This dreadful sequel to the drecky 1965 hit What's New, Pussycat? is even more formless than the original film and is missing Tom Jones rendition of the title tune, making it unbearably hard going. Ian McShane is miscast miserably in a comic role and even reliable Severn Darden fails to elevate the substandard and plotless material, which revolves around his hair piece, a talking gorilla that loves McShane, and a wild assortment of fab late '60s fashions on the female cast members. This is one of those 'hip' period comedies that think linear narrative is unnecessary when you have a series of hilarious unrelated scenes patched together. Sadly, the only scenes here that remotely approach amusing are the ones of McShane getting mixed up in the shooting of a spaghetti western, a mere tenth of Pussycat Pussycat's interminable 100 minutes. Lalo Schifrin's intrusive score is one of his worst efforts. This is a film that deserves its obscurity.

I sat there with my jaw practically hanging open as I watched this awful movie. I am one of the few people who really appreciated the 1965 mod goof-fest "What's New Pussycat?" As dumb as that film is, it has a stellar cast of comic actors, including the divine Peter O'Toole, the wacko Paula Pretiss, freak genius Peter Sellers, and the lovely Romy Schneider and other-worldly-gorgeous Ursula Andress; they do a great job with the silly, campy script. But what that movie (of five full years earlier) didn't call for is a sequel (or whatever this junky thing is). It is sleazy, creepy and pointless. Worst of all, just not funny. A true ripoff. For a much better movie with Ian McShane as a hairy-chested Lothario, see "If It's Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium". It's also very silly and sexist and dated, but at least you won't feel like you have to take a shower after you see it.

The first time I remember seeing the name "Rod Amateau" was in the credits of "The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis." I lived in Beverly Hills for a few years and Amateau was a family friend of one of my classmates at Beverly Hills High. My friend told me that Amateau was one of the funniest men his family ever knew. No sooner would he come through the door than he would start making people laugh. I believed him as I was young and utterly lacking in judgment or taste in film or television entertainment. And so, judging by his oeuvre, was Rod Amateau.

I saw "Pussycat, Pussycat, I Love You" at a drive-in movie theater, long since defunct, that was located on Third Street a little bit east of the Farmers' Market. What can one say about this you-should-excuse-the-expression film except that near the end, the main character says, "This is a nightmare. I'll wake up and it'll have all been a dream." That line applies to this film in general.