Spy Sandwich.

James Bond 007 and his female Russian counterpart, Agent XXX, are ordered to join forces to stop a megalomaniac sinking civilization beneath the sea. But is it naïve of M and KGB not to know that when England and Russia end up in bed together – they really end up in bed together?

THE SPY WHO LOVED ME is Roger Moore’s 3^rd Bond movie (from Ian Fleming’s 10^th Bond novel, publ. 1962), and we can see how Moore’s fans might have come to regard him as “better than Connery” with this third solid actioner (despite the odd hiccup of the “Talking Not Shooting” trope in all three adventures).

The cold open is breathtaking (except for the rear projections) as henchmen ski-chase Bond down a mountain. There are so many good practical skiing shots, you’d think the closeup shots of Bond with absurd rear projection backgrounds tilting at comical angles would reduce the excitement of the chase, but I guess audiences of the day were inured to these necessary evils. The efx are a scant improvement on the ski effects in HER MAJESTY’S SECRET SERVICE (from eight years ago – illustrating how slowly early efx were improving), but suddenly none of it matters – as Bond skis directly off a cliff! Stuntman Rick Sylvester in an unbroken take, in imperceptible slomo, glides off the lip of the mountain, detaching his skis and then freefalling for an eternity before deploying a parachute emblazoned with the Union Jack!

Connery never opened with anything this exhilarating!

Sylvester was paid a record $30,000 for the stunt, off the El Capitan in Yosemite, California, and was credited as the first ever ski BASE jump (Building Antenna Span or Earth).

Add to this stomach-turning fall into space, one of the best, most poignant songs of the series, Carly Simon crooning sensually, Nobody Does It Better (the first Bond theme song titled differently from its film).

British and Russian nuclear submarines have gone missing. In England, M (Bernard Lee) puts his top agent on it – James Bond, alerted via a Dymo-type readout from his watch (very quaint). In Russia, the KGB leader also gets his top agent on it: we intrude on a guy and girl making love; the man answers a call for a mission, as ‘70’s sexism kicks in and audiences of the day take it for granted HE is the “top agent.” But he leaves and SHE takes a secret call – it is she who is Agent XXX (Barbara Bach, pre-Ringo Starr).

(Note: Walter Gotell, who plays KGB General Anatol Gogol here, appeared in FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE as a henchman. This is his first of 6 appearances as Gogol; his last would be THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS. Seven Bond films total – that’s as much as Connery and Moore!)

Richard Kiel as Jaws: Dental Plans Gone Wild.

Somewhere under the ocean, we meet Stromberg (Curt Jurgens, THE LONGEST DAY) in his lair called Atlantis, that looks like a WAR OF THE WORLDS Tripod Fighting Machine when it rises above the waves. He commissions his giant henchman named Jaws (Richard Kiel) to recover micro-film of a submarine tracking device. We have achieved McGuffin, ladies and gentlemen! (The unkillable Jaws would become a beloved villain of the Bond franchise, also appearing in the next entry, MOONRAKER, and being redeemed there. I think it’s because we all recognized that – apart from his 7’2” killer – the real life Kiel looked like he found it hard to walk or run comfortably; maybe he was at peace with himself, but his gigantism seemed more of a hindrance than a boon. We empathized with the guy as a fellow human, not as a Bond villain, and I’m sure no fans had any qualms about him finding true love onboard the Moonraker.)

So begins the quest for 007 and XXX to each find the tracking device.

To Egypt, chasing down info on missing submarines, with Polaris missiles onboard. (Developed by the U.S. specifically to be launched from submarines, the Polaris missile was THE British nuclear deterrent by the mid ‘70s; a creamy cultural tie-in.) And we marvel at the location shooting – besides the exotic locations in Italy, Canada and Scotland, the most exotic location of all – Egypt. There’s nothing like being there – on the enigmatic Giza Plateau, with those Ancient Alien super-generators in the background ([whisper] the pyramids).

It is here that Bond meets Anya/Agent XXX (Bach, cheekbones carved from the same undying rock of the pharaoh’s tombs, nipples so close to the edge of those tantalizing plunging necklines). Conversant with each others’ resumes, he knows her drink and she knows his; she reels off his history, about being married only once — he stops her — a painful topic, as it happened to the OTHER guy…

They both want the McGuffin. But Jaws gets it first. Biting his victims like some steel-jawed vampire.

