Matt Helm traqué

I'd like to know more about the people writing negative reviews of a movie like this: how old are they? were they even alive during the 60s? This movie is a product of a different age. It was a simpler time. You could get away with making movies that had this kind of production values, script and, yes - allusions to rape in an action-comedy notwithstanding - moral values (I'm not saying they're high, they're just an indicator of the time).

Do you watch Charlie Chaplin or Laurel & Hardy and complain about the cinematography? You're watching a movie from the 60s guys - it's a time capsule. It can teach you about what life was like then, because at the time the Matt Helm movies were all completely acceptable and even successful.

I dread to think how you lot would handle a 'Carry On' film - yet they were some of the most successful movies ever made in England. You'd probably brand them sexist, vulgar, childish and uninventive though...duh!

The Matt Helm series of movies featuring Dean Martin are based upon the novels of the same character (loosely), but they are all parody movies. Similar to how "Naked Gun" spoofed many popular themes at the time, these films all poke fun at the spy movies by featuring the outrageousness of the films right in your face. Bond drinks martinis, Helm drinks - a lot. Bond beds a girl or two, Helm beds them all. Bond has fancy gadgets, Helm has them plus his home has them too. Bond has villains with sinister purpose (and sometimes a quirk or two), Helm has villains that are sometimes freaks or simply idiotic. These movies are blatantly obvious as spoofs and their value is that they are interesting to watch at least once or twice.

The third of Dean Martin's Matt Helm adventures is generally considered to be the worst of the quartet but, while undeniably the silliest (especially in the film's relentless concession to go-go dancing), it's still never less than enjoyable; I'd say these goofy spy sagas were basically the rough template for the jokey version of James Bond as depicted throughout Roger Moore's tenure in that series!

While here we don't get the hero thinking in song per his usual custom (though Hugo Montenegro's lounge score is as infectious as ever), all of the character's other traits are allowed full sway: the constant intake of alcohol, the lethal attraction to women, the dubious gadgets (guns shooting heat rays or causing people to levitate, an inflatable tent complete with comfort accessories, cigars emitting laughing gas, while even the women spies are given the benefit of narcoleptic lipstick and bullet-shooting bra – the latter device has actually reminded me that I've yet to check out the Vincent Price sci-fi comedy DR. GOLDFOOT AND THE BIKINI MACHINE [1965]) that I've recently acquired.

The two leading ladies themselves are well chosen: Senta Berger (somewhat ill-used, though, as the obligatory duplicitous female – especially since she's eventually disposed off rather too quickly, and not even by Helm!) and Janice Rule (quite delightful as Martin's companion but who also gets to play an important role in the mission); besides, as ever, there's a plethora of other beauties on hand – including Helm's ubiquitous secretary Lovey Kravezit (Beverly Adams yet again). The villains, too, are notable: Albert Salmi and Kurt Kasznar; as for the action scenes, perhaps the most elaborate is the one inside Kasznar's brewery…and, of course, a jab at Martin's fellow Rat Packer Frank Sinatra never goes amiss! For the record, the best line in the film has Berger toasting via the traditional Scandinavian epithet of "Skol", with Martin's instant retort being "Sure it's cold – it's got ice in it!"

The plot, for what it is, involves the theft of a flying saucer (though we're never told just what Salmi intends to do with it and, in fact, is later visited by interested parties bidding for possession of it) which, it transpires, can only be flown by a woman – as the atmosphere inside is fatal to the male of the species (huh?). The comic-strip nature of the film extends to the climax – in which Helm chases the runaway saucer (speeding across a railway track with Rule still inside it) on a motorbike (he even goes underwater on top of it and comes up with an alligator seated in the sidecar!) – which, however, is rather marred by the rampant back-projection involved.

The third Matt Helm film - and easily the weakest up to this point. Though Maltin's BOMB rating seems a bit harsh - it IS watchable, after all - it's hard not to notice the drop-off in quality from its predecessor, "Murderers' Row". The villains are nobodies, the gadgets are not as cool as before (levitating gun < delayed / reverse firing gun), the climactic vehicular chase has worse rear projection than the Abbott and Costello movies, and the entire enterprise is slow, unexciting and drab. Bright spot: Janice Rule, who is the smartest Matt Helm assistant so far, and also closer to Dean Martin's age than Ann Margret or Stella Stevens, which makes their (professional and romantic) partnership more believable. Senta Berger has an interesting character, in the sense that you are not sure for a long time whose side she is working for, but ultimately she is underused. The movie's two best bits actually come at the very start (the catchy title song), and the very end (a funny Frank Sinatra gag). *1/2 out of 4.

Third in a series of Matt Helm films starring Martin, this is often noted as being the worst or next to worst. Martin plays a swinging, hot-to-trot parody of James Bond in a film that takes every double entendre and gadget from that series and cranks them up to the nth degree. This time out, Martin must recover a stolen flying saucer with the aid of the female pilot who was stolen with it, then released. Rule (a pretty uncharacteristic choice for a film like this) plays the astronaut/pilot. Martin first attends a camp where he's refreshed in the ways of the spy (and where a battalion of voluptuous babes called The Slaygirls are being trained.) Then he's off to Mexico to track down the ship which is believed to have been nabbed by (the decidedly UN-Hispanic) Salmi. Various complications ensue including run-ins with bumbling second banana Kasznar and drop-dead eye candy Berger. It's pretty clear that the film isn't aiming for greatness, or even seriousness, when the two primary weapons are a bra that shoots bullets and a device that makes men's pants fall down! The latter device is pitifully ridiculous in that it melts belt buckles and somehow that leads to men's buttons, hooks and zippers also failing so that an army of henchman are forced to reach for their dangling trousers rather than catch their man.

There's a groovy title song played over credits that display a huge array of bikini-clad, heavily made up beauties that wind up having little or nothing to do with the plot. All of the kicky, funky music is by Hugo Montenegro and it's one of the film's better attributes. The film is only really bad if one is expecting serious spy drama or high brow jokes. The villain's chief gadget is a dopey looking satellite dish that shoots sparks out of it (along with a hand-held version.) It serves its greatest purpose pouring drinks for everyone. The one-liners in this film are of the lowest caliber possible and the ultra-macho point of view will likely be off-putting to some viewers. However, for those eager to see the type of kooky, colorful romps that inspired Mike Myers to create "Austin Powers", this is required viewing. (Check out how Dino's car trunk pops out an inflatable tent complete with bed, nightstand, lamp and metal chairs!) Martin isn't exactly flexing his acting muscles here, but he was playing into his image at the time of a boozy womanizer. Rule is a better actress than this fluff deserves and she doesn't really fit the boobs and hair-type of role, but she does well anyway. Berger is unbelievably luscious. Wearing what have to be the cinema's largest-ever earrings and sporting an impossibly golden tan, hair piled high and an aquamarine lounging gown, she is one of the most underrated beauties on record. She deserved a bigger career in Hollywood than she wound up with. There's a poolside fashion show of ultra-60's Oleg Cassini creations and most of the women wear false eyelashes so heavy they can almost open their eyes. It was a time that can never be repeated, so one should relish films like this as the time capsules they are and rent Oliver Stone movies when they want to be challenged.