Not the greatest of James Bond's cinematic adventures but certainly one in the upper tier. In his second and last appearance as 007, Timothy Dalton captures the essence of Ian Fleming's original literary character. Licence To Kill is the closest any film in the venerable series has come to presenting the superspy as envisioned by his creator — more flesh and blood human than invincible one-man army. It's also the most serious and violent of the James Bond films to date. Apparently this turned a lot of people off. (The upcoming Casino Royale is reportedly a return to this approach.) Competing with Tim Burton's Batman and Lethal Weapon 2 in the summer of '89, LTK's U.S. box-office receipts proved disappointing. The franchise subsequently languished in legal limbo until 1994, by which time Dalton had stepped away from the role.
    The plot could easily be transposed into an episode of the TV show Miami Vice — albeit one with a much bigger budget. 007 is on leave in Key West, Florida to act as the best man in the wedding of his old CIA buddy Felix Leiter (David Hedison, the only actor to play the character more than once). On the way to the ceremony Leiter is alerted by his "friends" at the Drug Enforcement Administration that infamous cartel boss Franz Sanchez is currently in the Bahamas. Sanchez is within striking distance but they have to act fast. A Coast Guard chopper picks up Leiter with Bond tagging along "strictly as an observer". In the exciting (if implausible) highlight of the pre-title sequence, Bond dangles on a cable beneath the chopper and lassos Sanchez's light airplane. With the drug lord captured, 007 and his compadre parachute into the wedding in grand style. Roll opening credits. For the theme song we get a rather bland ballad given a smidgen of soul by a Pip-less Gladys Knight and a borrowed riff from Goldfinger, set to Maurice Binder's final Bond titles design.
    The ruthless — and very rich — Sanchez (Robert Davi, Showgirls) has a standing offer of $2 million to anyone who springs him from jail. With help from the inside Sanchez does just that, on the same day of his capture. The drug lord's vengeance is swift. Only moments after Bond is the last guest to leave their wedding reception, Felix and new bride Della (The Devil's Rejects' Priscilla Barnes) are attacked by Sanchez's thugs, who are hiding within the house. Della is murdered; Leiter is beaten and kidnapped. At a warehouse hideout Felix is sadistically lowered into a shark tank, his left leg chomped off below the knee. "It's nothing personal," Sanchez chuckles. "Merely business." (This scene, among others, was edited to prevent LTK becoming the first R-rated Bond film; see below.) Sanchez has Leiter brought back to the house to die — a brutal warning to American authorities. A shocked and horrified Bond finds Leiter just in time. His friend is wrapped in a bloody sheet, barely alive, with a note attached: "He disagreed with something that ate him." Once Felix is safely in the hospital 007 begins a deadly private vendetta against Sanchez, resigning from the secret service when ordered by M to return to duty. (It's suggested that Bond may be motivated by more than simple vengeance; there are echoes of the murder of Bond's own wife on his wedding day in On Her Majesty's Secret Service. In only a few key scenes Dalton infuses the 007 character with more human emotion that Roger Moore did over the span of seven films.) Now a rogue agent, Bond tracks his prey to the enemy's lair, the fictional Central American nation of "Isthmus" (obviously an amalgam of Columbia and Panama) — where Sanchez is the true power behind the government and even controls the armed forces. Financed with $5 million in stolen drug money and aided by the tough but beautiful Pam Bouvier, a former U.S. Army pilot, Bond arrives in Isthmus City with plans to assassinate Sanchez and destroy his organization. Or die trying.
    The pacing flags somewhat in the film's second half once Bond is south of the border. Herein lies another complaint... The movie has essentially only two locations: Key West and "Isthmus City". (Filming for the latter, only the second time in the series Bond has operated in a fictional locale, took place in Mexico City and Acapulco.) These locations aren't really all that exotic, especially after the globetrotting adventures of Octopussy and The Living Daylights. Additional gripes: Michael Kamen's score — occasional Bond motif and Spanish guitar riff aside — is much too reminiscent of those he did for the Bruce Willis Die Hard films. Talisa Soto, who plays Sanchez's girlfriend Lupe, is in the running with Moonraker's Lois Chiles as the most robotic of all the Bond Girls. (A smoldering beauty nonetheless!) And Hedison's final scene is completely botched. 
    The good stuff: We get some terrific action set-pieces, particularly the underwater combat/seaplane escape and the explosive tanker truck demolition derby. That Dalton performs many of his own stunts makes him believable as an action hero in a way that predecessor Roger Moore never achieved. Intense character actor Robert Davi has a strong turn as archvillain Sanchez, essaying the most 'realistic' — and brutal — of all Bond's opponents. There's a substantially larger than usual role for crotchety old Q (Desmond Llewellyn), the most screen time he gets in the entire series. Carey Lowell's Pam is a refreshingly competent and resourceful heroine who saves Bond's butt more times than he does hers. (She also has fabulous gams.) Notably, Timothy Dalton's Bond is the most human the character has been allowed to be since OHMSS. But unlike the young and inexperienced George Lazenby two decades earlier, Dalton is a seasoned actor who can shoulder the role.
    Licence To Kill benefits from the Bond producers' willingness to jigger with the 007 formula, which had grown increasingly stale and contrived during the Moore years. Dalton was the right kind of actor for a new, harder-edged tone; it's too bad he didn't get to play the role at least once more. The film also marks the last time a James Bond saga was made purely the old-fashioned way — no digital effects, no computer-enhanced stunts. Real danger. I like that.