Pursued to the great Great Hypostyle Hall in Karnak, Jaws loses Bond and Anya amongst those monolith columns. Again, just being in the real places stirs the blood in our temples (didja see what I did there – ha!). This Bond adventure, like the temples it visits, is feeling as solid as stone. Then – Abu Simbel Temple, the four statues of Ramses II guarding the entrance – with MI6 headquarters underneath! Moneypenny (Lois Maxwell) onscreen for less than a minute.

The LAWRENCE OF ARABIA theme as Bond and Anya trudge across desert sands. (How are they allowed to use this music? And why do they use it? Wouldn’t it behoove you as a brand to stick to your own themes?)

This is the first time Bond has been paired with another equally proficient agent. Yes, there was Agent Goodnight (Britt Ekland) in MAN WITH THE GOLDEN GUN, but she was eye candy. Anya is Bond’s equal at tactics, research and self-defense. They even bond as two professionals drawn to each other’s expertise. So we feel their urgency when they’re on a train, on either side of the door separating their cabins, wondering like teenagers when the other will give in to their urges and barge in.

Jaws attacks. Which brings them into the same cabin and into the same consoling bed. Tending wounds, emotional or physical, was always about sex…

Carolyn Munro: As the Millennials say, I just can’t—

Funny old Q (Desmond Llewelyn) is a big part of the story, appearing at many points with gadgets and information. He’s the Bond series Plot Convenience pudding bear. He brings Bond the Lotus Esprit car, loaded with the usual Bond accoutrement. Anya greets Q with his rarely-mentioned name, “Good morning, Major Boothroyd.” Because she’s a spy. She knows his name (as Chris Cornell would sing three decades hence).

Posing as husband and wife, Bond and Anya visit Stromberg in Atlantis, whom they deduce is responsible for the sub disappearances. Stromberg’s assistant meets them. And we are floored by an even sexier version of Barbara Bach – Carolyn Munro (AT THE EARTH’S CORE)!!! Such fecund lubricity, such salivating eroticism! Almost canceling out Jane Seymour as the hottest Bond babe! However there’s one thing that Jane has that Carolyn lacks – innocence! Jane is the precious virgin love-bucket, while Carolyn’s bikini body simply screams out in urgency for my naked flesh! I can’t even concentrate anymore. What was I talking about?

Stromberg is a Blofeld-Lite and cannot capture the menace of even the least menacing Blofeld, Charles Gray. For probing into his affairs, he orders Bond and Anya killed. (What would their paparazzi name be: Bondanya? Banya? Anyond? Or 007XXX? Triple X7?)  A great helicopter chase of the Lotus; great only because Caroline Munro is flying the helicopter in a bikini.

Some of the action music (by composer Marvin Hamlisch) sounds like LIVE AND LET DIE; he uses that same technique of xylophone on top of accent notes.

The Lotus dives off a pier into the ocean – and transforms into a slick little submarine. In keeping with the theme of the nuclear subs, from below the surface, it launches a tiny Polaris missile at Caroline’s helicopter – and that’s just wrong.

Just when we think her role has been relegated to saying, “James!” every two minutes to warn Bond of danger, Anya presses buttons on the Lotus, launching missiles at pursuers. He asks, “How did you know about that?” “I stole the blueprints of this car 2 years ago!”

As we’re considering the bronzed smooth Anya the perfect spy soulmate for the flighty Bond, she discovers it was Bond who killed her husband recently (on that ski slope). All their bonding seems wasted as she vows vengeance. Bond mitigates angrily, “In this job we all know that any of us can get killed! He knew that too! Yes, I killed him!” She replies coldly, “When the mission is over, I am going to kill you.” I kinda wished the filmmakers followed through with this gritty, tragic plotline, making them mortal enemies after bosom buddies, with Bond having another great love that he himself would have to kill. What a great Greek-Shakespearean tragedy! Instead, we all know Bond’s musk cannot be resisted and the inherent sexism will flop Anya back into his arms.

The finale onboard Stromberg’s giant ship, where Bondanya discovers Strom is a different kind of megalomaniac – he doesn’t want to blackmail New York and Moscow with missiles – he wants to annihilate them and create his own undersea kingdom.

