Barbarella

Barbarella

Jane Fonda's memorable, zero-gravity striptease during the opening credits of this 1968 Roger Vadim movie is the closest the film comes to a liberated marriage of wit and sex. Based on a French comic strip, the story concerns the adventures of a 41st-century woman, who pretty much gets it on with whomever asks. The sci-fi sets were pretty interesting at the time, though they look rather anachronistic now. Appreciated today mostly as a camp classic, the movie is actually more trying than anything else. --Tom Keogh

Director(s): Roger Vadim
Production: Universal Pictures
  1 nomination.
 
IMDB:
5.9
Metacritic:
51
Rotten Tomatoes:
74%
PG (Parental Guidance Suggested)
Year:
1968
98
4,766 Views
See Barbarella do her thing!
The space age adventuress whose sex-ploits are among the most bizarre ever seen.
Who can save the universe?

[Barbarella thanks Mark Hand for saving her from the vicious biting dolls.]

Barbarella:
I'm so grateful for what you've done, I hardly know how to begin to thank you. I'm positive I can get you some sort of recompense from my government. I mean, if— if there's anything you need, or that I can do, please tell me.

Mark Hand:
Well, you could let me… make love to you.

Barbarella:
"Make love", did you say?

Mark Hand:
Yes!

Barbarella:
What do you mean? You don't even know my psychocardiogram!

Mark Hand:
Eh?

Barbarella:
Well, on Earth, for centuries, people haven't made love unless their psychocardiogram readings were in perfect confluence.

. . .

Barbarella:
Do you have any pills?

Mark Hand:
Pills?!

Barbarella:
Oh, never mind. I have some here.

Mark Hand:
Uh, b-b-uh… what is this pill?

Barbarella:
It's an exaltation transference pellet, of course.

Mark Hand:
Hmm. I know nothing of this.

Barbarella:
I see. Well, on Earth, when our psychocardiogram readings are in perfect confluence, and we wish to "make love", as you call it, we take an exaltation transference pellet, and remain like this — here, let me show you…

[She kneels across the chamber from him, stretches out her hand, and closes her eyes.]

Barbarella:
… for one minute, or until full rapport is achieved.

. . .

Mark Hand:
Ah! I don't care for that!

[He points toward the bed.]

Mark Hand:
This! This is what I mean. This! The bed.

Barbarella:
That?! But nobody's done that for centuries! I mean, nobody except the very poor, who can't afford the pills and the psychocardiogram readings.

Mark Hand:
Why not?

Barbarella:
'Cause it was proved to be distracting and a danger to maximum efficiency! And… and because it was pointless to continue it when other substitutes for ego support and self-esteem were made available.

[The Concierge leads Barbarella to a room, where the menacing woman emerges, both eyes now intact.]

Great Tyrant:
So, my Pretty-Pretty, we meet again.

Barbarella:
You! The little one-eyed wench!

Great Tyrant:
You have a good memory, Pretty-Pretty. Yes, sometimes I like to go among my people. Be like them. Ordinary. "Evil", as you would call it. So… I'm your little one-eyed wench. I'm also the Great Tyrant.

Barbarella:
Well! That's nice.

Great Tyrant:
It amuses me immensely! Now I suppose you're interested in the whereabouts and welfare of a certain party, yes?

Barbarella:
W— yes, I am! I'm here on the orders of the President of the Republic of Earth. I'm here to find Durand-Durand.

Great Tyrant:
I'm not talking about him! I'm speaking of the angel!

Barbarella:
Pygar?

Great Tyrant:
Yes, Pygar. He has escaped the labyrinth. Crime. He has destroyed twelve of my black guards. Crime. And he dares to deprive me of a pleasure unique in Sogo — an Earthling. Crime! Crime!

Barbarella:
Where is Pygar?

Great Tyrant:
You want your fine-feathered friend?

[The Great Tyrant nods her head toward something behind Barbarella.]

Great Tyrant:
There he is.

[A curtain of snow dissolves to reveal Pygar, tied to a crossbar, wings spread as if crucified.]

Barbarella:
Pygar!

Great Tyrant:
Amusing, isn't it, Pretty-Pretty? Don't you feel like playing?

. . .

[Barbarella surreptitiously draws Pygar's concealed blaster and grabs the Great Tyrant.]

Barbarella:
De-crucify the angel!

Great Tyrant:
What?

Barbarella:
De-crucify him or I'll melt your face!

. . .

[The Concierge relieves Barbarella of her discharged weapon.]

Great Tyrant:
So it was a trick, was it? You should have saved your tricks for… for…

Concierge:
For the birds, Your Majesty?

Great Tyrant:
Yes! Yes, the birds! The birds! Give her to the birds!


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