lost-in-limbo Alan Morris guns down his estranged wife in cold-blood, and blames her friends namely Vegas showgirl Michele for turning his wife against him. She was there when it happened and he goes after her. This leads her to flee Vegas and make her way to Los Angeles, but Alan tracks her down. Late 60s flabby psychedelic psycho stalker on-the-run thriller that's thick on melodramatics but lacks tension despite moments of searing cat- and-mouse action and neon noir shades. However it remains hypnotic due to the wonderful presence of Raquel Welch and vivid Las Vegas and Los Angeles backdrops beautifully projected by agile camera-work. Sometimes the locations are much more of a character on screen then its leaden stars. Even though it's seedy in context and the nightlife shows, it's probably a touch too polished in presenting it, but its acts of violence have a touch of brutality. Pacing is somewhat a problem, as it seems to get lost in the neon lights, glitter and dance numbers. But the romance angle simply lulls between Welch and Stacy's characters and the script awkwardly goes about it. This just makes the film drag, until it reaches the fiery conclusion (now I know what the title means) between Welch and the steely Luke Askew. It's hearty in execution and well-made by director James Neilson, but generically crafted and less than exciting."What's a girl gotta do to get a job around here"?

dunks58 I just saw this stinky old boiler on TV. Best watched with a very large flagon of Dr Jurd's Jungle Juice at hand, this exploitorific cheese-fest is hilariously bad. On the (very slim) plus side, Raquel was in her physical prime, she looks good, and you get to see a fair bit of her, since she plays a go-go dancer; she had great legs, that's for sure. There's also some minor interest for screen buffs in the footage of Los Angeles ca. '69, and in spotting actors in minor parts who went on to better things. Veteran thesp Ron Rifkin ('Brothers and Sisters') delivers a toe-curling early performances as "Sailor" the "faggot junkie" barman who rats Raquel out to the bad guy. You might also recognise the gun-toting security guard in the hit-and-run scene -- it's a very early appearance by Gordon Jump, who gave such a lovely performance in 'Soap' as Piece of Chelief Tinkler.The 'plot' of 'Flareup', such as it is, follows the travails of an exotic dancer (Welch) on the run from her murderous ex-husband (Luke Askew). This turkey is classic production-line Hollywood sludge -- a paint-by-numbers script, pedestrian direction, hokey shots, edits and effects, ultra-cheesy stock music, plywood sets, and performances to match.The cast is as uniformly dreadful as the screenplay. Although Raquel is capable of fair performances in the right vehicle, this wheezy old clunker is SO bad that she doesn't really stand a chance, and neither does the audience. One of my favourite moments occurs when Raquel awakes up in the hospital, sees the Vegas cop who's pursuing her murderous ex, and asks "How did you get here?" -- to which he of course replies "In a plane." Oh the humanity ... And you won't be able to take your eyes off the doctor (Michael Rougas) who has what might well be one of the very worst walk-ons in the long sad history of bad cameos. I don't think I've ever seen anyone stand in one spot so badly before.Raquel's love interest Joe (James Stacy) ambles through the film with a fixed look that's somewhere between bemused and embarrassed -- and no wonder. This bomb puts the cast through just about every made-for-TV cliché in the book, from Raquel's spectacularly dreadful turn in the dreadful nightmare montage, to the pure schlock of the 'romantic' horse ride along Leo Carillo Beach.**Spoiler Warning** -- just about the only interesting thing in the whole film is the denouement, in which Raquel finally gets her own back, and hilariously enacts the title, by setting the baddie on fire. Whoever the stunt guy was really earned his money on this one -- he goes up like Yorba Linda in a heatwave. Yet even this fairly spectacular scene is compromised by the fact that one of the crew moves into shot near the end.There are so many crappy things about 'Flareup' that it's oddly compelling; I found yourself wondering if this could be one of the worst films I've ever seen made. The answer seemed to be a resounding 'Yes' ... until I saw the film that followed it, Roger Corman's mega-trashy 'caged heat' classic 'The Big Doll House', which takes Awful to a whole new level. I can heartily recommend these two shlockers as a double-bill. You'll laugh yourself silly.

Hoohawnaynay If you love camp as much as I do, then you will love "Flareup". From the opening credits we know it's a camp fest by the gyrating "go-go" dancer doing the boogaloo around the credits. Opening scene at the Riviera Hotel in Las Vegas is great, with Raquel and two friends having lunch "al fresco". The hairstyle on the one friend looks as though it needs a building permit. She immediately gets shot by her ex-boyfriend (maybe he thought the hair-do was a little too much as well). He then turns on Raquel (whom he blames for the breakup) and spends the rest of the movie trying to kill her. If you love location shooting then dig all the groovy shots of Las Vegas and Los Angeles before they made both towns into an overbuilt, gaudy mecca that both cities are today. What sends this movie over the top is when Raquel mounts a horse and practically dislocates her head from the throwing back and forth of her mane of hair. AND THIS WAS BEFORE PROZAC! I loved every second of this movie, it has more entertainment value than anything I've seen in the past 10 years.

moonspinner55 Las Vegas dancer Raquel Welch is stalked by the crazed ex-husband of her best friend (who blames Rocky for breaking up his marriage). After a violent opening, film turns to more routine melodrama, as Welch runs from place to place, eventually hiding out at the Old Zoo in L.A.'s Griffith Park! Some nifty location work, lots of costume changes for our star, good supporting work from the underrated James Stacy. Yet, the film is too clean, too slick to be convincing--especially as it deals with seedy nightclubs and topless dancers. Much was made in the presskit of Raquel's dance routine, but it's laughable instead of memorable. Welch is rather over-the-top here; she really flourishes under a looser direction, and Disney-vet James Neilsen is just too mechanical for her. **1/2 from ****