A singularly unfunny musical comedy that artificially tries to marry the then-cutting edge rock 'n' roll explosion with the middle-class sensibilities of a suburban sitcom. The result is a jarringly dated mish-mash that will satisfy none of the audience that went for the music, but will at least keep their parents sated.

A quick glance at the promo write-up on the back of the video release should give some idea of the content. Tom Ewell is a drunken agent, overplayed with so little comic ability you almost expect him to bellow "hi honey, I'm home!" The blurb sites him as "So funny in 'The 7 Year Itch'". It sounds almost like an excuse. What other film would sell itself on the fact that a leading player was good in something else? It reads like "So funny in 'The 7 Year Itch' ... but he's rubbish in this".

Mansfield, a beautiful girl with rumoured 50-inch assets, is, unfortunately, a bargain basement Monroe with all the acting ability and comic timing of a rotting haddock. Her wooden delivery combined with Ewell's OTT double-takes make this a comedy partnership from Hell. For her part, the sell gives us: "[Jayne Mansfield] whose more obvious talents are the cause of many of the film's biggest laughs!" As you can see, a movie sold on the idea that it's lead has a big chest is not the most sophisticated of things. Most of this "humour" is men literally falling over themselves, their glasses cracking upon site of Mansfield, etc. Only the Freudian nightmare of a milk bottle overflowing casts doubt upon its "U" certificate.

For the musical side, the most adenine of players are chosen. Would you really care to see Eddie Fontaine offer: "I love your eyes, I love your lips, they taste even better than potato chips" in a song called "Cool It, Baby"? Only the incendiary Little Richard breaks out of the MOR, though is forced to sing some of his more dad-friendly songs in a four-minute sequence. And how come all the acts sing without a single microphone? Attempted satires on the industry are broad and childlike in their conception.

Technically, the picture was quite advanced, with special effects (including a ghost-like Julie London) and deluxe color (Which now looks flat and artificial. In fact, with its reds that bleed and fake-looking flesh tones, it resembles a colorised movie). Direction, though, isn't outstanding, and the sound quality is also quite poor.

Perhaps it comes down to it being so old. A time when men still smoked on screen, sickeningly cute child actors made adult remarks and black servants only got to cook and dance. (All of which happen here). Yet Some Like It Hot, The African Queen, Ben Hur and many, many more stand as examples of films from the period that can still be enjoyed today, so the "good at the time" argument doesn't really stand up. At its heart The Girl Can't Help It is a cynical and patronising venture that doesn't bear close inspection. 4/10.

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