Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me review

It's a brave man that flies in the face of the Force. But having journeyed from cable access heavy metal geek to all-conquering Sixties super-spy (via a few detours), Mike Myers is that man.

As most of the major studios give George Lucas' phenomenal juggernaut a wide berth, Myers returns in the buck-toothed guise of swinging secret agent Austin Powers to battle his alternate incarnation of bald-headed megalomaniac baddie Dr Evil.

And once again, it's completely outrageous - but for a very specific reason.

Not because of the subtitle attached to this sequel. Nor the result of taking on yet another character - Myers donning pounds of special effects make-up to be transformed into Dr Evil's disgusting, vastly obese Scottish henchman with an unprintable name. But because in structure, content and performance, it's just about the same damn movie as the first one. And what's more, it's probably better.

Dr Evil returns from deep space oblivion, boots up a time machine and spins back to 1969 to extract Austin's mojo (or libido) while he's still in cryogenic freeze. Thereby rendering Powers powerless.

Plot particulars, however, are largely irrelevant. Dr Evil is back hatching dastardly schemes, and Austin is out to stop him, this time in the company of Heather Graham as CIA agent Felicity Shagwell, who's even sexier than Elizabeth Hurley last time around.

For the sequel, Myers wisely devotes much more time to his villainous incarnation. And, as if the Donald Pleasance/Blofeld caricature weren't sharp enough, Myers throws in Evil's dysfunctional son Scott again - which prompts an inspired Jerry Springer sequence - and a running dwarf joke in the shape of Mini-Me (Verne Jay Troyer), Dr Evil's one-eighth size clone.

There's another chance to witness the improbably hilarious sight of Dr Evil literally refusing to allow Scott to get a word in edgeways with continual, childish interruption, and much of the successful scenes from the original are recycled here.

But for some reason, Myers gets away with it. He's fashioned a spoof that's more sophisticated than the lame, Leslie Nielsen production line while relying on the crudest, most basic comedy tactics. And not only that, he's somehow turned it into a franchise in its own right.

So with Michael York and Robert Wagner also returning to send themselves up once more (and joined by Rob Lowe), it's puerile, it's adolescent, but if you look closely, it's also very, very clever. Yeah, baby.