CREEMEDIA

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Boy Howdy's Ten Worst Movies Of 1980

by

Edouard Dauphin

Hello again, movie fans. Or should I say movie masochists? It's end of the year lists time and, in keeping with Boy Howdy tradition, the spotlight is focused not on the 10 best films of the past 12 months but on the Other end of the spectrum — the pictures that represented the nadir of 1980, the empty, inane, feeble, witless, impotent flicks that have helped bring the movie industry to a new low, almost down to the level of...yes, the music business.

A year ago in these very pages, The Dauphin speculated as to whether any film year could be worse than 1979, but 1980 has beaten it, popcorn-butter smeared hands down. Stillwe should be grateful for small favors: the pastyear did not see the release of a single Sly Stallone movie and Ronald Reagan has officially announced his retirement from film acting. By the way, what's that old guy doing these days anyway? Just wondering.

As usual, kind friends kept The Dauph away from several flicks that might have qualified for the Ten Worst List. So I missed the likes of Oh God—BookTwo, Somewhere In Time, Tribute, Xanadu, Raise The Titantic and Deep Throat In Tokyo. Yours truly did intend to catch Heaven's Gate but I was out of town the day it played New York.

Let's get on with it. Here are the Ten Worst Movies of 1980—and to each of the producers we would like to award a soiled 8x10 glossy of Rex Reed and an authentic Xerox of a CREEM Reader's Poll ballot once mistakenly filled out by Debby Boone who thought she was answering a questionnaire for Rely Tampons. Stick to singing, Deb.

Join us then as we dive into the slime. They're in no particular order because they all reeked of unadulterated mung about equally.

HONEYSUCKLE ROSE-Country warbler Willie Nelson is a hard-drinking, hard-loving roustabout who must choose between delectable, homebody wife Dyan Cannon and nubile, accomodating roadie Amy Irving. Both gals are wild for him, natch, since when it comes to charming the weaker sex, Willie wrote the book. He leers, rolls his eyeballs, chugalugs Jack Daniels, belches and, for an encore, manages to fart "Ain't It Funny How Time Slips Away." What distaffer could resist, eh? A word to the wise, though: hey, Willie, isn't it time to stop wearing your hair in braids? Who do you think you are, Lene Lovich?

THE LONG RIDERS-You got these brothers, right? The Carradines, the Bottoms and the Quaids? And most of them can't get acting jobs, see? Solution: throw 'em all in the same flick, about famous outlaw brothers of the Wild West. You know, the James Boys, the Clantons, the Osmonds. So what if there's no script, the direction is inept and the editing looks like it was done through a Cuisinart. An all-brother movie can't miss, right? Wrong. Too bad they didn't try it with sisters—Heart, the Redgraves and the Pointers coulda used the work.

AMERICAN GIGOLO-He's not bad looking. He hds new clothes. He can drive a car.' He drinks. He sits up Straight and listens when you talk to him. He works out. He has Blondie singing on the soundtrack of his life. He smokes cigarettes and doesn't get ashes all over himself. He lives in L.A^He makes women wild with desire. He charges them money to sleep with him and they pay it! He's the hero of 1980's dumbest film and no one went to see it!

ALTERED STATES—A scientist immerses himself in a sealed water tank, cutting off all normal forms of sense input. He backpacks to a remote pari of Mexico to swallow sacred mushrooms and partake of a pagan ritual. He actually reads Carlos Castenada. And for what? So he can de-evolve to an apelike, more primative form bearing a remarkable resemblance to Ted Nugent. He then visits the local zoo and gets arrested for making it with a sheep (guess he was trying to further de-evolve into Charlie Watts). Keri Russell of Tommy fame directed this cinematic psychedelicatessen that's about 15 years too late. Bring back Strawberry Alarm Clock.

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND SPECIAL EDITION—Let's hear it for Steven Spielberg. He takes this three-year-old flick out of mothballs, trims five minutes of Richard Dreyfuss building a' mud cone, adds four minutes showing the interior of the spaceship (looks like a cross between a roller disco and an empty garage), and calls the result a "Special Edition." Sure, Steve. Gonna re-release Jaws minus the shark footage?

HOME MOVIES—No one remembers this v , picture. The Dauph knows it exists because he saw it. At the United Artists screening room. 729 Seventh Avenue, 14th Floor. On Wednesday, April30 at4:30 p.m. Brian De Palma directed this film. Kirk Douglas is in it. Please leave a message when you hear the beep.

ORDINARY PEOPLE-Who said midwestern WASPs were boring? First-time director Robert Redford finds them fascinating. Hence this tedious tale of an Illinois suburban family coming to grips with accidental death, marital discord, attempted suicide and an increase in the subscription price of Reader's Digest. As Mom, Dad and junior drift apart, there are long silences at the dinner table—not surprising since Cook has been serving Wheat Chex and Spaghetti-O's for weeks! Enter Judd Taxi Hirsch as a well-meaning but—omigod!— Jewish shrink... But why go on? It's so ordinary!

THE SHINING—Mark Norton liked this film but ne takes different drugs than I do.

THE FINAL COUNTDOWN—It s December 7, The Present. A U.S. aircraft carrier is on routine maneuvers near Hawaii. A storm erupts, a time warp ensues and^—guess what—it's 1941 just before Pearl Harbor. Kirk Douglas as the . ship's skipper has the chance to re-do history, blotting out World War II and his own acting career in one fell swoop. Martin Sheen frowns a lot, obviously wishing he could project himself back into the future and Apocalypse Now where at least he had a fat Marlon Brando to play with. At last, destiny wins out, clearing the decks for Sanyo, Toyota and Pink Lady. Ah so! Or should we say oy veh?

THE BLUES BROTHERS-Once upon a time you had to go to a smoky bar in New Orleans to hear blues. And the Apollo Theatre in Harlem to heajr James Brown and Aretha Franklin. You had to be blind to appreciate Ray Charles. And you could watch John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd for nothing on television. Those days are gone, my friend. So much for the loss of innocence. So much for this movie.

And so much for 1980. Next year can't possibly be worse. Or can it?