In his second outing as the debonair super-agent, James Coburn kicks and smooches his way through a spy ring of beautiful women on a health farm in the Virgin Islands who have kidnapped the US President and plan to achieve world domination by brainwashing women through their hair dryers.
Cue a bevvy of beauties and plenty of insipid innuendo. It’s often laughable, but director Lee J Cobb does bring a touch of class to the crass proceedings.
In Like Flint is still stylish, but dumber than Our Man Flint (1965), and the Hefneresque tone will either titillate or completely annoy you.
Lee J Cobb
Natasha, the ballerina