with Val Kilmer, Elisabeth Shue; Directed by Valery Noyce
Directed by Phillip Noyce
Written by Leslie Charteris and Jonathan Hensleigh
by Scott Hefflon

Calling The Saint a poor James Bond rip-off brings up the chicken and the egg question. Which came first matters little; whether I have either in the fridge matters a lot when you’re starving to death. Admittedly, The Saint is a high- tech spy flick with a dashing lead male, a charmingly naïve lead female, and a bunch of Russian bad guys. Problem is, even with laptops, techno music (no one’ll ever top “The James Bond Theme” ’cause that’s like replacing the National Anthem), and all the gimmicky gadgets Toys R Us will be selling this Christmas (a joint marketing scheme including everything from drink cups to pens that don’t work but look really cool), The Saint is a love story.

While Simon Templar (Kilmer) is a master of disguise and all that hokey nonsense, he’s a sap. So’s the jerk-off who delivers my mail, and double that for the hopeless romantic chumps you hear pouring their hearts out to anyone fool enough to let ’em buy ’em a drink – and they don’t make movies about those bozos. So why Simon? Cause it’s Val, man. He’s a smoothy. And when he plays the long-haired, philosophical, tortured artist-type (and then bags the babe), you remember why artist-types get all the chicks. Val hasn’t looked this good since he played Jim Morrison (before he got fat and dead). He even looks better than Mad Martigan in Willow, though that swashbuckling schtick had an appeal all its own. Val’s the man, but The Saint has no humor. While James Bond was no Jim Carrey, Val coulda spiced up his role with some of the goofy humor and/or physical prowess he’s shown in Real Genius, Top Secret, or, um, Willow. (OK, so I think that movie rocks, fuck off.) The Saint is an ordinary guy inside, and hell, who looks to their next door neighbor for a role model?