Cineastes often struggle over creating a ‘must see’ list of films. Movies that you need to see to build a vocabulary of film and to properly appreciate the medium. And while they debate over how many Kurosawa titles or whether or not Citizen Kane is the definitive American movie, the question is applicable as well to the seamier side of the movie screen.

Is there a definitive list of ‘must see’ B films? It would seem impossible to gather such a list. Just consider the breadth of genres; kaiju, kung fu, giallo and gore are just a sample of the choices. Yet if we assemble B-movies into a framework based on growing appreciation among theirs viewers, we find some important touchstones.

The Golden Raspberries Awards, Razzies for short, was the brainchild of John Wilson. Designed to honor the very worst in film, he was inspired to start them upon viewing a double bill of Jabootu favorite Can’t Stop the Music and today’s subject. And really, Xanadu is an all around wonderful example of a terrible film. First of all it is a bad musical. Which means that for the price of one movie you’re treated to bad drama, bad comedy and bad music.

The film is also a useful cultural artifact, made at the tail end of several trends. It features roller-skating, disco and Olivia Newton-John at the time when all three were waning in popularity. It has a cast member with more talent in his earwax than the entire remaining cast combined, by which I mean Gene Kelly. And for the Jabootuite we have Michael Beck, two years before matching wits with Barry Bostwick, playing the romantic lead.

To be fair, the movie wastes no time in announcing its intention to be terrible. Hokey ragtime music plays as an animated plane circles the Universal Studio Globe. Reappearing as a jet, the tune changes to a sedate big band number. Coming back as the Concorde the Xanadu theme plays. (Blaming the French for disco. Clever.)

On the final go round it’s a UFO -- perhaps to suggest that the only people who could enjoy this picture reside in the fiery bowels of Jupiter -- and weird chirps and squeaks are dubbed into the music. A cartoon beam of energy flashes the title onscreen, via a font designed to be the envy of any hair metal band.

Fade onto a rocky surf photographed through a Maxfield Parish filter. A figure sits playing the clarinet. The sun rises unnaturally fast, fade out.

The credits pick up again at a drafting desk. Bowls of paints and brushes dress the small, clean room. Michael Beck works on a technical drawing of what looks like a skateboard wheel. He tears up a murky paint-by-numbers portrait. He draws his toaster. He paints a still life. He gets out ink and draws a building. Apparently Hollywood treats The Artist the same as The Scientist, taking it to mean he’s well versed and expert in all mediums and disciplines.

Looking over his Michigan School of Design works he declares "Ah hell, guys like me shouldn’t dream anyway." He tears up a drawing and throws the pieces out the window. They float along the rooftops in a manner so not ripped wet and screaming from Mary Poppins. ELO milks that "Something magical is coming!" cord for all it’s worth.

The pieces end their journey against a garish mural. The Tron Highlighter -- get used to it folks -- illuminates a figure. She transforms into a dancer, stretches and writhes and a labored guitar riff begins. Our first musical number. "I’m Alive!" the LO’s cry, as the dancers all twirl and leap in that horribly earnest Debbie Allen method of dance. (Although Kenny "Newsies" Ortega is actually responsible for the choreography here).

The Tron Highlighter rims the drawing of Olivia Newton-John. She widens her eyes, plays peekaboo with her hands. I have nothing against Ms. Newton-John personally, but she is completely wrong for the role of a Greek Muse. She has the eye appeal and inoffensive charm of Skipper, not the things to call to mind "an Abyssian maid" of "symphony and song".

Moreover, while she can passably sing and act she simply cannot dance. A problem they none-too-cleverly ‘disguise’ by having the troop dance around her and carry her from place to place.

Libby does her best to act like a kid at Christmas, leaping after her sisters. They run down the strangely deserted street, morph into Duran Duran video effects and fly off into the sky. One runs in front of a groan-inducing rear projection. Two meet on the beach and most of them fly up through the clouds and Libby appears in a park all aglow. Michael Beck is walking ahead of her. She skates up, lays a kiss on him and disappears in a plume of airbrush magic. "What the…?" he questions.

