Tony Curtis plays a man who moves to California to find his life turned upside down. After having his car and all his belongings destroyed in an accident, he joins the firm of a pool salesman (Robert Webber, who apparently didn't get the memo that this was a comedy) and bounces between Claudia Cardinale to the incredibly beautiful Sharon Tate. Nice work if you can get it, and you can get it if you're as pretty and charming as the young Curtis.
Guest stars include Jim Backus (playing himself!) as a pool client and ventriloquist Edgar Bergan, deprived of his dummies, as a fortune teller. Why bother to include an actor with special skills, and beloved for them (like Bergen), and not make use of them? Now, a fortune-teller speaking through a dummy might've proved very funny, indeed. Alas.
The last bit is indicative of why "Don't Make Waves," with all that's going for it, misfires.
Director Alexander MacKendrick helmed one of the best comedies ever made ("The Ladykillers," with Alec Guinness and Peter Sellers) as well as "Man in the White Suit" and the Tony Curtis classic "The Sweet Smell of Success," which had (arguably) Curtis' best dramatic performance.
Curtis was a dab hand at comedy but he made too many of these false starts. Nevertheless, he's the second best thing in the movie. Or is it the third (see below)? The first is the incredibly lovely Sharon Tate. I know, movie stars (male and female) have the best make up and lighting and photography available; but she pops right out of the screen. Had she lived she probably would've aged into cameos on "The Love Boat" and "Murder She Wrote" or been a minor-key Carol Lynley without the hysterics, but at this stage of her career she was a head-turner ripe for brief, meteoric stardom.
As another review pointed out, the 1960s were full of excellent comedic supporting actors (many of whom, no names, wound up on "Hollywood Squares"). The "beach" movies of Frankie and Annette pulled out better comic support than this, which was presumably a beach movie aimed at an older crowd, who had jobs and wives and husbands and perhaps lovers on the side (or wanted them).
Frankly, except for Tate's performance (which is hilarious, in context; though, given the rest of the movie, perhaps it wasn't meant to be . . . But I will say, potato chips will never seem the same), the muscle-building subplot doesn't hold much interest for me. The movie seems to push for a "beach movie" ambience without the overall good vibes Frankie and Annette were able to gin up. Unfortunately, from the cynical Byrds opening song to the contrived climax the only good vibes come from the typically upbeat Vic Mizzy score. If you don't know Mizzy's work, look him up. His delightful background music livened many comedy movies and TV shows of the day and his "sound" is unmistakable.
I'm open-minded when it comes to the art of movies. I keep a suspension of disbelief. It doesn't bother me to see people who are allegedly "too old" for their roles. All I care about are good performances. What else matters? People who cavil about actors being "too old" for their love interests (etc.) remind me of the hypocrites who hate musicals because it's "unnatural" to hear people burst into song but never raise a whimper over manipulative background music that often dictates how we're to feel through a movie because the writers, directors and actors haven't taken us there. How I'd love to have a background score to my life! But that's what's truly "unnatural." Sometimes an actor or actress who is "too old" for a role are capable of bringing a depth of characterization some fresh young punk can't. All I want is a good acting job and if it's there I'm satisfied. I won't complain about the acting here, though depth of characterization is missing, and that's a writers' problem. I sense the actors trying to flesh out their parts (well, Tate does a good job of that!) but they don't have much to grab hold of. And the casting seems wonky in places.
Mainly, it's the spotty writing that makes this movie an overall misfire. The writers (and whoever gets credit, movies usually have plural writers) raise some excellent ideas they never carry through. It's like telling joke without a punch line. It reminds me of the Vaudeville comic on the stage who, when a heckler cries, "Louder!" raises his voice. And when he does, the heckler says, "Louder! And funnier!" The (again, contrived) climax (no spoilers) is well done (for 1967 f/x) and satisfying enough, though I assume they were trying for a big laugh. Again, alas.
