Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery (1997)

 "That's right, buddy. You show that turd who's boss."

It's 1997, Cool Britannia amd that. That brief period of time when the Union Flag meant Noel Gallagher's guitar, not fascism. Where the flag of our nation was not considered as a sign of fascism by the dimmer kind of right winger, as though conceding the key national symbol to nationalists who are in no way patriotic is a clever thing to do. Sigh.

Anyway, isn't this film fascinatingly dated while still being awesome, bearing in mind that today's "dated" is tomorrow's "period"? I mean, let's look at the version of 1967, through the prism of 1967. It's shown as a decade of universally accepted free love drugginess and grooviness that bears zero relation to the actual decade in which my parents both grew up, in Leicestershire. Which is, of course, part of thejoke.

Indeed, while Space appear in the closing credits, this is not a Britpop reimagining of the decade. This is a '60s of Burt Bacharach and Nancy Sinatra.

This is a bloody funny film. Obviously, it's the same style as Wayne's World, but better. The James Bond pastiche is on point. Austin Powers is in no way like James Bond in character, puns excepted: he's more obviously the popular image of the decade. But Doctor Evil, the consummate pastiche Bond villain, is exquisite pastiche. The laughter scene alone is priceless. An then we have the comical canonisation of the deceased henchmen.

Groovy baby. Sgagadelic.

Inspector Morse: Last Seen Wearing

 "You were so keen to have a murder. You should be happy."

One ought to bear in mind that Colin Dexter's novel was written fifteen or so years earlier, but it's striking to see that, in 1988, missing persons cases were dealt with via paper files, and in the case of Valerie Craven the number of files means that Morse, "the three file man", has to be called in. It dates the programme quite as much as the appearance of the London Docklands.

The characterisation of Morse here, while fascinating, may be a bit of a time capsule too, and I shall focus on this rather than commenting on the whodunit: I remember the novel too well, He's presented as a devilishly clever chap who is allowed to behave in shockingly unprofessional ways- extensively drinking on the job, not bothering to look at the files, perving at the private schoolgirls doing PE who he denigrates as "rich and thick", being terribly cynical about the whole thing, even forging a letter to the parents of the missing girl- and getting bollocked by Strange for good measure.

Yet, after the bollocking, he gets results. And continues to be a beer snob, a definite point in his favour. The dialogue, and characterisation, is subtly brilliant here, from Morse to Lewis to Strange to the arrogant gaslighting Phillipson to the cultured, Irish, Yeats-quoting Mrs Craven. This is the subtlest, finest, adaptation yet.

But I fear we are, mostly, to be veering off Colin Dexter's path most of the time from here. Let's hope the quality remains.