Where to start? In musicals a suspension of disbelief is an expected requirement from the audience. An entire town will break into a choreographed number, dream ballets will be plentiful, and everything will be worked out in time for a third act reprise. Even so, the filmmakers have a responsibility to make sure everything follows some sort of pattern or internal logic.

This here, however, is a mess of a film. Muses light up the Hollywood sign and fall from the sky and yet no one seems to notice? Michael Beck sees Libby in a clunky special effect and doesn’t seem all that perplexed. Yet there’s no feeling that this is set in some bizarre alternaverse like Moulin Rouge. Or I should say nobody notices that it is. Characters will be surprised by some out of the blue event but shrug off other fantastic occurrences. And to become pedantic for a moment, shouldn’t only one Muse, that of artists, awaken?

Michael pulls up at Air Flo studios. The security guard calls out, "Sonny, never thought we’d see you here again." "I’m not exactly thrilled to be here," replies Sonny (Michael Beck). A woman beside him adds, "Yeah, you said this place made you crazy." "I decided I’d rather be crazy than hungry," answers Sonny as he drives on. And like all struggling artists he drives a gorgeous vintage Woody.

In the studio a group of women chat. I believe these are a few of the Muses we saw earlier, now in street clothes. A Wizard of Oz touch that doesn’t quite work because it’s never made clear that that’s who they are.

[Editor Ken: I concur. Watching the film to grab Jessica some screencaps – gee, thanks, Jess – I thought two woman shown on the boardwalk later were from the Muse group. Like Jessica, however, I wasn’t really sure, either.]

They’re talking the typical mortgages and blahblahblah I-can’t-make-ends-meet cakes. Sonny enters. "Last one in, first one home" he jokes. "It’s Michelangelo Malone," an off camera voice says. "Hey Michelangelo, the ceiling needs painting," the Office Nebbish says.

They joke and tease him. They berate him for coming back and he whines, "You know I wouldn’t come back to all this unless I had too." Look, maybe it’s because I’m facing the brunt end of an anemic job market, but if I had a job that I could leap in and out of I’d be a little more grateful. He goes on in his lamentations about how he’s always painted what other people want but on his own "I can’t figure out what I want to do."

Cue the Villainous Boss. "Well, look who decided to drop in. Where’s your white flag?" "You have a way with words, Simpson, you know that?" Sonny replies. Simpson rightfully notes Sonny should be thankful he took him back. Sonny instead responds by accusingly asking, "Why did you take me back?" Simpson unbelievably states that Sonny’s "the best". He insults Sonny (well played, sir!) some more before stalking off. Sonny jokes that "Picasso was only called a genius. I get to be called the fastest painter around." Shut up, Sonny.

He looks at the album cover he’s supposed to paint and the Enchanted Casio begins to play. It’s a picture of an art deco auditorium with Olivia on the cover. His co-workers gather around and coo at how pretty she is. Sonny makes for the door. "Simpson is gonna kill him," a co-worker notes. No, Simpson is going to fire his sorry self and get a worker who doesn’t get up and bolt whenever he pleases.

Sonny first sweeps by the payroll office, but no luck. Cut to a close-up of future members of Vanity 6. They’re posing for an album cover. Sonny chats up the photographer, seems the Mysterious Model appeared and then disappeared. "The next time I saw her it was on the contact sheet." He tells Sonny not to spread this around, as it’s one of his "best covers". Yeah a soft focus shot of a girl in front of an Olan Mills backdrop. Eat your heart out, Richard Avedon.

Sonny takes to the streets, walking in the park he was at earlier. He buys some popcorn from a blonde who, again, I think is a Muse. A touch going for cute but ending up confusing.

