One-of-a-kind is the correct description for this musical/autobiography/therapy session/emotional strip-tease. Much has been made of the self-aggrandizement which permeates the picture, but actually, it mainly reveals how much Anthony Newley despised himself anno 1969. It's basically the story of a young man who gets into show business, is seduced by the devil and becomes a narcissistic, substance-abusing sex addict who hurts everyone around him and is incapable of finding lasting happiness.
Much has been said about the film: it looks good (in that typical zany late-sixties way), many performances are atrocious and the jokes are weak, though it's never sexually explicit, it is very perverted (Newley admitting to being what would now be called a pedophile, and capping the movie off with a fairy tale fraught with bestiality). In 1969 the nudity would have been very risqué, now it's fairly run-of-the-mill. The songs aren't Newley's greatest, though the 'Picadilly Lily'-song is repeated in totally different styles as Hieronymus/Newley's career progresses. Including spot-on impressions of Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra (in saloon singer mode).
What really boggles the mind is how Newley admits on-camera to hating women, with every seduction being a kind of symbolic murder. I've never seen a major star bare his soul, warts and all, like this before. It's unsettling and fascinating, and both brave and very foolish. I mean, the plot is basically Newley telling his real kids (and fake mother) that he's been cheating on their real mother (Joan Collins) with an underage strumpet. How he ever thought this was going to have a happy ending for all involved is beyond me. Especially as at the very end, he already shows his marriage imploding, right after he reprises his egocentric anthem 'I'm All I Need'.
And that's really the film in a nutshell. An entertainer who's monstrously self-obsessed realizes that this self-obsession will (and does) cost him everything and everyone he holds dear in life - and yet he's unable to change or overcome his inner demons. Though he does cast them out in a way (the icky Frozen Freddy-segment), and they no longer scare him.
A good film, no, a brave and unique film, yes, and despite the flaws, it remains mesmerizing. And too bad no other celebrity has ever had the guts to be as open as Newley about their inner life. Just imagine Sinatra or Martin indulging in this type of therapeutic exercise!
Much has been said about the film: it looks good (in that typical zany late-sixties way), many performances are atrocious and the jokes are weak, though it's never sexually explicit, it is very perverted (Newley admitting to being what would now be called a pedophile, and capping the movie off with a fairy tale fraught with bestiality). In 1969 the nudity would have been very risqué, now it's fairly run-of-the-mill. The songs aren't Newley's greatest, though the 'Picadilly Lily'-song is repeated in totally different styles as Hieronymus/Newley's career progresses. Including spot-on impressions of Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra (in saloon singer mode).
What really boggles the mind is how Newley admits on-camera to hating women, with every seduction being a kind of symbolic murder. I've never seen a major star bare his soul, warts and all, like this before. It's unsettling and fascinating, and both brave and very foolish. I mean, the plot is basically Newley telling his real kids (and fake mother) that he's been cheating on their real mother (Joan Collins) with an underage strumpet. How he ever thought this was going to have a happy ending for all involved is beyond me. Especially as at the very end, he already shows his marriage imploding, right after he reprises his egocentric anthem 'I'm All I Need'.
And that's really the film in a nutshell. An entertainer who's monstrously self-obsessed realizes that this self-obsession will (and does) cost him everything and everyone he holds dear in life - and yet he's unable to change or overcome his inner demons. Though he does cast them out in a way (the icky Frozen Freddy-segment), and they no longer scare him.
A good film, no, a brave and unique film, yes, and despite the flaws, it remains mesmerizing. And too bad no other celebrity has ever had the guts to be as open as Newley about their inner life. Just imagine Sinatra or Martin indulging in this type of therapeutic exercise!