Notice that the film has no screenwriting credit. That's because there was apparently no script. There were, however, about an hour and a half's worth of terrorists-making- sure-they're-not-followed scenes, which were suicidally tedious but in a way were a soothing respite from unbearable, aimless dialogue delivered by wooden actors who seemed as confused as the audience. Peter O'Toole of course is not wooden, but he does look severely ill--perhaps as a result of the gastric troubles that nearly killed him in the mid-seventies, or perhaps because there's not enough liquor in the world to douse the humiliating awareness that Man Friday will not be your worst film this year.
Put it this way: this excruciating, jaw-droppingly awful film makes Murphy's War look like Citizen Kane. How I'm just grateful, though amazed, that Mystery Science Theater never got hold of it. Did they?
Let us draw a discreet veil over this abortion of a film and never speak of it again. In fact, let's ignore everything between The Ruling Class and Stunt Man.
Put it this way: this excruciating, jaw-droppingly awful film makes Murphy's War look like Citizen Kane. How I'm just grateful, though amazed, that Mystery Science Theater never got hold of it. Did they?
Let us draw a discreet veil over this abortion of a film and never speak of it again. In fact, let's ignore everything between The Ruling Class and Stunt Man.