Perfect

OK, I know this is a bad, bad movie. It's not like I have any "diamond in the rough" illusions about this actually being a good movie that's merely misunderstood. So why is it that I watch it every time it's on? I honestly love watching this film!

Maybe it's the dated 80s setting and the "studly" guys that look utterly homosexual now. Perhaps it's the great lines, like Anne De Salvo looking directly into the camera and saying, "C'mon, guys, make me suffer," or Matthew Reed (in his one and only screen role) saying, "It was love at first sight. I took one look at those tits and my whole body got hard!" It could be John Travolta going through his aerobics routine with a sock in his jock, or Larraine Newman straddling the leg-spreader, proving that not every woman looks sexy in a leotard.

Of course there's Jamie Lee Curtis calling Travolta a "sphincter muscle" three different times. There's also Jann Wenner gyrating his fat gut during the closing credits. How about the pointless scene where hundreds of Boy George fans storm the hotel, or Curtis "deleting" Travolta's article by merely backspacing (What kind of word processor is that)? There's even the premise that Rolling Stone is a serious news magazine - HAW HAW HAW!

I seriously can't recommend paying money for this, but it's worth a watch if it comes on a local channel just for the sheer badness of it all. This is the definitive nadir of Travolta's career (check that...it is better than Battlefield Earth, but what isn't?) After this, even Look Who's Talking Now looks brilliant.

PERFECT reminds you of precisely what you wanted to forget about the mid-80s, including the movie, itself. That's why so many are uncomfortable with it, myself included.

Yes, Jamie Lee looks lovely (though she'd go on to look much better -- and much healthier -- in subsequent films), and it's fun to grin along with Travolta and the Tent in His Shorts in that entirely-too-long "hot aerobics moves" sequence.. But PERFECT is useful for one thing and one thing only, being an send up of East coast pretentiousness and presumptions about the "Los Angeles"/airhead image. Oh yes, and it's probably the only film on earth to mention the ABSCAM scandal of 1980. Give it two stars for that, alone.

There's a not-so-subtle gay undercurrent running through PERFECT be it the impromptu Boy George Fandom conference at the hotel, the pretty blonde fruits prancing around Sport Connection and incredulous "Chippendale (i.e. homosexual) boyfriend" of the aggressively heterosexual Sally; or the purposely genderless introduction of Jessie's "swim coach" rumor. Be honest: you wait with bated breath until the movie provides you with the sigh of relief that the swim coach was indeed male. It could have been worse: all that memory trauma could have been over an allegation of...lecherous PE teacher LESBIANISM...(gasp, the horror!)

Before you tell me I'm imposing today's standards on yesterday's film, consider that these were pertinent issues, particularly for gays and gays-to-be, even (perhaps even "especially") in 1985.

But I found myself actually agreeing with the central message of the film, as articulated by that hokey Travolta analogy on pop culture and individual dreams.

Diagnosis: if PERFECT is any indicator, the "California"/LA image is the fantastic, mass-marketed product of the very people claiming to critique it from such an "objective" distance. Whatever it's funny-ha-ha flaws, anyone over age 35 is acutely aware that we're really only laughing at ourselves, our active denial of blatant, obvious 1980s in your fact homosexuality; our long-spent cans of sparkly rouge, styling mousse, and L'Oreal; synth bass and gated snare dance lines, the wrong-then-and-wrong-now spandex, and pushbutton on-screen/zero-chemistry heterosexual promiscuity.

PERFECT is the warped mirror back in our face. That is precisely WHY it was such a monumental failure at the BO. Two stars for that part, too.

My Goodness, what a bomb! We didn't drop anything this big on Iraq!

Perfect is the story of a Rolling Stone reporter (Travolta) who trips over his ethics, or lack there of while writing two big stories. His first story deals with a computer tycoon in hot water with the U.S. government for selling his products to an Eastern-Bloc country. This angle is played way up considering the lack of details we are told about the situation. No matter, the story you will remember deals with a swanky health club in L.A.. Travolta wishes to write a piece about how health clubs in the 1980s are replacing the singles bars of the 1970s as the #1 place for people to meet. Take that premise and see how long you can stretch it. Director Bridges apparently thought he could drag it out for nearly two hours and still keep our attention.

This film suffers from a severe lack of focus. There are too many location changes to count. There is also too much running around and too much time wasted on insignificant little things. For example, what was up with Travolta's sudden trip to Morocco near the end of the film. It had no purpose what so ever! Another problem this film has is its tendency to drag out every scene to last as long as whatever cheesy 80s dance song is playing in the background. That gets old pretty darn quick.

This film is also hopelessly dated in terms of fashion. If any guy came into my health club wearing tights or a fish-net tank top, he'd probably get beaten up. Bridges & CO also try to recycle a gag that worked in Urban Cowboy. In that film, there was a scene featuring numerous women dressed up for a Dolly Parton look-alike contest. In this film, we get about a hundred people dressed up as Boy George in a scene at a hotel. In Urban Cowboy it worked since there was a legitimate reason for all the people to dress that way. They were at least trying to win a contest. The scene in Perfect is useless and it only serves to date the film even further.

