Best movie of this year hands down!

Touches You

If the ambition is to provide two hours of instantly forgettable, popcorn-munching escapism, it succeeds.

I enjoyed watching this film and would recommend other to give it a try , (as I am) but this movie, although enjoyable to watch due to the better than average acting fails to add anything new to its storyline that is all too familiar to these types of movies.

Robbo a.k.a. Robin (Frank Sinatra) is a 1920's era Chicago mob rival of Guy Gisborne (Peter Falk). They operate speakeasy casinos which serve booze via broads along with the little vice machines: slots, roulette, etc. Sinatra's mentor Big Jim (Edward G. Robinson, uncredited; we see his portrait in Robbo's office) has just been snatched from Chicago to go that big speakeasy in the sky thanks to a new sheriff in town. The film begins with a rather "entertaining" outdoor funeral/send off where Big Jim's fellas give him a last goodbye with some singing, throwing hats, and some pistol shots, Just like they used to do when Capone was pulling Chicago's underworld strings.Now that Big Jim is gone, Guy Gisborne wants his operation to join with Robbo's so they can clean up the town, i.e. monopolize the gambling and the booze. Guy even says it would be better to be "the best of friends rather than the worst enemies." Robbo replies "finish your drink", meaning he's declined the offer. A new pool hustler, Little John, has come into town and wants to help Robbo with his operation. Sammy Davis Jr, has a role as one of Robbo's lackeys but, like Martin, contributes little to the actual story.Turns out Guy is a sore loser and ransacks Robbo's speakeasy. Robbo then returns the favor. Okay, it's about a rivalry between two mob bosses. But then it gets cheesy. Interspersed with this mostly harmless but absolutely fantasized scenario of the 1920's gang wars are a lot of songs, mostly forgettable. "All for One and One for All" is sung by Falk and company at the funeral of Big Jim. "Any Man Who Loves His Mother" is sung by Dean Martin. Of course Davis has a song and dance routine where he shoots up booze bottles in "Bang Bang", and when Crosby enters the story, it's not long before he sings as well. A song which should be fast-forwarded is "Don't be a Do-Badder" in which he and the orphan boys don green Robin Hood hats and sing and dance. Then Frankie, I mean Robbo, meets a beautiful blonde, Marian Stevens (Barbara Rush) who wants to see Robbo in private. Turns out she doesn't want a night out with Frankie. She's the daughter of Big Jim, willing to pay good money to hit whoever offed her father. The hit is carried out, but Robbo claims he had no part of it but ends with $50 G's (that's $50,000). He wants to return the money, which ends up in a charitable organization helping disadvantaged orphans run by none other than Bing Crosby as Minister Alan A. Dale. Robbo becomes an instant celebrity and labeled as the "Robin Hood" of Chicago for his charitable contributions. It starts to ring of "Guys and Dolls" meets "Going My Way" and/or "The Bells of St. Mary's" (where Crosby played a catholic priest, Father O'Malley). "My Kind of Town", Sinatra's big solo, was nominated for "Best Song" but there's not a lot here to cheer about. The scenario didn't take itself seriously about midway.The real standout is Peter Falk as Guy Gisborne but his role as the rival mob boss seems to have been cut in favor of endless and seemingly pointless song and dance routines. At one point Sinatra, Martin and Crosby do a song and dance routine, replete with hats and canes, as if they've been rehearsing for the latest Vaudeville show.Not a bad premise wasted on an unbalanced if not occasionally annoying script. The musical idea essentially ruined the seriousness of the story. It still could have been a comedy-drama fantasy but adding the musical numbers clouded and crowded what could have been a decent story,

As famous as this movie is supposed to be, I don't really recommend watching it. Chances are, you'll only be watching it because you like Frank Sinatra and want to join the Rat Pack, but if you manage to sit through this two-hour debacle, you'll try to withdraw your membership application.To put it simply, everyone involved in this movie was having a really bad day. The songs, written by Sammy Cahn and James Van Heusen, were unspeakably awful and universally too slow in tempo. The one famous song to come out of it, "My Kind of Town", felt like it had been slowed down by fifty percent. Dean Martin, though never accused of being a good actor, looked like he didn't know what was going on and that he could barely remember the minimal choreography. And if Sammy Davis, Jr. can't sell a song, nobody can. During the one horrible song he was given, he looked like he was giving a Jerry Lewis impression. Finally, Frank Sinatra, who once was full of pep and vigor as he tap danced alongside Gene Kelly, looked incredibly tired and angry. In nearly every scene, he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world. I wondered what could have happened to him during the filming, since it was obvious his mind was elsewhere, and after the film was over I read the backstory behind his very noticeably grumpy performance. I'm sure if you read up on the film as I did, you'll cut him some slack.Robin and the 7 Hoods takes place during the 1920s, and Frank Sinatra and Peter Falk head up rival factions of a Chicago gang. While Frankie has the Rat Pack on his side, Peter has classic old timers like Harry Wilson and Allen Jenkins at his table. The best part of the film is the beginning, when the gang celebrates the birthday of gang-leader Edward G. Robinson. It really is a great five minutes, but the movie tumbles downhill immediately after that.

"Robin and the 7 Hoods" feels very much like a stage play with not enough songs. Forty-six years later was produced as such with a lot of new songs. Viewed half a century later, it's a bittersweet experience. It presents an all-star cast in Sinatra, Martin, Davis Jr., Crosby, Falk, and Buono, but they've all passed away. "My Kind of Town," which became a signature piece for Sinatra, was written for this film. The film stars some handsome dudes who in real life dated some totally hot chicks, but there is only one female character with a significant role. The others are waitresses and dancers – girls without names who are available as eye candy and disposable pleasures, but do nothing to propel the plot. It's more of a bromance. The only three-dimensional female character is played by a television actress who somehow manages to seduce most of the male cast while wearing a modest full-length peignoir in most of her scenes. It is all very early 1960s, almost 1950s. But even this lonely female character is not used to her full advantage. There are hints of doubt as to whether she really is the person she claims to be that aren't brought to any definitive conclusion. Sammy Davis, Jr. is also given short shrift. In a film that began production on the day John F. Kennedy was assassinated, produced and starring a close personal friend of Kennedy, Davis is relegated to a clearly subservient role. He has one song and dance number (and joins the chorus in another), but his scenes are poorly blocked, often showing him dancing behind furniture. That said, Sinatra and Martin shine. Crosby holds his own, as do Falk, Buono and most of the supporting actors. Production values are adequate, although the weapons don't seem authentic in many shots, especially the Tommy gun. Automobiles seem authentic. Costumes are okay, although the dancers seem very modest for the period and Marian's peignoirs seem very 1960s. Lighting and audio are adequate.

Although Bing Crosby has an important role and is by far the best performer in the film, we're often forced to sit through some exceedingly dry stretches of tedious Falk-Sinatra-Martin-Rush (what a charmless lady!) dialogue between his welcome appearances. There are even long, weary passages between songs, then three or four will come at once.Basically, "Robin and the Seven Hoods" can aptly be described as a heavy-handed spoof, encompassing little in the way of wit or style in either writing or direction. And as for the players, only Crosby exudes just the right touch of seemingly effortless whimsy. Falk is especially elephantine, but the overbearingly pedestrian Barbara Rush just manages to pip Falk at the post for Bad Acting honors. The film would be greatly improved if both Falk and Rush were cut to the bone. 123 minutes is too long for this sort of derivative jest anyway. Still, it's nice to see some of our old favorites like Allen Jenkins and Jack La Rue.