The movie house had no roof. An inky night sky and stars were all that hung above us and the flickering shades of Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis as they skirted being murdered by the mob by slipping into skirts and slipping out of Chicago with an all-girl band. Their train was bound for Miami, a locale that, like so many things in Billy Wilder's deliriously gender-bending comedy, is not what it appears to be. San Diego stands in for Magic City onscreen, with the picture's opulent resort "played" by the West Coast city's grand and much-beloved Hotel del Coronado
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