As entertainment, "Don't Make Waves" isn't a total waste. Fans of the goofier Tony Curtis won't be disappointed with his performance, which may be a riff on his more serious role for MacKendrick in "The Sweet Smell of Success." But whatever this movie aspires to be, it doesn't quite make it.
Guest stars include Jim Backus (playing himself!) as a pool client and ventriloquist Edgar Bergan, deprived of his dummies, as a fortune teller. Why bother to include an actor with special skills, and beloved for them (like Bergen), and not make use of them? Now, a fortune-teller speaking through a dummy might've proved very funny, indeed. Alas.
The last bit is indicative of why "Don't Make Waves," with all that's going for it, misfires.
Director Alexander MacKendrick helmed one of the best comedies ever made ("The Ladykillers," with Alec Guinness and Peter Sellers) as well as "Man in the White Suit" and the Tony Curtis classic "The Sweet Smell of Success," which had (arguably) Curtis' best dramatic performance.
Curtis was a dab hand at comedy but he made too many of these false starts. Nevertheless, he's the second best thing in the movie. Or is it the third (see below)? The first is the incredibly lovely Sharon Tate. I know, movie stars (male and female) have the best make up and lighting and photography available; but she pops right out of the screen. Had she lived she probably would've aged into cameos on "The Love Boat" and "Murder She Wrote" or been a minor-key Carol Lynley without the hysterics, but at this stage of her career she was a head-turner ripe for brief, meteoric stardom.
As another review pointed out, the 1960s were full of excellent comedic supporting actors (many of whom, no names, wound up on "Hollywood Squares"). The "beach" movies of Frankie and Annette pulled out better comic support than this, which was presumably a beach movie aimed at an older crowd, who had jobs and wives and husbands and perhaps lovers on the side (or wanted them).
Frankly, except for Tate's performance (which is hilarious, in context; though, given the rest of the movie, perhaps it wasn't meant to be . . . But I will say, potato chips will never seem the same), the muscle-building subplot doesn't hold much interest for me. The movie seems to push for a "beach movie" ambience without the overall good vibes Frankie and Annette were able to gin up. Unfortunately, from the cynical Byrds opening song to the contrived climax the only good vibes come from the typically upbeat Vic Mizzy score. If you don't know Mizzy's work, look him up. His delightful background music livened many comedy movies and TV shows of the day and his "sound" is unmistakable.
I'm open-minded when it comes to the art of movies. I keep a suspension of disbelief. It doesn't bother me to see people who are allegedly "too old" for their roles. All I care about are good performances. What else matters? People who cavil about actors being "too old" for their love interests (etc.) remind me of the hypocrites who hate musicals because it's "unnatural" to hear people burst into song but never raise a whimper over manipulative background music that often dictates how we're to feel through a movie because the writers, directors and actors haven't taken us there. How I'd love to have a background score to my life! But that's what's truly "unnatural." Sometimes an actor or actress who is "too old" for a role are capable of bringing a depth of characterization some fresh young punk can't. All I want is a good acting job and if it's there I'm satisfied. I won't complain about the acting here, though depth of characterization is missing, and that's a writers' problem. I sense the actors trying to flesh out their parts (well, Tate does a good job of that!) but they don't have much to grab hold of. And the casting seems wonky in places.
Mainly, it's the spotty writing that makes this movie an overall misfire. The writers (and whoever gets credit, movies usually have plural writers) raise some excellent ideas they never carry through. It's like telling joke without a punch line. It reminds me of the Vaudeville comic on the stage who, when a heckler cries, "Louder!" raises his voice. And when he does, the heckler says, "Louder! And funnier!" The (again, contrived) climax (no spoilers) is well done (for 1967 f/x) and satisfying enough, though I assume they were trying for a big laugh. Again, alas.
As entertainment, "Don't Make Waves" isn't a total waste. Fans of the goofier Tony Curtis won't be disappointed with his performance, which may be a riff on his more serious role for MacKendrick in "The Sweet Smell of Success." But whatever this movie aspires to be, it doesn't quite make it.