Intrigue made to measure

"The Tailor of Panama" is a genuine spy movie, but just a shade away from being "Saturday Night Live." One gentle push and it'd be a slapsticky comedy with banana peels strewn across the screen. Even as it is, it will still have you giggling uncontrollably before you snap back and think: "Wait a minute, I thought this was a spy story." Sure enough, there's Pierce Brosnan in a worsted suit and impeccable shoes, smoking cigars and driving too fast, coming on to different ladies and scoring most of them. So why this urge to crack up and slap your knees, even during scenes when people hurt each other or die and a nation's welfare is at stake? Oh gosh, excuse me . . . (the sound of stifled laughter).

My guess is that director John Boorman got a thrill dangling himself from the Cliff of Cynical, Psychological Thrillers by just a hand's grip, the Gorge of Improbable Ridicule looming below. What a feat. Or rather, what a hand.

Brosnan plays has-been British agent Andy Osnard, who, after some unsavory sex scandal, is packed off to Panama to keep an eye on the canal, the main focus of British interest now that it has been returned by the Americans.