Candy

Candy, based on the naughty, notorious erotic satire by Terry Southern, whose wicked pen contributed to Dr. Strangelove and Easy Rider (among other '60s classics), and adapted for the screen by the sly Buck Henry (The Graduate and Catch 22), is a bizarre second-hand reconfiguration of Candide for the permissive '60s. Swedish teen beauty queen Ewa Aulin is Candy, all breathy, wide-eyed innocence as a curvy blond kewpie doll--think Lolita, Barbarella, and Baby Spice all rolled into one--whose naiveté lands her in the sack with one dirty old man after another on a sexual odyssey. Guest cads include Ringo Starr as an embarrassingly unconvincing Mexican gardener; James Coburn preening as a surgeon who puts the "theater" into his operating theater; Walter Matthau as a snarling, insane general; and French crooner Charles Aznavour as a humpbacked spider man. Richard Burton stands out as a soused, sex-mad poet with an ever-present wind machine dramatically blowing his hair, and Marlon Brando's phony guru with a seductive line of mystic patter is downright hysterical.

Despite luscious cinematography by longtime Fellini collaborator Guiseppe Rotunno and gorgeous opening and closing sequences of space flight by Douglas Trumbull, this clumsy misfire has all the cutting satire of a Monkees episode and only half the style. Director Christian Marquand lets the film ramble interminably while his cast mercilessly mugs their way through ill-conceived roles (except Aulin, who remains a passive, almost alien presence in the center of the chaos). The result is a sloppy all-star sex farce with blunt, misdirected attempts at social topicality buried in teasing peekaboo pinup photography and sexual romps, pleasing enough eye candy but hardly the erotic, satirical, transgressive portrait the picture promises. --Sean Axmaker