Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band

If you are looking for a movie that you can just sit back, relax and forget about the world, this movie is it.

In 1978, when I was 12 years old, we were living in Moscow, while my father was stationed at the Canadian Embassy. To escape the "fun" of living behind the Iron Curtain, we routinely took the Moscow-Helsinki express and travelled around Scandinavia. Our trip always ended at this huge department store in Helsinki, where we'd order all our non-perishable groceries until our next trip. My brother and I were allowed to purchase one record apiece to take back with us.

So one time, I picked up the soundtrack to this film. I don't think the movie had been released yet. Goodness knows, I didn't know that the movie was going to be a howler. All I know is that I loved the soundtrack. I listened to it over and over, and pored over the photographs on the album cover, trying to get a sense of the movie.

A few years later, I read "The Golden Turkey Awards" and then I started to realize how bad the movie was. I didn't get my chance to see it until 1997. Oh, it stunk! Cheese everywhere, from the awkward love story to the campy antics of the villain and his robots.

And yet, I watch it every time it comes on TV. Finally, I have the movie to go with the soundtrack. And let's face it - I love cheesy movies.

Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band is truly delightful! A classic!

Last night, presented by the American Cinematheque at the Egyptian in Hollywood, we saw Sgt. Pepper on the big screen for the first time in 25 years, and it not only "holds up" (as aging movie geeks like to mutter while their fantasies needlessly crumble), it is as fresh, funny, charming and touching as it was when we saw it in the summer of 1978. Blessings to director Michael Schultz, writer Henry Edwards (where are you, fellah?), obviously very busy producers Robert Stigwood, Dee Anthony and Bill Oakes, bright-eyed DP Owen Roizman and of course that music fellow George Martin and those English blokes who wrote such sensational songs. I hope they still have a little money left over, in addition to all the love and joy. (Don't go hungry, Paul; call if you need a few quid.)

Yes, there are thousands of brilliant films to adore, and of course it's common to find a scapegoat to flog, but the sweetness of this movie is undeniable.

It would be very easy to ramble for a couple of days about the wonders of this eternally surprising cast, but I'll save that for parties at B.D.'s pad or the Heartland gazebo. Simply, just try to watch Billy Preston (those boots!), Sandy Farina (!), George Burns, Steve Martin (!?!?!?!), Alice Cooper, Frankie Howerd, Paul Nicholas, Aerosmith, Donald Pleasance, Dianne Steinberg, The Earth, The Wind and The Fire, Stargard (????) and the rest without smiling or getting one of those weird "tingles."

Particularly, Peter Frampton and the Bee Gees -- Barry, Robin, Maurice (goodnight, Brother Gibb) -- commit themselves to a unique, today almost unknown sense of silly good humour. Admittedly, it's a bit uncomfortable when Barry croons to his brothers that he'd "love to turn them on," (egad!) but -- like the sometimes staid framing and cutting -- it's worth overlooking in appreciation of the bigger picture. If you love Rocky Horror, Shock Treatment, The Magic Christian, The Robe, Python's musical offerings, Visconti's The Leopard, Phantom of the Paradise, The Star Wars Holiday Special, Intolerance, The Muppet Movie, Xanadu, Summer of Sam, Happy Campers, The Conversation, The Wiz, On the Waterfront, Spice World, Infested, Yojimbo & Sanjuro, X-2, Bugsy Malone, Potemkin, Grease, Repo Man, Richard Lester's oeuvre, Pennies From Heaven, American Graffiti, Badlands, The Tigger Movie, Little Odessa, The Tattoo Connection or, heck, Singin' in the Rain, High Society or Disorderlies, there's plenty to enjoy here, and no reason to be a mindless bully or snob about it.

Everybody sings really splendidly, too, and Sandy Farina's presence in her one lead role (to date) is unforgettably lovely.

Nice one, Sandy.

While we're at it, why not commend Carel Struyken for being a really good "Brute," and Patti Jerome, Max Showalter and those disturbing robots for tugging our heartstings in "She's Leaving Home" (this version still moves me more than Tori Amos' nice take).

Who knows what bizarre energies converged behind the scenes to bring this thing together (not to mention landing Etta James, Leif Garrett, Barry Humphries, Tina Turner, Sha-Na-Na, Jose Feliciano and Wolfman Jack on the same risers at the finale), but whatever it was, thank you. (Use that great IMDB "more" clicker to scan the credits.)

Now please release a proper widescreen, ZONE-FREE, global DVD packed with extras ASAP. (I cheerfully volunteer as interviewer for the commentary, since no one else on the whole planet would have the guts.) This version from Brasil is pretty good for a full-screen with no chapter-stops (Steve's freaking through "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" right now), but -- like Shock Treatment, The Fabulous Stains and others, the public deserves a good look at this stuff.

Sorry if that sounds like a threat.

Let the pleasure be guilty no more!

Naw, actually, it was twenty-FIVE years ago today, that producer Robert Stigwood had a flea placed in his ear by SOMEBODY, (maybe agent/co-producer Dee Anthony, who repped both the Bee Gees AND Peter Frampton at the time,) and the flea said: "What is the greatest rock-and-roll album of all time? Who right now are the greatest, most popular music stars? And how can you possibly lose if you combine them both?"