James Bond on a future-boat.

Bond really slides into his role of Commander Bond here, leading the charge of the British and Russian captives, within the massive indoor sets of Stromberg’s ship, with shooting, screaming and Pretty Orange Explosions aplenty. After they escape Stromberg’s ship in their sub, they blow it up for screenplay closure.

Bond uses a jet-ski to speed to Atlantis to rescue Ringo’s love interest. (The Jet Ski was domesticated in the early ‘70s, so I’m presuming the filmmakers throw it into the plot because it’s a relatively new gadget – but the waterscooter design was around since the ‘50s, so is Bond behind the curve here?)

In the last battle – Jaws again! Bond uses a giant magnet (the type used to pick up cars in the junkyard, that happens to be in Stromberg’s shark pool room for no apparent reason) to pick up Jaws by the jaws and throw him to the sharks – Jaws against Jaws!

Ends with 007 jawing XXX.

As with many Bond writers, Christopher Wood (novelist turned screenwriter, in his first Bond film) and Richard Maibaum adapt an Ian Fleming title to the screen, not using any plot elements from Fleming’s novel. Lewis Gilbert‘s direction seems classier than his last Bond (Connery in YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE).

SPY WHO LOVED ME is one of the better Bond entries and I’m wondering whether that’s because of the potent mix of writer and director. Throughout the Bond series, I’ve tried to make sense of the inconsistent quality of the various films by examining the teaming of directors and writers. I thought I pinpointed Richard Maibaum as a writer who brought The Stupid consistently – and then he co-wrote (with Kevin McClory) the lean THUNDERBALL with director Terence Young. Meaning Young might have reined in Maibaum’s Stupid – and then we see they were both onboard the idiotic FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE (so – maybe it was McClory who did the reining?). In SPY WHO LOVED ME we see the primary writer Wood might be reigning in Maibaum’s Stupid – and then Wood’s next screenplay, MOONRAKER, outdoes all of Maibaum’s Stupid in one fell swoop – with this director Lewis Gilbert! Meaning the same team that brought us this good film also brought us the next dumb film!

It doesn’t make sense – UNLESS – we surmise that the Bond series producer Cubby Broccoli was simply churning out this cash-cow product and any “good” entries were simply flukes? Sorry, Bond fans, you don’t want to imagine the godfather of a series you hold dear was a mercenary who never cared for his own product’s quality, or your intelligence, taste or enjoyment, but if you do an objective examination, with pie charts, Venn diagrams and those wall displays with the pins and photos and connecting lines, you’ll see the horrible truth. These men were a meat factory. And you were the cows…

No spy ever loved you.

END

This never happened to the other fella…

Bond versus Blofeld, who threatens to wipe out life on Earth – with a virus! (That word, that concept, has taken on different worlds of meaning in 2020!)

In the cold open, the gun barrel graphic moves across screen, and a new Agent 007 bends to one knee to shoot at us!

new bond: lazenby, george lazenby

The end titles of YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE promised: “James Bond will return in ON HER MAJESTY’S SECRET SERVICE”… And this guy shows up! After Sean Connery quit the series (on bad terms with producer Albert Broccoli), 22-year-old Timothy Dalton was offered the role of Bond. He declined. 40-year-old Adam West was also considered – from Batman to Bond! We can’t even envision that now (the fruity BATMAN television series had just ended in 1968, so West’s profile was sky-high), but thankfully, he also declined. BAZOING!

After 29-year-old Australian commercial ad model George Lazenby literally beat down the stunt coordinator in an audition at producer Albert Broccoli’s office, he was contracted for 7 films as the next James Bond. (Coincidentally, 29 was the age of the classic Silver Age Batman!)

The almost 6’2” Lazenby, with the refined Aussie accent and chiseled mannequin cheekbones, must have made Australia proud. But he didn’t foresee himself going further than this one film. We can hear the regret in his voice in interviews – not regret that he turned his back on the franchise, but that his agent advised him that Bond was becoming a dinosaur; that the character’s ethos of sophistication and misogyny was becoming dated in the wake of more grounded films that appealed to the younger, incoming ‘70’s counter-culture generation (THE GRADUATE, EASY RIDER). In one sense, his agent was right, but no one could foresee that both genres could exist side by side. Lazenby also hoped that the producers would, like those other modern films, inject popular music into the soundtrack. So his hippie heart wasn’t in the character. It was just another acting job – actually, his first acting job (on a feature film).

