Looks like Viagra should be catering to the paranormal market. Bo Derek, Julie Newmar, Academy Award nominee Don Murray and Academy Award winner Anthony Quinn star in Ghosts Can’t Do It.
Director – John Derek
Screenplay – John Derek
Producer – Bo Derek
Despite their 30-year age difference, Katie (Bo Derek) and Scott (Anthony Quinn) are happily married. But after suffering a heart attack, Scott is unable to make love to his blonde, busty bombshell. Of course, the only natural thing for him to do is commit suicide and become a ghost that only Katie can see and speak with.
Desperate to fuck his wife’s brains out but needing a human body to possess in order to make it happen, Scott and Katie devise a plan to find a new human body – first degree murder style, of course – so that he can get back to making some sweet-ass pound cakin’ with his lovely bride.
Because ghosts can’t do it. I totally get it now… Good Lord, the title’s more childishly obvious than I would’ve expected.
When it comes to predicting Razzie winners, smart money always bets on Bo Derek and her late husband/collaborator John. Following three serious attempts at semi-pornographic/fully laughable film, Fantasies, Tarzan, the Ape Man and Bolero, Mr. and Mrs. Derek finally decided to Joker’s advice and quit being so serious. The result would be their first and only comedy together, Ghosts Can’t Do It.
And it truly is amazing as to how they’re actually funnier when they’re not trying to be.
Let it be known that this wretched film has thrown a monkey wrench into what was considered concrete established fact that ghosts could in fact do the horizontal bop as evidenced by the 1987 film Ghosts CAN Do It. For years, much heated, vitriolic debate raged among many of the world’s leading scientists in the fields of human biology, sexual intercourse, astrophysics and parapsychology over what they nicknamed, rather derisively, “spooky nookie” or as Stephen Hawking mockingly described it, “Casper the friendly poke”. But eventually cooler heads prevailed when they took note of the cold, hard evidence by way of the title emphasizing its helping verb in all, highly-confident caps, and that’s when they reached an agreement that the imdb.com higher-rated film from 1987 was definitive proof of afterlife hanky panky.
And then these “Flat-Earth” mother fuckers come alone and throw off all those years of research.
Of course, I’m just a simple guy. All this paranormal stuff can sound like a foreign language to me, so what do I know? Consider me a white Winston Zeddemore. Due to my limited knowledge of all things ghosts, it’s natural that this film opened my eyes to aspects of those with unfinished business that I had never known beforehand, such as…
1) Heaven has rules, and apparently, not committing suicide is at the top of that list.
2) Not that it matters, ’cause I guess God is very negotiable.
3) For centuries, millennia even, philosophers, religious scholars, psychics and paranormal researchers have long debated what happens to our bodies after we pass over to the other side. If it’s true that we are transformed into God’s image upon the moment of our passing, then it appears that God is Zordon from Power Rangers.
4) It obviously goes without saying that a widespread epidemic of massive drops in libido has devastated the afterlife community.
5) Dr. Ray Stantz would strongly disagree.
6) It’s really quite sad. Anthony Quinn can’t bang Bo Derek when alive; can’t bang her when dead. Talk about damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
7) He could’ve taken pills instead of going out with a bang – literally – but in his words, “Real me don’t eat quiche!” Even in death, spectral men still feel the need to hide all those insecurities and make sure the whole world knows they got some big, brass balls clanking down there in between their legs.
8) Please, you can’t even get it up for Bo Derek. You’re not fooling anyone.
9) It has nothing to do with ghosts, but all this time, I was unaware that dancing on a Friday is a desecration of the Sabbath.
10) I was also unaware that Catholic priests gave a rat’s ass about the Sabbath. God knows the masterminds behind the Grand Inquisition probably aren’t opposed to condemning filthy, rotten, sinful, taking her clothes off for no clear narrative forwarding purpose whatsoever Bo Derek for any other reason, but this seems just a little bit harsh, even for those who bemoaned and rioted over a crappy Pepsi commercial with Madonna.
11) According to our concerned Padre, that’s not a dancing, dripping wet, see-through T-shirted Bo Derek. That’s a victim of the Devil’s cold, unforgiving grip on her soul.
12) Our helpful cleric is able to exorcise this so-called demon by having Bo’s dripping wet body press tightly up against his hormone-crazed chest through a good, long hug. Unorthodox? Absolutely. Sanctioned by the Catholic Church? Bo’s not a 10-year-old choir boy, so probably not. But Fathers Merrin and Karras are dead, whereas this lucky man of the cloth is still alive and kicking with a happy stiffy to boot, so we all know whose side God’s really on here.
13) You know, all this time, no one seems to be bothered by a naked Bo Derek screaming at what looks like absolutely no one, so I’ll say what no else has the balls to say: Bo Derek is fucking crazy.
14) Moral of this story: Ernest Hemingway blew his brains out, so why not?
Even with a talent like the late Anthony Quinn in this, it’s not like he alone could’ve transformed this trash into Oscar caliber fare. Even the most talented actors don’t possess such a power. I mean, have you seen most of Al Pacino’s work post-2000? Still, this goes beyond Anthony Quinn. Ghosts Can’t Do It is too shameful for even the Dereks. Yes, even the Dereks, the same two clueless collaborators that gave us a film that dared us to believe Bo had to travel to the far ends of the Earth and not next door to find a willing fuck buddy, deserve better than this garbage.
I can only describe the crap-titude of this film so far. You really need to see this film to fully appreciate how bad it is and subsequently hate yourself for doing so. The writing will convince you John Derek is a 10-year-old trapped inside a 60-year-old body – well, that is if his previous films haven’t convinced you of that already; the abrupt, random scene transitions are handled with the same discipline of a raging alcoholic; and Bo’s wide-eyed, overwrought performance is so bad it’s devastating. If Fantasies was “Wow, Bo Derek can’t act.” and Tarzan, the Ape Man was “Damn, Bo Derek really can’t act.” and Bolero was “Somebody punch me hard in the face right now!”, then her stunning turn in Ghosts Can’t Do It is on par with a tragedy such as God casting a third of the angels out of heaven into hell, only to be followed by the remaining two-thirds willingly plunging themselves into the fiery abyss to avoid seeing this movie.
Oh, and lest we all forget, this film happily endorses first degree murder all so that one can woman can still fuck the dead husband she should’ve moved on from by the end of the film.
First degree murder, hallucinatory visions, neurotic behavior and necrophilia – someone is clearly failing the grieving process.
Bottom line: If Donald Trump gives the best performance (as himself) out of the entire cast – a cast that includes a two-time Oscar winner and an Oscar nominee – and if the muskrat perched on top his head is the best visual effect the film can boast, then chances are you have a shitty film on your hands.
Ghosts Can’t Do It has the usual utterly inept brand of acting and storytelling that we expect from Team Derek, only this time it’s kicked up – or down, depending how you look at it – several notches on the actress/director duo’s “What the fuck?” scale. But all of you masochists who’ve gotten great joy out of watching the Dereks’ film debacles throughout the ’80s, like twisted folks who get their kicks watching fatal car crashes, will find plenty of morbid joy here, perhaps even more so than before as this film brings a hilarious lowest of all lows conclusion to a collaborative career that was already hilariously low enough from the moment it started.