miriamwebster

Released in theaters in 1965 during last season of his long-running family TV series, Ozzie Nelson's attempt to recast son Ricky and real- life wife Kris as slightly more risqué versions of their sitcom roles is a real weirdie.

Hard to imagine what Oz (who wrote, produced and directed) was thinking; it's almost as if this was his way to use all the story lines he knew would never get past the TV censors.

But did he really believe audience who'd made TV's most wholesome comedy a hit for more than ten years was dying to hear rockin' Ricky use (mild) profanity, see Kris perform a burlesque routine, watch Ozzie-surrogate Jack Kelly awkwardly guide Ricky through a teen-marriage sex talk (in which Ricky, a teen idol of many years and now well into twenties, seems to have biological knowledge of a dim- witted third grader, etc.)?

With cameos by O&H alums David Nelson and Skip "Wally Plumstead" Young as bystanders in a strip joint brawl (!), a creepy scene in which the teen newlyweds consummate their marriage in the groom's bunk bed, lots of exteriors shot on Universal's old Leave It To Beaver back lot set and a crazy ending wherein Rick serenades Kris in a hot rod. . . driven by a giant stuffed rabbit!

May not exactly be the "Rick 'n' Roll Riot!!!" the poster promised but still blandly bizarre in the extreme.

Another crazed logic-free over-acted melodrama in the same late Forties/early Fifties hothouse mode of Warners' Beyond The Forest, The Damned Don't Cry and This Woman Is Dangerous, this time sans the stellar fuel tank of Bette Davis or Joan Crawford. Judge this rating accordingly-- if you enjoyed aforementioned pictures, you'll get a kick out this; if not, take shelter. . .stormy weather indeed.

No need to rehash plot revealed by earlier posters, a Texas-set dramatic chile con carne liberally laced with murder, unrequited love and dark secrets set in one of those those only-in-the-movies remote desert communities where people live miles apart in remote rancheros. . .but still show up in gowns and white dinner jackets at swank poolside barbecues that would put Manhattanites to shame.

Although the smoldering-yet-vanilla Richard Todd, underused Ruth Roman and Zachery Scott(in a "hey-it's-a-paycheck" role that comes out of nowhere and getsthere fast) are ostensible stars, show is stolen by cactus-chomping Mercedes McCambridge in (apparently unintentional) schizophrenic role as a butch desert denizen (think of her role in Johnny Guitar, only less feminine) who not only has inexplicable crush on charmless Todd after he has allegedly killed his wife. . .but is nevertheless selected to serve on jury during his murder trial to boot! Things go off-cliff (as does at least one vehicle) from there.

Whatever film lacks in reality, it more than makes up for in implausibility and psychological chaos that would baffle Freud. But rest assured, everyone gets their just deserts(sic). If you're in right frame of mind, a yucca minute.

Dreadful semi-serious schlock that is to Bob Hope's career what Caprice was to Doris Day's. Apparently realizing rather late in the game that the fluff which had been box-office gold during their movie heydays (enjoyable as it may have been when they were years younger and material was fresh) seemed mighty passé by standards of later Sixties- early Seventies, both signed on for roles in thriller/mystery roles that just planted their same old characters in darker situations.

Here, Bob is cast as a national TV talk show host who somehow winds up being prime suspect in a series of murders in a corrupt Arizona backwater involving Native Americans. Uh, why doesn't he call a lawyer? Because he is too busy making cornball cracks based on dated advertising slogans (of several years old, even at that time) and catch phrases which weren't funny that funny to begin with and will simply baffle most viewers today. (When Chief Dan George utters a Native American phrase, a comic subtitle explains he is actually saying "Why don't you go water your fern?" Despite a certain desperation appeal that some may appreciate in a campy or almost surreal kitschy "aging comic" sense, just painful!)

Before the very unmysterious mystery is cleared up, there are even gratuitous what-the-huh? cameos by Johnny Carson, John Wayne, Flip Wilson and Bing Crosby. (Jo Anne Worley was apparently busy during the lunch hour when these appearances were shot.) And once everything is cleared up, screen wife Eva Marie Saint announces that Bob, pushing 70 but claiming to be 42!, is about to become a first-time father!!!

Makes one yearn for the sophisticated humor of Boy Did I Get a Wrong Number or Eight on the Lam.