Pulsaciones

Probably the worst of a string of films cranked out to capitalize on the health-club craze of the early 1980s(a time when aerobics classes were replacing singles bars), this is little more than scuzzy voyeurism with a ghost of a plot. PULSEBEAT is merely a gatherum of scenes featuring "body beautiful" types pumping, flexing, wiggling, and posing to the irritating sounds of canned synth-pop, with a granule of a story concerning a gym owner struggling to stay afloat due to constant sabotage by his nasty competitor.

The true star of this show is the hilariously dated, distinctly 80s overaccessorized workout fashion...leg-warmers, a belt, a headband, full make-up, jewelry, a purse, skyscraper hair, etc. Well, hey...no pain, no gain! Skip this dud and rent a generic workout video...that way, you can see everything this one offers without the burden of a contrived story which is insulting to your intelligence.

One positive note in closing...Helga Line, forever a welcome screen presence, looks fantastic in this. 3/10

My review was written in June 1986 after watching the film on Lightning video cassette.

"Pulsebeat" i an embarrassingly inept film that attempts to capitalize on the current interest in fitness and, specifically, aerobic workouts. Shot in Florida in May 1984 by a Spanish production outfit, picture is being released domestically on video cassette.

Steven Siebert's wafer-thin screenplay postis a battle between two Florida health clubs: Roger's Gym, run by Roger (Daniel Greene) and the Rejuvenation owned by Marlene (Spanish star Helga Line). Marlene is stealing away Rogers' best aerobics instructors as well as employing a spy in his camp, Latin hunk Adrian (Alex Intriago).

Feature is all padding designed to build to an extremely tedious annual Aerobithon contest. Halfway through it's revealed that Marlene is Roger's mother (quite a joke considering their obvious differing nationalities), removing any tension or interest from the competition. Among boring "sporting" events, it would be harder to find competition duller than watching people do jumping jacks or ride stationary exercise bicycles, exactly what constitutes the big finish here.

In attempting to make an imitation-U. S. film, producer Jose Frade trips up by having some scenes dubbed, some using direct-sound dialog and others a mixture as some actors require dubbing. End credits manage to several times misspell a function as "coreography".

Cast is weak, with topliner Greene wooden in the extreme. Novelty of giving equal time to male beefcake as well as the usual femme cheesecake is initially intriguing but goes nowhere. Former "Mission: Impossible" tv regular Peter Lupus has a guest role as a Steve Reeves-type muscleman star who serves as the hero's inspiration.

This movie is kinda like "Breakin" set in rival gym's. The opening credits feature the funniest , and most pointless nudity ever. Pulsebeat has lots of scenes featuring working out and aerobics pros "showing their stuff." This movie even features the main characters seducing each other while lifting weights and then having sex on gym equipment. See this movie at any cost. GREATEST BAD MOVIE EVER!

This movie is kind of a throwback to those old movies from the 30's and 40's where a bunch of underdogs need to put on a "show" to "save" the farm, clubhouse, theater, apartment building, beloved local business, etc., except this one was trying to cash in on the aerobics fad that had been gaining popularity around the time of release. The plot is pure fantasy / nonsense, and the film is plagued by some of the most godawful synth-pop I've ever heard in my life. It's pretty bad, but bad enough to fall into the so bad it's good category, so it's worth checking out if you're into that and, honestly, I can't think of any other reason someone would want to watch it at this point in time. One point of interest is that this is the only time I ever saw a straight guy wearing those leggings thingies that were in vogue during the early eighties and, to this day, I still have no idea what purpose those things served. Like you only needed to keep your ankles and shins warm and everything else was fine? Extra heat on the ankles and shins helped you burn more fat? For some strange reason that fashion fad never made it back.

Forget Perfect with Travolta and Jamie Lee Curtis - Pulsebeat is the real Holy Grail of 1980s fitness cinema. It's cheap, it's sweaty, it's barely coherent - and it is glorious.

This isn't just a movie, it's an aerobic fever dream preserved on film. The neon headbands, the shoulder-cut tank tops, the relentless synth-pop - it's all here, in its undiluted, day-glo purity. If cocaine had a visual language, Pulsebeat would be it.

The plot involves a charismatic health club owner trying to save his gym by winning a high-stakes aerobics competition. That sentence alone should tell you whether or not this film is for you. But if you're a fan of VHS-era charm, montage after montage of people thrusting to Casio beats, and guileless dialogue, this is for you.

What elevates Pulsebeat beyond its better-known counterpart is its sincerity. Perfect feels like a studio trying to make sense of a trend; Pulsebeat, on the other hand, lives and breathes it. It's not polished. It doesn't wink. It just is - sweaty, committed, and rhythmically intense. The dozen or so aerobics scenes woven into the plot are choreographed, and dazzlingly so.

Director Maurice Tobias - sometimes credited as Marice - delivers something so singular and confident, you can't help but be fascinated. Before she became a celebrated voiceover coach and a CLIO Award-winning talent, she gifted the world with this gloriously unhinged artifact. And thank God she did.

And just the right dash of nudity - both male and female - commensurate with all those saunas and showers plus one inevitable work-out-bench love scene. And the cross-legged on the bed scene is hot even without much skin or touching.

Is it technically "good"? Not by traditional standards. But that's missing the point. Pulsebeat isn't a film to be judged - it's one to be experienced. Preferably wearing a sweatband, with the volume cranked.

Long live the spandex. Long live the synth. Long live the 1980s! Long live Pulsebeat.