OMG, yes. So bad. So, so bad. I thought the Flint movies were dated and odd.
Dean is insufferable, as an actor and as Matt the character such that I wanted to see the bad guys win.
Here's the original 1966 review from the NYT, and they sound unimpressed at best.
Dean Martin and (Shapely) Company Arrive in 'The Silencers'
Published: March 17, 1966
As another inevitable parody of James Bond, spies, sex and popular tunes, "The Silencers," which crashed into the Sutton and Victoria Theaters yesterday, never lives up to its title, but it is loud, fast, obvious and occasionally funny. As the latest atomic antic, it sets records for pseudoscientific gimmicks and undraped pulchritude that should raise the temperatures of every redblooded male. For the captious who expect originality, "The Silencers" is about as unusual as Dean Martin singing a song.
Technically, these tongue-in-cheek capers have to do with the efforts of Matt Helm, agent, on behalf of ICE (Intelligence Counter Espionage, U. S. A.) to thwart a plan of Big O (whatever that is) to divert one of our atomic missiles into our Western desert and take over the world. Since Dean Martin plays Helm, it is obvious that babes will figure more importantly than bombs in his superheated life. And these near-nudes are there, seemingly by the dozen and in most attractive shapes, which they toss at him with grateful abandon.
Tung-Tze and the other Big O dastards are constantly getting in the way of spirited romance with blazing guns, knives, laser beams and every new electronic gadget in the Hollywood armory. But our boy is well-equipped, too, with a circular king-sized bed that tilts to drop him into an indoor pool. He also has an automatic that shoots backward, buttons that are really grenades (he uses them to destroy the Big O's underground electronic nerve center) as well as a camera that shoots knives.
There is a furious auto chase, designed to harass our hero, but it is not ungallant to divulge that it is the girls that are the big problem. There is his clinging secretary, called Lovey Kravezit; there is Cyd Charisse, a dancing agent, who could excite a hermit; there is the blonde Nancy Kovack; there is the brunette Daliah Lavi, who is also an agent (or is it a double agent?); there is the auburn-haired Stella Stevens, who does much to entice our boy and runs off with acting honors, and there are several unbilled strippers.
Why go on? Dean Martin is about as charmingly lackadaisical and flip about the favors they throw at him as he is about stopping the atomic threat to the United States. He can't be blamed. "The Silencers" is proof, in vivid, living colors, that you can get too much of a good thing.
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