International man of misery

JUST occasionally, Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me (already one of the biggest-grossing movies in US box office history) rekindles memories of the feeble but engaging entertainment Rikki Fulton and Jimmy Logan used to serve up in Christmas pantomimes. There is sly innuendo and topical references for the adults and barnstorming slapstick for the kids.

Widow Twankey doesn't put in an appearance, but we do have Fat Bastard (Mike Myers as a tartan-clad, chicken-munching Scottish villain), Dr Evil (Myers rehashing his Blofeld routine), and Felicity Shagwell (Heather Graham taking over ber-babe duties from Liz Hurley).

By most objective criteria, this is a lousy movie. Its screenplay (co-written by Myers) consists of a series of comedy sketch jokes, most of which would not have passed muster in even a bad episode of The Benny Hill Show. The plot is lazy - basically, You Only Live Twice meets The Time Machine with a bit of Russ Meyer thrown in for good measure. The film looks as gaudy and as ersatz as the James Bond series it spoofs. Director Jay Roach has only ever made one feature before (the original Austin Powers: International Man Of Mystery) and it shows.

Whenever Roach loses his way and the storytelling threatens to stall, Austin smiles his toothsome grin and says, "groovy baby" or Dr Evil wiggles his little finger and threatens world destruction. The supporting players (Robert Wagner, Rob Lowe and Michael York) give the kind of mildly embarrassed, inept performances that you expect in spoofs.

It's hard not to groan under the weight of the puns and shudder at the inanity of the sub-Viz jokes. Only through sheer force of attrition and repetition does Myers bully any laughs out of us at all. He often stoops to conquer. By the time Austin has mistaken Fat Bastard's liquidised faeces for coffee and Dr Evil has pampered his loathsome little protege Mini-Me for the umpteenth time, the same jokes which were crass and repugnant a few scenes before suddenly begin to seem funny by default.

Myers, who lived in the UK before making his name back in America on Saturday Night Live, successfully combines the worst of British and American humour. Austin Powers relies as much on double-entendre as the most moronic Carry On film while also displaying a brash witlessness worthy of National Lampoon at its nadir.

There is no disguising the writer-star's fascination with British pop culture. The affectionate way in which he recreates Swinging London, with hot pants, sports cars and interiors decked out in eye- popping primary colours, is what make the movie appealing - at least in flashes.

At its best, Austin Powers has a zany, ingenious quality reminiscent of old Monkees episodes. The toothsome, moptop hero even looks like Davy Jones. He's the little guy as hero, the nerd living out his spy fantasies. At its worst, though, the film is as much a hotchpotch as Casino Royale, another spy spoof thrown together willy- nilly. Only very occasionally does the comedy work without Myers having to indulge in goofball antics to signal that we're supposed to be laughing.

Ironically, the film suffers from the same predicament as Austin himself. Thanks to Fat Bastard and Dr Evil, he has lost his "mojo", by which he means his joie de vivre. Without it, he can't even sleep with Felicity Shagwell. The movie likewise has a lifeless quality which not even Austin's ever more extravagant antics can conceal.

Nowadays, Austin Powers isn't so much a man of mystery as a full- blown commercial franchise. The product-placement and huge marketing campaign behind the film suggest satirising Bond movies was not uppermost in Myers' mind.

He clearly wanted to make his own summer blockbuster. He has succeeded, but like so many others, it's bubblegum cinema - vacuous and instantly forgettable.

Copyright 1999
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