"Well, should I scream rape now or phone in a complaint?"
I guess that was supposed to be funny back in 1968, but it just seems strange today. It's as if the public would just take it for granted that Sinatra was a lecherous dog, or something, and no female was completely safe in his presence. To make matters worse, Sinatra and Welch had absolutely no chemistry, unlike Sinatra and Jill St. John. So the whole thing is just creepy.
On a related note, Hugo Montenegro is responsible for the film's soundtrack. I can't believe people used to make music like this, but I'm so glad they did!