With a script that Cracked magazine would easily reject as being too sophomoric, Golden Fingers trots out every hoary 007 cliché, shoehorning sex scenes in where plot holes beckon to be filled. The standard power-hungry-villainess-with-stolen-state-secrets kicks the story into low gear, lurching ahead like an Aston Martin stuck in second - only there's no such luck finding a real sports car anywhere near this feature … Brosman, the suave super-spy, takes the subway instead. Really.

Soon Brosman finds himself falling for every telegraphed double-cross in the book not once, not twice, but in practically every scene! We suppose his good looks and dumb luck are enough to make the female counterspies regret their machinations long enough to bed him. The hottest spy vs. spy scene features a tasty brunette named Melissa Golden (as "Penisula") who greases her ass for Brosnan's not-so-secret weapon. At least he wields his dick better than the leaden dialogue.

Clearly the most arousing scene is a fantasy lesbian grope, which is refreshingly honest and unpretentious. How it got into this movie is anybody's guess. Viewers who crave hetero action can count on a few wankable sequences … like the one with Giotto and youthful Tiffany Gold, who have at it in a cramped garage. (Apparently, all the stunning European locales one might rightly expect from a globe-hopping spy movie were unavailable. As a matter of fact, the girls aren't all that bloody stunning themselves.) Just like the mainstream Bond films, brand recognition plays a larger role in box office business than actual content.