I’m sitting here watching Dean Martin in The Wrecking Crew. This has to be one of the worst movies ever. I’m super cereal! The plot, at least that’s the technical term for the drivel I’m forcing myself to watch, is entirely about a bunch of young, sexy women falling in lust with Mr. Martin. They fall over him, swoon over him, commit treason, commit adultery, commit bad acting. One even gets herself blown up. (that gave me hope for the movie, but no one else has exploded, spontaneously combusted or even gotten a paper cut.) It seems more a morality play on the effects of smoking your arch supports.
Do I buy that these young ladies find Dean Martin irresistible? Yeah, um, not so much. He could sing, but I think the French made the better choice in the duo when they fell in love with Mr. Lewis. At least he’s funny.* Maybe it’s just the jadedness of me being me, but he’s just not all that.
I’ve found that there aren’t many movies from the 60’s that I like and that the ones I like all seem to have Yul Brenner, Clint Eastwood or Steve McQueen in them. Now, THOSE were sexy men. I just can’t buy a bunch of babes falling all over Dean Martin.
Plus, The Magnificent Seven, The Great Escape and A Fistful of Dollars actually had plots.
Did I mention that the soundtrack and costumes have given me a ripping headache? I was thinking it might be preferable to stick pins in my eyes.
Anyway, blech on The Wrecking Crew.
(*I was kidding about Jerry Lewis and the French. I don’t think he’s funny, it was a moment of self-pitying weakness that made me envy the French.)