Something we all do is make exceptions for bad art by artists whose other work we like. I admit, I’ve done this. But no amount of rationalization can save this piece of dreck by one of my favorite filmmakers. I kept waiting for this movie to get weird, and when I realized that wouldn’t happen I just waited for it to get interesting. Then I just waited for it to end. Laughable dialogue, horrendous acting, plot devices straight out of “Laugh Olympics,” and, best of all, ridiculous balls-out faux-Springsteen rock anthems. I have no interest in drag racing but then again I have no interest in disco dancing — this doesn’t keep Saturday Night Fever from being great. What’s fascinating about this whole endeavor is that Cronenberg still seems really proud of it. Maybe it reminds him of his youth. This rates a “D” and not an “F” because much of the documentary-style shooting is quite nice as is the inadvertent time capsule aspect vis-a-vis haircuts and pants.
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