He hears the mournful clarinet music from the beginning of the film. He wanders over to some rocks, where Gene Kelly is playing. This means he has been playing for hours. Resilient fellow, that Gene. Sonny interrupts to tell him he liked it, "But I was just wondering where they laid out the body?" Gene chuckles and then rams his clarinet into Sonny’s eye. Oh, he does not, but it would have been nice.

Gene plays a bouncier tune and has Sonny help him off the rocks. "They don’t make rocks like they used to," notes Gene. Gene will be saddled with these bon mots throughout the film. They are meant to give a whimsically philosophical edge to his character. Instead, you make it seem like maybe it’s time for Gramps to enter a home.

Sonny spots Olivia and gives chase. He borrows a bike from a lovely Asian woman I remember as a Muse and goes after her. He travels a great distance because in the next shot it’s overcast and gray. Olivia waves to him and his bike suddenly speeds up. Probably so he can crash through the railing and fall into the water.

Gene catches up to him and laughs as he swims to the ladder. Sonny complains that he doesn’t get what’s going on (hey, join the club), and Gene takes him out for a coffee. Sonny recaps the day’s events for us. "She just kissed me and disappeared, isn’t that weird?" "What’s so weird about that?" answers Gene. Because it’s Gene Kelly I’m not going to rag him for that groaner. Now somebody go get this man some dialogue, stat! Sonny decides to keep looking for her. Gene’s advice: "Don’t look underwater." Heh.

Later that day Sonny spots a tacky painted van and skates up to it. (Apparently he went home to change, though. Even granting that, though, I’d like to know why he’s on skates and what happened to his car.) The van is an example of Sonny’s handiwork and, amazingly, the driver is very pleased with it. He offers Sonny a ride, who grabs on to the back bumper. I guess personal safety is just too bourgeois.

Sonny sees the auditorium featured on the album cover and skates off to investigate. It’s an Art Deco beauty worn by age and painted an unappealing shade of green. The LOlies are heard faintly outside. Sonny takes off his skates and climbs through an open window. From the balcony he watches, stained glass windows cast colored shadows over the suspiciously clean floor.

Olivia appears out of the darkness gracefully skating in circles. "You!" Sonny calls. "Me," Olivia coyly replies. "You’re not going to believe this but I painted an album cover and you were on it." "Why shouldn’t I believe it?" is the breezy reply. He says he never laid eyes on her before now he’s seen her three times. "Seems like you don’t believe in coincidences." Olivia vanishes as Sonny reaches the floor. He sputters that he just wants to know if they’ll- "See each other again?" Olivia suggests, reappearing in a corner.

I suppose we’re supposed to take to Olivia’s happy-go-lucky nature. However, she’s coming off like Tiffany, you know, your best friend’s bitchy older sister. The one who laughed at you when she caught you both lip synching to TLC and who was too good to go on family vacations. Who made a guy call three times before finally picking up the phone. She was all sweetness and light at school but screamed at you when she caught you playing with her makeup.

Olivia promises they’ll meet again and skates off. Sonny calls out he doesn’t even know her name. "Kira…kira…kira" is the echoplex reply.

Back at the studio, where Sonny is hard at work on Kira’s portrait. His co-workers comment on how good it looks. "It’s too good," Simpson calls from above. He says Sonny is wasting too much time on the cover. Sonny tries to defend himself with "This is what she really looks like." "I don’t care what she really looks like," Simpson shouts. I’d like Simpson more if he pointed out that if Sonny hadn’t gotten up and left for a good part of the workday the painting would be done.

Simpson asks when it will be finished. Sonny, the Surly King of Surlytown, takes a dramatic pause and says, "It’ll be done…when it’s done. But that’s just an approximate guess." The boss glares at him and says, "My office, five minutes. And if it’s six, keep walking." Sonny’s co-workers tell him to hurry up and go and not be so difficult.

Sonny goes into Simpson’s office, where he is told to get in his phantom car and get out. Oh, wait. This is the movies, so instead Simpson sits him down for a pep talk. He points out a pipe cleaner figure he says he made, "Surprises you, doesn’t it?" He and Sonny get into a hilariously sophomoric argument over the meaning of Art and it’s place in society.

