Skatetown, U.S.A. (1979)

          Running down the cast of Skatetown, U.S.A. should explain why the movie is such a glorious train wreck—that is, if the title didn’t do the job already. Happy Days kid Scott Baio plays Richie, a fast-talking hustler who wants to help his best friend, Adonis-like blond Stan (Greg Bradford), and Stan’s nymphomaniac sister, Susan (Maureen McCormick from The Brady Bunch), win a roller-disco championship. The team’s destination is Skatetown, U.S.A., a rink located on the Santa Monica Pier and operated by stressed-out comedian/entrepreneur Harvey (Flip Wilson), who spends most of his time keeping his diminutive second-in-commend, Jimmy (Billy Barty), from hitting on a voluptuous ticket-seller played by ’70s TV starlet Judy Landers. Meanwhile, an evil roller-skating gang led by Ace (Patrick Swayze, in his embarrassing movie debut) tries to rig the context, intimidating Harvey with threats of violence and sending gang member Frankey (Ron Palillo from Welcome, Back Kotter) to distract Susan. Yes, that means Skatetown, U.S.A. includes scenes of Horshack and Marcia Brady necking in a convertible.
          Amid this nonsense, grade-Z comedy actors perform stupid bits, rocker Dave Mason appears periodically to perform tunes including “Feelin’ Alright,” and a DJ character called “The Wizard” (Denny Johnston)—who wears some sort of gigantic albino-Afro wig—uses magic laser beams to make roller skaters appear. Oh, and most of the film’s screen time is consumed by endless roller-disco scenes, including tightly choreographed routines by ensembles, as well as eroticized duets such as Swazye’s bondage-themed dance set to a mediocre cover of the Rolling Stones’ “Under My Thumb.” Need it be said that Skatetown, U.S..A. concludes with a Rebel Without a Cause-style chicken run between Ace and Stan, who zoom down the Santa Monica Pier on skates equipped with rockets? Or that Wilson plays a second role, as his own character’s wife, in drag? Notorious as one of the few ’70s movies with major actors never to be released on any form of home video, Skatetown, U.S.A. is staggeringly awful from the first frame to the last. Although clearly made with a decent budget and featuring some impressive dancing, the movie is atrocious in terms of acting, direction, and writing. And yet that’s why it’s both weirdly compelling and something of a cult favorite among devotees of cinematic misfires.

Skatetown, U.S.A.: LAME

Rabbit Test (1978)

          Among the many impressive accomplishments in comedienne Joan Rivers’ long and multifaceted career, she was one of the few women to direct a Hollywood feature in the ’70s. Unfortunately, the significance of this professional milestone is largely symbolic, because Rabbit Test is an embarrassingly bad movie that flopped during its original release and has aged poorly. Starring Billy Crystal in his first big-screen starring role, the movie is about the world’s first pregnant man. Yet the picture, which Rivers also cowrote, never offers any explanation for how the lead character defies human physiology. In fact, there isn’t much of a storyline at all, because Rabbit Test mostly comprises sketches filled with rude jokes at the expense of every ethnic group imaginable.

          In the film’s nadir, Lionel Carpenter (Crystal) becomes a worldwide celebrity invited to meet various heads of state, so he ends up in the hut of an African chieftain. Men from the tribe entertain their illustrious visitor by performing an R&B version of “Frére Jacques” while wearing grass skirts—as other tribesmen stand around the room wearing jockstraps and holding basketballs. Then, to drag the scene all the way down into cringe-worthiness, ’70s TV star Jimmie “J.J.” Walker shows up in the hut to perform a ventriloquist act, and Walker’s “dummy” is played by little-person actor Billy Barty. In blackface. It’s like that for the movie’s entire 84-minute running time. The UN Secretary-General lauds Lionel’s achievement by saying, “Next to you, the moon walk was doo-doo.”  Lionel’s cousin Danny (Alex Rocco) makes a TV deal to broadcast the impending birth, and then says, “If the money’s up front, we can show Lionel’s gentiles.”

