StrictlyConfidential When it comes to this 1965 film's title - "Kiss Me, Stupid" - I really don't get the "Kiss Me" part of it - But - The "Stupid" part of it pretty much says everything that needs to be said (in a nutshell) about this ridiculously contrived rubbish.And, speaking about this film's 3 principal actors - Dean Martin, Kim Novak, and Ray Walston - I really can't decide which one of this terrible trio put in the most cringe-worthy performance of all.Was it Dean? - Who was basically just playing himself - (But he just couldn't do it convincingly)Was it Kim? - Who (once again) was playing a cheap, white-trash tart. (Yawn!)Was it Ray? - Who (as the annoyingly eccentric Orville Spooner character) was chewing up the scenery, left, right, and centre.Anyway - It really doesn't matter much who was the worst - 'Cause, unfortunately, as a combined trio they, literally, tore this film's unfunny story right up into absolute shreds.

Alanjackd I can well imagine in its day this was regarded as risqué or even vulgar but looking now as i've just rediscovered Billy Wilder it stands the test of time and is probably in the Billy W top 3. Dean Martin sends himself up something stupid...Baby...and Kim Novak is such a good actress I can't imagine anybody else being good enough or brave enough to pull it off. Crammed full of innuendo and beautifully filmed in b&w where colour was available is a stroke of genius as it takes away the rear scenery and makes the characters stand out. The guy who plays the Petrol attendant steals every scene he is in and the whole cast seem to have so much fun. This movie is a dream from credit to credit.All the way through the movie I sensed a backdrop of small town madness and the score is haunting at times. This could have been a Hitchcock comedy. Best line for me.."If you want action Buddy,go to the Bellybutton" cracks me up every time.In fact I'm gonna watch it again.

winner55 I am an admirer of many of Billy Wilder's movies - Stalag 17, Days of Wine and Roses, Some Like it Hot - and other wonderful, trend-setting, sophisticated, stylish films. But this film just SUCKS!It opens well; the title sequence is basically a snapshot of Dean Martin's Las Vegas act of the time, and his twisted turn playing someone who might be himself has an undeniable fascination.Unfortunately, he is not the male lead of this film - RAY WALSTON is! Walston?! Really?! An able but second string character actor? The supporting player is the leading man? That could be interesting if Walston had been directed against type - but he isn't - he is directed to be a character actor - in a leading role? Really?! Once Walston appears on screen, the film goes straight to hell. In fact it is hell, a weird kind of wigged-out Nevada version of Andy Griffith's Mayberry - why? To provide a small enough stage to make small characters look large, I guess; doesn't work. These characters are all profoundly unpleasant and two-dimensional; except for Martin, who's rarely on screen.The film is apparently a remake of an Italian sex-farce, Wife for a Night; that in itself tells me that the whole project started off badly. (And continued - the Walston part was intended for Peter Sellers, who Wilder couldn't deal with, and Wilder himself suffered heart problems.) But the main problem is that Italian comedy is coming from a very different tradition than Wilder's (so clearly related to Lubitsch), so it's really impossible to guess why he tried what he was clearly unsuited for.Not much to add except the cinematography is good, and the music sucks. (Apparently based on material the Gershwin brothers decided needed reworking... maybe they were right?).Caused a minor scandal in its day - but it was easy to cause scandals back then. That alone is simply not enough to recommend it.

Robert J. Maxwell When this was released in 1964 it received a loud and hearty round of indifference from the critics. I don't know why. It's hard boiled, amusing, romantic, and ironic. It's not Wilder and Diamond's best work but it's a satisfying blend of funny incidents, single entendres, and moments that almost approach drama.I'd guess there are at least two important reasons for the general lack of enthusiasm. One is that maybe Billy Wilder should never have directed such successful works as "Some Like It Hot" and "The Apartment" in the previous few years. He got too many awards. The bar was lifted. After his great successes, everything had to be a masterpiece. His critical S&P rating underwent what's called a "correction." Another reason is that this is, after all, a movie in the classical style appearing in 1964. That's the year of the Beatles and Richard Lester and "A Hard Day's Night" and Carnaby Street and LSD and Timothy Leary. (Kids, you'll have to Google all that.) Wilder always had his actors stick to the script. (He wrote it.) And the camera wasn't carried by some guy on roller skates. Wilder's comedy, while always a little vulgar and often biting, demanded the viewer's attention. It was grounded, while much of pop culture was becoming absurd. I mean, here is Wilder, grinding out a more ribald version of the delicate Ernst Lubitsch type while critics are gobbling up Andy Warhol's "Sleep", an hour-long movie of John Giorno sleeping for five hours.The story itself, though derived from an Italian play, is the kind that would interest Wilder. An ambitious, small-town song writer (Walston, my co-star in the excellent and under-appreciated "From the Hip") manages to trap pop singer Dean Martin in his house overnight. Walston tries to palm off a cheap local whore (Novak) as his wife (Farr), so that Martin doesn't wake up with a headache from lackanookie. Instead, Walston winds up spending the night with Novak and Farr spends the night with Dino. It all ends happily.True, it's not that well written. Walston is overwrought. He's jealous of his wife, okay, but in fact he's unbelievably jealous and it's not particularly amusing when he tears the shirt off a fourteen-year-old piano student and throws him out of the house -- just for LOOKING at Farr. And the rest of the plot does have its longueurs. But none of these flaws torpedo what is basically a mildly diverting piece of entertainment. Dean Martin is especially enjoyable as his narcissistic self. Novak's coarse accent sounds more like Chicago than Jersey City. And Cliff Osmond, as a co-conspirator, isn't funny just because he's tall and fat and has a flat facial plane. So what? Even the silly songs (from an early Gershwin flop) are enjoyable, although they are no good. I'm qualified to make that judgment since I'm an expert musician, once having played the hydrocrystalophone in the Short Hills, New Jersey, Marching Band and Perloo Society.You know, it's really a sin to expect too much of a movie or anything else.