American couple Janet and Mike move to England for his business. She soon becomes paranoid that he is having an affair with his attractive secretary, and decides to get back at him by pretending she herself has been unfaithful.
In New York, the interior decorator Jan Morrow and the wolf composer Brad Allen share a party line, but Brad keeps it busy most of the time flirting with his girlfriends. They do not know each other but Jan hates Brads since she needs the telephone for her business and can not use it. Coincidently Jan's wealthy client Jonathan Forbes that woos her is the best friend of Brad and he comments with him that he feels an unrequited love for Jan, who is a gorgeous woman. When Brad meets Jan by chance in a restaurant, he poses as a naive tourist from Texas named Rex Stetson and seduces her. But Jonathan hires a private eye to find who Rex Stetson is.Written by
Claudio Carvalho, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
Rock Hudson turned down the film three times, believing the script to be "too risqué". See more »
A party line phone would not ring when any phone on the line was off the hook. To call the other phone on your line, you had to dial a special code and then hang up and wait for your phone to stop ringing, indicating that the other party had answered. This is not how Jan does it. See more »
[on the phone pretending to be Rex]
Am I gonna see you tonight?
I'd love to Rex, but I already have a date.
A client. You don't know him. Jonathan Forbes.
Of course, you're not the kind of girl who would break a date.
No I'm not.
And I ain't the kinda guy who'd ask you to.
I know you're not.
I'll pick you up at 8.
I'll be ready.
See more »
As Doris Day sings 'Pillow Talk' over the closing credits, the film finishes with 'the end' on two horizontal pillows' followed by 'not quite' 'not quite' 'not quite' 'not quite' stacked vertically on four pillows. See more »
A party-line turns an interior decorator and a songwriting ladies' man into enemies--that is, until he gets a look at her. When Doris Day is forced into a nightclub by a junior-suitor, she makes the best of it and does a shimmy on the dance-floor in a tight white dress--you can't blame Rock Hudson (at a nearby table) nor the cameraman for zooming in on her derrière, which wiggles seductively and comically. This businesswoman is really a closeted gal-about-town, and Day gives one of her freshest, funniest performances here. I also liked the tinkly background score and the handful of songs (the title cut, "Roly Poly" and "Possess Me"), but apparently Doris didn't. In her autobiography, she scathingly dismisses all the music from her '60s bedroom comedies as "mediocre", blaming her skinflint husband for bypassing top-rank composers like Henry Mancini for "a bunch of no-names". Why Doris!!
***1/2 from ****
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