Simpson says he gave it up and if Sonny’s smart, he’ll give it up too. It just betrays how shallow this film is to treat Art like a commodity that only belongs to a select few. Art is everywhere. When you enjoy a beautiful piece of music or go to a museum you take part in it. It’s nature itself in the changing leaves or the first snowfall. No one ever gives up ‘Art,’ it’s impossible.

Simpson continues. "If you start making changes, then other people start making changes, and then we have a bunch of people running around doing what they want. That’s not a company, that’s chaos."

Simpson isn’t doing a very good job as The Man because he makes a lot of sense. It’s brutal for an artist to support themselves on just their work. Sonny should be glad he has a steady job that employs some of his painting skills, if one can be so charitable to call them that. Instead, Sonny sulks as Simpson sends him to hang album covers.

Sonny is next seen outside a record store, affixing a cover. Gene comes out the door. "Hey, Clarinet!" Sonny calls. Gene pretends he’s happy to see him. They finally make their introductions. Gene’s name is Danny McGuire, which was also his character’s name in Cover Girl. Gene says he bought some Glen Miller but doesn’t think Sonny would be interested. Sonny says he loves Glen Miller and Gene invites him over. Sonny leaves his work unfinished and cluttering the street. All the muses are needed for this guy?

At Gene’s luxurious apartment Sonny complements the digs. "It belonged to a silent movie star. Obviously they did things bigger in those days." "Hey, just remember I gave you popcorn," Sonny jokes, looking for a sugar daddy once his job falls through.

Gene plays the record and Sonny points out a picture of a devilishly handsome young Gene. He also spots a period photo of Kira in a scrapbook. He’s about to ask Gene about it, but is lead to Gene’s trophy room instead. Gene starts talking about his club and the good old days. Sonny asks why he gave it up and Gene says it was a "Turning point where you turn in the wrong direction." Sonny correctly divines it was over a girl. Gene admits the heart went out of his music when he lost her.

Sonny asks he ever thinks of getting back into music. "Only twenty or thirty times a day." Sonny leaves and Gene converses with the record player. "How’d he figure out about us?" There’s a nice sequence where he pinches his wrinkles and makes faces in the mirror, sighing "You’re getting old, boy." He sinks into a chair and closes his eyes, falling into the music, and adding a bit of pathos to film that doesn’t deserve it. In the background a big band is superimposed. Kira warbles some ersatz Porter tune. Gene rises and the furniture disappears.

He glides to Kira who materializes in a period outfit. Now I had prepared myself for a Sextette debacle, wherein a performer years past his prime tries to pretend he still has it. My fears were needless. The choreography is simple and Gene is as fleet on his feet as ever. He and Kira dance and I must admit Olivia isn’t bad. I suspect the choreography was kept simple for her sake. She ends up in Gene’s arms as he twirls her, then she vanishes and the furniture returns.

Back at the studio Sonny finishes up the cover. In a very John Carpenter-esque touch, the camera pans left to reveal Kira in silhouette. The camera returns to Sonny, then pans back again to reveal that Kira is gone. Unfortunately, the subsequent scene doesn’t involve Sonny’s gruesome death.

She slinks up and startles him, then compliments his painting. "Thanks, it’s the first time I cared about something I painted in a long time." Kira chides him for giving up his dreams and he tells her about Danny. He mentions how he’s looking for a place for a new club. Kira suggests the place in the picture. Sonny calls it a dump and Kira says it has "a special aura."

Sonny cleans up and asks if she’d like to come with him. They open the doors to a cavernous warehouse. "I thought we going skating." Sonny replies that he wants to show her something. Apparently this is a studio for the "latest artists." As they record, pictures are flashed on screen to inspire them.

