An attractive, buxom blonde having to search high-and-low for a suitor willing to take her virginity? Riiiight. Bo Derek, Andrea Occhipinti, Olivia d’Abo and Academy Award winner George Kennedy star in Bolero.
Director – John Derek
Screenplay – John Derek
Producer – Bo Derek
Ayre “Mac” McGillvary (Bo Derek) is a sweet, young virgin – Ahem! Bull shit! – gal who just graduated from her British boarding school. Now the next step in her life awaits her. College? Hell, no. Nope, she’s determined to find a man that will give her the sexual pounding she’s been dying to receive ever since she first realized that little hoohaa of hers down below is for more than just going tinkle.
She’ll obviously have to travel to the farthest ends of the Earth to find such a man willing to waste his time on this girl. After all, it is Bo Derek in the prime of her hotness. But this oh-so precious little whore will be damned if she lets an opportunity like finding the right random man who’ll give her tuna taco the euphoric awakening it craves slip by.
Once upon a time, there was a girl named Mary Cathleen Collins who became romantically involved with actor turned aspiring filmmaker John Derek. She was 16, he was 46; sweet Mary, mother of God, it was love at first sight. The passion between them was unbridled, their souls united as one with a commitment between the two that was forever unwavering. For John’s sake, it had to have been when you consider that he was beginning a relationship that at least for the next few years could doom him to 10-15 in prison.
Derek left his wife, Linda Evans, so he could start boning that ripe 16 year old peach. Of course, thanks to us dumb American’s and our intolerant and primitive views on statutory rape, both he and Miss Collins fled the country and moved to Germany, serving as an inspiration for fellow rapists like Roman Polanski. There, in 1973, the two started their unholy film career together. Their first film would be titled Fantasies. Since Collins couldn’t act to save her life and Derek’s skills as a filmmaker were just as bad, Derek took the smart route: Shoot as many risque nude scenes of his buxom gal to make up for the shitty everything else.
Over the next few years, Miss Collins would adopt the name Bo Derek, and in 1979, she was given a role opposite Dudley Moore in legendary filmmaker Blake Edwards’s 10. The film was a critical and financial success, and launched Derek’s status as a sex symbol. Unfortunately for the rest of us, Derek and her husband saw 10’s success as an opportunity to subject us to their shitty collaborations.
Which brings us to Bolero.
Just think, it all began with a little rape. Let that be a lesson to all you sexual deviants. Your dirty deeds can blossom into film careers. You may be a predator in the eyes of public opinion and, more importantly, the U.S. justice system, and you may have destroyed a woman’s dignity, but how often do you get a chance to win a Best Director Oscar?
Just ask Polanski.
What is painfully and hilariously clear about Bolero, in every unintentional way imaginable, is that John cannot tell a story to save his life, and his wife Bo can’t act her way out of a paper bag. It’s also painfully and hilariously clear that even John knows damn well he cannot tell a story to save his life, and his wife Bo can’t act her way out of a paper bag, which is why he shoves in as many fully nude scenes of his beloved wife that he can. That skeevy son of a bitch is hoping a naked Bo distracts us from the fact that Bolero is all-around horse shit. And I’ll admit, I bit the bait at first. “Good Lord, this movie is absolutely horrib – oh, wow, Bo’s naked.”, I thought. But then by the fourth nude scene, even the most jerk happy teen riding the emotional hurricane that is puberty’s gonna be worn out and exhausted from full-frontal fatigue (commonly known in medical circles as FFF) and will give up and admit that maybe the film could benefit from some competent acting, halfway decent chemistry between the two romantic leads and a love story that is at least borderline acceptable.
What’s the story? Mac needs someone to fuck her, and she’s gonna travel all around the world to find Mr. Right. And after a couple of poor prospects, she finally finds that lucky guy, a bullfighter named Angel (you know, just in case you were wondering how the title had any connection to such a ludicrous story), and he grants Mac her wish by deflowering her in one of the most hilariously awful sex scenes that you’ll ever see, one that could easily rival Jessie Spano’s seizure fit fucking in the pool in Showgirls.
And then it’s over. Oh, wait. No, it’s not, ’cause then she decides to start a relationship with her fuck buddy. Yeah, this film actually has the balls to try and position itself as a serious romance film. And speaking of balls, Angel then gets gored in the nuts by a bull, and his libido drops lower than this film’s Rotten Tomatoes score, which presents Mac with her newest conflict: Fix her boy toy’s erectile dysfunction, so they can get back to torturing us with their inability to pull off a believable love-making scene.
How the fuck did this film get any funding?
Excuse me, while we take a break to watch Mac’s friend Catalina fuck some random guy for what feels like a very long time.
Yes, that occurs in the movie, and its place in the story comes off just as awkward as its random mention in this review.
Maybe not as awkward as a 48-year-old John Derek filming a fully nude 15-year-old Olivia d’Abo, but still awkward enough.
Seriously, my mind cannot grasp just how bad this film is! The romance is laughable, any emotional connection between the characters is non-existent, and for God’s sake, forget the movie; this film’s lack of credibility begins at the premise. I call bull shit on anyone that thinks they can get me to believe Bo Derek would have trouble finding a guy that wants to fuck her.
You know what would’ve made a better film? A biopic of what the hell happened to Oscar winner George Kennedy’s career. He went from winning an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor in Cool Hand Luke and enjoying success in the ’70s as a star in the Irwin Allen-esque disaster films (Earthquake, Airport) and Clint Eastwood’s Thunderbolt and Lightfoot to wondering how his career could’ve sunk so low. Just look at his face throughout this film. He’s as absolutely flabbergasted as we all are. Thankfully, his career managed to rebound in the Naked Gun trilogy.
Meanwhile, Bo Derek’s greatest achievement post-10 would be receiving the least amount of lines in Tommy Boy.
Her performance here is all the evidence you need as to why that is.
I’ve seen a lot of dumb shit, and somewhere in between those World of Warcraft freak-outs on YouTube and Tommy Wiseau tossing the pigskin around with his tuxedo-clad buddies in The Room sits Bo Derek’s self-indulgent sex quest, Bolero. No one can deny the power that Derek had on millions of puberty-riddled boys in the ’80s. This woman could easily sway every single one of them to commit murder with just the flash of her tits. But not even the promise of the greatest sexual encounter from a goddess this hot and tempting could get any one of those hormonal basket-cases to admit this mind-numbingly horrendous, unintentionally hilarious shit-show is any good.