In cerca d'amore

O.K. I'll be honest. I wasn't expecting much when I decided to watch "Looking for Love" on Turner Classic Movies' "not on video" festival last July. After all, Maltin gave the film a BOMB rating and "Rose Marie" was a grand disappointment. But TCM was on a solid streak with three great films in a row; "Penelope", "The Money Trap" and "Your Cheatin Heart". So I decided to give it a chance.

I'm sure glad I did! "Looking for Love" is not a great film, but it has energy and charm and a wonderful lead performance by Connie Francis. You just can't help smiling as I did lot during the regretably brief running time (81 minutes). Surely, they could have added another 10 minutes of songs!

The plot is unimportant; it's merely an excuse to hang some truly inventive musical numbers and sight gags (which needs to be seen in Panavision to truly appreciate; TCM letterboxed the print). I hope that MGM will release the film on video and DVD as a "Vintage Classic" or "MGM Musical" so that an audience can appreciate this. This won't appeal to those looking for acting. But if you're looking for a good time, you could do a lot worse than this. It's no masterpiece, but it's infectious and charming. and you will be smiling a lot.

*** out of 4 stars

After a month in Hollywood, Libby Caruso (Connie Francis) abandons her singing aspirations to go look for a husband. She is taken with Paul Davis (Jim Hutton) at first sight. He works with her roommate Jan McNair (Susan Oliver) and they hate each other. Libby has a great unusual idea and Paul puts her on The Tonight Show.

The premise is dated, but it is interesting for that reason. Connie Francis may be a great singer, but I don't see her as a rom-com gal. She powers through her comedy work, but it only makes it less funny. One of the other interesting premise is the use of The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson. It's fun to see this version of Johnny. Connie Francis does some good singing and that's it.

As I've gotten older, I've begun to realize that the saying, 'not like it used to be' is a fallacy with regard to music and visual media. The truth is there has always been a ton of bad work, it's just that the lens of history whittles out the chaff. What's left? The great, the good, and at times the really really bad. One has to really look for the average to just below average films - generally to fill out some niche of fanaticism regarding an actor or director.

Why watch this movie? The Jonny Carson scene is amazing. First, he plays himself, but actually acts and performs - and that youthful look! This scene should be a clinic on how you direct a talk show host. This scene is generally butchered in more recent films.

The film stock - my goodness these colors! I will never understand why this saturated film look is lost. The astonishing primary colors and shining eyes of the performers - this movie has a absolute visual glow.

Acting is awful. And some of the casting - listening to these shrieking voices will make you scramble for the volume remote just to end the pain. And yet...

The numbers (music performances) are pretty good, certainly entertaining - and back to my original point; this isn't a good movie, but it so much better than contemporary bad films. Films that actually bring nothing to the table.

Wow, maybe they don't make them like they used to?

intentionally over rated 6/10

This film plays like a cross between a 40s MGM musical and a 60s sitcom, combining the worst of both worlds. And, not being a Francis fan, even the many musical interludes don't pacify me. Seeing that the director and scriptwriter were from TV, I shouldn't be surprised at the result. I guess MGM didn't think poor Connie deserved first-rate attention. But, then again, Elvis suffered the same fate.

Connie's character is an idiot, and Jim Hutton's a jack#@@. We are supposed to believe that "Libby" pines after "Paul," a man who blatantly shows a hatred towards women? There is no chemistry between either of the two couples, in any combination.

Paula Prentiss must have established a friendship with Francis after making "Where the Boys Are" four years earlier; otherwise, why would she have agreed to a 30 second cameo, during which she speaks one short sentence, and is promptly bopped on the head?

And, please, the Lady Valet? Perhaps the writer didn't realize that such a "contraption," in some form or another, has existed for hundreds of years. One doubts the lame version presented in the film could ever secure its creator a slot on The Tonight Show (but it is great to see Johnny).

The movie does display a reasonable budget, as many of the sets have a more- than-sitcom feel. I wonder how many times they had to shoot that grocery store scene? However, notice that after the girls become rich, and live in a HUGE mansion, they still share a bedroom? (It's not surprising that scriptwriter Flippen did some work on "The Brady Bunch.")

If you plan on sampling one of the four 60s Francis flicks, stick with the first, "Where the Boys Are."

Connie's third of her four musical comedies for Metro and the only one that doesn't have the word 'boy' in the title. By 1964, Hollywood had pretty much thrown in the towel as far as television was concerned and began openly sleeping with the enemy. Not only is the film crammed with popular personalities of the day (Johnny Carson, Danny Thomas, Jesse White, Joby Baker), and cute (overly-rehearsed) on-set mishaps, the structure, pace and composition are strictly small-screen. It's easy to understand how screenwriter Flippen (wife of Jay C.) would eventually write on such ground-healing 60's pigswill as "The Brady Bunch" and "The New Scooby Doo Movies." What's truly tragic is that these TV-safe anamorphic frames, crowding characters to the center, were lensed by Minnelli mainstay Milton Krasner.

Stardom eluded Libby Caruso (Francis) for an entire month, so she decided to get out of the music business and snare a man. Aside from her voice and her Lady Valet, a glorified clothes hanger she invented, Libby's only talent is sniffing out Mr. Right. Enter Jim Hutton, a co-worker into TNT (Tall 'n' Top-Heavy) who lands Libby a spot to tout her creation on the Tonight Show. It's a flop, but her singing connects and for another hour we watch Libby slalom her way around a light powder of familiar supporting players in search of true love.

The film was made to cash in on the success of earlier Francis/Hutton vehicles, most notably the enormously entertaining, guiltiest of all guilty pleasures, "Where the Boys Are." As sociologically and cinematically backwards as that film is, it plays like a sophisticated Lubitsch romp compared to this set-bound stiff. We briefly get to visit a neon drenched sixties supermarket only to be shuttered back in the studio after one establishing shot. "Where the Boys Are?" alumni George Hamilton, Yvette Mimieux and the vastly underrated Paula Prentiss appear, adding little more than name recognition to the poster.

Connie Francis was a firecracker. She had the neurotic frailty of a young Judy Garland, Ethel Merman's pipes and the comedic traction of a Danny Thomas. Well, two out of three ain't bad. Pert and delightfully ditsy in the light comedy (comedy-lite?) passages and capable of showing her range even in trash like this, she could have been a contender had it not been for that tragic night in a Howard Johnson's motel room.

Director Don Weis has come through in the past, but this time he's simply punching Metro's time-clock. Impress me once, good for you. Disappoint me after an imposing start and I'll probably still keep giving you the benefit of the doubt in hopes of a return to form. Who do you think brought me to junk like this?