Last night I pinpointed the exact moment the movie industry, nay, Western Culture as a whole hit rock bottom: July 15th, 1983 with the release of Staying Alive.
I don't know WHAT you're talking about. I am wearing that precise outfit in fuschia right now (well, I've added lime accents in the headband and banana hammock), and I feel like the very pinnacle of civilization.
All I require now is some vegetable oil so that I glisten correctly. Excuse me.
Wow. You are? What a coincidence because I think one of the female dancers in the movie was dressed in matching fuschia, too. Also, you might try peanut oil instead of vegetable if you're looking for some scent to go with your slick. Drives the crowd wild, I tell ya.
Seriously, though, I've been thinking about the movie and realized it accomplished something stupendous (or stupefying...take yr pick). The movie is essentially plotless, mainly being a star vehicle for Dancing Travolta, but does feature a Broadway performance which is also a plotless vehicle for Dancing Travolta. So there's a nonplot inside of a nonplot. Do you realize what this means? NEGATIVE META!
Deliciously peanut-scented. Superb. You have the best ideas.
NEGATIVE META is a great name for a band, t-shirt slogan, and brain-crushing instance of anti-matter. No wonder it comes from Travolta, the bastard. I blame Scientology.
Honestly, "Staying Alive" is, if not transcendingly bad like, say, "Fist of Fear Touch of Death," it is amusingly bad. There's ENJOYMENT to be had in its badness, its tackiness, its stupidity, its eyeball-affrontery. The bad movies that come out these days aren't even ENJOYABLY terrible. I mean, seriously, there's a reason why "Howard the Duck" has a cult audience while, say, "Surviving Christmas" will never.
And honestly, that picture is like those creepy pictures of Jesus where his eyes follow you wherever you are, except substitute "eyes" with "crotch."
Howard the Duck! Friends and I were just talking about renting that the other night. In truth, I am an aficionado of Good Bad. I like exploitation bad; retro bad; fabulously bad; extraordinarily bad bad; even occasionally contemporary bad - I did, after all, watch Lindsay Lohan's I Know Who Killed Me (which should give you hope about the state of bad movies today). Maybe the problem is just that Staying Alive was a wholly new kind of bad which requires its own category. I'm starting to think this might be the case, especially given the revelation I had about it (see my previous reply to sinsense).
Yes. This is why they have a magazine just for celebrities. And possibly explains the need for a Scientology cruise ship, Freewinds. Note that Freewinds was (until recently condemned) the only place you could reach the ultra-special, top-secret Thetan Level 8.
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All I require now is some vegetable oil so that I glisten correctly. Excuse me.
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Seriously, though, I've been thinking about the movie and realized it accomplished something stupendous (or stupefying...take yr pick). The movie is essentially plotless, mainly being a star vehicle for Dancing Travolta, but does feature a Broadway performance which is also a plotless vehicle for Dancing Travolta. So there's a nonplot inside of a nonplot. Do you realize what this means? NEGATIVE META!
My brain just whimpered.
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NEGATIVE META is a great name for a band, t-shirt slogan, and brain-crushing instance of anti-matter. No wonder it comes from Travolta, the bastard. I blame Scientology.
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Honestly, "Staying Alive" is, if not transcendingly bad like, say, "Fist of Fear Touch of Death," it is amusingly bad. There's ENJOYMENT to be had in its badness, its tackiness, its stupidity, its eyeball-affrontery. The bad movies that come out these days aren't even ENJOYABLY terrible. I mean, seriously, there's a reason why "Howard the Duck" has a cult audience while, say, "Surviving Christmas" will never.
And honestly, that picture is like those creepy pictures of Jesus where his eyes follow you wherever you are, except substitute "eyes" with "crotch."
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Re: Travolta's crotch.
Do you mean it's akin to this?
( ... )
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Needs.
BANKROLL.
And rich, easily-duped chunkheads who're consistently in bad movies are easy marks.
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I am kind of curious to see him in the Hairspray remake.
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