanted co-pilot.
Unlike the clinical precision of GoldenEye’s nerve gas plant and
its miraculous plane getaway, or The World Is Not Enough’s sudden
escape from a civilian setting like the bank in Bilbao, Tomorrow Never Dies
builds its tension through successive layers of urgency: first the incoming
missile, then the unexpected resurgence of two unwanted enemies. It’s intense,
non-stop action, but oriented toward explosive suspense. Just as he’s about to
be choked, the spy activates the co-pilot’s ejector seat and causes it to crash
into the enemy jet right above him, making it explode and, effectively,
eliminating both threats with a single move.
The laconic faces at the Ministry of Defence turn into cheers and laughter
as soon as they hear the familiar voice of their White Knight through the radio:
“I’ve evacuated the area,” he says, following with a pun at the frowning
Roebuck, whose lack of strategy almost screws it up: “Ask the Admiral where
he’d like his bombs delivered.”
The final notes of the James Bond Theme, married with this phrase brilliantly
delivered by Pierce Brosnan, have a supremely satisfying effect on anyone who
carries the flag of 007 through the roads of life. The effect is that of seeing
your own team score a goal that wins the World Cup final. The cheers and
laughter from Robinson, M, and the MOD analysts are an onscreen reflection of
the same applause that echoed in the cinema rooms in Christmas 1997. Vibes of
pride and joy – the same joy No, Time to Die would steal from us 24
years later in the most cruel, insulting, and destructive of ways. We were
feeling the complete certitude that nobody does it better than Bond. And even
though many could consider The Spy Who Loved Me’s opening superior,
they would have to admit that Tomorrow Never Dies handles suspense and
threat far beyond a very admirable ski stunt.
Bond’s prowess at the arms bazaar is testimony to the fact that, while GoldenEye
told us “Bond is back!”, Tomorrow Never Dies is telling us “Bond is
great!” And this is not an attempt to compare which film is better, or even which
pre-credits sequence is better. This is simply cause and consequence. If Bond
hadn’t been back, we couldn’t have been reminded of how great he is.
Read more in-depth analysis on Tomorrow Never Dies in the Updated Edition of The Bond of The Millennium, available at Amazon and DRM-Free at ZOOM Platform.
