I like all kinds of humor, from witty and smart to silly and downright dumb. But not this dumb. This could make an infant throw their Binky at the screen in outrage.
'Dr. Goldfoot and the Bikini Machine' is so ineptly executed from all angles, the mind boggles wondering where to start.
Vincent Price is present, his usual mischievous self. You might have a chance to admire how he professionally slogs through this, if the movie didn't keep assailing your senses with such terribleness.
Frankie Avalon fares not as well. His performance is so infuriatingly bad one would wonder how he ever got into movies. Much on the same wavelength in this titanium turkey is Dwayne Hickman. The two ally themselves against the evil Goldfoot. In one sequence, they get drunk then wake up with hangovers. This is acted and depicted so inanely, I got a headache watching it. Then the duo go on a lengthy search - for a new script or better agents, one hopes.
The glimpses of gorgeous women in bikinis scarcely compensate for the waste-pile of a movie that surrounds them. The bright colors captured by the film stock are the only consistent thing to look forward to. It's enough to give drive-in movies a bad name, or make one grateful for long lines to buy popcorn.
Have I made my opinion clear? If not, let me put it this way: it would have been a vast improvement if all the male leads had been played, in a multi-character performance involving disguises, by Jerry Lewis. I am not kidding.
Playing his usual befuddled guy-character, Fred Clark does generate a couple laughs - bringing the grand total for the entire flick to 2. The theme song is pretty groovelicious - sung by the Supremes, with what sounds like the usual great Motown musicians backing them. Don't listen to it more than twice - it's infectious enough to make you go around singing it. Considering how deservedly forgotten this grade-Z time-waster is, this would only alienate you from your fellow man...
'Dr. Goldfoot and the Bikini Machine' is so ineptly executed from all angles, the mind boggles wondering where to start.
Vincent Price is present, his usual mischievous self. You might have a chance to admire how he professionally slogs through this, if the movie didn't keep assailing your senses with such terribleness.
Frankie Avalon fares not as well. His performance is so infuriatingly bad one would wonder how he ever got into movies. Much on the same wavelength in this titanium turkey is Dwayne Hickman. The two ally themselves against the evil Goldfoot. In one sequence, they get drunk then wake up with hangovers. This is acted and depicted so inanely, I got a headache watching it. Then the duo go on a lengthy search - for a new script or better agents, one hopes.
The glimpses of gorgeous women in bikinis scarcely compensate for the waste-pile of a movie that surrounds them. The bright colors captured by the film stock are the only consistent thing to look forward to. It's enough to give drive-in movies a bad name, or make one grateful for long lines to buy popcorn.
Have I made my opinion clear? If not, let me put it this way: it would have been a vast improvement if all the male leads had been played, in a multi-character performance involving disguises, by Jerry Lewis. I am not kidding.
Playing his usual befuddled guy-character, Fred Clark does generate a couple laughs - bringing the grand total for the entire flick to 2. The theme song is pretty groovelicious - sung by the Supremes, with what sounds like the usual great Motown musicians backing them. Don't listen to it more than twice - it's infectious enough to make you go around singing it. Considering how deservedly forgotten this grade-Z time-waster is, this would only alienate you from your fellow man...