I have a real soft spot for a movie in which a drunken Richard Burton makes out with a mannequin while a wind machine blows through his hair but perhaps I’m easy. In any case, the critically maligned Candy fascinates me -- from its never-ending joke that the dirty old man is the establishment (or something), to its groovy soundtrack (Steppenwolf, The Byrds, David Grusin's fan-fucking-tastic "Ascension to Virginity"), to its parade of famous men groping beautiful, wide eyed Ewa Aulin (Burton, Marlon Brando, John Astin in two roles, Walter Matthau, James Coburn, Ringo Starr and John Huston -- not to mention a wickedly hot Anita Pallenberg), to its comic pretensions -- I find value and humor in this, for lack of a better term, chaos-ter-piece.
Written by Terry Southern (adapted from his novel -- Southern was not happy with the movie) and Buck Henry and directed by French swinger Christian Marquand, the psychedelic sex mess is both an intriguing time capsule and a sexy, pervy comment on what the filmmakers really seem to be after -- presenting a "message" while feeling up the girl. You know, having your candy and eating it too.
With that, Happy Birthday Ewa Aulin.