Sextette (1978)

The funny thing about being a film critic-especially a b-movie critic-is that it seems to be not only expected, but perfectly natural, for us to defy and trample all over that old addige, “If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all!” As a recent episode of “The Simpsons” where Homer tries his hand at being a food critic points out, it’s much easier (and more fun!) to write a scathingly bad review than a good, praising one. Not only that, but the former usually makes for a better read. Undoubtedly the reviews where I try to put the smackdown on some celluloid monstrosity like, oh, Cabin By The Lake are more entertaining than reading me sucking up to John Waters for the upteenth time.

When one meets a film like this, however, no one but the most hardened of critics can not feel sympathy for some actor or director or whathaveyou involved. In this case, it’s the badly aged Mae West, who moves around this film in a tragicomical, self-mocking stupor, barely able to stand, spouting off her old famous bits of dialogue with a look of exhaustion rather than with the defiant, sex-goddess spirit that made her famous long ago. Nevertheless, it should be remembered that Sextette is based off a play written by Mae West herself (!) and, of course, no one blackmailed her into appearing in this (at least, not to my knowledge), so you can’t exactly call her a victim in this fiasco...

...a fiasco in which the poor audience is treated to the distressing sight in which the bloated semi-autonomated corpse of Mae West waddles around a film that is in equal parts a bad comedy relying on jokes that were ancient when even the film’s star was young and a crappy musical with songs that are cyanide to the ear drums.

Now that I got that out of my system...

As Regis Philbin, the first of quite a few foolish celebrities who thought they were not getting enough humiliation in their lives, explains in the guise of a reporter, Mae West’s character, Marlo, is a world renowned actress. It’s hard to tell if Marlo is just a humorous, satirical exaggeration of her own image back in the day or blatant ego masturbation that will go unrivaled until the day Michael Jackson advertises that commercial for some album of his that features women screaming and fainting around a massive statue of himself...oh, hell, let’s vote for the latter. But you want to know why this is so painful? Despite the pretty obvious ravages of time on Mae West/Marlo, we’re supposed to believe that straight men the world over still find her irresistable! Not only that, but, to defy all laws of society and nature, she returns the affection of men one-fourth her age with sexually charged lines and leering flirtations. Therein lies the full horror of Sextette.

Anyway, as Regis drones on, we discover that Marlo is marrying the latest in a long line of husbands (so many she doesn’t even remember how many she had...oh, laugh, damn you!) in London and staying with him at a famous hotel, where it just happens a pack of world leaders are meeting to conclude world peace or something. In a rare speck of realism, the meeting of the world leaders takes a back seat to Marlo’s celebrity wedding. Too bad that speck is helplessly overshadowed by the movie’s requirement that we keep believing the eighty-something Mae West is a virile sex object. Compared to that, even The Matrix’s attempts to force audiences to accept Keanu Reeves as some sort of messiah doesn’t seem that bad.

We discover to our horror that a young, thirtyish Timothy Dalton is Sir Michael Barrington, Marlo’s sacrificial victim...er, groom to be. This terrifying revelation is accompanied by the first of the movie’s many chilling music-and-dance numbers, "Horray for Hollywood," plus an allegedly amusing exchange between Marlo and the press (for an example just how painful this is, see “Choice Quotes”) where Mae West has the chance to rehash all of her classic sayings, only without any of the wit or sex appeal. Oh, around here, we’re introduced to Marlo’s manager, Dom de Luis (!), who engages in some truly ill-advised moments of supposed hilarity that makes even Dom de Luis’ more recent ‘classic’ Silence of the Hams look brilliant.

Mercifully, before Marlo and Barrington can embark on their honeymoon, the script gives us an actual plot, or at least something that resembles one. See, Marlo used to do undercover work for the government and an agent from GGA (Generic Government Agency) asks De Luis to request that Marlo talk to one of her ex-husbands, who happens to be the Russian representative, to co-operate with the peace talks and to destroy her memoirs which could contain information damaging to the conference. Exactly why the government waited until the day of the conference to try to deal with such a potential source of sensitive information or even why waste energy on what seems to be a fairly innocent thi-ah, but now that I think about it, this is another speck of realism. Anyway, Marlo agrees, but in a few ‘klassic komedy’ moments, De Luis loses track of the tape in the hotel kitchens where international cuisine is being prepared (this gives the filmmakers an excuse to show a Chinese chef while generic Oriental music plays in the background!) while Barrington deals with media-spread suggestions that he’s gay. “It seems queer to me,” he quips at one point. And that’s actually one of the movie’s funnier lines, God help us all.

Ah, but that's not all. Much to Barrington's dismay (and our relief), Marlo leaves her honeymoon to run off to try on some designs offered by Keith Moon of The Who (!), who plays a stereotypically gay fashion designer (did they find the jokes for this movie written in a twelfth century tome?). This gives Mae West the oppurtunity to showcase outfits that probably would have looked more than appropriate on her...if only she were just four decades younger. As if this wasn't compelling enough to make anyone want to renounce or reaffirm their sexual orientation, Mae West offends the ears as well as the eyes by making even more "sexy" jokes and one-liners while displaying the clothing. Oh, the horror...

