BAD GIRLS CLUB: ANN-MARGRET IN 'THE SWINGER' (1966)

Let’s get right down to business: Ann-Margret is a knockout in the delectably awful THE SWINGER which reunites Margret and her BYE BYE BIRDY director George Sidney. In it she plays an inspiring writer who will do anything—and I mean anything (except that)—to get published, that is when she’s not dancing her tush away in a commune which also inhabits a vice squad officer/wannabe artist or sitting on a swing while belting out the catchy title song à la, well, BYE BYE BIRDY. Lured you into seeing this gem yet? Good. ‘Cause everything in THE SWINGER is très wacko, from the lurid voice-over narration that describes the sexual goings-on of a Playboy-like magazine owner, to the many sultry scenes of supposed decadence that Margret’s puritan character tries her hardest to emulate. 

In fact, THE SWINGER is at its best when it goes all the way into smut zone. Of course the film would never had been made today on account of all the real sexual misconduct scandals happening lately. But for the benefit of the era in which the film was made, let’s just say that the male libido is as highlighted and glossed over as a hooker in a limousine. And looking at this fetching fiasco it sure ain’t a bad thing, believe you me.  

As I said, THE SWINGER is really good when the focus is on sex and sin, and that’s about half of the story. The rest of the film is quite silly as Margret—pretending to be bad so Anthony Franciosa (from THE PLEASURE SEEKERS fame which also stars Margret) subsequently publish her tawdry story based faultily on herself—ends up becoming clay to Franciosa’s Pygmalion ways. There’s no question the two leads eventually become an item. So we just go by the cinematic flow of seeing them doing their thing while wondering if the film could have been better had the sexual performances of the female star been the sole focus (which in a way it still is since Margret is sex on a stick). As the song and dance go, Margret once again shines in her vocals and moves, especially the go-go line dancing early on in the story. 

I first saw this film in the late ‘80s, having caught it one rainy afternoon on TV. I was already a big trashy film buff and had heard that this one was as wacked as it could possibly be. So true it was, and still is considering the topic for a ‘60s film. Sure, it’s no VALLEY OF THE DOLLS but the fun is still palpable enough to grant THE SWINGER two thumbs-up. It may not be as perfect as I thought it’d be but it still deserves its spot as a must-see for camp classic devotees. It has yet to conquer the DVD/Blu-ray market but when it does I sure am going to purchase myself a copy. Until then, I will keep hold of my used VHS copy transferred to a disc.

Until next post—Martin

ANN-MARGRET IN 'MADE IN PARIS'

As expected, style wins over substance in this Ann-Margret comedy from 1966.  In it she plays a fashion buyer who is sent to Paris (more like a Hollywood soundstage really) to purchase creations from hot fashion designer Louis Jourdan.  Of course he only wants to bed her.  In fact, every guy she meets wants a piece of la Ann.  But she refuses to give in, even to hunky Chad Everett, her boss’ son (for whom I would drop my trousers in a sec).  He is so into her that, when a fashion crisis arises, he takes no time in joining her to save the day.  But when she ends up having men trouble with both Jourdan and Everett, she quits her job and goes on a binge drinking with Everett’s womanizer friend Richard Crenna (who, of course, wants to do her as well).  It all ends up with Margaret having a heart to heart talk with her three gentlemen and choosing bachelor number one, Everett, as husband potential.

What’s left to say about this little piece of fluff?  A lot, starting with the fabulous wardrobe Miss Margret gets to wear (designed by Oscar great Helen Rose).  I swear it’s like watching RuPaul’s Drag Race all over again.  Every piece screams drag queen. Big hair, big hats, pointy beaded tits… and chiffons, lots of chiffons.  I could admire this shit all day, even if it’s only there to derive us from the no plot plot. Because yes, MADE IN PARIS is mostly depthless, awkward even —just like the performance of its leading lady.  OK I may be a little too harsh here.  ‘Cause even though she’s on the paste and copy mode from her last dozen films, she’s still a likable character.  The girl has star quality, no doubt about it. But it would have been fun to see a different side of her this time around. However, as this was during the star system craze where one had to be at the mercy of the studio, it took years before some big shot realized she had more to offer than her sexy self.

  

Nevertheless, despite these flaws, MADE IN PARIS is still a blast.  It reminds light fares such as WHERE THE BOYS ARE (1960), THREE COINS IN THE FOUNTAIN (1954) or THE PLEASURE SEEKERS (another Ann-Margret vehicle made two years earlier, in 1964).  It may not be as soapy as VALLEY OF THE DOLLS or PEYTON PLACE but the bubbles do pop. As for Jourdan and the rest of the cast, besides being used only to elevate the star’s appeal, they do have a certain je ne sais quoi as they go at it with their eyes shut.  But it hardly matters.  For the importance is not to be overly impressed by riveting performances or intricate plot points but to be tickled by an overdone Hollywood production that should have known better from the start.

Until next post—Martin