Absolute garbage. Barely playable at times, clumsy to control, painfully short, and with some truly woeful voice acting, albeit still miraculous as it is actually Brosnan, which is worth something in 1999.

But.

It’s kind of fun. Tiny micro-levels you spurt through, playing a Bond almost pathologically incapable of stealth or turning corners, blowing away enemies with their own assault rifles (the only viable strategy most levels), desperately trying to conserve lives before any stage with a boss encounter, terrifying bullet sponges that can tear you apart in seconds. But by your third Bond or so they’re down, and you’re onto the next wild thing, be it a dizzying and clumsily made ski section, a short car sequence where you just hold fire and hope for the best, or the game’s one true gem, a level where you circle around a small village, not killing civillians and hunting out a rocket launcher so you can show a bunch of turrets what’s what.

Sometimes wallowing in garbage isn’t so bad. That’s why bachelors exist, after all.