This film, following a near-unbroken 20-year run of commercial and critical successes, spelled the beginning of the end for Billy Wilder. Both ONE, TWO, THREE and IRMA LA DOUCE showed signs of incipient decline, but this 1964 effort forms the line beyond which little of worth was produced by the legendary Austrian. While this isn't a terrible movie, it isn't great; in fact it isn't even very good, despite a decent effort from Walston, a pretty good self-parody by Martin, and a game try by Novak to overcome her limited talents.
The story is based on an Italian play, and Wilder and his long-time collaborator I. A. L. Diamond do little to open up the story. Walston plays Oliver J. (for 'jerk' or 'Jeremiah') Spooner, piano teacher in a small desert town in Nevada called Climax. Oliver spends his time writing songs with his song-writing partner Barney (Cliff Osmond in a strangely dislikeable role) an attendant at the garage across the road from his house, and agonising over undeserved suspicions about the fidelity of his sexy young wife (Felicia Farr). Into Spooner's life drives Rat Pack superstar Dino (Guess Who), and a plot is hatched by the song-writing duo to keep the singer at Spooner's house overnight so that he can expose the star to their musical masterpieces which, needless to say, are pretty awful. The only problem is that Dino is a self-confessed sex hound and Oliver's nubile young wife was a founder member of the Dino fan club at high school. There then follows an over-complicated plot to install local waitress (and part-time hooker) Polly the Pistol (Novak) as Oliver's wife (without Oliver's real wife knowing) so that Dino can get as fruity as he likes with her without Oliver going off the deep end.
This is pretty cynical, downbeat stuff, complemented by a sombre black-and-white cinematography that seems to emphasise the bleakness of not just the character's surroundings, but their entire lives, and it's not easy to successfully translate this mood of dispirited ennui into a serviceable comedy. The screenplay is scattered with one-liners that, although they raise a smile on occasion, don't really belong in a film like this. It probably works best as a satire of the pursuit of the American dream and the lengths that ordinary people will go to obtain that dream, but offers little in the way of redemption for the lead character's by the end of the film. In fact every character is soiled in some way by the story that unfolds, and only Polly the Pistol comes across as a sympathetic character simply because her aspirations are more modest than those of the other characters. She wants what they already have, and what they are too selfish and blinkered to enjoy.
Martin comes across as pretty sleazy in this one. Playing up his boozing, womanising image, he comes across as a sleaze with no redeeming qualities and a total disregard for those around him. You kind of wonder what prompted him to take the part of such a nasty character especially as it is so clearly based on him. It's difficult to believe he wasn't aware of the despicable nature of his character. Perhaps, as another reviewer has suggested, he didn't care, or perhaps he simply wanted to thrust a finger in the face of the moral majority that criticised his way of life. Either way, if another actor parodied a celebrity like that today, the producers would find themselves with a libel suit on their hands before the film even saw the light of day. Brave or stupid, Martin gives a decent performance anyway.
Apparently Peter Sellers was slated to play Spooner, but lost the role when he suffered a series of heart attacks shortly after filming began. Although a grave misfortune for Sellers, this can only be good for this film. The role is annoying enough without being saddled with Sellers' self-indulgence. At least Walston does a pretty good job with a difficult role that tries hard to alienate the audience for most of the movie. Behaving the way Spooner does, he wouldn't hold onto a pretty young thing like Zelda for five months, let alone five years. Novak gives it her best shot as Polly the Pistol (no pun intended) but her range really is limited, and she too often falls into the breathy-Monroe style of acting (apparently her role was originally intended for Monroe). Her big scene with Zelda near the end of the movie is truly awful, which is a shame because Polly is a wholly likable character and the true heart of the story.
I don't think this is the undiscovered classic that some are trying to make it out to be, neither do I believe it deserves the tarnished reputation it has. The fact is, even great directors fire off the occasional blank and this film is one of Wilder's. KISS ME, STUPID isn't good and it isn't bad, and if it had been directed by anybody else it would have been forgotten a long time ago.
The story is based on an Italian play, and Wilder and his long-time collaborator I. A. L. Diamond do little to open up the story. Walston plays Oliver J. (for 'jerk' or 'Jeremiah') Spooner, piano teacher in a small desert town in Nevada called Climax. Oliver spends his time writing songs with his song-writing partner Barney (Cliff Osmond in a strangely dislikeable role) an attendant at the garage across the road from his house, and agonising over undeserved suspicions about the fidelity of his sexy young wife (Felicia Farr). Into Spooner's life drives Rat Pack superstar Dino (Guess Who), and a plot is hatched by the song-writing duo to keep the singer at Spooner's house overnight so that he can expose the star to their musical masterpieces which, needless to say, are pretty awful. The only problem is that Dino is a self-confessed sex hound and Oliver's nubile young wife was a founder member of the Dino fan club at high school. There then follows an over-complicated plot to install local waitress (and part-time hooker) Polly the Pistol (Novak) as Oliver's wife (without Oliver's real wife knowing) so that Dino can get as fruity as he likes with her without Oliver going off the deep end.
This is pretty cynical, downbeat stuff, complemented by a sombre black-and-white cinematography that seems to emphasise the bleakness of not just the character's surroundings, but their entire lives, and it's not easy to successfully translate this mood of dispirited ennui into a serviceable comedy. The screenplay is scattered with one-liners that, although they raise a smile on occasion, don't really belong in a film like this. It probably works best as a satire of the pursuit of the American dream and the lengths that ordinary people will go to obtain that dream, but offers little in the way of redemption for the lead character's by the end of the film. In fact every character is soiled in some way by the story that unfolds, and only Polly the Pistol comes across as a sympathetic character simply because her aspirations are more modest than those of the other characters. She wants what they already have, and what they are too selfish and blinkered to enjoy.
Martin comes across as pretty sleazy in this one. Playing up his boozing, womanising image, he comes across as a sleaze with no redeeming qualities and a total disregard for those around him. You kind of wonder what prompted him to take the part of such a nasty character especially as it is so clearly based on him. It's difficult to believe he wasn't aware of the despicable nature of his character. Perhaps, as another reviewer has suggested, he didn't care, or perhaps he simply wanted to thrust a finger in the face of the moral majority that criticised his way of life. Either way, if another actor parodied a celebrity like that today, the producers would find themselves with a libel suit on their hands before the film even saw the light of day. Brave or stupid, Martin gives a decent performance anyway.
Apparently Peter Sellers was slated to play Spooner, but lost the role when he suffered a series of heart attacks shortly after filming began. Although a grave misfortune for Sellers, this can only be good for this film. The role is annoying enough without being saddled with Sellers' self-indulgence. At least Walston does a pretty good job with a difficult role that tries hard to alienate the audience for most of the movie. Behaving the way Spooner does, he wouldn't hold onto a pretty young thing like Zelda for five months, let alone five years. Novak gives it her best shot as Polly the Pistol (no pun intended) but her range really is limited, and she too often falls into the breathy-Monroe style of acting (apparently her role was originally intended for Monroe). Her big scene with Zelda near the end of the movie is truly awful, which is a shame because Polly is a wholly likable character and the true heart of the story.
I don't think this is the undiscovered classic that some are trying to make it out to be, neither do I believe it deserves the tarnished reputation it has. The fact is, even great directors fire off the occasional blank and this film is one of Wilder's. KISS ME, STUPID isn't good and it isn't bad, and if it had been directed by anybody else it would have been forgotten a long time ago.