          Crystal struggles valiantly to give a humane performance while Rivers bombards viewers with clunky one-liners and laborious sight gags, but the shallowness and stupidity is stultifying. Rivers’ desperation shows in the way she crams in bit-part performances by second-rate celebrities including Norman Fell, George Gobel, Rosey Grier, Peter Marshall, Roddy McDowall, Tom Poston, Charlotte Rae, and, of course, Rivers herself. None of it generates so much as a chuckle, except perhaps for the outrageous line that flamboyant comic Paul Lynde delivers while playing an excitable gynecologist: “Call maintenance—I have sperm all over my desk again!”

Rabbit Test: LAME

W.C. Fields and Me (1976)

          While not to be taken seriously, seeing as how its attempts at verisimilitude result in campy superficiality, the showbiz biopic W.C. Fields and Me is watchable by virtue of a brisk pace, interesting subject matter, and lush production values. As for the acting, that’s by far the film’s weakest element—ironic, since both leading characters were actors in real life. But then again, star Rod Steiger delivers an over-the-top caricature while playing a man who spent his life cultivating a larger-than-life persona, and costar Valerie Perrine delivers an underwhelming turn while playing a woman who, for 14 years, was overshadowed by her more talented companion. So, in a weird way, the mixture works for creating mindless entertainment, even if W.C Fields and Me is hardly a dilligent replication of history.

          Based on a memoir by Carlotta Monti, a bit player who caught the real Fields’ eye and then spent a decade and a half as his assistant, companion, and occasional lover, W.C. Fields and Me depicts Fields’ trajectory from the end of his vaudeville career to the last days of his life. When he’s introduced, Fields (Steiger) is already a stage star, but his arrogance and drinking alienate him from employers including the legendary Florenz Ziegeld (Paul Stewart). In a weak attempt to portray Fields as psychologically complex, the picture asserts that he used onstage shock tactics (such as risqué humor) to compensate for offstage anxieties, and the filmmakers accentuate Fields’ jealous feelings toward fellow comic Charlie Chaplin. After a financial turnaround, Fields sets out for Hollywood accompanied by his only real friend, a little-person actor named Ludwig (Billy Barty). By writing comedy scripts and submitting them to studios, Fields eventually wins the patronage of studio boss Bannerman (John Marley), who gives Fields his first shot at performing on camera. Stardom follows, as does an excessive lifestyle defined by drunken adventures with pals including John Barrymore (Jack Cassidy). Eventually, Carlotta (Perrine) enters the mix, but her endeavors to wean Fields off booze fail, so she ends up bearing witness to the legendary funnyman’s decline.

          Itemizing all the things that are unsatisfying about W.C. Fields and Me would take an inordinate amount of time, so a few key complaints will have to suffice. The central relationship is inconsequential. Fields never evinces any growth as a character. Every showbiz type presented onscreen is a one-dimensional cliché. Steiger’s performance never achieves liftoff, because the actor wobbles between mimicking Fields’ gimmick of speaking from one side of his mouth—making the character seem like Burgess Meredith as the Penguin on the old Batman TV series—and because Steiger’s few moments of effective nonverbal pathos seem like Steiger peeking through the characterization, rather than the other way around. Worse, director Arthur Hiller can’t seem to decide whether the film is a comedy or a drama, so while some scenes include broad farce, others are mawkishly sentimental. Having said all that, the movie looks gorgeous; cinematographer David M. Walsh uses a glamorous combination of painterly angles, romantic filters, and sweeping camera movement to make Old Hollywood look seductive. Furthermore, the movie zips along at terrific speed, never losing clarity.

W.C. Fields and Me: FUNKY

The Lord of the Rings (1978)

          Years before Peter Jackson adapted J.R.R. Tolkein’s beloved fantasy-book series The Lord of the Rings into an Oscar-winning film trilogy, a bad-boy animator best known for pushing the boundaries of good taste took a stab at the material that was smaller in scale but, in some ways, almost as creatively ambitious. Though ultimately a frustrating misfire, Ralph Bakshi’s movie, The Lord of the Rings, has many commendable virtues and a handful of memorable elements; it’s not difficult to see what the picture was trying to become, and its failure to reach a lofty goal shouldn’t completely overshadow the nobility of the attempt.

