A Couple of Hideous Films

To distract myself from the bad economy, the war in Iraq, and my own personal struggles, I watched two of the worst movies Hollywood ever made (and to think, neither one involved Michael Bay).

Let's take the second one first, a film with no conceivable reason for existing except, well, maybe as a stimulus package to keep the Southern California economy going, we have 1978s Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.

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Janet Maslin, reviewing this film for the New York Times, described it as "a business deal set to music", and I can't dispute her. The object of the game here seemed to be to find as many people as humanly possible to sing Beatles songs, except, naturally, the Beatles. If you ever wanted to watch Alice Cooper, Steve Martin, or George Burns sing a Beatles song, this movie is talking to you. The plot is some nonsense about the band's retrieving instruments that the Future Villain Band (Aerosmith) stole from them, but the plot is no more important here than it would be in a porn movie. It's all about finding excuses, however strained, to sing Beatles covers. And oh do those excuses grow strained. I pulled muscles just following them. I expect that all the checks cleared, and that the cast did okay for their contributions to soundtracks and image sales for t-shirts and assorted swag. But honestly, who gives a shit?

From bad to worse we go. I can honestly say that Concorde, Airport '79 is a better movie than Monster A Go-Go, for this reason. Monster A-Go-Go lacked both a monster and any trace of a-go-go, while Concorde did have a Concorde (or a model of one anyway) and two airports (or models of them anyway). And from the looks of it, the action did take place in 1979. So the film is, if nothing else, a triumph for the Truth in Titling movement.

Here's a clip. It's in German, but you don't need to follow the dialog precisely to delve the multiple layers of insanity and inanity contained in this six-minute sample.



Yes, it's amazing, isn't it? Who knew you could just open the window of a jet at supersonic speeds, stick your arm out, and fire a flare to distract a heat-seeking missile. If only the Air Force had been hip to this, they could have diverted all that money for countermeasures into schools, hospitals, or urban renewal.

Other things I learned from Concorde:

Men appreciate it when their friends, after setting them up with women they fall in love with, inform them that the woman was a hooker.

That if I want to kill the person who could expose the dark secrets of my industrial empire, it is far easier to try to bring down her passenger jet by rigging a missile test to malfunction, getting a rogue pilot to chase the jet with a French Air Force F4 Phantom, and by planting a device which opens one of the plane's cargo doors and decompresses the passenger compartment than it is to hire a professional killer to shoot the one person I'm actually trying to kill in the back.

That heads of corporations who participate in major felonies always sign their names prominently on all incriminating documents.

That small private jets are nearly as fast as supersonic transports. (And to think that Lockheed never included that in the brochure!)

That old women with bladder diseases who get trapped in airplane bathrooms while the plane is spinning are funny.

That airline passengers feel intense loyalty to their flights. Even after someone launches missiles and combat jets against their aircraft, they'll still come back after a day's layover to continue their journey on the same plane.

That there was an era when someone thought a cameo by Charo was a selling point.

Yep. I watch them so you don't have to.