For something with this much sex, politics and star power, Shampoo left me oddly cold. Nixon’s 1968 win plays out on television while Warren Beatty’s airhead hairdresser bounces between lovers and bad decisions in Beverly Hills, but the “political promiscuity” idea never quite clicks; the election feels like wallpaper rather than a pulse.
Beatty leans into the himbo act, yet George is such a drifting idiot that it’s hard to care whether he gets a salon, a partner or a reckoning. Hal Ashby keeps things loose and busy, but the film just drifts from bed to party and back again.
The saving grace, for me, is Goldie Hawn. She gives Jill a mix of fragility and bite the film doesn’t always deserve, and every time she turns up the energy lifts. Take her out and you’re left with a nicely dated curio, not something I’m in a hurry to revisit.