          After cutting his teeth as a hired hand on various mainstream projects, Bakshi became an animation rock star with his controversial movie Fritz the Cat (1972), the sex-drugs-and-rock-and-roll comedy that became the first X-rated animated feature. Suddenly in a position to get financing for his long-held desire to put Tolkein onscreen, Bakshi set out to film the author’s three Rings books as a pair of long features, to be titled The Lord of the Rings: Part One and The Lord of the Rings: Part Two. (Filmmakers including John Boorman had previously tried and failed to get live-action versions off the ground.)

          To execute his vision, Bakshi decided to use an elaborate rotoscoping technique in which live-action versions of scenes are filmed, and then drawings are traced from each frame of live-action footage to form the basis of each frame of animated footage. Had this massive project been fully realized, it might have been extraordinary. Unfortunately, all the usual problems got in the way.

          The script, by Chris Conkling and Peter S. Beagle, is a limp recitation of scenes from Tolkein’s novels, sort of a lifeless Cliffs Notes synopsis, so the absence of a distinctive point of view (either Tolkein’s or Bakshi’s) renders the narrative flat. The rotoscoping delivered some interesting results, but because not every character was animated in exactly the same way, the style of the picture is disjointed; the marauding Orcs look shadowy and surreal, as if comprised of moving Xerox copies, while the principal characters are standard hand-drawn cartoons. Arguably, the most unique and vivid scenes are the big-canvas battles featuring armies of Orcs engaging in bloody swordplay with dwarves, elves, and hobbits—Bakshi creates a weird vibe that’s neither pure animation nor pure live-action, but a dynamic hybrid.

          The biggest problem with the movie, of course, is that Bakshi never got to make Part Two. Therefore, this picture abruptly ends partway through the story, leaving the narrative unresolved. (For those who know the material, the film stops immediately after the battle of Helm’s Deep, leaving Frodo and Sam stuck on the road to Mount Doom.) Yet while the source material isn’t served well by truncated adaptation, some of what Bakshi puts onscreen works. The characterizations of hobbits Frodo and Sam are sweet and infused with lifelike movement (Billy Barty provided the live-action performances upon which the cartoon versions of both characters were based); John Hurt gives a rousing vocal performance as heroic knight Aragorn; and Leonard Rosenman contributes a big, romantic orchestral score. So, for fleeting moments here and there, this Lord of the Rings hints at the grandeur with which Jackson thrilled the world years later.

          FYI, this project should not be confused with an earlier animated take on Tolkein. Famed kiddie-entertainment outfit Rankin/Bass made a dodgy version of Tolkein’s The Hobbit for television in 1977; Rankin/Bass also adapted the final Rings book, The Return of the King, for a theatrical cartoon in 1980, as a sequel to the Hobbit project.

The Lord of the Rings: FUNKY

Foul Play (1978)

          Easily the best-fitting star vehicle that Goldie Hawn made in the ’70s, comic thriller Foul Play is also the first movie that Chevy Chase made after bailing on Saturday Night Live to pursue a big-screen career. The actors’ enjoyable chemistry and the breezily entertaining machinations of writer-director Colin Higgins’ deeply silly script helped make Foul Play one of 1978’s biggest hits. A lighthearted riff on the Alfred Hitchcock formula featuring an innocent character who gets embroiled in a conspiracy, the picture is lavishly produced but so insubstantial that it sometimes threatens to float away. Yet for those who set their expectations appropriately, it’s a tasty serving of empty calories.

          Hawn stars as a San Francisco librarian who stumbles upon plans for an assassination attempt, and Chase plays a smart-aleck police detective who slowly discovers the scheme based on sketchy evidence she brings to his attention. The two fall in love, naturally, to the tune of Barry Manilow’s bombastic theme song “Ready to Take a Chance Again”—which is to say that Foul Play is a loving throwback to old-school Hollywood romance. And while Higgins falls short in terms of visual style, evincing no special gift for camerawork in his directorial debut, he compensates with a imaginative and playful storyline. After all, he earned the opportunity to helm this project after scoring as the screenwriter of Harold and Maude (1971) and Silver Streak (1976), the latter of which provided something like a template for Foul Play.