I feel sad for Lazenby. Sad that he was badly advised by the person who was meant to be looking out for his interests; sad that he is endlessly compared to the other Bonds on this one performance, instead of growing into the role; sad at wondering what this man’s life might have been had he stuck to the double-oh.

M, Q, Moneypenny: the backbone of National Security!

M (Bernard Lee), Q (Desmond Llewelyn) and Moneypenny (Lois Maxwell) are all crammed into the first scene to give us something familiar to embrace. M wonders where Bond is – CUT TO:

A redhead in a ball gown walks along a beach, clearly intending to drown herself. A shadowed man in a car watches from afar. It’s Bond, but the movie is taking it’s time to reveal him. After he saves her from the dawn surf, he introduces his wet self to her, “My name is Bond, James Bond” – and two men accost them, which Bond beats savagely. The girl flees in her car. Bond looks after her, amused, and with a wink to the camera, says, “This never happened to the other fella!”

A great, self-effacing, self-aware introduction, that slinks into the opening titles, a theme with no lyrics, because ON HER MAJESTY’S SECRET SERVICE was deemed too clunky to try to fit into words; silhouettes of naked females intermingling with scenes from the past Bond movies, to achieve a sense of continuity. (The “movie’s song” would be cued under the romantic montage later: “We Have All The Time In The World,” sung by Louis Armstrong (1901-1971); an ironic title in retrospect, as this would be Armstrong’s last recording before his death.)

It’s the 6^th Bond film (from the 10^th Bond novel by Ian Fleming, published 1963), and George Lazenby’s first and last Bond.

Bond comes across the redhead at a casino in Monaco, where she bends down at the card table to expose her perfect cleavage, causing Bond to spot her $20,000. Diana Rigg plays Tracy (aka Teresa or Contessa) as the daughter of an Italian mob boss, so her spoiled rotten demeanor accounts for her trying to commit suicide in a ball gown, blowing money which she doesn’t have, and using her body as collateral. (Is Rigg the first Bond Girl with fakes? Or are those naturals just PERFECT?!)

Rigg comes to MAJESTY from another successful spy series – she’s Emma Peel in THE AVENGERS (Seasons 4 to 7); the second Bond girl from that British TV show, the first was Honor Blackman from GOLDFINGER. Rigg kicked butt cutely, and was afforded more sexual respect in AVENGERS, but – as Lazenby would find out – the calcified Bond conventions don’t change overnight, so even though the producers allowed Rigg a level of toughness here (when she fights back against henchmen, or treats Bond with the same one-night-stand callousness that he exhibits toward women), she must still conform to using her sexuality as bribe and payment. Sorry, ladies, that’s how the world turns. Still, there is a very unique, poignant fate that awaits Tracy as a Bond Girl.

Bond is taken to the mob boss Draco (Gabriele Ferzetti), who beseeches Bond to marry his wayward daughter Tracy: “What she needs is a man to dominate her; to make love to her enough until she loves him…” He’s either a really progressive father, or it’s still Biblical Times inside Draco’s mansion. He offers Bond one million pounds to pound his daughter into submission. And Bond, principled as he is to Queen and Country, agrees to woo Tracy only if Draco gives him the location of Ernst Stavro Blofeld, SPECTRE’s crime kingpin that Bond has been pursuing since he was a young Connery. That seems like a fair, moral trade.

Bond visits M, who is definitely on the rag. There is a behind-the-scenes story related by Lois Maxwell: “Bernard had been drinking since about 9am. George Lazenby was on a horse and Bernard stuck a glass of wine under its nose. The poor thing reared up and kicked Bernard through some barbed wire.” A vet stitched up Lee’s gashed leg, and he made it back to the set later that day. So his injury was HIS fault, yet we sense a real dismissive hostility in M toward Bond (Really, sir, would you take that tone with Connery?), so do we surmise that Lee was allowing that personal incident to bleed into his professional performance?

