Woody Allen Year: Pussycat, Pussycat, I Love You (1970)

by Jaime Grijalba.

Out of all the possible films that could be tackled in a series of writings about a director, maybe a movie like this wouldn’t be the first one you think of. After all, this series is called ‘Woody Allen Year’ (heh, yeah), and the mentioned filmmaker is nowhere to be seen in the movie doing an actual work… but, he is credited, he appears in the opening credits, as the original writer of the film ‘What’s New Pussycat’ (1965), previously reviewed in this site, and that’s because this is some sort of sequel that appeared for some reason. Where does this movie come from? I don’t know. How did it manage to be made? I have no idea. It’s even hard to watch these days, as it’s hard to get any kind of copy of this particular cinematic endeavor, but I was lucky (oh, so, so lucky) to find a copy laying around on the internet and I had the absolute pleasure of watching it about a year and a half ago. Now, you don’t guess that I’ll watch this movie again for the review, right? Because if you think I’ll do that, well, you’re better on your way to the next blog my friend, because, ooh boy, I’m not doing that again ever in my entire life.

So, yes, this movie is a sequel to a movie Woody Allen wrote in 1965, and he had absolutely nothing to do with it, as the movie has absolutely nothing to do with the original film either, except sharing some words of the title and some characteristics of the main hero, who is a womanizer torn between a lot of women and a sex-crazed gorilla that says ‘I love you’ in such a creepy and human-like way that I can’t help but feel crept out and have that sound play in my mind whenever I want a good scare, or something like that. The film tries to have some kind of plot, as to how the hero tries to live with all these romances at the same time (there’s more than five beautiful women in his life during this movie, without the gorilla that is), but it fails incredibly as it just wants to show the most amount of boobies and bottoms that it can possibly show (dressed thinly, no nudity to speak of as of now) to entice the viewers, only to be completely forgotten the second that the showing ended. There’s absolutely no regard whatsoever to formal or any kind of sense in the way that the characters are put together, it’s a riot, it’s like the malformed children of ‘What’s New Pussycat’ (1965) and ‘Casino Royale’ (1967) only worst than any of the worst parts of those two films (that have their share of flaws).

If there is one movie where I could find myself actually disgusted by the attitudes towards women that a character has, it has to be this movie, I mean, I’ve heard of objectification of the female body before, but here they’re practically vessels for the movie, eye candy, there’s no worth or value in anything that the women are, say or do; they’re just filler, they are many because if it were one, the horny teenager watching would get bored, as he likes variety when he’s jerking off to the clothed side-boob that the camera managed to get a glimpse of in one of the scenes. This movie is absolutely worthless besides the Burt Bacharach soundtrack, that would yell classic to some nostalgic folk out there, that while not being my style of music, it’s better pop than what we are getting nowadays. There’s nothing to see. I hate being a completionist because of movies like these, and I hate myself for being able to come up with more than 500 words about this piece of dreck of a film that I had the awful chance to watch.



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