Sextette is a cruel, unnecessary and mostly unfunny musical comedy. Mae West made the mistake in 1970 of returning to the screen after a 26-year absence in Myra Breckenridge, and she’s blundered again.
The screenplay, based on a play by West, concerns a sexy Hollywood movie star who has married a young British nobleman. It’s her sixth marriage and in the course of attempting to consummate the liaison she’s interrupted by numbers four and five, fans, newspapermen, Rona Barrett, an American gymnastic team and a group of international diplomats meeting at her London hotel.
She’s also in the middle of dictating her memoirs when the tape of her recorded autobiography gets out of her hands, a fate which could shorten her latest marriage.
West is on screen for most of the film, mostly attempting Mae West imitations and lip-syncing a series of undistinguished musical numbers. It’s an embarrassing attempt at camp from the lady who helped invent the word.
Only Dom DeLuise is occasionally amusing as West’s agent. The remainder of the cast – Tony Curtis as a Soviet delegate to the peace conference, Timothy Dalton as West’s new husband, Ringo Starr and George Hamilton as former husbands, among others – hardly enhance their reputations.