Poussez pas grand-père dans les cactus (1969) - film review

Tired of his wife’s incessant tyranny, Alphonse packs his bags, empties his bank account, and heads for the heart of Paris.  At a Pigalle nightclub, he is mistaken for the ruthless gangster Al Gregor and instantly gets a taste of the high life of which he has so far been cruelly deprived.   Aware of Al Gregor’s reputation, the owner of the nightclub quickly gets onto a local hit-man.  But as soon as Alphonse goes on his way, trailed by his would-be killer, who should appear but the real Al Gregor...

Here is one of those wacky, nonsensical film comedies made in the 1960s, probably under the influence of mind-altering drugs, which now appear so ludicrously off-the-wall that you’d swear they were the product of an alien civilisation, one with the oddest sense of humour.  It doesn’t help that there is virtually no dialogue to help with the exposition of this film’s unfathomable plot, and the repetitive comic book run-around involving the most ludicrous characters soon becomes tedious to the point of torture.   It says something that even with such great comic performers as Francis Blanche and Michel Galabru the film fails to deliver a single decent laugh, or any laugh of any calibre for that matter.  Imagine one of those silly Benny Hill silent sketches (the ones that invariably end with a senseless comedy chase) dragged out to a full mind-numbing ninety minutes and you’ll have some idea of the gruesome ordeal this film presents to an unsuspecting audience.  If ever you find yourself locked in an empty cinema theatre with only this film to keep you company, just make sure you take a loaded gun with you.  You may need it.

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