After meeting and briefly flirting with her Russian ex Alexei as according to her instructions (but not before Alexei gets to run through every Russian stereotype known to man and Marlo gets to belt out one or two songs), she notices that the tape ends up in the gym with the American Olympic team, which happens to be in training at the hotel gym. Wow, how does it get there from that cake? It hurts me to think about it, so let me just ask you to think about the most unfunny, contrived, improbable way the tape could end up there and you'd be close.

This leads up to a horrifying moment in a film full of horrifying moments. Here is one of those rare, spectacularly awful moments in b-cinema when the movie just seems to be taunting you, sneering, saying, "Ah, and you thought it just couldn't get any worse, didn't you? Didn't you?!" Marlo meanders into the gym, surrounded by young bodybuilders working out who respond to her creepy innuendos and puns with laughter (not that kind of laughter, sadly) and flirtatious behavior of their own. But the worst is yet to come. Cozying up to the team's young mascot Ricky and finding out that he just turned twenty-one, Marlo practically blossoms into song, specifically a number called "Happy Birthday, Twenty-One." I wish I could conjure up the words that would adequately describe the unspeakable abomination that is this scene, but I don't think even H.P Lovecraft in his prime armed with a thesaurus would be up to the task.

Thankfully, it ends, with the tape once again eluding Marlo's withered claw (How? See my answer to how the tape winded up at the gym). While Ringo Starr (!) gets to put in time for his cameo as yet another ex who just happens to be in the hotel, Barrington works out in the gym, apparently to dispel rumors of his homosexuality because, you know, gay guys would rather be fashion designers than do anything remotely masculine. Eventually, yet another ex, this one a archetypical gangster named Norton, pops up, insisting that he and Marlo are still married (Norton was presumed dead and Marlo can't quite remember if she finalized her divorce with him before his 'death' or not) and wanting to do away with Barrington permenantly. Barrington appears shocked and saddened by Marlo's many divorces, which he doesn't seem to have known about at all (oh, my head)...

Whackiness commences as Marlo, Barrington, Norton, and De Luis try to find the one small pink tape that happens to contain the life story of an eighty-something. As you might expect, the tape does end up at the conference which has already fallen apart because of the stupidity of the world leaders (more realism!) Our beloved gang shows up and Norton tries to stop the leaders from playing the tape, but, because by that point the scriptwriter snorted some more coke, one of the world leaders present turns out to be the Godfather. After an exchange more sure to offend Italians than a dozen Olive Garden commercials, the Godfather commands Norton to allow the tape to be played. The dreaded sensitive information about the leaders comes to light at last...and it turns out to be no more groundbreaking than such-and-such took bribes, which honestly doesn't seem so bad, especially since they're now called 'campaign contributions' in my country. Oh, and after about just five minutes of playing, the tape reveals that Marlo's divorce with Norton was finalized after all. This looks like the work of the Exposition Fairy's second cousin, the God of Plot Convenience! Anyway, this shocking information that comes to light amuses the delegates and, after leading them together in song, Marlo gets them to try world peace. Or start World War III. I can't remember, but who the hell cares?

Well, now that's all cleared up, can we end the movie, please? Please? No, we still have to sit through Barrington coping with his bad feelings about Marlo's string of divorces and how disposable he feels. And one more song from Marlo, this time accompanied by Alice Cooper as a piano-playing bellhop. Welcome to my nightmare, indeed.

Barrington has run off, afraid of being rejected like all the others. Oh, and it's revealed that he's a spy or something (keep in mind this is before Timothy Dalton took on the James Bond mantle, which is kind of a neat coincidence, and the only thing about this entire movie that I can apply that adjective to). On his private yacht, Barrington is surprised to find Marlo had snuck aboard and made it into his bed. Fortunately, the film ends right about there, but not before we get a shot of a cannon firing off at the appropriate moment...

Hopefully I haven't given the message that the only problem with Sextette is that "eeeww, an old, sexually active Mae West is gross!" In fact, this is really a problem for anyone who has fond memories of Mae West at all (and I am among them). For all my comments, seeing a Hollywood legend and pioneer in a film like this, even if much of it was of her own making, is simply tragic. Still, Sextette's flaws run much deeper than that. The humor is stale and without bite, so much so that the film cannot even classify under good 'cute humor' as would, say, an Elvira movie; and the movie's various plot threads are in a tangle, made even worse by completely forced and dragged out cameo scenes. Oh, ye gods, and the musical numbers...let's just say they're not only forgettable, but you'd want to hurry up and forget them. Even without Mae West's humiliation, this movie is certainly stuffed with b-material.

Now the masochist in me wonders how well this movie stacks up against Bette Davis' Wicked Stepmother in the realm of Undignified Last Appearances...

Choice Quotes:

"How do you like it in London?"
"Hm, I like it anywhere!"
-A reporter and Marlo

Cast Connections:

-Director Ken Hughes also directed the hammy historical adaption, 1970's Cromwell.

Drinking Game Suggestions:

-1 shot for every time a crowd laughs way too heartily at one of Mae West's 'zingers.'
-2 shots for every humiliating cameo or stupid attempt to imitate a famous figure.
-As many shots as you like for every excruciating musical number you survive.