This is easily the worst Presley vehicle ever, which would bring us pretty close to the worst film ever made. It is measurably worse than even the revolting "Happy Ending" song at the end of "It Happened At The World's Fair", and here I thought that moment when Elvis buys all of the vendor's balloons for his girl, and then the balloon vendor gets jiggy to the marching band was the epitome of bad cinema and could not be topped. I usually enjoy the random Elvis flick if for no other reason but the memories of a time when we were innocent enough to sit through it. This one, however, ought to be called "Live a Little, Wish You Were Dead a Little", and makes "Stay Away Joe" look like Olivier playing Othello.
Here, Elvis plays Greg, who is essentially a hippie free-lance photographer except for the Establishment haircut. After a fun morning of reckless driving, he ends up at the beach where he is abducted by a woman who's name changes depending on the scene and who is speaking to her. Clearly Michele Carey was selected for her resemblance to and ability to mimic Elizabeth Taylor (if I watched this without my glasses, I would have thought it was late 1960's Liz playing the female lead). She sics her dog on Elvis until he runs into the water and catches convenient movie pneumonia, then she keeps him doped up out of consciousness in her beach pad so long he loses his job and his apartment so she moves his stuff into her house before he awakens without even telling him (the audience does not know about it either, until Elvis tries to go back to work and his boss has him beaten up for no reason except he deserved it for making this movie, and tries to go home and finds some hateful woman in a slip living in his house).
Rather than having her arrested for kidnapping, larceny and assault, he goes out and gets two jobs to repay the back rent Miss Crazy Pants had to spring for when stealing all of his belongings. Job one is working for Don Porter at a Playboy type magazine, job two is upstairs working for Rudy Vallee at a snobby fashion magazine. I think the two-job shuffling is supposed to be the comedy, too bad it isn't the least bit funny, unless you'd laugh the 100th time you saw someone run up and down stairs in fast-motion to silly music. The predominate obstacle that keeps Greg from falling for his abductor is her other love interest, the dreadfully miscast Dick Sargent (let's face it, either Porter or Vallee, even given their advanced ages in 1968, would have made far more believable competitors for Miss Crazy's affections).
There are a variety of uninteresting and unfunny twists and turns, I kept waiting for something, anything to happen that would make all of this make sense. It never did. Entertainment totals approximately three minutes and is comprised of Elvis' rendition of "A Little Less Talk" (which I can listen to on CD without this painful movie inflicted upon me) and a funny five second bit where Elvis flops on the couch and Crazy Pants has apparently disassembled it so it flies all to pieces when he lands on it. That's it, folks, busted furniture, the only laugh in this entire film. No amount of mod sixties clothing, music, or décor can salvage this high-heaven stinker and it should be avoided at all costs. Viewing this can create an unnatural desire on the part of the audience toward the self-infliction of grave bodily harm.
Here, Elvis plays Greg, who is essentially a hippie free-lance photographer except for the Establishment haircut. After a fun morning of reckless driving, he ends up at the beach where he is abducted by a woman who's name changes depending on the scene and who is speaking to her. Clearly Michele Carey was selected for her resemblance to and ability to mimic Elizabeth Taylor (if I watched this without my glasses, I would have thought it was late 1960's Liz playing the female lead). She sics her dog on Elvis until he runs into the water and catches convenient movie pneumonia, then she keeps him doped up out of consciousness in her beach pad so long he loses his job and his apartment so she moves his stuff into her house before he awakens without even telling him (the audience does not know about it either, until Elvis tries to go back to work and his boss has him beaten up for no reason except he deserved it for making this movie, and tries to go home and finds some hateful woman in a slip living in his house).
Rather than having her arrested for kidnapping, larceny and assault, he goes out and gets two jobs to repay the back rent Miss Crazy Pants had to spring for when stealing all of his belongings. Job one is working for Don Porter at a Playboy type magazine, job two is upstairs working for Rudy Vallee at a snobby fashion magazine. I think the two-job shuffling is supposed to be the comedy, too bad it isn't the least bit funny, unless you'd laugh the 100th time you saw someone run up and down stairs in fast-motion to silly music. The predominate obstacle that keeps Greg from falling for his abductor is her other love interest, the dreadfully miscast Dick Sargent (let's face it, either Porter or Vallee, even given their advanced ages in 1968, would have made far more believable competitors for Miss Crazy's affections).
There are a variety of uninteresting and unfunny twists and turns, I kept waiting for something, anything to happen that would make all of this make sense. It never did. Entertainment totals approximately three minutes and is comprised of Elvis' rendition of "A Little Less Talk" (which I can listen to on CD without this painful movie inflicted upon me) and a funny five second bit where Elvis flops on the couch and Crazy Pants has apparently disassembled it so it flies all to pieces when he lands on it. That's it, folks, busted furniture, the only laugh in this entire film. No amount of mod sixties clothing, music, or décor can salvage this high-heaven stinker and it should be avoided at all costs. Viewing this can create an unnatural desire on the part of the audience toward the self-infliction of grave bodily harm.