Usually cited as the absolute nadir of Bob Hope's film career, is by no means a classic, but it isn't nearly as bad as some of his other sixties efforts (take a look a sometime). The plot is set in motion by movie sex bomb Elke Sommer, who flees from the set of her latest picture when she refuses to do yet another bathtub sequence. Sommer hides out in the home of real estate agent Hope, who is forced to keep the buxom starlet under wraps lest his wife Marjorie Lord misunderstand. Phyllis Diller plays Hope's maid, who conspires with her boss to keep Sommer out of sight. The plot lumbers forward to a wild climax wherein Hope, accused of Sommer's murder (she's still very much alive), embarks upon a slapstick car chase, chock full of Sennett-like sight gags. Though cheaply produced and perilously anachronistic, is professionally assembled by director George Marshall, a Hope colleague from way back. The film turned a tidy profit, thanks largely to the popularity of Hope's costar Phyllis Diller.