Marty Feldman, making his directorial debut, borrows heavily from others (especially from Mel Brooks, whose fervent love of old movies drives him to rape and pillage them), and he borrows from himself as well (once he uses a joke, he is more than likely to use it again). If he didn't feel obligated to squeeze a laugh out of the audience every ten seconds, he probably wouldn't have forced himself into such thievery, such redundancy. He does get some good service out of some of his players: Michael York is light-handed and understated as the faultless gentleman hero; James Earl Jones is perfectly ridiculous as a chic sheik with shoe polish on his hair, a smart mustache, a cultivated British accent, and late-Victorian gentleman's-club manners; and Ann-Margret, usually a bit broad, executes one elegant slow-take to an indecent suggestion from the piggy Roy Kinnear. (1977) — Duncan Shepherd
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