In Like Flint (1967)
Reviewed on 2010 April 10
Sequel to Our Man Flint, with all 6′ 2″ and 300 perfect teeth of James Coburn coming back as the man who makes James Bond look like an emo boy.
After averting a climate crisis in Our Man Flint, the brief downtime Flint and his entourage enjoy in his fabulous pad is about to come to a screeching halt. The good people of Z.O.W.I.E (the Zonal Organization for World Intelligence and Espionage) discover a new threat. A group of Amazonian women (no, really, check the credits) are threatening to take the world over using…spas. Apparently crops of women are coming from the salon with more than amazing hair and skin, and once again Z.O.W.I.E. head Lloyd C. Cramden (Lee J. Cobb) realizes that Derek Flint is the only man for the job.
This isn’t as made of win as the first Flint spoof — it’s almost too silly and veers into the same realm as the Batman television show — but it’s still a good fluffy date-night-at-home flick, and we still get to see James Coburn deadpanning his way through a spy flick. If nothing else it’s a wistful reminder of the ’60s. Vivid clothes. Political correctness thrown away like a used tissue. Heavy pasta dishes and cocktails and — gasp! — perhaps the odd after-dinner cigar without a killjoy scolding you for it. This is worth mentioning just because of the opinion voiced the other day by the cashier at the grocery store that the nice dense potato bread I was buying wasn’t as healthy as the scratchy wheat bread Mr. Shukti was coaxing me to buy. Perhaps if we’d loaded the cart with manteca and Twinkies® instead of our stash of veggies and fruits and poultry, he’d have had a point. Not any business saying anything, but a point.
Two chocolate morsels and a mimosa. And a cigar, darn it.