Hyperobjectifijaculation

Hyperobjectifijaculation The Silencers (1966), Directed by Phil Karlson By Fearless Young Orphan Last time we discussed the ultimate cold war spy film, The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, typically listed among the greatest spy films made to date. Let’s not let quality go to our heads. This time around, we’re going to dive headfirst into the polar opposite, which is such an overbearing farce that I’m not sure it should be mentioned by title in the same paragraph, for fear of offending the movie gods. Matt Helm is actually the secret agent from a series of espionage novels by Donald Hamilton. Mr. Hamilton’s books were of a serious nature, so who knows what he thought when the rights were purchased and the franchise turned into a sleazy sex-romp. I hope he was just pleased with the money; he did, after all, go on to write a couple dozen more books in the series. Released almost simultaneously with Our Man Flint in 1966, The Silencers represents the ugly extreme of James Bond spoofing. Three more films follow in the series: Murderer’s Row, The Ambushers, and The Wrecking Crew. I understand that this is the “best” of the four, but that’s sort of like saying “That was the best case of stomach flu I’ve ever suffered.” The Silencers is not clever enough to even be called a spoof in my opinion; I’d consider it closer to being a spy nerd’s dirty dream. Basically it takes any concept of actual secret agents and skips it for the sake of showing as many gorgeous women as it possibly can, in various states of undress. “Well,” you may say, “That sounds like a helluva good movie.” Okay, I’ll give you that. If you’re not looking for anything more than lots of women – their beauty of the 1960s variety so the hair is big and the bodies are wiggly and voluptuous – then The Silencers is just fine. It is pointless, and rather stupid, for me to get huffy about women being “objectified” like this because it’s just so far beyond objectification that it defies insult. There needs to be a different word for this level of sexism, like “hyperobjectifijaculation.” That word is MINE, and if people start using it now, just remember you saw it here first! It means, “A state in which a woman is so completely objectified that it moves beyond offensiveness, then beyond satire, into a bizarre sensation of being, simultaneously, turned on and worried about one’s soul.” The worst victim of hyperobjectifijaculation in this film is Lovey Kravesit, who has a name that would make even the James Bond people blush with shame. She is Matt Helm’s naked secretary who waits for him in a bathtub every morning. He can’t be bothered to remember her name, though the fact that he cannot remember a name like Lovey Kravesit makes me suppose he’s suffering from Ukrainian Alcohol Syndrome. Matt Helm is of course played by the oily Dean Martin. Have you ever seen an oilier man in your life? Does he not look simply coated with something? He’s always shiny, like a baked ham. I don’t like Dean Martin. Don’t like his singing, don’t like his acting, don’t like his smarmy face. It is incomprehensible to me that this many wiggly voluptuous women would throw themselves into his arms. Imagine how much showering you’d have to do afterwards . ew, it gives me the willies. This whole movie is like a love letter that Dean Martin sent to himself, because it is almost nothing but him molesting beautiful women, drinking, and listening with adoration to snippets of his own voice soundtrack. Our hero. Hmm. He even looks shiny in Matt Helm is a semi-retired “secret agent” black and white. who worked for ICE, just another acronym that means something stupid, but they’re the good guys. He prefers working as a fashion photographer. Apparently the character of Austen Powers was heavily modeled after this guy, but Austen Powers was far more sexually attractive. Matt Helm is called back into service with ICE because there is some nuclear threat somewhere, Mexico I think, that no one can stop but him. Or anyone else who has a driver’s license. Matt Helm doesn’t actually do anything, you know. He’s fed all his information by other agents and he just drives a car, argues with women (in the car, usually), has sex (in the car, sometimes), and drinks a lot (in the car, frequently), and somehow stumbles into a final confrontation that allows him further opportunities for sex and drinking, but no longer in the car. He saves the day, I guess, because he lives to work in three sequels. So Matt’s job is not precisely to be a “secret agent” as to be “some lucky bastard whose shoes (the viewer’s name) could easily fill.” He just oozes around the screen letting the women and the booze come at him, and somehow by dumb luck manages to avert a nuclear disaster. Exactly how much training does this job require? When this man gets into a fistfight, his opponent’s actually pose for him and wait to be punched. In the role of main “slaygirl” is Stella Stevens, playing Gail Hendricks, a ditzy redhead who is accident-prone. I think she should get some acknowledgment in The Hall of Fame for Irritating Movie Characters, where she can be remembered among the likes of the Oompa Loompas, and Veronica Cartwright in The Birds. She is pulled into Matt Helm’s investigation, a term I use with a sarcastic smile, and then spends the remainder of the film bickering with him and flashing her cleavage around. They must work together to infiltrate Big O, the crime syndicate that wants to start World War III. Yes, “Big O” is most likely a euphemism. And when I say that Gail and Matt “infiltrate,” Big O, what I actually mean is they drink, bicker, argue and drink until Big O captures them and then takes them to the underground bunker that is, naturally, decked out with several swinging love-dens. Now if you’ve been with me through this spy project, you may recall that I said very similar things about Our Man Flint, but my opinion of that movie was far more favorable. In fact, I thought that was a These women will probably form a support group when highly enjoyable parody. this is over. So what’s the difference, why am I going all bitchy on Matt Helm? Because Our Man Flint was actually funny. The Silencers is not, and there is no laughing unless you’re laughing from embarrassment. Let me give you an example. A woman with a gun stored in her bra is called “booby-trapped.” That joke is used twice, and not facetiously. Our Man Flint actually has a plot going on, rather than one excuse after another to let Dean Martin have another drink and cop another feel. And Jason Coburn is a thoroughly appealing star in the role, whereas Dean Martin is Dean Martin, and needs to get his ass back to the lounge. So Deano had fans back then? Probably still does. Far be it from me to knock anybody’s fandom of anything. I understand it, but we’re going to have to agree to disagree. My feeling is that this man is nasty and he has the opposite of screen appeal. That would be screenerepulmigurgitation, which is another word I just made up on the spot! Right. So there is no actual plot, and no actual suspense, and no real humor. There are only two reasons to watch it: 1. The women. Like to look at women getting undressed? Then here ya go. They did manage to get some really beautiful girls, including bouncy Stella Stevens, sultry Cyd Charisse and the stunning Daliah Lavi. Hell, in the opening credits alone you get to watch three stripteases. Now guys, I have to warn you, this film is no stag-party movie, so you’re not going to get anything except the teasing. But for all that, I’d say it was easy on the eyes, and I understand why the film enjoyed box office success. 2. The kitsch. Unintentionally, the movie does have a few funny moments that involve things outlandish or outdated. For example, Matt Helm’s spy car and “sex wagon” (as Stella Stevens calls it) is a 1965 Station Wagon, white with wood paneling. It is about as sexy as the family truckster from National Lampoon’s Vacation. I will admit that this was possibly a purposeful joke, but I really doubt it. Another example: driving said station wagon across the desert in an interminably dull scene of, ahem, “seduction,” Matt The Danish poster for “The Silencers”: More entertaining than the actual film. Helm and Gail Hendricks drink half a bottle of whiskey. There’s a bar in the back seat, after all. Like belting back straight whiskey on the highway is always such a great idea. The clothes and the décor are also a hoot; if you like to look at retro fashions, you’ll find a lot of it here. So, watch it? Don’t watch it? Actually I think it merits a look, if one is truly interested in the evolution of the spy picture. You gotta take the bad along with the good if you want to understand a genre.

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