Ken came up with The Left Handed Explanation™, where the explanation for a plot hole creates an even bigger one. With the fireworks and inflatable palm trees and no recording equipment in sight a better explanation would have been that this is where they film music videos. Or more accurately "We’re going to, without a shred of shame, rip-off Singin’ in the Rain. But hey, we have its star in our ranks, so we can call it an hommage."

They skate to the control booth. Sonny tinkers around with the controls Kira helpfully suggests trying every thing. "I don’t want to break anything." "Then press them carefully." "Ah what the hell, I never liked the job anyway." That’s right Sonny and I’m sure Simpson wont mention around town what an ass you are so that you can’t even get a job painting toenails.

Another EeLs’ classic plays. I guess Michael Beck can’t sing because a male vocalist and Olivia are heard on the soundtrack, crooning over the lovebirds. Well, it’s better than the lip-synching in the nightmarish Grease 2. They skate around various set pieces and I’m trying to go with the "aww, isn’t it romantic vibe?" but I wish they’d get on with it.

Sonny swoops Kira up for a kiss. Simpson bursts in on them. They escape and he yells at them for messing with the equipment. He tries to shut it down and several studio lights blow out. Kira and Sonny giggle as explosions and cursing are heard inside. Ha, ha, maybe he’ll electrocute himself.

Sonny and Kira walk to the auditorium. Kira dodges personal questions and encourages Sonny not to give up. Sonny thinks about it and takes her in his arms. She encourages him to help Gene. "Maybe his dream is big enough for the both of you."

The next day Sonny is back in his phantom car, taking Gene to the auditorium. He balks at the place. Sonny tries Kira’s line about it having an aura. "If that’s what you call it, it’s got it." Gene worries that the place might be too big. He hems and haws and "hypothetically" draws up a plan. A big band materializes in the far corner. Gene rhapsodizes about how swell and classy it will be. Sonny interrupts his reverie. "This is the eighties!" Ah, films who in their desperation to be hip suspend themselves in time as helplessly as a fly trapped in amber.

Sonny’s idea is a rock and roll club featuring "six guys in electric orange." That abomination appears in the corner opposite to Gene’s big band. Gourmands revile fusion cooking for it’s clashing of textures and flavor, which overloads the palate. Well, get ready for fusion design: The worst of the forties and eighties exploding in a shower of neon-colored velour.

Gene doesn’t like Sonny’s idea and again talks about the elegance of the forties. He takes us back to the bandstand, where a dancer elegantly writhes in a typically forties loincloth. Three women begin to sing, all with Olivia’s voice. Then it’s back to the eighties where men in pink unitards climb around the stage. Back to the bandstand where everyone jostles to the front and misses their mark and bumps into each other. Back to the band tying a dancer in a zebra print leotard to an amp. Lovecraft on his best day couldn’t imagine something this horrible.

The two stages move together, the dancers mingle in a form of swing dancing crossbred with Mexican wrestling. This freakish apparition somehow impresses Gene and he says he’ll do it. It’s crazy but he hasn’t "been crazy for over 35 years." He then insists on making Sonny his partner. Sonny doesn’t like the idea and for once I’m in total agreement with him.

Gene persuades Sonny, telling him they’ll "share the responsibilities and we’ll argue a lot. It’s like being married without the good part." I’m not going to read much into those lines because I think Gene can do much better than a drip like Sonny. I always thought he and Donald O’Connor from Singin’ in the Rain would make the cutest couple. To bring this back on topic let’s just say those two had far more chemistry than this cast has managed.

Sonny leaves to get a flashlight and Kira makes her appearance. Gene wonders out loud what to call the place. She begins to recite Kubla Kahn, "In Xanadu did Kubla Kahn, A stately pleasure dome decree…" I would be more appalled at this, but since Hal Needham got his hands on Shakespeare nothing is sacred. Gene is smitten with the idea and Sonny returns to find Kira and Gene together. Gene tells him the name and they all repeat it "Xanadu" "Xanadu" "Xanadu" "Kill Me"…oh, sorry the last one is mine.

