Can Hieronymus Merkin Ever Forget Mercy Humppe and Find True Happiness? (1969)
Even weirder and more laborious than that title would suggest, this is the notorious vanity project that snuffed Anthony Newley's career quicker than you can say Trampolena Whambang. It's mostly an overstuffed, underthought disaster that muddles along like a bizarro-world Fellini, filled with indifferent acting and juvenile writing and way, way too much George Jessel (five seconds would be too much, honestly) and more pretension and navel-gazing than you could shake a dick at. And yet, I find something curiously irresistible about it. I was a lot of things during this movie. I was confused, stunned, put off, irritated, resigned, quizzical. But I was never bored. And aside from the insufferable Jessel segments, I was never openly hostile. There's just something undefineable about this film, the same sort of thing that makes you wanna hug a mangy dog or take home a beat-up raggedy old stuffed toy. Maybe it's the sheer balls of brass Newley shows in making what is quite obviously going to be his undoing. Maybe it's the cheerful, incongruous musical numbers. Maybe it's the occasional filmic signal from Newley that screams, "I know this film will slaughter my career, but dammit I had to make it but geez, all the same I'll never work in this town again." Maybe it's just the film's loopy, go-for-broke spirit. Maybe this film tickled the same nerve that Freddy Got Fingered hit upon. Except that, for all its disgusting humor and childish mindset, Freddy might also be balls-out brilliant. I can't cut this film the same slack, simply because it's more introspective and less entertaining. Ultimately, it's a occasionally interesting curiosity. But I can't say I'd change the channel if I happened to stumble across it on cable. And the score really is quite catchy. (Although having Joan Collins try and sing was a bad idea.)
Grade: C+
Even weirder and more laborious than that title would suggest, this is the notorious vanity project that snuffed Anthony Newley's career quicker than you can say Trampolena Whambang. It's mostly an overstuffed, underthought disaster that muddles along like a bizarro-world Fellini, filled with indifferent acting and juvenile writing and way, way too much George Jessel (five seconds would be too much, honestly) and more pretension and navel-gazing than you could shake a dick at. And yet, I find something curiously irresistible about it. I was a lot of things during this movie. I was confused, stunned, put off, irritated, resigned, quizzical. But I was never bored. And aside from the insufferable Jessel segments, I was never openly hostile. There's just something undefineable about this film, the same sort of thing that makes you wanna hug a mangy dog or take home a beat-up raggedy old stuffed toy. Maybe it's the sheer balls of brass Newley shows in making what is quite obviously going to be his undoing. Maybe it's the cheerful, incongruous musical numbers. Maybe it's the occasional filmic signal from Newley that screams, "I know this film will slaughter my career, but dammit I had to make it but geez, all the same I'll never work in this town again." Maybe it's just the film's loopy, go-for-broke spirit. Maybe this film tickled the same nerve that Freddy Got Fingered hit upon. Except that, for all its disgusting humor and childish mindset, Freddy might also be balls-out brilliant. I can't cut this film the same slack, simply because it's more introspective and less entertaining. Ultimately, it's a occasionally interesting curiosity. But I can't say I'd change the channel if I happened to stumble across it on cable. And the score really is quite catchy. (Although having Joan Collins try and sing was a bad idea.)
Grade: C+
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