I Tried to Watch "The Ladies Man" (1966).

In an effort to step up the inclusion of my own writings on this blog (rather than my beloved nostalgia bullshit), here is a "note" from my phone (just a smidge longer than yer typical note, but you'll manage). The title explains it all. The impetus was a stranger on Facebook, a Jerry Lewis fan, suggesting this movie to me as a superlative example of his films.

I Tried to Watch “The Ladies Man”

(un film par Jerry Lewis)

I doubt the young people of today were thinking of Jerry Lewis when they came up with the adjective “thirsty,” but by god, when I first heard of it, I sure did. Jerry was the King of Thirst. Desperate for approval, but in his case, somehow smug in its flailing idiocy.

Listen, I enjoy a buffoon as much as anyone (a comical one, that is, not one dictating national policy), but his character, Herbert H. Heebert (can you guess what the H. stands for? Herbert! Yoink!) exists in a universe separated utterly from reality. It’s one where everyone and everything is mere foil. Not to Herbert, but rather to Jerry’s junkie-like need for laughs, wringing every last comedy molecule for all it could never be worth.

For instance, Jerry can’t simply be revealed to also be playing his own mother in this one, a sight gag telegraphed (for any modern viewer with a knowledge of Jerry’s critical mass, patient zero Jerryness) by the fact that we only see her from behind for several scenes, wearing a large, conspicuously obscuring hat. As the mother, Lewis is compelled to pull goofy faces while plastered in weird, smeary makeup. He does this for several long seconds, saying nothing really, just vamping while the audience in his head roars.

As with the other Lewis movies I’ve endured, “long seconds” is a good way to describe the duration of most of the gags. (Let’s call them “Lewis-seconds.”) You see the joke coming… and coming… and you think, okay, let’s get this over with already. Then, the delayed, inevitably disappointing payoff is lingered over, as if to let you know you haven’t laughed enough yet.

Conversely, other shtick is like drive-by absurdity, usually leaving me thinking, I don’t know what that was, exactly, but I can tell you absolutely what it wasn’t.

The sets look like sets whether busy or sparse, and all are poorly photographed. If a description of the dull direction required an adverb, “clumsily” will do.

I confess, I turned it off in the fifteenth minute, after the “you gotta have faith” kicker. I'll further admit that I did not see that particular punchline coming, but I knew his reaction even before he reacted. Again, it went on for a very long time, escalating without getting any funnier.

So I can’t do it. I tried, sort of: I told myself five minutes ago—the second or third time I considered bailing—that I could make it through the whole thing... but I was wrong. It’s painful. It can’t possibly get any better. I could maybe watch it as if it’s the first part of a documentary on meta-cringe, but I don’t want to.

If a dimwit comedy of the “Delta Farce” variety is like 88 minutes of someone waving their farts at you and giggling, “The Ladies Man” is like Jerry Lewis waving his farts at himself and exaggeratedly gagging and staggering and crashing about, then somehow getting caught in a ceiling fan for what feels like a hundred rotations, and then thrown from it, landing for some reason in China, where he is greeted by Jerry in coolie yellowface, waving his farts at his other self with an eggroll (comically oversized to the point where you’re not 100% sure what it’s supposed to be) while repeating “OH, SO SOLLY, CHOLLIE!” in a shrill, nasal voice through two-inch buck teeth. No, make that three-inch buck teeth. No, four-inch… No, to the floor! And he trips over them! And then the teeth break through the Great Wall in a really dubious special effect!

For 106 minutes.

(That’s like a thousand in Lewis-minutes.)

[two days later]

Okay, I recovered and watched some more. The dollhouse-like set is impressive. Not remotely funny or relevant to anything, but it looks cool. 

Oh, the pain. I needed to abandon ship and attempt to cleanse my humor palate to determine if it was me, if I had somehow forgotten what comedy looks like. I switched PlutoTV to the live channels, and happened to catch the Mystery Science Theater 3000 channel during a showing of “Parts: The Clonus Horror." I turned it off within a minute, fearing my unsuccessfully stifled laughter would awaken my wife. Nope, not me, funny bone intact.

I went back to my playlist containing “The Ladies Man” and pondered the “resume” button.

I went to sleep.

[the next day]

I was in a mood, just a general pissy mood, and it suddenly occurred to me, hey lady! This might be the ideal time for Jerry, like maybe some what-the-hell, off-the-charts silliness was just the ticket.

Although the multiple Herberts running up the stairs was a neat sight-gag, the dollhouse set novelty is wearing off already, like Jerry at some point became worried it might upstage him. By the time Mrs. Welenmelon (spelling according to the captioning) is telling Herbert that it’s important to eat breakfast--random! Will there be a call-back? I suspect not--I’m back to wondering if this movie could possibly have had a script. Every scene moves like the plot propulsion is dictated solely by how much yo-yo business Jerry can violently cram into it and then pile on top of it. Usually it’s a lot, like pouring a steaming stockpot of chili into a thimble on your lap.

[couple weeks later]

I watched literally two more minutes. It’s so bad. The dollhouse conceit just seems stupid now. Off.

[months later]

I decided I should give it another go, but I can’t find it. It must have been removed from the free streaming service’s library. Upon discovering this, I wondered if the French have a word for being relieved that you don’t have to suffer Jerry Lewis anymore. Whatever it is, I was positively awash in that feeling.

[today]

I have just now discovered it's back. I feel like I'm peering into the shticky abyss. It beckons, like a cross-eyed siren in flood pants and an oversized bow tie.

[to be continued, unless I come to my senses]