Sonny makes his final appearance at the studio. He tells off his boss and invites everyone to the opening of the club. "I’m fired!" he cheerfully declares. He repeats to Simpson the line about if it’s six minutes keeps walking and bound up the stairs. He ends his tirade with the invitation and an offer of "anything you want, on the house [pause] I always wanted to say that line." Shut up Sonny. The scene ends with Simpson putting his hand in a palate of paint. Komedy!

Later that night (I think), Kira and Sonny share a bottle of champagne. They’re lounging in front of the Hollywood Bowl. Sonny tries to find out more about her but she brushes off his questions. She plays it cute. "I live with my sisters." When asked were she tosses off "second floor." "I get it," Sonny smiles "no questions." "No questions, no lies," clarifies Kira. "No questions, no truth," complains Sonny.

He goes in for a kiss and the scene freezes. And just when I thought my poor eyes were going to get a rest I’m treated to the darkest entertainment of all, Don Bluth animation. Bluth animation makes my teeth itch and it’s coupled with (to steal a term from The Onion) the most Totofied song of the film.

The ugly, scratchy cartoon Kira and Sonny emerge from a rose. They frolic among the stems and muddy colored background and leap into a pond. Transforming into fish, they chase each other and Fish Sonny offers Fish Kira a tiny flower.

Leaping out of the water they transform into birds and swoop and fly together. Great, in addition to eating my soul they’re ripping off the underrated Sword in the Stone. The scene mercifully comes to an end as they are enveloped in the rose’s petals. I hope you got all that, folks, ‘cause I’m pretty sure that had a lot to do with the plot.

Gene is next seen offering celebratory wine to the crew renovating the club. They respond that it’s only the end of the first week of work, but he insists. Yes, nothing like having the inebriated handling power tools.

Speaking of Tools, Sonny walks up. They chat and Kira appears. Gene mentions how excited he is about the club opening. Kira none-too-tactfully suggests he needs some new threads, something with "glitz". He asks were he might get some and she and Sonny reply in unison, "From a franchise glitz dealer!" You know I bet the screenwriter was really proud of that line. Jackass.

Of course this exchange is important because it’s time for us to clomp our way into another musical number. The trio link arms and off they go. The nearest glitz dealer must reside several states away because it’s nighttime when they arrive. Dancers pose as mannequins and a man in safari gear is the doorman. The "mannequins" begin to sway and leap from their cases. One woman sports a Sonic the Hedgehog hairdo.

I’m chalking this up to Stockholm Syndrome but I, um, actually like this song. The lyrics are inane but infectious, a bubblegum pink teste worm drilling it’s way into my ear. A gaggle of Cirque du Soleil rejects prance around the store. Gene tries on a pink matador suit and manages to pull it of. The dancers behave as giant toddlers. Cheers to Chaka Khan to lending her wardrobe to the cast. Okay, I think the black Victorian sailor number with the knit cap is cute, although I need a Clorox bath after saying that.

Gene tries on a snazzy tuxedo and the screen splits to create multiple Genes. Girls in black leotards and web print stockings walk out of the dressing rooms. They form a tunnel with their legs and betwixt crawls a, a…uh, well just imagine if Lamar from Revenge of the Nerds went as Spiderman for Halloween and you’d be in the right ballpark.

Dancers in tiger tops growl at the camera. And every so often the camera cuts to Gene busting a move. Which is a little like placing pieces of Godiva in a bowl of Count Chocula. Kira and Sonny dance slowly together. The number ends and they are still dancing as segue over to the refurbished Xanadu.

Gene smiles benevolently on these lower life forms and Sonny leaves to set up signs. Gene admits to Kira he’s nervous and she soothes his fears. It’s this close to becoming a nice scene when Sonny swoops back in and leaves with Kira. Kira and Sonny cuddle on the boardwalk. He leans in for a kiss and she sadly turns away. She says it’s not right, that she "can’t have these types of feelings."

