Come Blow Your Horn

 I'm so used to Googling something and finding a million results to sort through that I am shocked when I don't find what I'm looking for. I keep running into this when I want to show you guys screenshots from movies I'm watching while I craft. How are there no pics on the whole darn Internet of Frank Sinatra's sweet bachelor pad or Jill St. John's crazy Edith Head costumes from 1963's Come Blow Your Horn? I ask you. The movie: not so hot, but my god, the apartment! The clothes!

Frank in an orange hoodie. WHAT!
My IT guy is going to help me with this screenshot situation, because I'm really enjoying the glorious interiors of mediocre movies and want to share the magic without forcing you to watch the whole darn thing. Because that's what you deserve.

Not a feminist classic.
Even though I don't have any good pictures, I'll give you the rundown. This was Neil Simon's first play and it's a perennial community theater standby. Hijinx! Jewish mothers! Dumb blondes! The movie version is fine. Sinatra looks puffy and exhausted, but goes through the motions with just enough energy to make it worthwhile. Hey, the Chairman of the Board can phone it in whenever he wants. He can also randomly sing a song, just one song, in the middle of a non-musical, as if it were a musical. Frankie, baby!

Verdict: This movie should be fun but it just kind of isn't. Watch only for the furniture and Sinatra's excellent split level.

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