          From the smoothly handled opening scene to various comic setpieces, some of which land more effectively than others, Higgins serves his script well with brisk pacing and the good sense to keep his actors from playing the material too broadly, notwithstanding some over-the-top villainy toward the end. Unsurprisingly, special care was taken to ensure delightful leading performances. Hawn achieves a winning transition by playing a grown-up intellectual instead of the airhead stereotype that made her famous, and Chase is uncharacteristically warm even though his signature cockiness bubbles beneath the surface. Key supporting player Dudley Moore nearly steals the movie as a diminutive lothario who keeps crossing paths with Hawn, and the long scene in which he unveils his tricked-out bachelor pad is a great example of a comedian humiliating himself for the sake of a joke. Burgess Meredith is lively as Hawn’s eccentric landlord, and ace character players including Billy Barty, Don Calfa, and Brian Dennehy pop up in smaller roles.

          Though it gets a bit windy at 116 minutes (the climax in particular gets draggy), Foul Play is both a respectable homage to classic Hollywood piffles a fine maiden voyage for a promising screen duo. Alas, Chase and Hawn only did one more movie together, the intermittently wonderful Neil Simon romp Seems Like Old Times (1980), which is reviewed here.

Foul Play: GROOVY

The Happy Hooker (1975) & The Happy Hooker Goes to Washington (1977)

          Dutch-born madam Xaviera Hollander became a minor celebrity in 1971, when she published a raunchy memoir titled The Happy Hooker at the apex of the sexual revolution, so a film adaptation was inevitable. And perhaps just as inevitably, the movie version of The Happy Hooker is a slapdash affair stitching together several silly episodes from Hollander’s adventures without any artistry or purpose. Indifferently directed by TV journeyman Nicholas Sgarro, the picture suffers from cheap production values, atrocious music, and a complete absence of sexiness—for a movie with the word happy in the title (not to mention the other word), it’s actually pretty miserable to watch.

          Screenwriter William Richert, who later wrote and directed the wonderfully weird Winter Kills (1979), contributes a few palatable dialogue exchanges, but his efforts can’t elevate the tacky source material or surmount the producers’ low intentions. Lynn Redgrave, a long way from her Oscar-nominated role as an overweight naif in Georgy Girl (1966), tries valiantly to invest her leading performance as Hollander with liberated-woman dignity, but even she can’t do get a rise out of the flaccid script.

          About the only novelty value of this dreary film is the presence of familiar character actors in small roles: Risky Business dad Nicholas Pryor plays Hollander’s first American boyfriend; ghoulish B-movie villain Richard Lynch plays a creepy cop; Smuckers pitchman Mason Adams and future Ghost costar Vincent Schiavelli play johns; and Newhart regular Tom Poston appears in the movie’s only amusing-ish scene, as a corporate exec who gets off watching a half-dressed Hollander deliver a ribald version of the daily stock report.

          Redgrave wisely steered clear of the movie’s two diminishing-returns sequels, the first of which, The Happy Hooker Goes to Washington, features actress/singer Joey Heatherton in the lead role. The story, such as it is, depicts Xaviera getting summoned before a Congressional committee as part of a morals inquiry and then getting recruited to serve as a Mata Hari for the CIA. Heatherton is a knockout, but her idea of sexiness is cooing and pouting, resulting in a flaccid Marilyn Monroe routine, and she’s surrounded by a truly random assortment of supporting players: Billy Barty, George Hamilton, Larry Storch, Ray Walston, and even Harold Sakata, the hulking Hawaiian who played “Odd Job” in Goldfinger.

          The movie is car-crash awful from start to finish, though it’s weirdly arresting to watch flamboyant comic Rip Taylor playing a fashion photographer who complains when he starts to see, horror of all horrors, a female model’s nether regions: “I don’t want to see any privates!” Well, not hers, anyway. Less amusing are embarrassing scenes like the vignette of Walston acting out a sex fantasy by dressing as Superman for a tryst with a bimbo prostitute. FYI, a final picture, The Happy Hooker Goes to Hollywood, with B-movie veteran Martine Beswick as Hollander, was released in 1980 and is therefore (thankfully) outside the purview of this survey.

The Happy Hooker: LAME

The Happy Hooker Goes to Washington: SQUARE