This film was by no means Travolta's worst. Has anyone seen The Experts or Shout? This film did, however, have his most embarrassing scene. In it, he's sweating away in Jamie Lee Curtis's aerobics class and doing a never-ending series of pelvic thrusts to the dance beat. His crotch has obviously been stuffed with a sock, or perhaps the thing Hammer used in his Pumps in a Bump video. Truly hilarious!

Travolta is a talented actor, but he has nothing to work with here. Jamie Lee Curtis is also a great talent, but she is wasted as well. She looks absolutely gorgeous, but her character is so moody and abrasive that we can hardly stand her. The supporting cast of mostly unknowns fills out their respective stereotypical roles as well as they can.

In all, this is a poor film on all levels. It tries to be an insightful look at journalistic ethics and falls flat on its face. It comes off as being little more than a two hour plug for Rolling Stone Magazine. Too Bad.

3 of 10 stars

So sayeth the Hound.

A legendary flop and a legendarily bad movie, this mess is part three in a career-killing trilogy of Travolta's that also includes "Staying Alive" and "Two of a Kind". It took him a long time to bounce back. It also stalled Curtis's career for a while until "A Fish Called Wanda" rescued her. The story, such as it is, concerns Travolta, a Rolling Stone magazine reporter, looking for a story angle within a huge gymnasium at the height of the aerobics and fitness craze. He's already working on another more important story, but wants this as a back-up in case an all-important interview falls through. He zeroes in on high-profile aerobics instructor Curtis who has a huge following (which often kisses her on the mouth following one of her workouts!) Unfortunately, she's had a major disaster with a reporter in the past and resists being interviewed for his story. In order for there to be a movie, he must wear her down and get her assistance even though there are 90 other instructors at this mega-gym. The film is very unfocused and disjointed throughout. It tries to be too many things: a reflection of investigative journalism, an ethics drama, an examination of self-esteem issues, a music video crash-course in Jazzercise and, most obviously, a jiggle movie with emphasis on lycra-clad spread legs and tight behinds. The script is so crass and stupid with ludicrous lines like, "You're a sphincter muscle..." (this one is repeated often!) and unnecessary subplots which lead nowhere. Travolta is awful. He speaks his lines with his mouth almost open, stares blankly with no skill at conveying what's on his mind and, in the films most celebratedly horrendous scene, gyrates his bulging crotch at the camera ad nauseam while sweat trickles down his pale, clammy face and body. Curtis looks very fresh and attractive most of the film (if a bit sexually ambiguous) eschewing the huge hair and heavy make-up of the times. Her character is a little too self-righteous, but her acting is better than anyone else around. Wenner, a non-actor, provides a jarring presence whenever he appears because he (along with several other "real" people cast in the film) hasn't got the polish to really sell his role even though it reflects his position in real life (as the founder of Rolling Stone!) Most of the other actors in the film either overact horrendously or flat-line. More importantly, the audience does not care about anyone in the film and so does not care when various events and revelations come about. There is some inherent camp value in revisiting the hilarious workout clothes of the 80's and in hearing the bouncy, tacky music of the era, but the movie is way too long for it's subject matter and the music montages wear out their welcome very quickly. And for all the sweating and gyration, there are no sex scenes in the film. Look out for pansexual Burt Reynolds look-alike (and alleged Travolta bed partner) Barresi in the cast as a gym rat eager to show off his body.

Really, "Perfect" is not the tactical warhead everyone seems to be implying. This is not on the same level as 80s catastrophes like "Megaforce", "Grease 2", "Howard the Duck", or (heaven help us) "Staying Alive". "Perfect" is nothing more than tragic misfire from extremely talented director James Bridges ("The Paper Chase", "Urban Cowboy") that makes the dire mistake of treating the aerobics, health club fad of the mid-80s as a serious cultural phenomenon (ugh).

It also helped to derail John Travolta's career for the better part of a decade - sad, because all one has to do is take a look at his outstanding performances in "Blow Out" and "Urban Cowboy" and realize that his acting in "Perfect" was just fine (if a bit low key). It's a shame, he could have made a lot of great movies while he was stuck in dreck like "The Experts" and strange late 80s Altman theatre pieces like Pinter's "The Dumb Waiter" (with Tom Conti!).

Travolta plays a Rolling Stone journalist hot on the trail of a big story about how health clubs are the new pick-up joints, replacing singles bars. He meets "The Pied Piper of aerobics teachers" Jamie Lee Curtis, a former Olymic swimmer who was once burned by a journalist over a piece about how she was having an affair with her coach. Of course, she and Travolta hook up and Travolta meets some other folks who frequent the gym, who are like supporting characters in a David Lynch movie (I'm unsure if the director intended to portray them as weird as they come off).

Real-life Rolling Stone editor Jann Wenner shows up to essentially play himself (not very well) and, in the film's most laughable detail, Travolta writes a version of his story portraying health clubs as Emersonian watering holes of the future (or something like that).

It's all kind of bloated and weird, but really not that bad. Travolta's actually pretty good. Jamie Lee Curtis looks great but comes off as slightly grouchy, but she was probably directed that way.

Don't miss Travolta's notorious pelvic thrust sequence (you can't miss it).