M, who sounds like he’s just waiting to get back at Bond for letting a horse kick him, takes him off the Blofeld case, called Operation Bedlam, then shouts at him a little too parentally: “Your license to kill is useless unless one can set up a target!” It’s a shock to us as well. How can Bond be denied from pursuing his sauciest nemesis? Remember when Bond said, “This never happened to the other fella”?…

Bond, flailing for respect at this point, RESIGNS from Her Majesty’s Secret Service!

This never happened to the other fella.

He empties his desk, removing his tiny breather device, his garrote watch, his diving knife and belt – does he actually sit and work here or is it his gadget museum? We might think these gadgets are more connective tissue with the Bond legacy, but it’s more a symbolic act, because director Peter Hunt wanted to eschew the infamous Bond gadgets for a more realistic approach, as per Fleming’s novel. Aficionados assure us that Hunt succeeds more than any director before him.

This never happened to the other fella.

Moneypenny is shattered at Bond’s intent to resign, anxiously wondering whether any of the other double-oh agents will flirt with her auntiness – but M doesn’t accept Bond’s resignation and instead gives him two weeks leave.

Bond uses the time to woo Tracy, in a tiresome panty-cultivating montage that features the movie’s theme song, under Bond and Tracy getting to know each other by being outdoors and pointing at stuff and laughing.

Then the film takes a very strange turn…

Bond is being driven somewhere with Draco and Tracy, as if on their way to some social event, Draco rolling his eyes at Bond and Tracy making googoo eyes at each other. Bond exits, telling Tracy to keep the martinis cold for him. So they are going on ahead and he’s catching up later. Okay. Next he’s cracking a safe, copying documents, meeting with a British fop, Sir Hilary, and the next thing we know – Bond is in the Swiss Alps in the guise of the fop genealogist, Sir Hilary, meeting Blofeld! But is Tracy still keeping those martinis cold? How many days have passed? What happened to her and Draco? Does anyone care we’re in another movie now? Did George Lazenby actually do two Bond movies and squish them together?

Bond’s ancestral coat of arms sports the Latin motto: “The World Is Not Enough” (we slap our thighs in recognition…). As Sir Hilary, he’s investigating the genealogy claim of this secretive scientist up in his Alpine laboratory – a scientist that turns out to be Blofeld!

Telly Savalas is Blofeld! Savalas had a few classic movies under his belt at the time (CAPE FEAR 1962, BIRDMAN OF ALCATRAZ, GREATEST STORY EVER TOLD, DIRTY DOZEN) but he was not yet KOJAK, to premiere in 1973. Savalas gives a rock-solid performance as a megalomaniac, but there was nothing as chilling as Donald Pleasance playing Blofeld like a fey absent-minded sociopath. I was very sad Pleasence didn’t reprise his role from YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE. Also, Savalas has lost Blofeld’s oomph Bond gimmick – the scar tearing down the right side of his face. Not only was it icky, it also signified the right side (i.e. the good side) of his humanity was damaged.

This is another strange anomaly, because Bond and Blofeld should know each other (from LIVE TWICE). But both of them here have to slowly figure out who each of them is. And that missing scar! The producers were aware of all these continuity errors – and just ignored them.

With his kilt on, Bond walks into a room full of women. No undies required. Overlorded by a battleaxe (Ilse Steppat as Bunt), these strikingly beautiful women (including a young, unrecognizable Joanna Lumley amongst the harem) are from all over the world and supposedly subjects for Blofeld’s experiments in allergies.

After plonking at least three of them (including Angela Scoular and Catherine Schell), Bond discovers their role in Blofeld’s plan: his Angels of Death, brainwashed to spread his “Virus Omega” which causes total infertility in all livestock, grains – and people (“nothing is born, no seed even begins to sprout”). As Bond discovered, Blofeld could have done just as much damage by making people listen to these shrill girls jabber after sex.

In one sense, movie derails itself in this Alpine ruse; we’ve forgotten all about boo Tracy and bitch M, and anyway, is Bond actually going rogue on leave, or is he on assignment? It’s a muddle. And suddenly – Tracy! Bond escapes Blofeld’s lair, skis down to a village (in the worst rear projection scenes ever committed to an A-list movie!), tries to lose Blofeld’s henchmen in a festival – and Tracy ice-skates up to him out of nowhere, “You’re in trouble, darling – what’s the matter?!” Just like that. It’s like she ran into him in their own neighborhood. No surprise, no “Where the FUCK did you go?!” or “I was holding that goddamed martini for 2 days!” Just immediately slides into HIS world without any preamble. And what is she doing in the Alps?

