Monday, 28 November 2011

I'm Not Feeling Myself Tonight


Sometimes a film can be summed up in one word. I’m not going to leave it at that, of course, but, for your reference, when it comes to ‘I’m Not Feeling Myself Tonight’ the word is pathetic.



Barry Andrews gives a subtly nuanced performance.


It's amazing what you used to be able to get on the NHS.

Jon Pigeon (Barry Andrews from ‘Blood On Satan’s Claw’) is a hapless twat who works as a sweeper upper at the Hildebrand Institute of Sexual Research. The Institute is a chaotic place full of ugly old men chasing screaming naked women and people in white coats making notes as couples shag on a trolley in the lecture theatre. It’s all very scientific.



Booth.
 
Boobs.

He feels a left tit.
 The director of this insane fuck factory is Mr. Nutbrown (James Booth from 'Zulu' and 'Twin Peaks' – giving an appalling performance for a professional actor who isn't Terence Stamp) who spends his time shouting, grabbing the girls, aggressively harassing his secretary and generally rubbing up against everybody like a dog in heat. His medical credentials are unclear, but his status as a first class arsehole is beyond doubt (at one point, Pigeon accidentally cups the breast of a naked woman in the gym. Nutbrown says to him ‘keep your hands off the office furniture, I only polished it this morning’ before spraying a can of Mr. Sheen over her nipple.


AGNES goes portable.
 
Debriefing.
 
The Once-Over.
In his spare time, Pigeon is an inventor, and has scavenged enough electronic equipment to make a device he calls the Auto Genetic Notation for Experimentation with Sound (or AGNES for short), an audio transmitter which turns its listeners into lust crazed sex zombies. Pigeon’s main motivation seems to be to get into the pants of Nutbrown’s secretary Cheryl (Sally Faulkner from 'Prey') although, bizarrely, Cheryl likes him already and, with a little attention, would probably sleep with him voluntarily. In keeping with the slightly rape-y theme of the film, however, he’d rather use AGNES to trick her into shagging him and has several creepy attempts at plighting his troth with, as you might imagine, predictably unhilarious results.


Yes, it's little Mary Millington.
 
Ah, the sheer romance of it all.
Ostensibly a farce with a sexual theme, the whole production is so laboured and unfunny that it becomes the cinematic equivalent of a stand up dying on his arse in front of a capacity crowd at Wembley Arena: all that’s missing is a soundtrack of embarrassed coughs and nervous shuffling in seats as yet another shit old joke falls flat and the proverbial tumbleweed rolls across the viewer’s mind. Also, it’s unconscionably sexist, even for a smut film, i.e. the women have absolutely no motivation or desire of their own (not even that old standby nymphomania), they are simply there to be pawed and mauled and hypnotised into fucking everybody: furniture to be polished.

So, in summary, ‘I’m Not Feeling Myself Tonight’: it's pathetic.


3 comments:

  1. "the whole production is so laboured and unfunny that it becomes the cinematic equivalent of a stand up dying on his arse in front of a capacity crowd at Wembley Arena"

    I get the feeling some poor bastard got dragged along to see Peter Kay at some point in the last 7 years.

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  2. I absolutely loved this, although the presence of Sally Faulkner had a lot to do with that.
    Haven't yet seen a 70's British sex comedy that didn't entertain me, and I've scraped the barrel many times..

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  3. I laughed several times....during your review that is! I imagine this would not be the case watching this 'film'

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