Not Tonight, Darling

A London housewife (Luan Peters) is bored with her sexually cold husband (Jason Twelvetrees -- and yes he is that wooden!) and is lead/blackmailed in to temptation with an Australian travelling salesman (Vincent Ball) and his rather more unbuttoned pals.

There are many films around where the story behind the film is far more interesting than the film itself. There are also films which are more interesting for the background than the foreground. This is both.

London in the early 70's was in a strange hangover of a place -- vice had been clamped down upon and the new thing were films that were sold as sexy, but were actually nothing of the kind (but hey, they have your money by then). Today this is less sexy than post watershed TV!

The one thing that I learn from watching this is that body painting had left the London sex scene as of 1971 and that heavy blue mascara could be worn all day long. Even in bed. Love the last sightings of the those wooden finished cars too.

Thunderclap Newman come on -- and don't (repeat don't) perform their only hit "Something in the Air."

Liz Taylor once said that she won an Oscar of Butterfield 8 because she had an utter contempt for the part (and her life at that time) and the Academy mistook it for great acting. No such luck for Peters who needs her whole life (on screen) to come apart to register emotion.

This is a film that has the air of multiple failure. The acting is cold and wooden and has a pretty bad script. Indeed if you stick with it, it doesn't even reach a conclusion to its rather weak storyline. That really twists the knife in the wound.

Antony Sloman (the director) is said to be one of the biggest film buffs in the UK -- but this proves that watching a lot of good movies doesn't mean you can learn a thing from them!

Back in 1971, if you had never seen this and someone summarised it as "young blonde wife, frustrated by her husband's total lack of libido, decides to explore her sexuality", then I'm sure you'd have parted with your 50p at the cinema just as I would.

However, you'd have barely had time to lick your drink-on-a-stick before you'd have realised you'd been sold a pup.

The film says nothing, the acting is dire, the direction non- existent, the storyline meanders, wanders, then concludes by saying "make of this what you will. I give up"

However, this film is not without redemption. Here's why:

a) If you ever wondered what a seedy Soho strip club looked like in the daytime, this is for you. And what about that compere? ("Okay, remove your raincoats")

b) Captain Harrison (Bill Shine) may not be on screen for long but he does have the best lines. ("He called me Bill. Well, it was my name)

c) You really have to see the camera-work in the health club scenes to believe it. The young lady on the vibrator belt especially.

d) Thunderclap Newman playing live (along the lines of The Yardbirds in 'Blow Up' or Alan Price in 'O Lucky Man'). A previous reviewer mentioned this would interest those interested in the music of the era. It does.

e) The, shall we say, 'incredible' dream scene in the grocer's shop. Hard to believe and more than a touch of The Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band about it (if you recall Magical Mystery Tour).

So, all in all, a dreadful film if you look on it as a film - but a fascinating slice of what 1971 was capable of, if you come at it from another angle!

I agree with all the reviewers here-this is pretty dire in respect of acting, script, dead unpopulated locations, unsatisfactory ending (for those who lasted the course!), limited flesh for those who paid their money in expectation back in the day...But:

It's of some interest as another example of that weird period in the early '70s of the Brit "sex comedy". I assume that the Aussie actor Vincent Ball ("A Town Like Alice" etc.) is thoroughly ashamed of this, though he does get to get down to the adorable Luan Peters. As I write (Nov. 2021) he's still around at 97-bless him! No-one else is worthy of remark, though rock enthusiasts will no doubt savour the appearance of Thunderclap Newman.

So to Ms Peters....she's what we called in the day "a nice bit of crumpet", absolutely perfect body, and well remembered as the Aussie girl in that "Fawlty Towers" episode. There's no other reason really to watch this; the "porn" sequence (more revealed on some overseas markets?) is laughable and, apparently, had to import American specialists as the local actors couldn't get the necessary enthusiasm up!

I liked the gym club sequence near the end where Ms Peters is in virginal white-verily the covered body stimulates more the imagination!

Thanks again to the UK's wonderful Talking Pictures channel for giving these little movies an airing. They will figure in historical studies in the future, believe me!

Confirming my theory that the 70s were the decade that taste forgot this movie has the production values of a school play and looks like it was shot in various crew members flats.

By modern standards it is utterly unsexy - it as also unfunny, undramatic, badly lit, the leaden dialogue is almost inaudible (spectacularly drowned out by traffic noises at one point) and there is no resolution to the incredibly thin story.

There is nothing to recommend it at all apart from the odd flash of breast - and a brief, weird interlude where two of the characters watch the band Thunderclap Newman rehearse a couple of numbers. (I guess that might be of historical interest to musicologists of the era... but it's easy to see why they only got to release one album.) The two watchers were shot without any idea of the music they were supposed to be listening to and probably had no playback to respond to so they tap their feet, nod their heads, and snap their fingers (groovy man!) in several random rhythms simultaneously - none of them unfortunately matching the music.

Avoid. (Why doesn't IMDb allow you to rate films as a zero ?)

Another undistinguished attempt to exploit the BBFC's slightly more liberal policy from about 1970, with a title suggesting the sort of naughty comedy that the British public were so fond of. Instead they get the story of Karen, a housewife with a young son who's neglected by her cold and pompous husband, falls prey to the voyeuristic fantasies of a sleazy shop assistant, prior to being seduced and blackmailed into swinging parties and porn by the repellent Alex, played by usually clean-cut Aussie hero-type, Vincent Ball.

It's a pretty glum affair, enlivened by Luan Peters, lovely and sympathetic as the vulnerable Karen. The husband's strange attitude is not explored and the ending is abrupt and unsatisfactory. It does make compelling viewing though for those interested in its era, not least those who enjoy revelling in how awful they consider things were back then. Certainly Ball 'grooving' to Thunderclap Newman, in rehearsal at La Valbonne, is hard to forget. They may have only had one hit, but I thought the group's appearance was about the highlight. There's a fleeting glimpse of a young, scarcely recognisable Fiona Richmond, while Bill Shine who'd started his film career over forty years previously, is seen enjoying The Tiffany Sisters strip in a Soho dive. Making a 'guest appearance' (how one member of the cast can be a guest beats me) is another veteran, James Hayter, making his first fictional venture into the retail trade as the store manager, prior to his more famous roles as the celebrated Mr. Tebbs in ARE YOU BEING SERVED? and the voice of 'Mr. Kipling'.