Is Thank God It's Friday the worst film to have won an Oscar? Leonard Maltin sure thought so.
Imagine Car Wash without the laughs or Grand Hotel set in a discotheque where nothing truly happens. It's a good way to sum up my experiences watching this era of the disco movie.
A listing of subplots for those who care:
An accountant is on his fifth anniversary with his wife where she becomes the target of lothario disco owner (Jeff Goldblum). Meanwhile, he gets caught up in the machinations of a club regular with a pharmacy in her purse!
Said owner takes great pride in his car, placing a gray coversheet over it before coming to work.
Two teen girls have designs on winning the disco contest to buy tickets to see KISS (who knew disco and KISS were related). Trivia time: The blonde girl became the lead singer from Berlin!
A garbageman with a short fuse (You bet your sweet ass you're sorry) is waiting on a blind date. Of course, she's refined, taller and bookish.
The Disco DJ is being threatened with various things if the Commodores don't show up on the air at midnight.
Yes, the Commodores are here but their roadie with all their instruments is not.
Two normal kids looking for love (she's played by Debra Winger) are escorted by two people who act like they're smooth operators but they're really not.
A local singer (Donna Summer) wants a chance to prove her vocal chops tonight.
The various subplots keep colliding on the dance floor, but there's little reason to care outside of maybe Summer's plight. The directing is listless for the most part (you don't get a chance to wow at the talents of young Goldblum and Winger, they're just there). Summer's performance is kind of rudimentary, but her character is not hard to root for and you can tell she can bring it singing. The music is well done at least with Brick House and Oscar winning Last Dance among the tracks. The film consists of multiple running jokes, most of which fall flat.
I think I counted two laughs. One involving a perfect song choice and the other involving a motorcycle cop running into something and flying off. There's also admittedly a bravura sequence involving a guy in leather dancing on top of cars and on lightpoles that recalled Singin' in the Rain.
But worst Oscar winner? I can see it. To paraphrase another film critic, too often I was listening to my watch to make sure it hadn't stopped. And it's electric.
Next: A search for a bird takes a deadly turn.
Imagine Car Wash without the laughs or Grand Hotel set in a discotheque where nothing truly happens. It's a good way to sum up my experiences watching this era of the disco movie.
A listing of subplots for those who care:
An accountant is on his fifth anniversary with his wife where she becomes the target of lothario disco owner (Jeff Goldblum). Meanwhile, he gets caught up in the machinations of a club regular with a pharmacy in her purse!
Said owner takes great pride in his car, placing a gray coversheet over it before coming to work.
Two teen girls have designs on winning the disco contest to buy tickets to see KISS (who knew disco and KISS were related). Trivia time: The blonde girl became the lead singer from Berlin!
A garbageman with a short fuse (You bet your sweet ass you're sorry) is waiting on a blind date. Of course, she's refined, taller and bookish.
The Disco DJ is being threatened with various things if the Commodores don't show up on the air at midnight.
Yes, the Commodores are here but their roadie with all their instruments is not.
Two normal kids looking for love (she's played by Debra Winger) are escorted by two people who act like they're smooth operators but they're really not.
A local singer (Donna Summer) wants a chance to prove her vocal chops tonight.
The various subplots keep colliding on the dance floor, but there's little reason to care outside of maybe Summer's plight. The directing is listless for the most part (you don't get a chance to wow at the talents of young Goldblum and Winger, they're just there). Summer's performance is kind of rudimentary, but her character is not hard to root for and you can tell she can bring it singing. The music is well done at least with Brick House and Oscar winning Last Dance among the tracks. The film consists of multiple running jokes, most of which fall flat.
I think I counted two laughs. One involving a perfect song choice and the other involving a motorcycle cop running into something and flying off. There's also admittedly a bravura sequence involving a guy in leather dancing on top of cars and on lightpoles that recalled Singin' in the Rain.
But worst Oscar winner? I can see it. To paraphrase another film critic, too often I was listening to my watch to make sure it hadn't stopped. And it's electric.
Next: A search for a bird takes a deadly turn.