An abrupt cut to Sonny’s apartment as Kira reveals the truth. "I’m a Muse". "Well, I’m glad someone’s having a good time," is the obnoxiously glib reply. Kira tells him about her eight sisters and Mount Halcyon and before she gets to her real name Sonny plants a kiss on her. "You’re telling me that’s not real?" Sonny declares, letting nothing block his pursuit of some hot Muse action.

Kira pulls out the dictionary and has Sonny read the entry for muse, the last words of which are "do you believe me now, Sonny?" He looks up in disbelief. The television turns itself on, showing a noir flick. The characters talk to Sonny and Kira appears onscreen. The TV turns off and Kira stands dejected before Sonny.

Sonny, realizing the hope of some Muse booty will become a distant memory, complains that she led him on. Kira explains that they’ve inspired artists through the centuries and she "broke the rules" by falling in love. As the Tron highlighter claims her, she says, "I’ll love you forever, forever, forever…"

Back at the beach, Gene finds Sonny on the rocks*. Sonny says he’s not coming to the club opening. "There is no Xanadu without Kira." Gene holds his head underwater…oh, he does not, but I wish someone would. Sonny’s bitterness continues. "Dreams die…", he begins. "No! We let them, we kill them," Gene preaches. He tells Sonny to find her.

[*Editor Ken: By the way, if this isn’t the winning entry in the Most Bone-Headedly Obvious Metaphor Ever category, I don’t know what is.]

Sonny skates away, giving the viewer an eyeful of his pasty white legs in some very upsetting shorts. Another dismal song screams over the action. At this point they’ve all snowballed together into some critical mass of insipidity, rendering them indistinguishable from one another. Little Red Running Shorts finds the mural from the beginning of the picture. He skates up, touches the figure of Kira and begins to leave. He then turns and begins to barrel toward the mural at full force.

Our hopes of ending this are dashed as he makes it through. Now Sonny has entered the realm of the gods. A place of infinity, of darkness were the mists of time boil and foam. It looks like the inside of your toaster. Kyra appears and joyously calls out to Sonny. She tells him he must leave, but it’s too late as cartoon beams encircle his body. Saying he’s not leaving without her, Sonny calls to Zeus. "Oh, God," Kira mutters as a crisp English voice responds to Sonny’s query.

Sonny and Zeus argue back and forth. Just when it seems Zeus is about to unleash some brimstone on Sonny, a female voice – presumably Hera, Zeus’ wife – is heard. She tries to cajole Zeus into letting Kira go. Meanwhile, the subject of this conversation angrily butts in with the traditional doesn’t-anyone-care-about-my-feelings claptrap. This leads to a groan-worthy exchange where Zeus asks what feelings are and Hera answers "You remember, pet, we learned about them in our mortal history class."*

[Erudite Editor Ken: This exchange is doubly moronic to anyone with a bare modicum of knowledge regarding Greek Mythology. The gods needed no lessons from mortals on what ‘feelings’ were. Indeed, the Greek pantheon had Man’s hungers and passions down cold, only writ much larger. In fact, that pretty much sums up what the Greek conception of a god was.]

Zeus refuses to budge and banishes Sonny. Kira stands alone, having decided that if she’s in pain the audience will be as well. Now it’s very difficult for a performer to hold the crowd and Olivia just can’t sell a song. The tune drags inexorably on and her interpretation varies between frowning to show she’s sad and closing her eyes in defeat.

It ends (thank Zeus) and as we pan to a field of stars, Zeus says "Well, maybe for just one moment…or forever, I keep getting those two mixed up." No wonder ancient Greece went down the drain.

Well, we’re almost out, boys and girls. Still, the toughest test lies in wait, the unveiling of Xanadu. Now imagine if a colorblind baboon was your production designer. No, worse, imagine if a herd of Trading Spaces designers were let loose in a Gymnasium. Still not there? Imagine a Thomas Kinkade color scheme and mimes. Lunch coming up? Good.

