The Big Yawn

In Tony Rome, Frank Sinatra appears as a private eye for the first time. That fact may be of some interest to members of his immediate family, and the film may appeal to boosters of Miami Beach, which has seldom sparkled so prettily as it does here in Panavision-DeLuxe. Others are likely to find the movie nothing more than a blatantly inept, uncredited remake of Humphrey Bogart's 1946 The Big Sleep.

That Sinatra is no Bogart is hardly news. What is more to the point is that neither Screen Writer Richard Breen nor Director Gordon Douglas affords him much opportunity to be Sinatra, an attractive enough role under proper auspices. Instead, he sleepwalks through the baroque entanglements of a plot involving a millionaire's daughter in hot water, some jewelry stolen and forged, and a veritable menagerie of dope addicts, lesbian strippers, crooked nightclub owners, exasperated cops and good-hearted lushes.

The film also stops now and then to ogle gratuitous and unfunny sight gags, like Sinatra asleep on his office sofa under a Yiddish newspaper. It remains one of Hollywood's major mysteries why a performer who puts so much style into his records so often sabotages his genuine talents in shoddy and ill-chosen movie vehicles.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.