Answer that question with a question: How could you possibly WIN???

To those who decry the defacing of a sacred cow, first of all, and pay close attention to this, people: THIS MOVIE IS A PRODUCT OF ITS TIME. Nothing in the late Seventies succeeded (or exceeded, as it were) like excess. If big was good, then bigger was even better, and the King of Media Overkill was Robert Stigwood at this period. Which was his standout quality, and his company's undoing. (Not to mention the undoing of quite a few careers along the way.)

Second of all, as it has already been pointed out, the timing SUCKED, even moreso than the movie itself. The SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER backlash was just beginning with PEPPER'S release, and even though Peter Frampton had proven himself still able to chart with such current hits as his cover of "Signed, Sealed and Delivered" and "I'm In You," (please hold your snickers), his album sales had begun to wane, a surefire indicator that his status as a pretty-boy guitar god was fading fast.

For the most part, the audience demographic the movie was aimed at was served as well as they could be. None of the teenybopper females in the theater audience I saw it with, (yes, I DID see it in a theater), gave one whisker on a rat's bee-hind that the album the movie was derived from was a classic, or that George Martin actually produced the soundtrack (well, most of it.) They sighed in rapture on cue when a dreamy closeup of The Brothers Gibb or Frampton came whizzing by, or sobbed uncontrollably at the 'oh-my-GAWD-this-is-so-maudlin' ending. I swear, THIS is the audience the producers should've seen it with, when the reviews came in chopping the entire project to shreds.

So, for a movie that represents everything that was both bad AND good about That Decade simultaneously, was there anything of merit to observe? YES. First of all, for the most expensive musical ever made in its day ("tupping the bill" at a whopping $60 mil plus), every cent is evident on-screen. Owen Roizman (who shot THE EXORCIST) managed to get every shot right, even if the pastels were enough at times to send an epileptic into grand mal seizures, and there was enough condescending sweetness for twelve diabetic comas.

Also, contrary to the rabid rantings of Beatlemaniacs everywhere, the soundtrack is the best part of the movie. I guess what makes it so hard for most people to watch, are the scenes that are almost painful indicators of what the movie COULD'VE been, because the energy and drive is so different from the rest of the goings-on.

Meaning Aerosmith's ball-busting cover of "Come Together," the finger-snapping, funk-injected "Got To Get You Into My Life" from Earth, Wind and Fire, and Steve Martin's super-manic "Maxwell's Silver Hammer," echoing his even better turn to come in LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS. No matter how much the remainder may induce severe bouts of wincing and cringing, these moments almost redeem Henry Edwards' "Yellow-Submarine-on-peyote-buttons" screenplay. ALMOST.

I bought this (and I'd be embarassed to tell you how much I spent) for a So-Bad-It's-Good movie party I decided to throw for some friends on New Year's Eve. Just to see if it was as bad as I remembered, (and as bad as people have credited it to be), I gave it a spin just for old time's sake. Time does heal old wounds, I guess, and as much as I snickered, groaned and chortled at the outlandishness of it all, I have to admit that at the very least, I was entertained. Kind of like when you're watching virtually nothing on Saturday night, until a rerun of "Donnie and Marie" comes on Nick At Night. And though you'd never tell your friends you did, you watched every painfully corny moment of it...and actually enjoyed it.

So that's how I think of PEPPER now, as a very secretively guilty pleasure.

And for those reading that last line and yelling "Is he CRAZY??? This is the BLACK HOLE OF MUSICALS!!" I can only say this: you have not lived as long as I have, or seen as many movies to be able to make that statement with any kind of confidence.

How do I know? Let me ask you: have you ever seen the musical version of LOST HORIZON? Mae West in SEXTETTE? Lucille Ball in MAME? Go sit through even ONE of those, boys and girls. I dare you. We can talk about really bad musicals after you've weathered THAT ordeal. I did...and lived to tell about it.

This was considered one of the biggest cinematic disasters of its era---a film that virtually destroyed the careers of the Bee Gees and Peter Frampton, and recording mogul Robert Stigwood (a giant at the time) likewise disappeared from view. Thirty years later, there are no less than 13 pages (so far) of blistering denunciations of this movie here at IMDb.

I have never understood any of this. I had a good time with the film when I was young, and in later years, it still held up for me. It certainly is no classic, but if you are willing to relax and meet it halfway, you might find yourself having a good time. It is fun watching people like Steve Martin, Frankie Howerd, and Donald Pleasence hamming it up, and George Burns is always enjoyable.

Once, I said all of this to an acquaintance in person, and his response was: "Why would I want to hear Beatles songs if the Beatles aren't doing them?" Herein lies the film's problem, I think. Fans of the Beatles consider their music to be untouchable---very few artists have tried to do covers of Beatles songs, and the few who have met with hostility. Fans of the "fab four" carry a lot of weight, and they consider covers of the music to be nothing less than blasphemy. Consequently, when this innocuous film came out, they went on the attack and never let up.

Come on, lighten up! It is a fun, innocent little film.