It’s not like there’s a twist, like she’s there to assassinate Blofeld for her father’s sake, so that he can be Number One. How did this coincidence ever happen? We never find out.

Also – James lies in the straw with Tracy, declaring his love and asking her to marry him – This never happened to the other fella! – but didn’t he just bang three chicks up at the clinic? Not well-adjusted one-night-stands, but exploited, imprisoned, brain-mashed chicks that were desperate for man, therefore Bond exploited their loneliness! I guess those are good qualities in a husband…

At 2 hours, 22 minutes, we feel the length of ON HER MAJESTY’S SECRET SERVICE. Written once again by Richard Maibaum, I can see why many Bond fans consider this a closet classic, and it is well-made for the most part, with two major demerits:

1) clusterfuck editing on fight scenes

MAJESTY is Peter Hunt’s directorial debut; he was actually editor on five previous Bond films, which is ironic, considering he let his editor here (John Glen) run wild like an ADHD child. The body of the movie is fine, the fight scenes are atrocious! They are not only cut from so many angles and faster than the eye can follow, but cut to the point where the action is LOST; as an example, cutting to a shot after the punch has connected, but no shots of the actual contact, so we only see the follow-through and not the strike or even the lead-up. Either Hunt couldn’t control Glen, or get enough coverage to make the scenes work. Scarily, John Glen would go on to direct 5 Bond films himself (from 1981’s FOR YOUR EYES ONLY to 1989’s LICENSE TO KILL). But this would be Hunt’s swansong as a Bond director, having attained his Peter Principle – he had risen to the level of his IN-competence.

2) laughable rear projections

In skiing scenes, the stock-car scene and the final bobsled chase scene, Hunt’s practical shots are more than adequate to convey the speed and fear of the chase. He’s got lots of coverage, enough to cut together exciting chase scenes; there are good tracking shots on the skiers, many exterior driving shots, and some very thrilling practical footage of the violent bobsled fight.

And then he keeps cutting to rear projections during closeups. And we fall out of the movie completely, as the backing screen shows the land tilting at hilarious angles, with no bearing whatsoever to the person’s closeup face, at speeds that never match the practical shots. We could blame the editor, but that’s like shouting at an ADHD child.

How did the public take ON HER MAJESTY’S SECRET SERVICE? It was a financial success, yet when worldwide grosses were compared to the previous Connery films, it was not as lucrative. MAJESTY grossed only half as much as Connery’s YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE. And when Connery would return for the next Bond, DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER, that movie would also be more financially successful than MAJESTY. I know many ladies might have thrilled to this situation – but Lazenby ended up the bitch in a Connery sandwich.

– – – – – SPOILERS – – – – –

Bond marries Tracy!

This never happened to the other fella.

There’s a very sad moment at the wedding where Bond’s eternal flirt, Moneypenny, weeps openly, while looking into his eyes from afar. Which not only proves Lois Maxwell a good actor, but makes me feel bad for all the jokes I made at her expense over the years. Her auntie-love was REAL… It’s quite emotional. And then it gets even more so…

… as Blofeld, still on the loose, does a drive-by on Tracy! A new wife, a new death, a new emotion for Bond. It’s a plot point that comes out of nowhere, for seemingly no reason – I mean, why not give Bond a happy ending? – but it’s played with enough weight that we feel it in our romcom nerve.

This never happened to the other fella.

And then again, maybe it’s a caveat on why Bond should stick to blandly banging in lifeboats…

The end titles promise us: “James Bond will return in DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER” … and it’s the other fella!

END

Sad.

THE SAD SACK is Private Meredith Bixby (Jerry Lewis), an inept dogsbody who is, for his mechanical skill, given the chance to succeed in the military by a female major, who orders another Private to surreptitiously shepherd Bixby through adversities, such as everyday life in the military. The title might imply someone moping around like a killjoy – which Bixby does not do (in fact, he is inexplicably optimistic, with an amazing photographic memory) – but it is actually military slang for “sad sack of shit,” meaning a total fuckup. Of course, this movie’s family demographic prohibits it from getting anywhere near that phrasing.

