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Oh, he still knew how to entertain, if not give pleasure. The old double-entendres could still raise a grimace, and with the help of his blessed stunt team, Bond would doubtless eel his way through tight spots until he was older than yesterday. By then he would be played by Anthony Andrews or Michael Jackson, and his adversary would be an octogenarian Norman Bates or Rocky Balboa. And the women would still be young and beautiful . . .
Another scrape, and no scratches. Another nuclear holocaust averted, and now another woman—the good one, he guessed. All's right with NATO and so to bed, with two martinis, shaken but not stirred, like 007 himself. Bond raised his glass and looked meaningfully into What's-Her-Name's green eyes. "Here's to survival, darling," he said just before he fell asleep.
—By Richard Corliss