Tony Curtis: look back in pleasure

Hats off to Tony Curtis for swearing off Viagra at the tender age of 81. It’s never too late to kick a harmful drug habit. That noxious substance will give a man an erection even if he’s not thinking about sex. Once he’s swallowed the stiffy-pill, it doesn’t matter if the vicar rings the front door bell or the wife gets covered in warts. The beast won’t return to the cage until the drug wears off, and not even thoughts of irregular verbs or Donald Trump’s dentures will calm it down. No male gorilla would ever think of taking a drug like that. There is a saying in the jungle that he who permits the python to roam freely dices with his dignity. In the wrong setting, a primate’s potent pride is nothing more than a joke phallus.

Age, it seems, has made Mr Curtis wise. He is now happy to let nature take its course every Veteran’s Day or whenever. And while he is waiting for the sap to rise, he can savour sweet memories of youthful debauchery. A treasured highlight would be his five-month love affair with Marilyn Monroe, then a 19-year-old starlet unseasoned in the sensual arts. It’s a fair bet that he gave Norma Jeane her first orgasm, which is not a bad thing to have on your resumé. Years later, of course, he starred with her in Some Like It Hot, when he famously said that making out with Marilyn was like “kissing Hitler”. People thought he was being ungallant, but it turns out they misunderstood him. He wasn’t referring to Adolf Hitler, the Fuhrer, but Klara Hitler, the Fuhrer’s enticingly demure mother. If Marilyn kissed as well as Frau Hitler – reputedly the hottest Austrian totty of her time – she was some kisser indeed.

The one major disappointment in Tony’s life is his still cold relationship with daughter Jamie Lee, once described by Penthouse magazine as “a very talented actress with a fabulous pair of hooters”. The daddy’s girl syndrome never quite materialised for Tony and Jamie, possibly because the former was out looking for poontang while the latter was having her birthday parties. My advice to Tony is that it’s never too late to make amends. Invite Jamie Lee over to the ranch and let her take charge of daddy’s favourite colt, feeding it sugar lumps, brushing its mane and riding it rampantly through the prairie fields. When she returns, flushed and breathless, greet her with a surprise party serving up toasted marshmallows, chocolate-chip cookies, gingerbread men and other girly delights. A daughter needs to know that she’s the apple of her daddy’s eye, and once he starts making a fuss of her, I predict that she’ll jump into his lap like a kitten.

Tony Curtis is one of the passing icons of our age, and I urge readers to show their appreciation for him by splashing out on
newly-released DVDs of The Persuaders!, a 1970s crime caper in which he co-starred with Roger Moore. Curtis and Moore played a pair of playboy sleuths, racing their sports cars in Monte Carlo, over-tipping waiters in the Riviera, and giving moustachioed villains a well-deserved bunch of fives. It’s vintage stuff, and the DVDs are worth buying for the theme music alone. Dr Whipsnade’s late father said that listening to that classic John Barry tune made him feel as if he’d just emptied his bowels. He was an eccentric man, Whipsnade senior, but I know exactly what he meant.

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