I don’t quite recall how I came to buy this movie. I think it’s either because somebody said that it was the worst movie ever made, or somebody was interviewed in The Wire and said that they liked it even though everybody thinks it’s the worst movie ever made.
That sounds like something I’d respond to. A challenge!
So here we are.
But this is a 2K remaster, so it can’t be that disliked, so perhaps I totally misremember.
Hey! It’s him!
Heh heh.
The humour is very broad. It’s basically a series of under-developed skits about these characters we’re following — two dozen of them — in this discotheque.
The musical choices are confusing. There’s a few recognisable hits, like From Here To Eternity by Giorgio Moroder, but there’s mostly just a bed of “generic string disco” going on beneath all the gags.
Hey, is that Donna Summer!?
That’s the speaker I want in my living room.
OK, the music is getting better now.
Heh heh. From the director of Weekend at Bernie’s II.
He’s written some other movies, but nobody let him direct another movie for fifteen years after this one.
I can totally see what they’re going for. The script for this movie is a totally zany thing where you spend a couple minutes with each group of people, and zany, funny stuff is going on, and it all builds to a totally hilarious movie.
But it’s just directed and edited so ineptly — there’s no comedic timing, and there’s no feeling of that escalating madness this thing needs.
Instead things constantly devolve into this sort of scene where all sense of urgency is missing.
You can see why they’d think he’d be good for the Weekend at Bernie’s sequel.
By any reasonable estimation, this is a ⚀ movie. But… it’s like… I kinda enjoyed this? It’s like the movie has good bones? It looks good, and some of the performances are fun, and there’s some good jokes. It’s just so horribly directed! It’s embarrassing! It’s not good!
But still. I’m not going to be reasonable. I was kinda fascinated by how much of a train wreck it is. It’s charming in that way.
Thank God It’s Friday. Robert Klane. 1978. ⚃
