* * * SPOILER ALERT * * *

Calling Barranca. Calling Barranca. It’s raining. It’s foggy. I don’t think anyone can get through the pass but for the donkey.

Cue the donkey trying to chew away at the whoever he is. Why can’t we see more of the donkey?

Cary Grant, still uptight with a shirt buttoned to the very top until he dons his silk scarf, should have taken a cue from his close pal, Randy Randolph Randy Scott and hand-rolled a cigarette while thinking about things for a while. These guys go through more airplanes than a war based on the Domino Theory. The runway has more water on it than Lake Superior.  Dead pilots pile up faster than the audience can count.

Just what is it about Cary Grant that no matter the movie, that tightass never once unbuttoned his shirt, undid his tie, and opened his suit coat? JFC, but being chased by a crop duster, blown up by a tanker truck, and sliding down some dead president’s nose didn’t tear the arse or the collar button off of the man. Was he covered in hickeys?

But I digress. That’s a different movie. Or is it?