Gene and Sonny enter as jugglers toss bowling pins over their heads. Gene leads a group of skaters in some poor man’s hand jive that the producers were betting on becoming the next dance craze. And the center of the room is a lighted round platform and against the walls are little performance areas. The kids shout their battle cry of "Xanadu" and it’s The Warriors gone very, very, horrifically wrong. Incidentally, that film most likely explains Michael Beck’s presence here.

The music builds to a crescendo and Kira appears in a black pantsuit to belt out the title number. As she croons we see a group of break-dancers in pimp hats and white gloves. She walks over to where a man and a woman walk a small tightrope. She makes eyes at Sonny while dancers, whose clothing consists of far too many fins, bump and grind. The colors clash and it’s sensory overload. Kira trills the last note in "Xanaduuuuuuuu" and falls into Sonny’s arms.

But it’s not over, folks. The Enchanted Casio tries a haunted melody as we see the muses on stage. Dressed as forties chorines from overhead we see them forming a circle. This is a shot that would have Busby Berkley rolling in his grave were he not too busy laughing at its lack of impressiveness, being only eight girls and all. Kira is suddenly among them in costume. Hokey music plays as the girls tap out a number and Kira shows us the steps she’s carefully memorized.

And then…brace yourself ladies and gentlemen…Olivia Newton John tries to be punk. Wearing a tiger print mini, she calls the audience a loser and claims "she won’t be needing any love for a while." She throws her hips around and generally imitates a seven-year-old on a sugar high. I will give her this, she’s got much more edge than Avril Lavinge.

Now it’s time for a little bit of country in an eye-scorching white fringe jacket. Olivia spouts off some of country’s (and music at large) corniest lyrics. We end with the Muses in, I guess, future wear, turquoise dresses and triangles in their hair. Kira walks onstage in one of Emperor Ming’s boudoir ensembles. She reprises "Xanadu" and tranforms back into her outfit from the beginning.

And just when I begin to bleed from my eyes and mouth it’s over. Kira and the Muses vanish in a storm of Tron energy beams and the club is empty. Yeah, I’d run like hell from that number too. Sonny pouts and just then extras appear, dancing in slow motion. He sits by Gene who offers him a drink. He declines but Gene orders for him and gets up and leaves.

Sonny takes his drink and, surprise, the waitress is Kira. He has the last line: "I’d just like to talk to you," and the credits roll. We get a shortened credits so they can have the old fashioned "The End, Made in Hollywood U.S.A" appear. A nice idea, too bad your movie blew. Then the "Xanadu" theme plays over the rest of the poor souls sucked into this. Sorry, I can’t believe we are magic.

Well, my eyes aren’t going to poke themselves out. ‘Night.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Thanks, I needed that. Really, though, this film is a textbook example of why less is more. Animated sequences, roller skaters, break dancers, big bands, all of it piled on without rhyme or reason. The film would have worked better as a series of ELO music videos. I suspect that’s what it was in the first place. Scenes are patched together without any rhythm or basic continuity. Characters are introduced and thrown away and the music numbers themselves rarely contribute anything to the plot.

It’s a testament to Gene Kelly that he makes it through with so few scars. For all the ragging I did on Michael Beck’s character his performance isn’t that bad. He’s not given much to work with in the first place, and as he is not a singer and dancer he’s often reduced to standing on the sidelines nodding his approval.

The biggest failure, outside the terrible songs, is Ms. John. She’s just the wrong person to build a movie around. There’s nothing ethereal or timeless about her. I know this makes me a bloody seppo but her Aussie accent makes it doubly difficult to take her seriously. Unless Halcyon has relocated to Alice Springs I’m pretty interested to know were she picked up that accent.

But really, the movie’s failure is greater than its performers. A craptacular script, lousy songs and blindingly bad design came together to give us one of the great turkeys. And so, in its desperation to be cutting edge it’s become a perennial loser. It’s simple; bad taste never goes out of style.