Candy was like the North of its day. It’s a bloated, boring, big budget, all-star, box office dud. It’s a comedy with zero laughs. It’s one of those movies where it’s amazing that they were able to get so many talented people involved and STILL managed to make it dreadfully unfunny.
Candy (Ewa Aulin) is a schoolgirl who gets into various sexual misadventures. Her list of lovers includes a poet (Richard Burton), a gardener (Ringo Starr), a general (Walter Matthau), a surgeon (James Coburn), and an Indian guru (Marlon Brando). Throughout all of this, Candy goes from compromising situation to compromising situation with the same blank expression on her face… much like the audience.
This movie has aged like milk in just about every way. It was bad at the time of release, I’m sure, but it’s gotten much worse since then. It’s horribly dated, and I’m not just talking about the ‘60s fashions, hairstyles, and music. Not only does the whole plot revolve around a bunch of creepy dudes trying to perv on an underage girl, but you also have Ringo and Brando embarrassing themselves in brownface. Everyone, including co-writers Terry Southern and Buck Henry (who cameos as a mental patient) seem to be working under the assumption that the louder the actors are and the more chaotic the scene is, the funnier it will be. The only one who comes close to getting a laugh is Burton, but that’s only because wherever he goes, his ascot keeps blowing in the breeze.
What’s the point of all this, you ask? Maybe that we put too much trust in our artists, military, doctors, and religious figures. That when you come right down to it, all of them will jump at the opportunity to get into a young girl’s pants. I guess that’s the one thing that hasn’t changed in the fifty-five years that this was made. That doesn’t necessarily make it funny or entertaining though.
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