It’s the stupidest plot in a Jerry Lewis film since SAILOR BEWARE. That movie was also military-themed. Proving that Hollywood writers ran out of ideas for military comedies a long time ago.

Based on the unnamed 1942 cartoon character by Sgt. George Baker, I guess Jerry is probably one of the few people who can carry off being a cartoon klutz, but the story is so stupid and the characterizations so irritating that no amount of Jerry mugging can save this sad sack of shit.

Private Bixby is shielded from harm by Major Shelton (Phyllis Kirk, HOUSE OF WAX). She’s a soldier, a psychiatrist, and a dame. And that seems to throw every man who comes into contact with her into brain farts. When she summons Corporal Dolan (David Wayne) to tell him about Bixby’s potential and him needing a protector, she has to qualify her position and her orders, because – hot female. Dolan: “You’re quite a departure from the usual Major!” Is that how the army allows you to speak to superior officers? Not unless they have tits, I guess. Constant sexism dogs Shelton’s every encounter with males: “Aren’t you being overly sentimental?” Shelton: “Sentimental?” Male: “Well, you ARE a woman.” Somebody shoot the writer.

And then – in a total reversal of what the film is saying by placing a woman in the empowered Major’s role – she falls for Dolan like a schoolgirl crush. Why? Was it his runneled 43-year-old face that was meant to look 20? Was it how doughy his backside looked in those Army issue pants? And he didn’t even sing her a song to wet her down. Speaking of which, Dolan’s role was written for Dean Martin. (Even the name Dolan was reminiscent of “Dogface Dolan” from Martin-and-Lewis’s JUMPING JACKS.) In retrospect, we can clearly see the demarcation line between Martin and Lewis films and Jerry’s solo career, but back in that year (with only this second solo Jerry movie in launch), studio movies and their contracted personalities were an ongoing business venture, and the producers that made major bank off Martin-Lewis were regarding the breakup as a simple separation, and were still commissioning movies fully with the intent to place Martin and Lewis side by side again; maybe not in the next one, or in the next two pictures – let the boys get their ya-yas out! – but there would come a time when the teammates would see the folly of their separate ways and eventually come back together like atoms circling a nucleus. It was Science. And it was Hal Wallis, the producer whom Martin and Lewis OWED three more movies under contract, and Hal would not be denied his pound of flesh…

Jerry didn’t want to do another military movie, feeling he had done all he could with the format in his 3 Martin and Lewis military pictures (AT WAR WITH THE ARMY, SAILOR BEWARE, JUMPING JACKS); he was also exhausted from a hectic schedule of live shows, recordings and producing his last film himself (life without Dean was proving just as lucrative and rewarding!) but Wallis was waving contracts in his face and creeping like a lawyer; it allowed him to force director George Marshall onto the production, whom Jerry hated working with since the days of MY FRIEND IRMA.

For whatever reason (maybe wartime authenticity?), this is Jerry’s second black and white solo film in a row.

Larry Dolan was paired with another numbnuts named Stan (overacting Joe Mantell), making their character names Stanley and Larry… a tad close to Stanley Laurel; and their antics almost resemble Laurel-and-Hardy’s, if it weren’t for the fact that Dolan had to retain a semblance of leading-man cool (of which he had none anyway). Also, it just doesn’t look right that both these guys are considerably shorter than Jerry.

After what seems like interminable oft-seen Jerry gags (as he feared, he was repeating himself), Bixby is assigned to Morocco, and Dolan is sent as shepherd. In an exotic bar there, Bixby falls for a Parisian femme fatale (Liliane Montevecchi, an exotic brunette who looked nothing like the American pointy-bra dames that populated Jerry’s films), and gets mixed up in a terrorist plot, while trying to join the French Foreign Legion. Peter Lorre and Michael Ansara (renowned That Guy) are the villains who use Bixby’s photographic memory to force him to build one of the new American cannons.

The French Foreign Legion actually appear in the final frames to pin a medal on Bixby for foiling the plot (inadvertently, of course). Ah, so this is where the French love affair with Jerry started!

END